Runnin' Rum

You what this country needs? You don't? Well, I'll tell you.
   We some good old-fashioned civil disobedience.
   There's a grand tradition of American defiance of authority, hell, it's how our founding fathers started the whole mess in the first place. You got your tax rebellions, your revolutionary wars, your fights against slavery, for women's suffrage, for civil rights, against the Vietnam war, etc. etc. etc. The list just goes on.
   Lately, though, we seem to have become a nation of whiny bitches.
   Yes, I mean you. And me, too. And your neighbor, and the guy across the street. And for sure the corrupt politicians and evil corporate overlords. Nobody wants to take a stand about anything, and it's kind of pissing me off. Where are the suffragettes? Where are the civil rights workers? Where are the rum runners?
   Yup, I count those guys in the list. Running rum - which gave us NASCAR - started during Prohibition, that well-meaning but ultimately misguided attempt at legislating morality. People weren't going to stop drinking alcohol, especially since they'd been doing it for millennia, but they couldn't buy liquor any longer.
   That's when modern invention met ancient beverage. Enterprising young men who had automobiles, which had only recently been mass-produced, put homemade liquor in the trunk and let supply meet demand. Sure, it was mostly a mercantile transaction, but it was defiance of authority in the grand American tradition.
   I think the problem nowadays is that too many people are comfortable. We got it pretty good, all things considered, and any dissatisfaction we feel with our lives isn't so bad that we're compelled to think about the reasons why or to do anything to change our situation. We guard what little we have instead of thinking of the larger picture of inequity and institutionalized greed that we could help eliminate. So the filthy rich get filthier, our air and water become more polluted, and people who would have starved to death had they been born in a third world country find themselves elected to be our government representatives. And you and I sit on our couches watching TV and getting fatter.
   Makes me want to load some bathtub gin into my truck and drive into the hills to avoid the revenuers.

Makin' A Break

I live across the street from an old folks' home, and while the place is normally quiet, every so often - usually in the middle of the night - an ambulance arrives. I get woken up to the sound of sirens and red flashing lights through the blinds. I hate it when that happens.
   Every weekend you can see loving family members taking the residents on walks around the block, or driving them to lunch, or bringing them birthday presents. It's heartwarming in the best way and makes me glad I'm across the street to see it.
   But today, I saw something I've never seen before, and I mean ever. Anywhere. I saw an old man make a run for it.
   I had gotten home from work (ugh...) and realized that I forgot to buy my lottery ticket. You can't win if you don't play. So I climbed back into the truck and set out for the Chevron station. As the garage gate was coming up I saw an old man running across the street from the old folks' home, jogging determinedly across El Molino as if it weren't 6:30 PM and there weren't cars speeding in both directions. He made it too, a tall, thin, white-haired Frogger.
   As drove out of the garage I saw another old man running across the street in the same spot, right in front of oncoming traffic. An ill-advised move at best. Then I saw a flash of someone else doing the same thing, going pretty fast. I wondered if the ice cream man was down the block or something.
   When finally rolled the truck outside I saw everything. The guy I didn't really see worked for the old folks' home, and he had apprehended the first old man. Stopped him, really, and was gesturing back across the street, trying to reason with him. The second old man, probably a brother or cousin, took the first old man's hand and pulled him back across the street.
   The first old man was clearly addled, though he was dressed like he was just going out for a stroll. The other two took him back - right through the center of traffic - escorting him gently all the way.
   The only thing I could think was: 'Damn... so close...'

Wouldn't That Hurt?

I was at the gym today, gettin' my sweat on, and I saw a guy running on the treadmill. Nothing out of the ordinary, that's what treadmills are for. There was something wrong, though, and I couldn't quite put my finger on it. He was running... funny. And I do mean ha-ha funny. Comical, in a you-have-to-be-embarrassed-for-him sort of way. So I looked at the other guys beside him, and it hit me. The first guy was running on his toes.
   Normally you go heel-toe, heel-toe when you run. Like when you walk. But this guy had the speed cranked waaaaay up and he was prancing along on his toes like he was an antelope or something, and bobbing up and down like a piston. It was the oddest thing I've seen in that gym in a while.*
   The only thing I could think was 'man, that's gotta hurt...'
   Fast forward to thirty minutes later. I've finished with the cardio portion of my workout and I've moved on to strength and flexibility And who do I see but Prancer from the treadmill. And what was he doing? Groaning and moaning as he tried to stretch out his calves. You'd have thought he was having surgery with no anesthesia the way he was carrying on, wincing in pain and gritting his teeth.
   For a moment I thought I should go over and explain to him what I saw him doing, but then I thought better of it. Not really my business in the first place, and he was making a big show of stretching so he liked the attention that running like a douchebag brought him. And who am I to get in the way of someone else's desperate cry for attention?
   It does make me a little self-conscious, though. Am performing any exercises comically wrong? Am I in a glass house throwing stones here?
   Nah...


* aside from Mr. Grunty Seven-Rep and his torn wardrobe, but I'm used to that annoying bastard now

I Can Run Real Fast Now

For Christmas my sister gave me money to buy new sneakers. Mostly to stop my complaining and dropping broad, un-subtle hints about how much I wanted new exercise shoes rather than out of the goodness of her heart. Never underestimate the power of annoying your relatives around Christmastime.
   So once I was back in Pasadena I went to the store and got myself some new kicks. They're bright and shiny white, not dingy and gray like my old pair, and the tread is nubby and raised, not slick and smooth like my old pair, and they look like little spaceships on my feet instead of like Fred Sanford's junkyard truck like my old pair.
   And, just like when I got new sneakers back in elementary school, I can now run fast. Way fast. Super fast. Like I was The Flash or something.
   Seriously. I went to work out wearing my new shoes and I got to the gym before I left the apartment. I got on the treadmill and I went so fast it burst into flames and fell to pieces. When I left for home I ran so fast the wind blew all the protein bars off the shelf. Seriously. It happened. Ask anybody.
   I know when I'm in the gym all the people at the gym are looking at my new shoes, staring with envy, or avarice, or a little bit of both. But you can't have them, they're my new shoes. And I run faster with them on.
   Thanks to my sister for feeding my delusion.

Going Back On My Promise

Sometimes you say things you regret, or you do things you regret and you regret talking about them later. And sometimes you make a sweeping pronouncement so bold and all-encompassing that you never want to go against it. But then you do and you have to come clean. This is come-clean day for me. Ready? Okay... deep breath... here goes...
   I'm running.
   Yup, for the past two weeks I've been on the treadmill at the gym, slowly increasing my speed and my distance. My goal is a non-stop mile - which, honestly, I could do right now but for my laziness issues - and after achieving that I will find some other running-related goal.
   This will be disappointing to many of you, I know, especially my long-time friends. You may recall such pronouncements as 'I only run when someone is chasing me. With a gun.' Or classics like 'If you see me running, swerve and put me out of my misery.'
   If I learned nothing else from the Bush administration, I learned that it's a very bad idea to stick slavishly to a clearly-discredited policy, and my running ban was one of those. I've been steadily losing weight for years now, slimming down and toning up, but I will never be really fit until I get more cardiovascular endurance. And, regrettably, running is about the only way to do that. So I'm running. God help us all.
   I think this may be one of the signs of the Apocalypse. Anybody want to check the Book of Revelations?