Rocks and Rolls

The world looks different from 39,000 feet in the air. The desert, one of which I am flying over as I write, looks even more different from up high than at ground level. I see specks of green, which I assume are some sort of strange desert shrubs. Why a shrub would choose to live in a desert is beyond me but who am I to judge, right? I'm sure they have their reasons for being there. If I were a shrub, I think I'd want to live where there is more water. It sucks to be thirsty and I think one must tend to be thirst a lot living in a desert. Especially if one is attached to the groung by roots.

Then again, I'm attached by roots to my own little desert I'd say. I can't uproot myself and move somewhere else. I have responsibilities where I'm at. In all fairness, I live near lots of water. I have an ocean nearby, and many rivers, streams, creeks, even ditches with fresh water if I had to drink in a pinch. But I'm not so different from the shrubs. I do with what I have; I play the hand I was dealt. Or to be more accurate, I play the cards that I took and kept. I've thrown a few cards back in my time. I wish I had thrown others back, but we can't hit 21 every hand. I've double downed and lost on more than one occasion. But I've hit my share of good cards too. So I can't complain. As I said, I have lots of water.

Those mountains down there aren't going anywhere anytime soon either. They look to be comfortable where they are. I suppose they don't have to worry about water though. It rolls downhill to the little shrubs. The mountains do their part for the shrubs I guess. All the loose stuff rolls downhill too. It must be nice to be a mountain; even if something is bothering you, you know that eventually it's going to roll right off and things will be okay again. It may take a few thousand years for that nagging rock to roll away, but at least you can take solace in knowing that it will indeed roll someday. I'm not sure I'm that confident that my rocks will roll away.

Now that I think about it, it seems I have more in common with those little rocks than I do with the shrubs or the mountains. The rocks are playing the hand they were dealt too. It's not their fault they ended up on top of a mountain; or on a hiking trail. I shouldn't blame a rock if I twisted my ankle on one. The rock didn't up and move to the trai on its own, I don't think so anyway. I'm not aware of any sentient rocks. For whatever reason the rocks are where they are. I doubt they mean to nag the old mountain. And I'm sure they mean no malice if they end up rolling down the mountain and end up slamming into a shrub. I'm sure the shrub might feel different about it, but I don't think there would be any malice in it. It's the luck of the draw for everyone. We all have an equal chance against the deck.

I need to learn to read the cards better.

To Run

I have to find a way to get t-shirts for free other than running marathons and half-marathons. Those things are like crack for runners I suppose. When I first decided I wanted to run a marathon, I started training in a neighborhood close by. On one of my first runs I say a guy who looked like he stepped out of a running magazine on the trail. Even from a distance I could tell the guy was a runner; a real runner; not a runner like me. This guy's legs turned over with the fluidity of 30 weight motor oil rolling downhill on a sheet of greasy glass. I could see the sinews of his leg muscles from several yards (metres for you metric folk) away extending and contracting with each step. You might have thought the guy was wearing a brace up top because his shoulders didn't move, there was no head bob, and unlike me, he didn’t' bounce as he ran.

But even in the midst of what some of you are thinking was a wired man crush, my thoughts were of more sublime things. My runner could have been a plucked goose for all I cared. He could have been a Clydesdale running with the grace and finesse of a broke-legged beagle. But the shirt on his back; oh the shirt.

Though I had to speed up to a swift 11 minute mile to catch him, I was still some ways off when I saw the word that sucked me into my dilemma; the instigator of my quest; I saw the one word that had I not seen that day, may have prevented all the pain and agony, and ego-busting effort I've put in...FINISHER. Houston Marathon 2008 FINISHER to be precise.

I wonder if it had say Houston 5K finisher, if I would have thrown myself into short races. But his shirt said marathon finisher. I've completed three so far and have one more coming up.

I can't help myself, I love free t-shirts.

9/11

Do you remember?

If that's true, why bother?

I created this monstrosity three years ago because I thought it would be cool to write stuff down. Then I realized that I write for a living so why bother? “Good point,” I said to myself, so I stopped after a few days. Besides, I’m a technical writer, not a writer writer. What do I have to say anyway? And who cares? “Good points,” I again say to myself.

Well, then I figure since I do all sorts of stuff without any thought to the wants and desires of others, why not this too? And since I’m still on a role, I say to myself, “Good point.” So here I am.

Don’t be dissuaded by the title you see. I heard the term “offen wrong” on Star Trek a long time ago, and thought it sounded evil. It was meant to be as it was said by an evil android about his father/creator with whom he was most angry.

As it turns out, I’m usually always right about most things. That’s not bragging, it’s the truth. I keep quiet when I don’t know something. Thus, I stand by my claim.

As mentioned, I do all sorts of things without giving any thought to anyone else. I run marathons-for the free shirts of course. Running is stupid. If God had wanted us to run, he’d not have allowed the automobile. It’s too hot to run in Brazoria County, Texas in the summer anyway. But to get that free shirt, one must sweat I suppose.

I mow the grass too; but in that case I do give thought to the neighbors. I don’t want to be that guy who has the worst yard on the block. We have one anyway, not next to my house, two houses down. It looks like a scene from “Rambo” in there. My three-year-old son can stand up in the grass and be as well hidden as a Marine Sniper on post. It makes one wonder.