Where's My Meds?

And just as the ulcer heals, another semester begins.

Life: Unpredicted

And part two: I got offered a job. In Texas. There was a lot of appeal to this. The money was okay for a first "real" job. Texas is cool and I know people that live there (and would have been working with one of them). And, as anyone who knows me will remember, I'm always trying to run away.

Buuuut...there were a lot of reasons to turn the job down, which I did. Like, it was an unguaranteed one year term position. So, I would move down to Texas and could be told within a matter of months that I wasn't needed anymore. Also, I would have to start in two weeks, and I'm not sure I could have wrapped up everything in Tennessee and gotten settled in Texas in two weeks. But the number one reason for rejecting the position was money. Not the money they were offering, but the money it would cost me to move down there. I would have lost my GA position, so I'd have to pay my last semester of tuition out of pocket. I would also have to pay another month's rent here or risk losing my deposit, plus pay back the half off the first month's rent deal I was given as punishment for abandoning the lease early. Then I would have the cost of a new apartment plus deposit plus cost of getting it up and running. Add on the cost of installing a hitch on the Jeep and renting a trailor to move the motorcycle, and the gas associated with such an endeavor. I seriously lost sleep over this because up until I started doing the math I was leaning more toward accepting the position than rejecting it.

But maybe it's for the best. It would have been a great thing to stick on my resume, this is true. But my last semester at the Peay will be that little bit easier and I won't have to live off of toast and water for a month.

Life: Predicted

This is a two part post discussing my two major events this week. The first is a purchase of my very first motorcycle, a Triumph Bonneville T100. I have yet to take any pictures of it yet, so just as a frame of reference I've included a photograph of someone else's Bonneville T100.

I've been looking at motorcycles for a couple of months, and toyed with the longest time about buying a Honda 919. And while early purchase had presented itself several times, there was just enough hesitancy to keep that from happening. And I think its paid off. My path to the Bonneville was a little circumspect. It started off with interest in a Triumph Scrambler...which led to interest in the Triumph Thruxton...which led to the Bonneville...which led to the Bonneville T100.

I genuinely heart my T100. Besides being just a damn pretty bike, it is super comfy. Okay, its super comfy for me, which is really all that matters. The most I've spent on the bike is an hour and a half, and that has left my back and behind feeling just fine. And since my comfort was the number one factor when choosing a motorcycle, I'd say I've made the right choice. But comfort wasn't my only reason for going for this particular bike. After all, the 919 was comfortable too. I really love the retro feel to the T100. And, as if this shouldn't be obvious from someone that also rides around in a fairly new Wrangler...I love new toys that are made to look like old toys. All the nostalgia my little heart can handle, but without the worry of maintenance.

But it hasn't been all rainbows with the new motorcycle. There's actually been some disappointment, verging on frustration. Not with my bike, but with myself. As per usual Jen form, I'm impatient with my progress. I'm a noob to riding, and there are certain things I'm having trouble mastering. Like sharp right hand turns are kicking my ass at the moment. I haven't dropped the bike, haven't even come close actually...but without fail, every single time I take a sharp right turn from a stop I end up on the wrong side of the street. Grrrr. And I'm having a hard time with starting on an incline. I'm getting bored with riding around the 'hood, dodging UPS guys and kids on bicycles, but I told myself that I cannot get out on the Big Girl Streets until I conquer these two issues. But I'm working on it.

Another frustration, since I've mentioned it a little already, is my neighborhood. It is essentially a giant circle with two points of exit. One is on an incline and the other requires a sharp right turn (I could go left, but that would require a 3/4 mile jaunt on Ft. Campbell Blvd...aka The Road of Death). So, really, I *have* to get these two things down just to leave the neighborhood. Grump, grump, grump.

Anyway, I love my bike, but I hate having to be patient with the learning curve.

Motorcycling 101

So I took a motorcycling course this weekend. And, yes, I passed. And, no, I didn't drop the bike, crash into any large or even small objects, nor did I run over the instructors. Overall, it went really well. I imagine I made the same mistakes that most beginners make. We rode Honda Nighthawk 250s...and other than the fact that I felt the bike was a smidge too low for me, it was actually really comfy.

That being said, I *hated* the motorcycling class. I've pronounced this to several people already and on the ride home from Nashville I evaluated the reason for this dislike. (When questioned by Mike and Jenn as to why I hated the class the best answer I had at the time was that I just simply didn't like it...probably came out more like a whine). But I do have a few legitimate objections.

1. They do in 3 days what could be done in 2, or even a day and a half. I really hate it when something gets stretched out for longer than is necessary. And this weekend really pushed the limits of my patience. For the most part is was divided up fairly equal; half classroom and half riding. The classroom stuff was a joke. They should have an opt-out for that part. Seriously, guys, turn your fancy shmancy textbook into a PDF and email out to the students beforehand and let us take the written exam the minute we walk through the door. BAM! Done. Throw in the hour long safety and instructional video and the course has already lost a day. I'm liking it already.

2. The infamous "box." This was a figure 8 in a confined space which in theory simulated two U-turns. Now, I'm not trying to debunk the value of this exercise. It was tough and one should probably know how to maneuver their motorcycle for slow, sharp turns. What really pissed me off about the box was that it was on the final evaluation. And what really pissed me off even more was that as one of the instructors was dishing out testing scores he says, "Yeah the score on the box is really nothing more than bragging rights." Really? So, I got tested on something that ultimately doesn't matter in the larger scheme of motorcycling. One entire element of testing was taken up by the box, a spot that could have gone to an exercise far more important, say for instance stopping on a curve.

3. It was effin' hot. Yeah, yeah...that's a whine for sure, but that's not really the annoying part. It was hot and in an effort to get the class finished as early as possible our illustrious instructors really short changed us on our much needed breaks. On Saturday, which was cooler and overcast, we got breaks about once every 30-45 minutes. Today, we were lucky to get a break every hour to hour and a half. Ridiculous. I think out of the entire weekend this was the one thing that was the deal breaker for me. By 10am I was dehydrated and had a headache that lasted the remainder of the day. Effers.

Okay, so I've bitched and moaned about the things I didn't like, but there were things I did like. Like, riding the motorcycle! That was the best part...when we weren't doing retarded exercises like the box. But I loved the ones that simulated twisties, swerves, etc. I got in trouble a couple of times for going too fast (heh heh) and I snuck my bike up into 3rd gear a few times. (Interesting side story, the only other person that did this failed the final exam because he dropped his bike). The female instructor was awesome, really encouraging, and a good counter-balance to the very intimidating biker dude instructor. And last, but definitely not least, my classmates were a blast.

Anyway, it's done. Tomorrow I head to the DMV to get my motorcycle endorsement added. After that...well, heck, now I need a motorcycle.

There Can Be Only One

Everyone has their own peculiar patterns, or ways, of speech. Most of us are probably unaware of them, much like we are unaware of our little ticks and other things that generally annoy the hell out of people. Who knows where or how these little verbal twitches develop; maybe we pick them up from our parents, our educators,...maybe they are defined by geographical or socio-economic regions. But more importantly, they define us. Yet, there seems to be a popular trend these days among both the media and your Average Joe Shmoe to use Obama-isms. His little verbal ticks have come to act as proof that you are intelligent, educated, making a good well-formed argument, and fighting on the side of right...regardless if that is, in fact, true.

Don't get me wrong, I like Obama, and he is a good orator, but hearing his oft-used statements regurgitated prolifically is quickly becoming a pet peeve. No one needs to prove their intelligence by copying President Obama. Your arguments are not more sound by including the phrase, "fundamental differences" or "now let me be clear." I heard someone on NPR use the last one this morning and I yelled at my radio, "THERE IS ONLY ONE BARACK OBAMA, AND YOU ARE NOT HIM!"

So please, stop stealing the Prez's words. The English language is very extensive. Your options are nearly limitless. Think Obama-isms are awesome? Great! Pick up a thesaurus and find your own way to express the same sentiment. I guarantee you that those of us out there who really are intelligent will be more impressed by your creativity than verbal plagarism.

Remember: There can be only one...Barack Obama.

Tour de Wayne: Epic Fail

Yesterday, the "team" and I participated in the 6th Annual Tour de Wayne; a cycle ride (not a race) through Wayne County, TN. The start of the ride was AWESOME! We were with the pack, traveling at about 20-22 mph, the roads were good, the adrenaline was pumping...and then we turned off the main road through Waynesboro and it pretty much went downhill from there (yet in a totally uphill, challenging way). The first big hill lost us our positions within the pack, which was a little disheartening, but we'd said all along that we were going to take it slow and at our own pace. But the roads continued to degrade as we cut through the early miles. We were on tar and chip, which is bad enough, but the condition of the roads was atrocious. Pot holes (both patched and unpatched), huge areas of gravel washout, and areas that just went beyond potholes and washouts (it was as if the road crews had just thrown out the essential ingredients for making a road and left it to form itself into a road). It was stressful to say the least; something no one in our wee team has ever really had to deal with. Not only were we concerned about a crash, but the damage our bikes were incurring.

And then the mile six event happened. Reggie and Steve were ahead of me, climbing a hill that from where I was didn't look that extreme. I popped into my middle gear in preparation, but when I hit the hill it was much worse than it appeared. I stupidly popped into the granny gear while I was putting the brunt of my weight on the pedals and my chain popped off. Later, the SAG guy who rescued me from mile 31 said, "let me guess, your foot slipped off and tried to bury itself into the ground." Uhmmm, yeah. But, at the time I didn't feel anything amiss. One of the cyclist behind me was nice enough to stop on this god awful hill to pop my chain back on and I was once again on my way. It wasn't until the mile 12 rest stop that my right groin muscle started to tingle a bit. By the time we reached the next rest stop, somewhere around mile 22, it was aching. In retrospect, I should have stopped, or at the very least, dropped out of the 67-miler and finished the 33 instead. But I didn't want to do it by myself and I didn't want the guys to cut short their ride because of me. So, I toughed it out for another 10 miles. And by the time the SAG truck passed us my leg felt like it was on fire. I graciously bowed out. I spent the next two hours with my leg on ice as I waited for the boys to finish. Imagine my surprise when I got a call from Reggie saying that they were at mile 39 and dropping out because of exhaustion and general pissed-offedness.

I think the guys were a little more disappointed in the event than I was. Sure, the roads were rough, and I really think the ride organizers should have better informed us about the state of the route. But it was challenging, physically and mentally, and I liked that. Our rides tend to be physically challenging, but mind-numbingly boring (ie, they tend to lack the technical difficulties that made Tour de Wayne stressful). But, and the boys can feel free to correct me, I think Reggie and Steve *expected* to finish a 67-miler. Tour de Wayne is not a cake walk, and the only 60+ mile ride we've ever done was a relatively flat course in Clarksville. I think Tour de Wayne has taught our team some vital lessons. Like not shifting gears on an uphill. Or expecting too much out of yourself when you are essentially new to a sport. Our "youngest" rider, Steve, literally went from struggling to complete 10 miles to struggling to complete 60 miles in a matter of a few months. I'm the most seasoned, with just at a year of riding, and Reggie is a month or two newer to cycling than me. I think it was agreed by all on the journey home that we need to back it down a level, and pwn a couple of 30-mile rides before we move onto metric centuries. There's nothing wrong with pushing ourselves to the limit, but we've got plenty of room to improve our riding performance in that 30-45 mile range.

So, even though Reggie says he will never do the Tour de Wayne again, I can easily see this ride becoming our cycling nemesis. We'll get you next year, Tour de Wayne! Next year!

My Moon is Upside Down

Anthrocentrism sometimes blows my mind. The latest example occurred last night when Steve casually asked, "What's wrong with you?" I was staring at the giant map of the moon on the bedroom wall. I replied, "I am upset that because the field of astronomy had its start at a time when the seat of human civilization was in Western Europe, therefore placing extra attention on the importance of the North Pole, has made my map of my moon upside down."*

"Say wha?"

But it doesn't stop there. Not only are maps of the moon upside down, but so are globes and maps of the Earth, the Sun, and every other heavenly body humans choose to represent in 2D or 3D. And even more than that, surely this must affect how we visualize these objects within our own minds. Just think how much of our civilization would be different if the seat of civilization had been in New Zealand. The North Pole would be the South Pole, our perception of going up and down (in a directional sense) would be backwards, we wouldn't have the Man in the Moon (and all the cultural references that have sprung from it); our world would figuratively be flipped upside down. Who knows how many things about human civilization and culture would be different had the first maps or globes favored the "South Pole." It's mindblowing.

Damn you, Western Europe for all your scientific and technological growth in bygone eras. Your arbitrariness strikes and inflicts upon the world still. First you screw us all over with the Prime Meridian, and now the "North Pole!" The astronomers of the world can get together and decide that Pluto is not a planet, yet my map of the moon is still upside down. Where can I go to report this injustice?


*Those who thoroughly support the North Pole and its predominance should not take special offense to this post. Of course, my map of the moon isn't really upside down, but neither is it right side up. My point is to not argue that the South Pole is more important than the North, but rather that it has been unduly convicted to a lifetime sentence as the world's underdog pole because of geopolitics and history.