*This is not a politically correct posting
**The opinions expressed here are not the real opinions of Jim Tierney, or Google blogspot. They aren't even opinions really, just observations.
Local News:
In response to Wednesday's unprecedented traffic debacle in the Metro area, where motorists were stuck in their cars for up to 10 hours, Obama has appointed a new Local Snow Traffic Czar (a record 45th Czar overall) Sue Palka. He also created a new department, the Office of Personnel Management Management.
In related news, in a move akin to clearing the shelves at Home Depot of emergency supplies following a storm, sales from http://www.mypeepeebottle.com/ surge to record levels Thursday, 1/27, as motorists vow 'never again' to be caught in a traffic debacle without emergency waste removal systems.
World News for those who watch too much TV:
In Egyptian Survivor, Mubarak was voted off the island; however, in a rare authoritarian countermove, he has proposed voting off the tribe instead (too soon?)
Stock News:
Goldman Sachs trader "Marvelous" Mark has proposed adding tear gas to the list of commodities trading on the Chicago Merchantile Exchange. "We're seeing the trend from Greece and Thailand now move to Tunisia, and Egypt. We see this as an awesome way for speculators to make money as Sovereign Leaders around the world love how teargas looks on CNN. It smokes alot, and makes people run. We think the trend is up and people should trade the tape."
More downside coming in the major markets? A secret, proprietary indicator has recently triggered signalling an imminent, dramatic downturn. To protect against Libel the actual name cannot by used; however, we can say that the 'PB' indicator last triggered in mid-April and consists of much crowing about stock appreciation, tales of early retirement, and other crass, self-aggrandizing boasts about finances through Social Media. The PB indicator triggering is a STRONG SELL. We recommend moving to all-cash immediately.
That's a wrap folks.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Pea Island, OBX Dec.29
In the dream, I walked a narrow strip of land between two seas. The farther ahead I looked, the more it appeared the land disappeared completely. The nearer I looked, the fiercer the waves appeared to crash on the rocks. I remember feeling a certain lightness that grew into dizziness as I was helplessly drawn down the narrowing spit. The dizziness intensified into fear as I perceived the land becoming narrower and the waves more intense. I usually awoke sweaty and terrified before the two bodies of water converged.
Pea-island resembles this dream. When you stand on a dune you can see both the sea and the sound, and during some storms, the Atlantic overtakes the dune-wall and floods the one road that cuts through. This happened recently as the dunes had that wet-sand look and there was some standing water in the road. Imagine being there, standing in the road as the water crests the tall dunes with nothing but water and marsh-grass behind you.
I ran along the beach between the stark dunes and the relentless clawing of the ocean. The beach was fairly tight-packed and the tides had recently subsumed it. I wondered if I would run to a point where the water reached all the way to the dunes. I could see berms where it had recently done so, but the tide was lower now.
As I ran, I caught myself thinking and let the thoughts pass away. I kept waiting for anguish or something profound. I thought of my fears and I thought of another life that seemed more distant now.
The sandscape widened and narrowed as I ran. I veered slightly to startle a sandpiper and gull. Until now, I had only seen dead horseshoe crabs. Today, I saw a trail in the sand leading to a black bump near the water. I stopped and remarked how it looked like a walking helmet with a tail. It complained when I twisted it a bit. I couldn't remember if they had teeth or not, so I left it alone.
It seems there wouldn't be much to write about a beach run without relying on some beach imagery already written, or losing myself in the uninteresting technicals of running itself. The dunes and the sea are all there really is there. The texture of the sand and the color is there too. The dimming sunlight and the tidal pools are there but you've already heard of those. It is just a beach run. A man, running toward nothing and away from nothing.
Or, maybe I am running away. Running away from my culture, from my limited successes, from the details of my life that are nothing but chatter, nothing but noise. Do I seek obliviousness and silence? Only when I shutup does the scene really emerge.
I am running. My form is excellent as the front of my feet make deeper imprints than my heels. I run close to the water-line, where the sand is firm and when I turn back and run home, my footprints will be gone. I run up to the black sand and wonder why it's black. I watch the sea-oats shiver in the wind at the top of the dunes. I wonder what it will be like when I get to the spot that looks appealing from this distance and I prepare for the 'what's next' that happens when I get there.
The water is most beautiful as it retreats. It's spread thin over the sand and it glitters as it falls back, exhausted, into the next oncoming wave. The gait of the sandpiper is a marvel. It runs too, right along the edge of the last lick of each wave.
If you look closely, you can see how rivers and lakes are born. You just have to zoom-out and add size and scale to the microcosm. The tidal pool is a lake and the tiny channel ripping toward the sea is a river. And at high-tide, the whole thing will be obliterated.
It takes awhile to feel the solitude I seek. At first, footprints in the sand from a determined walker continue much farther than I thought they would. I will run until the only footprints I see are the ones disappearing behind me into the surf. I finally outrun the marks of the determined beach pedestrian and continue on further. For some reason, I feel more apart of the scenery and the peace comes.
And the peace abides awhile as I turn back, a restrained joy too. I didn't even know I was running with the wind and now I run against it. No matter, the peace has arrived, that place between infinity and oblivion. Time to go back. Time to return.
Pea-island resembles this dream. When you stand on a dune you can see both the sea and the sound, and during some storms, the Atlantic overtakes the dune-wall and floods the one road that cuts through. This happened recently as the dunes had that wet-sand look and there was some standing water in the road. Imagine being there, standing in the road as the water crests the tall dunes with nothing but water and marsh-grass behind you.
I ran along the beach between the stark dunes and the relentless clawing of the ocean. The beach was fairly tight-packed and the tides had recently subsumed it. I wondered if I would run to a point where the water reached all the way to the dunes. I could see berms where it had recently done so, but the tide was lower now.
As I ran, I caught myself thinking and let the thoughts pass away. I kept waiting for anguish or something profound. I thought of my fears and I thought of another life that seemed more distant now.
The sandscape widened and narrowed as I ran. I veered slightly to startle a sandpiper and gull. Until now, I had only seen dead horseshoe crabs. Today, I saw a trail in the sand leading to a black bump near the water. I stopped and remarked how it looked like a walking helmet with a tail. It complained when I twisted it a bit. I couldn't remember if they had teeth or not, so I left it alone.
It seems there wouldn't be much to write about a beach run without relying on some beach imagery already written, or losing myself in the uninteresting technicals of running itself. The dunes and the sea are all there really is there. The texture of the sand and the color is there too. The dimming sunlight and the tidal pools are there but you've already heard of those. It is just a beach run. A man, running toward nothing and away from nothing.
Or, maybe I am running away. Running away from my culture, from my limited successes, from the details of my life that are nothing but chatter, nothing but noise. Do I seek obliviousness and silence? Only when I shutup does the scene really emerge.
I am running. My form is excellent as the front of my feet make deeper imprints than my heels. I run close to the water-line, where the sand is firm and when I turn back and run home, my footprints will be gone. I run up to the black sand and wonder why it's black. I watch the sea-oats shiver in the wind at the top of the dunes. I wonder what it will be like when I get to the spot that looks appealing from this distance and I prepare for the 'what's next' that happens when I get there.
The water is most beautiful as it retreats. It's spread thin over the sand and it glitters as it falls back, exhausted, into the next oncoming wave. The gait of the sandpiper is a marvel. It runs too, right along the edge of the last lick of each wave.
If you look closely, you can see how rivers and lakes are born. You just have to zoom-out and add size and scale to the microcosm. The tidal pool is a lake and the tiny channel ripping toward the sea is a river. And at high-tide, the whole thing will be obliterated.
It takes awhile to feel the solitude I seek. At first, footprints in the sand from a determined walker continue much farther than I thought they would. I will run until the only footprints I see are the ones disappearing behind me into the surf. I finally outrun the marks of the determined beach pedestrian and continue on further. For some reason, I feel more apart of the scenery and the peace comes.
And the peace abides awhile as I turn back, a restrained joy too. I didn't even know I was running with the wind and now I run against it. No matter, the peace has arrived, that place between infinity and oblivion. Time to go back. Time to return.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Cycling in winter is about more than cycling in winter
It's really about getting out into the air and getting personal with the weather. For years, I let dark, wintry weather keep me in a state of restless comfort seeking. I moved from my dark cave at home to my dark cave at work. My car, frequently stuck in congestion, was nothing but a tunnel or a semi-state between caves. The metro is worse, standing nut to butt with strangers with sad faces.
So I ride into the bitter wind, and even in cold sharp rain to feel alive for a couple hours a day. The last three Tuesdays have tested my mettle a bit. Into the wind, and through a deluge 3 weeks ago, I got so mad I thought I might hurl my bike into rt. 123 when the light wasn't fast enough. A hot shower fixed it all. I love it. It's never the same. Fun, right?
Getting uncomfortable more often has been enlightening. Be it running, or cycling across country with bags of nuts and a tent. It seems the most memorable moments, the challenging ones that stick, involve some level of discomfort. So cycling in winter is really not the point. The discomfort quiets the mind. Simple pleasures like a warm shower at the end take on significance. Fixing your own flat, picking yourself up off the pavement, or braving unsavory conditions show you something about yourself. The power to recognize intense beauty is enhanced as you see the day by day changes of certain trees, the slow yellowing of grass, the different hues of 1000 skies all become significant at unpredictable moments. This is why I find it compelling. This is why I ride in winter.
So I ride into the bitter wind, and even in cold sharp rain to feel alive for a couple hours a day. The last three Tuesdays have tested my mettle a bit. Into the wind, and through a deluge 3 weeks ago, I got so mad I thought I might hurl my bike into rt. 123 when the light wasn't fast enough. A hot shower fixed it all. I love it. It's never the same. Fun, right?
Getting uncomfortable more often has been enlightening. Be it running, or cycling across country with bags of nuts and a tent. It seems the most memorable moments, the challenging ones that stick, involve some level of discomfort. So cycling in winter is really not the point. The discomfort quiets the mind. Simple pleasures like a warm shower at the end take on significance. Fixing your own flat, picking yourself up off the pavement, or braving unsavory conditions show you something about yourself. The power to recognize intense beauty is enhanced as you see the day by day changes of certain trees, the slow yellowing of grass, the different hues of 1000 skies all become significant at unpredictable moments. This is why I find it compelling. This is why I ride in winter.
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