This morning, the air was thick. It rained earlier as we sat in the car, watching the waves that were too small for anyone else to stay longer than a moment.
Flood Watch in effect from...
Flood Advisory in effect until...
Now the usual chirping in the trees. Breezeless.
But they keep multiplying:
Tornado Watch in effect until...
Hurricane Warning in effect.
When I was younger, I thought the meanings of "storm watch" versus "storm warning" ought to be reversed. In my opinion, "warning" meant it was a possibility, a heads-up. "Watch" meant: "Look out your window -- it's coming."
I charge everything and use the Internet while I can, reading updates and chatting with friends, and also being productive in my writing life. I type louder than the fear, but I still stop and listen as a soft breeze begins.
Tonight, I will watch.
...
And listen to these:
#224: A Fine Frenzy, "You Picked Me"
#225: Lady Gaga, "You and I"
#226: M83, "We Own the Sky"
#227: Don Omar, "Danza Kuduro"
#228: Barbra Streisand, "The Way We Were"
#229: Sick Puppies, "Riptide"
#230: Hoodie Allen, "The Chase Is On"
#231: Hoodie Allen, "#WhiteGirlProblems"
#232: Neko Case, "Never Turn Your Back On Mother Earth"
#233: Priscilla Ahn, "City Lights (Pretty Lights)"
#234: The Runaways, "Cherry Bomb"
#235: Courtney Love, "Almost Golden"
#236: Courtney Love, "Hello"
#237: The New Cities, "Heatwave"
#238: Gladys Knight and the Pips, "Neither One of Us"
#239: Peter, Paul, and Mary, "Leaving On A Jet Plane"
#240: Peter, Paul, and Mary, "Blowin' In the Wind"
#241: Peter, Bjorn & John, "Young Folks" (Just realized that I know this song. Whoaz!)
#242: Live, "She." Not a new song. But it took about ten minutes to find on YouTube earlier today. Also, it's lovely and uplifting. So here it is.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
earthquake commentary
Gymnast 1: "My mom was excavated from her job." ::starts laughing as she realizes her error::
Gymnast 2: "Your mom was executed at work?!"
Gymnast 2: "Your mom was executed at work?!"
Sunday, August 21, 2011
How to Run Your 10K With New Shoes, Little Sleep, and Less Training
This is what happens: you return from the Warrior Dash with no sneakers. You didn't lose them in the mud pit, but instead donated them afterwards. You've had them for years. It was time.
You intend to buy new sneakers early in the week to run this weekend's 10K. The draw of this race is that it's a trail run, just the way you like it. Dirt and roots and rocks. That's about right.
But for various reasons, you don't get to the store until Friday. Which means that your exercise this week has been limited to treading water and spotting back tucks. Not ideal, but no big deal.
Fueled by increasing crankiness, you reject the Nike and Reebok pairs and reluctantly head into the last store. There you find a beautiful pair of white-purple-green Asics with built-in gel pads. They fit. They are deliciously squishy. This is perfect. Mexican food is the only way to celebrate this achievement.
Until the next day, when you take the prettiest sneakers you've ever owned (with the exception of the Little Mermaid kicks in kindergarten) for the maiden voyage, and a couple of miles in, they pinch your inner arches so irritatingly that you stop.
Egads.
You dust them off and return them to the store. Then you hustle out to another store in the opposite direction, the last stop for the evening. If nothing fits here, no race manana.
Oh, but you'll make it happen.
Play Cinderella. Try on every sneaker that comes in your size, especially if it's on sale. This is not a night of fiscal risks. You pluck out a box of sneakers that has no mate on the top shelf. They are black and electric blue, like skater shoes, and instantly you judge. They can't be real sneakers. They're faux-sneaks that girls wear to look athletic and occasionally ride the elliptical.
Forty-five minutes later, you leave with the faux-sneaks that actually seem to be real sneaks hiding under ridiculous colors. Your father will probably judge you. You're ready for it.
You try to fall asleep at midnight in your friend's guestroom. Midnight turns to one a.m. turns to thrashing about half-awake until the alarm goes off at six.
This will not be pretty.
But you have said you will do this, and so you will. Even though you have to make sharp and wide turns to help your friend Jess find a functioning ATM so she can pay the entry fee. Even though your body is still dreaming and you're already sweating from the humidity as you walk to the registration table.
You put Vaseline on the sore spots. A woman ahead of you on the Port-A-Potty line donates two band-aids. You are as ready as you can be.
How do you run the race? You don't stop running.
You give up despairing over your split times, knowing they're much slower than they could be. After all, there are choices: Run hard now and be ill later, or take it easy and finish without throwing up. You don't move quickly, but you don't stop moving. Over the small bridges and under the tunnels and around the lake.
When your stomach starts to hurt and your feet feel that these shoes are stiff with not being broken in, Jess says, "We're almost there. It's almost over." You keep telling yourself that, too. You hold the pace until the finish line appears a few short meters ahead and then you sprint with Jess calling behind you, "Where are you going?" the way she would chastise a child. You know you deserve it. But that's okay.
The entire race, you think about how awful this all is. Painful and slow and sticky. How do people run double, quadruple this? How do their bodies handle it? Not you, no way. No more races.
Soon after the finish, you take a flyer from a stranger and say, "Hey, Jess, here's a race with costumes."
You keep going.
You intend to buy new sneakers early in the week to run this weekend's 10K. The draw of this race is that it's a trail run, just the way you like it. Dirt and roots and rocks. That's about right.
But for various reasons, you don't get to the store until Friday. Which means that your exercise this week has been limited to treading water and spotting back tucks. Not ideal, but no big deal.
Fueled by increasing crankiness, you reject the Nike and Reebok pairs and reluctantly head into the last store. There you find a beautiful pair of white-purple-green Asics with built-in gel pads. They fit. They are deliciously squishy. This is perfect. Mexican food is the only way to celebrate this achievement.
Until the next day, when you take the prettiest sneakers you've ever owned (with the exception of the Little Mermaid kicks in kindergarten) for the maiden voyage, and a couple of miles in, they pinch your inner arches so irritatingly that you stop.
Egads.
You dust them off and return them to the store. Then you hustle out to another store in the opposite direction, the last stop for the evening. If nothing fits here, no race manana.
Oh, but you'll make it happen.
Play Cinderella. Try on every sneaker that comes in your size, especially if it's on sale. This is not a night of fiscal risks. You pluck out a box of sneakers that has no mate on the top shelf. They are black and electric blue, like skater shoes, and instantly you judge. They can't be real sneakers. They're faux-sneaks that girls wear to look athletic and occasionally ride the elliptical.
Forty-five minutes later, you leave with the faux-sneaks that actually seem to be real sneaks hiding under ridiculous colors. Your father will probably judge you. You're ready for it.
You try to fall asleep at midnight in your friend's guestroom. Midnight turns to one a.m. turns to thrashing about half-awake until the alarm goes off at six.
This will not be pretty.
But you have said you will do this, and so you will. Even though you have to make sharp and wide turns to help your friend Jess find a functioning ATM so she can pay the entry fee. Even though your body is still dreaming and you're already sweating from the humidity as you walk to the registration table.
You put Vaseline on the sore spots. A woman ahead of you on the Port-A-Potty line donates two band-aids. You are as ready as you can be.
How do you run the race? You don't stop running.
You give up despairing over your split times, knowing they're much slower than they could be. After all, there are choices: Run hard now and be ill later, or take it easy and finish without throwing up. You don't move quickly, but you don't stop moving. Over the small bridges and under the tunnels and around the lake.
When your stomach starts to hurt and your feet feel that these shoes are stiff with not being broken in, Jess says, "We're almost there. It's almost over." You keep telling yourself that, too. You hold the pace until the finish line appears a few short meters ahead and then you sprint with Jess calling behind you, "Where are you going?" the way she would chastise a child. You know you deserve it. But that's okay.
The entire race, you think about how awful this all is. Painful and slow and sticky. How do people run double, quadruple this? How do their bodies handle it? Not you, no way. No more races.
Soon after the finish, you take a flyer from a stranger and say, "Hey, Jess, here's a race with costumes."
You keep going.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
spotted ponies
It looks like previous plans will overlap with Day 2 of gymnastics nationals, so if you had looked forward to a sequel to Day 1 (Flo Davies, I'm looking at you), it may be delayed. But that's cool with me.
I'm here tonight to say that I'm back. Back to the YA nov, which I left shivering because I started to worry that maybe it was not the novel I thought it was (that is to say, good). But thanks to several days of avoidance and thought and simply letting outside forces shape what they will in their way, I think I have new paths that can be tunneled.
But there's one thing that keeps the headlights glowing: I know how it all ends.
I'm here tonight to say that I'm back. Back to the YA nov, which I left shivering because I started to worry that maybe it was not the novel I thought it was (that is to say, good). But thanks to several days of avoidance and thought and simply letting outside forces shape what they will in their way, I think I have new paths that can be tunneled.
But there's one thing that keeps the headlights glowing: I know how it all ends.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Day 1 of the VISA Championships - Live Bloggin'!
Rice, gymnastics, and blogs -- what more do you need tonight?
Interesting leotards already. I'm kinda digging Shawn Johnson's black and blue number, though the see-through mesh on the back is a bit disconcerting. I feel similarly about the gray-and-pink number donned by WOGA. It's weird. But not in a bad way.
Who's the dude who's commentating with Tim and Elfi? He sounds uncomfortable.
Chellsie Memmel, bars: BIG Tkatchev. Nice, clean routine. Good extension throughout.
Shawn Johnson, floor: JK.
Gabby Douglas, floor: So cute! Such a baby. Liang Chow is always smiling. Clean triple twist. Interesting use of vocals in the background -- very NCAA. Flying out of bounds on double Arabian. I feel like Marta is not amused by "Me No Speak Americano" music. I feel like this girl will only get better with age.
As per Wikipedia, that song is actually produced by an Australian duo.
Break!
...
Alicia Sacramone, floor: Dislike the weird X on her leotard. Nice triple full. Tremendously high double Arabian. Really enjoy this music, though the choreography isn't really a revelation. So it goes. Aaaaand falls to her back.
Jordyn Wieber, beam: Freaked out by the yellow/gold leotard. I was never really a fan of yellow. Wobbly wobble out of the layout. Can't imagine too many "laymen" are watching Universal Sports right now. Nice switch-side-half. Seems to be becoming popular lately. Shakes all around. Nice 2.5 dismount.
McKayla Maroney, floor: Really casual 3.5 twist. This music must be so irritating to practice to day in and day out. Very clean. Looks like she could break in half, but she's a beast. The requisite (thus far) out of bounds. Will she make the double Arabian??? Nope. End scene.
Rebecca Bross, bars: Looks like she's about to fall asleep. Nice Khorkina to high bar. Off on the Tkatchev. Tim is shocked. Then again, Bross has a history of being a hot mess in major competitions on at least one event. I am not shocked. Big Pak salto. She has nice amplitude on her releases -- I have never truly appreciated it before.
Aly Raisman, floor: I bet Aly is a lovely person, but I fear she will win tonight. Egads. Man, though, she is an insane tumbler. Two Arabian passes. Random vocals in the background. Semi-sexy moves on the floor. Triple full. Must also be annoying music to hear day in and day out. But she stayed in bounds, so good for her.
Break!
...
Just realized that they're not telling us any scores. Ah, well.
Super neon green for Legacy Elite. Meh.
The Sisterhood of the Traveling Neon Leotards for the Caquatto sisters? Maybe.
Lol, uh, commercial break again?
...
Bridgette Caquatto, bars: feet crossing on some handstands. Extra swing. Piked down double layout dismount.
Did unknown male commentator just say, "The sweat is dripping down her bra"???
Alicia Sacramone, vault: Leotard by Under Armour? Will check out that logo again. Wow, that first vault looked higher than ever. And that's def Under Armour. Really nice execution in the slow-mo replay. Pretty solid DTY.
Anna Li, bars: The much-hyped routine is happening. Some form issues and close to the bars on releases, but she's making it happen. Cool!
Jordyn Wieber, floor: Right now I'm guessing Aly 1, Jordyn 2, Rebecca 3 for the all-around finale. Just a hunch. Double-double to start. Crisp dance. I appreciate that her moves actually go with the music. Very clean twister. I feel like she has new routines at every meet. Or maybe that's just because she's always injured and does like 1 major meet per season. Nice routine! I liked it.
TOO MUCH YELLOW.
Mackenzie Caquatto, bars: Looks worried. BIG Church. And big Pak. (That's what she...). Very aggressive routine.
Rebecca Bross, beam: Stuck Arabian. She's going all the way here -- no hesitations. Yikes! Foot slips on the back tuck. Tim is shocked again. Valeri will not be pleased. And down on the dismount.
Aly Raisman, vault: I fear this Amanar. JK, she does a DTY instead. I feel better now. On the plus side, she looks nice in pink.
Sabrina Vega, bars: Break on the handstand and kicks low bar. Aw. And off on the Church.
So many falls!
Nastia is helping to make the selection for the World team? For why?
Do we really need to keep the camera on Sabrina Vega's face as she cries? Really?
And Steve Rybacki also chooses the World team?
So many questions, rhetorical and not?
Chellsie Memmel, beam: barani connected to back handspring. Not beautiful, but definitely admirable. Long pause pre-Arabian. Too many looooong pauses throughout this routine. Successfully 2 for 2 in not splatting.
Shawn Johnson, finally! vault: A serviceable DTY. Not going to change the world, but not embarrassing. She sprints awaaaaay. In the slow-mo replay, crooked but not terrible form.
Casey Jo Magee, standing: Her hair is cute. Also, a nice leotard.
Jordyn Wieber, vault: Wow, really nice Amanar. High, clean, and not scary. Win!
Anna Li, beam: Business-like switch-ring. Seems confident. I type this just as she wobbles majorly. Oops. A decent routine.
McKayla Maroney, bars: Extra swiiiings. Seems to be required along with the OOB on floor. This probably WILL spur on Nastia's comeback.
Mackenzie Caquatto, beam: Save on the side somi. Off on the layout. Hot dang, sons, I miss the days when you'd see very, very few falls at a big competition. I sound like I'm ninety.
Rebecca Bross, floor: I feel bad for her. She must hate life. Watched this routine in the training videos and found it to be a major step up from her previous routine. HUGE first pass. I really like this music. WOGA sure loves those violins in their floor music. Slow movements in contrats to high energy music. Lots of posing and standing. Haha, I like the landing of the last pass to the music -- very MIOBI in its conclusion. No disasters for her in that routine.
Aly Raisman, bars: Leg separations. Flexed toes. You know the rendez-vous.
Casey Magee, beam!: Broken connection in the double to single turn. She looks taller than the rest of the pack. I sense that Tim is rooting for her. I am, too. Yikes, didn't really complete that round-off pre-layout. Off she goes. Triple turn, saved. The crowd appreciates it. Love that handspring down to the knee.
Where did Gabby Douglas go?
Breeeaaaak.
...
Shawn Johnson, bars: Nice Geinger - big! Resists the extra swing. Nice dismount! Redemption from the CoverGirl Splatfest.
Chellsie Memmel, floor: Runs out of bounds, OF COURSE. High tumbling. reminds me of Kristen Maloney with better form. This routine is dragging. A fierce finish.
Gabby Douglas, bars: They found her! Holy Tkatchev. Wowzas. Nice extension. Wild dismount almost to her hands.
Bridgette Caquatto, beam: This group is still on beam? Man. Gets a lot of height in the aerial skills. And she's off. Tim calls these falls "infectious." The zombie viral apocalypse? The heralding of 2012? I digress.
That judge hit the bell with true relish. She too is tired of the nonsense.
Is it wrong that I'm looking forward for this comp to be over, but yet I can't look away?
...
I feel like there's no urgency to this competition. Everyone (for the most part) looks like a mess. Whoever survives will win. Kudos to Wieber, however, who has performed like a real champ.
Quite simply, it's boring.
But we'll see what the final rotation brings.
As Andrea Joyce talks about Gabby Douglas's family, does anyone else miss the days of fluffy montages and interviews? I lived for those. Again, I'm ninety.
Rebecca Bross, vault: High vault, scary low landing - bent knees in the air and chest down. Aw. She needs a long rest, and maybe something sugary.
McKayla Maroney, beam: I'd like to see her have a nice routine. Will she? Ah, yes, a fall on the layout. But of course.
Mackenzie Caquatto, floor: Will we see a techno FSU floor routine? Looks like it. Kind of a yawn.
Aly Raisman, beam: Aly looks slightly like a young Emeline, which is a supreme accomplishment. Stays on the layout. Hence why she will win (or place top three). An improved leap. Bent knees on the front pike. She's a tough customer. Whoa, a legit dismount/landing.
Chellsie Memmel, however, is not impressed.
She vaults: FTY. It's fine.
Sabrina Vega returns after the break. Floor: Out of bounds. Spicy music. Lots of energy and sweet ending pose.
J-Wiebs, bars: I suddenly fear a meltdown a la Vanessa Atler in '97 on bars. Legs apart. Seems to be muscling through. Low Tkatchev. That routine seemed really short. No meltdowns, however.
Shawn Johnson, beam: I'm excited. Stays on for the layout. She's very aggressive today. Big save on the aerial. The haters will love the low back leg on her switch leap. Honestly, this is one of the best beam routines at this meet. Over time. She and Raisman desire to be co-champs on beam at this rate, based on this telecast (maybe second to Wieber).
I'd like to ask SJ about her knee surgery. Which graft did she choose: patellar tendon, hamstring, or cadaver? The grand questions.
Gabby Douglas, beam: My goodness, she is tiny. Those damn layouts, man. Off she goes. And off on the back full.
Tim: "This is, quite honestly, one of those meets that's hard to recover from."
Dad: "And hard to watch."
Yikes. Off on the switch ring. One of those times where you wish you could get off mid-routine and hide.
Her coach, however, smiles anyway. I'd like to see what he's like in the gym.
Seriously, who doesn't hate her life tonight? Raisman, Memmel, Wieber, ShawnJohn? That's it.
Alicia Sacramone, beam: Goin' big. No wobbles. Huge switch-side. She may need to be the national beam champ. Really good routine. The execution score should be high.
...
Parting Shots
Much like the CoverGirl Classic, that was one heck of a brutal meet to watch.
Is it really the open-ended scoring that encourages so much difficulty that the girls are a mess? If that's so, then, why did nearly all of the falls on TV come from layouts, a skill that Level 10's perform comfortably? Nerves about the rest of the routine? Nerves about Marta? Nerves about something else? Would we see these sort of routines at Russian or Chinese nationals? What happened to that supreme confidence of a Miller or a Zmeskal, or even Patterson? Is it the Code that makes the confidence impossible? Or is it the undercurrent of something else?
The standings thus far:
1. Jordyn
2. Aly
3. Chellsie
4. Bross
To conclude for the night, here's a beam routine to make you feel better about life:
Interesting leotards already. I'm kinda digging Shawn Johnson's black and blue number, though the see-through mesh on the back is a bit disconcerting. I feel similarly about the gray-and-pink number donned by WOGA. It's weird. But not in a bad way.
Who's the dude who's commentating with Tim and Elfi? He sounds uncomfortable.
Chellsie Memmel, bars: BIG Tkatchev. Nice, clean routine. Good extension throughout.
Shawn Johnson, floor: JK.
Gabby Douglas, floor: So cute! Such a baby. Liang Chow is always smiling. Clean triple twist. Interesting use of vocals in the background -- very NCAA. Flying out of bounds on double Arabian. I feel like Marta is not amused by "Me No Speak Americano" music. I feel like this girl will only get better with age.
As per Wikipedia, that song is actually produced by an Australian duo.
Break!
...
Alicia Sacramone, floor: Dislike the weird X on her leotard. Nice triple full. Tremendously high double Arabian. Really enjoy this music, though the choreography isn't really a revelation. So it goes. Aaaaand falls to her back.
Jordyn Wieber, beam: Freaked out by the yellow/gold leotard. I was never really a fan of yellow. Wobbly wobble out of the layout. Can't imagine too many "laymen" are watching Universal Sports right now. Nice switch-side-half. Seems to be becoming popular lately. Shakes all around. Nice 2.5 dismount.
McKayla Maroney, floor: Really casual 3.5 twist. This music must be so irritating to practice to day in and day out. Very clean. Looks like she could break in half, but she's a beast. The requisite (thus far) out of bounds. Will she make the double Arabian??? Nope. End scene.
Rebecca Bross, bars: Looks like she's about to fall asleep. Nice Khorkina to high bar. Off on the Tkatchev. Tim is shocked. Then again, Bross has a history of being a hot mess in major competitions on at least one event. I am not shocked. Big Pak salto. She has nice amplitude on her releases -- I have never truly appreciated it before.
Aly Raisman, floor: I bet Aly is a lovely person, but I fear she will win tonight. Egads. Man, though, she is an insane tumbler. Two Arabian passes. Random vocals in the background. Semi-sexy moves on the floor. Triple full. Must also be annoying music to hear day in and day out. But she stayed in bounds, so good for her.
Break!
...
Just realized that they're not telling us any scores. Ah, well.
Super neon green for Legacy Elite. Meh.
The Sisterhood of the Traveling Neon Leotards for the Caquatto sisters? Maybe.
Lol, uh, commercial break again?
...
Bridgette Caquatto, bars: feet crossing on some handstands. Extra swing. Piked down double layout dismount.
Did unknown male commentator just say, "The sweat is dripping down her bra"???
Alicia Sacramone, vault: Leotard by Under Armour? Will check out that logo again. Wow, that first vault looked higher than ever. And that's def Under Armour. Really nice execution in the slow-mo replay. Pretty solid DTY.
Anna Li, bars: The much-hyped routine is happening. Some form issues and close to the bars on releases, but she's making it happen. Cool!
Jordyn Wieber, floor: Right now I'm guessing Aly 1, Jordyn 2, Rebecca 3 for the all-around finale. Just a hunch. Double-double to start. Crisp dance. I appreciate that her moves actually go with the music. Very clean twister. I feel like she has new routines at every meet. Or maybe that's just because she's always injured and does like 1 major meet per season. Nice routine! I liked it.
TOO MUCH YELLOW.
Mackenzie Caquatto, bars: Looks worried. BIG Church. And big Pak. (That's what she...). Very aggressive routine.
Rebecca Bross, beam: Stuck Arabian. She's going all the way here -- no hesitations. Yikes! Foot slips on the back tuck. Tim is shocked again. Valeri will not be pleased. And down on the dismount.
Aly Raisman, vault: I fear this Amanar. JK, she does a DTY instead. I feel better now. On the plus side, she looks nice in pink.
Sabrina Vega, bars: Break on the handstand and kicks low bar. Aw. And off on the Church.
So many falls!
Nastia is helping to make the selection for the World team? For why?
Do we really need to keep the camera on Sabrina Vega's face as she cries? Really?
And Steve Rybacki also chooses the World team?
So many questions, rhetorical and not?
Chellsie Memmel, beam: barani connected to back handspring. Not beautiful, but definitely admirable. Long pause pre-Arabian. Too many looooong pauses throughout this routine. Successfully 2 for 2 in not splatting.
Shawn Johnson, finally! vault: A serviceable DTY. Not going to change the world, but not embarrassing. She sprints awaaaaay. In the slow-mo replay, crooked but not terrible form.
Casey Jo Magee, standing: Her hair is cute. Also, a nice leotard.
Jordyn Wieber, vault: Wow, really nice Amanar. High, clean, and not scary. Win!
Anna Li, beam: Business-like switch-ring. Seems confident. I type this just as she wobbles majorly. Oops. A decent routine.
McKayla Maroney, bars: Extra swiiiings. Seems to be required along with the OOB on floor. This probably WILL spur on Nastia's comeback.
Mackenzie Caquatto, beam: Save on the side somi. Off on the layout. Hot dang, sons, I miss the days when you'd see very, very few falls at a big competition. I sound like I'm ninety.
Rebecca Bross, floor: I feel bad for her. She must hate life. Watched this routine in the training videos and found it to be a major step up from her previous routine. HUGE first pass. I really like this music. WOGA sure loves those violins in their floor music. Slow movements in contrats to high energy music. Lots of posing and standing. Haha, I like the landing of the last pass to the music -- very MIOBI in its conclusion. No disasters for her in that routine.
Aly Raisman, bars: Leg separations. Flexed toes. You know the rendez-vous.
Casey Magee, beam!: Broken connection in the double to single turn. She looks taller than the rest of the pack. I sense that Tim is rooting for her. I am, too. Yikes, didn't really complete that round-off pre-layout. Off she goes. Triple turn, saved. The crowd appreciates it. Love that handspring down to the knee.
Where did Gabby Douglas go?
Breeeaaaak.
...
Shawn Johnson, bars: Nice Geinger - big! Resists the extra swing. Nice dismount! Redemption from the CoverGirl Splatfest.
Chellsie Memmel, floor: Runs out of bounds, OF COURSE. High tumbling. reminds me of Kristen Maloney with better form. This routine is dragging. A fierce finish.
Gabby Douglas, bars: They found her! Holy Tkatchev. Wowzas. Nice extension. Wild dismount almost to her hands.
Bridgette Caquatto, beam: This group is still on beam? Man. Gets a lot of height in the aerial skills. And she's off. Tim calls these falls "infectious." The zombie viral apocalypse? The heralding of 2012? I digress.
That judge hit the bell with true relish. She too is tired of the nonsense.
Is it wrong that I'm looking forward for this comp to be over, but yet I can't look away?
...
I feel like there's no urgency to this competition. Everyone (for the most part) looks like a mess. Whoever survives will win. Kudos to Wieber, however, who has performed like a real champ.
Quite simply, it's boring.
But we'll see what the final rotation brings.
As Andrea Joyce talks about Gabby Douglas's family, does anyone else miss the days of fluffy montages and interviews? I lived for those. Again, I'm ninety.
Rebecca Bross, vault: High vault, scary low landing - bent knees in the air and chest down. Aw. She needs a long rest, and maybe something sugary.
McKayla Maroney, beam: I'd like to see her have a nice routine. Will she? Ah, yes, a fall on the layout. But of course.
Mackenzie Caquatto, floor: Will we see a techno FSU floor routine? Looks like it. Kind of a yawn.
Aly Raisman, beam: Aly looks slightly like a young Emeline, which is a supreme accomplishment. Stays on the layout. Hence why she will win (or place top three). An improved leap. Bent knees on the front pike. She's a tough customer. Whoa, a legit dismount/landing.
Chellsie Memmel, however, is not impressed.
She vaults: FTY. It's fine.
Sabrina Vega returns after the break. Floor: Out of bounds. Spicy music. Lots of energy and sweet ending pose.
J-Wiebs, bars: I suddenly fear a meltdown a la Vanessa Atler in '97 on bars. Legs apart. Seems to be muscling through. Low Tkatchev. That routine seemed really short. No meltdowns, however.
Shawn Johnson, beam: I'm excited. Stays on for the layout. She's very aggressive today. Big save on the aerial. The haters will love the low back leg on her switch leap. Honestly, this is one of the best beam routines at this meet. Over time. She and Raisman desire to be co-champs on beam at this rate, based on this telecast (maybe second to Wieber).
I'd like to ask SJ about her knee surgery. Which graft did she choose: patellar tendon, hamstring, or cadaver? The grand questions.
Gabby Douglas, beam: My goodness, she is tiny. Those damn layouts, man. Off she goes. And off on the back full.
Tim: "This is, quite honestly, one of those meets that's hard to recover from."
Dad: "And hard to watch."
Yikes. Off on the switch ring. One of those times where you wish you could get off mid-routine and hide.
Her coach, however, smiles anyway. I'd like to see what he's like in the gym.
Seriously, who doesn't hate her life tonight? Raisman, Memmel, Wieber, ShawnJohn? That's it.
Alicia Sacramone, beam: Goin' big. No wobbles. Huge switch-side. She may need to be the national beam champ. Really good routine. The execution score should be high.
...
Parting Shots
Much like the CoverGirl Classic, that was one heck of a brutal meet to watch.
Is it really the open-ended scoring that encourages so much difficulty that the girls are a mess? If that's so, then, why did nearly all of the falls on TV come from layouts, a skill that Level 10's perform comfortably? Nerves about the rest of the routine? Nerves about Marta? Nerves about something else? Would we see these sort of routines at Russian or Chinese nationals? What happened to that supreme confidence of a Miller or a Zmeskal, or even Patterson? Is it the Code that makes the confidence impossible? Or is it the undercurrent of something else?
The standings thus far:
1. Jordyn
2. Aly
3. Chellsie
4. Bross
To conclude for the night, here's a beam routine to make you feel better about life:
Don Joy, mud pits, and retail soundtracks
The best part of a custom-made knee brace: the complimentary bag.
Bing Images doesn't have any photos of the duffel bag, which is a real travesty. I've made it to Europe and back by rolling up my clothes and fitting my life into that bag.
This weekend was no different.
Our journey began on Friday evening, when we drove to the town of Coxsackie (which has a body of water called "Climax Brook"). The requisite sing-along took place. But this was not a mere anthematic, "Don't Stop Believing" sing-along. This was an ode to the songs that played again and again and again as we each worked jobs in retail (Banana Republic, Journeys, and the Baby Gap, respectively). Songs that may have been decent but were ruined by memories of standing for hours and pretending to fold baby clothes (me). Or songs that we never knew the chorus to, such as this one.
After getting lost in our quest for a hotel that didn't exist, we found our correct habitation for the night. We went right to sleep, minus the fact that the room was 978786 degrees and very silent. You lie there wondering: Who else is awake? Does their breathing mean they're sleeping?
At 7:45 the next morning, Lauren and I waited amongst folks in Viking costumes and fairy skirts. We were dressed simply in blue T-shirts and black shorts. As music played down below, we worried about the big issues in life: Would we die? Would we have to pee while on the course?
Fire spewed from torches. We were off.
The first mile or so ran strictly uphill. That doesn't sound like a big deal, except for when you're running up a ski mountain. It kept going up, and up, and up...
After I saw jacked-looking men walking, I decided it was okay to join.
The first obstacles we encountered were nothing to write home about. Crawled under some wood and made our way through the junkyard of old cars and tires. However, we soon heard screaming in the woods. That's when we knew we were in for the good stuff: jumping into the water to climb over logs.
The logs spun toward us as we tried to climb over them. The water came up to my shoulders and my super-saturated sneakers kicked for the bottom. Some chivalrous boyfriends held the logs down for their girlfriends, so we tried to capitalize on that. Then they'd release just in time for us to fall back. I tossed one leg up and over and propelled myself to the other side. True gymnast form.
We exited that obstacle thoroughly muddy.
The other obstacles up on the mountain weren't too tough. There were ropes to climb and wooden A-frames to slide down. Lauren and I had some romantic Titantic-like moments where she waited to catch me, should I have needed catching.
The actual running course, however, was another story. After going uphill for that first mile, the two miles down were just as steep; it felt like you could easily fall over yourself and roll down the mountain. There were divots in the long grass and you had to watch your step. Parts of the trail wove through the woods, bringing back the cross-country days.
Down below, we could see the smoke and the parking lot. "I smell food," Lauren said, and thus we were motivated to run forth.
Three obstacles presented themselves at the very end of the race, as the spectators cheered and took photos: a slip and slide, fire to jump over, and a mud pit with barbed wire.
Now, there's actual video footage of me at age three refusing to go down the slip and slide in our front yard, because I was too scared of wet tarp, apparently. On this day, Lauren ran all gungho and leapt belly-first onto the slip and slide. I was more conservative, but still cruised down the tarp on my stomach.
We made it over the fire, and for the finale, crawled in the mud under barbed wire. The wire wasn't all that low, so I didn't live in fear of getting stuck. However, one had no choice but to go on one's hands and knees as the photographer snapped away.
Finally, Lauren and I ran through the finish line together. I threw up a fist in the air, but did not throw up. Which is an achievement.
Sure, the Warrior Dash was a silly time. But it brought back something I'd forgotten: the desire to work through unusual physical challenges and find that I am capable of accomplishing them. Like the Project Adventure courses in high school and trapezing last summer. Contorting not only my body, but my mind, in unexpected ways.
Bing Images doesn't have any photos of the duffel bag, which is a real travesty. I've made it to Europe and back by rolling up my clothes and fitting my life into that bag.
This weekend was no different.
Our journey began on Friday evening, when we drove to the town of Coxsackie (which has a body of water called "Climax Brook"). The requisite sing-along took place. But this was not a mere anthematic, "Don't Stop Believing" sing-along. This was an ode to the songs that played again and again and again as we each worked jobs in retail (Banana Republic, Journeys, and the Baby Gap, respectively). Songs that may have been decent but were ruined by memories of standing for hours and pretending to fold baby clothes (me). Or songs that we never knew the chorus to, such as this one.
After getting lost in our quest for a hotel that didn't exist, we found our correct habitation for the night. We went right to sleep, minus the fact that the room was 978786 degrees and very silent. You lie there wondering: Who else is awake? Does their breathing mean they're sleeping?
At 7:45 the next morning, Lauren and I waited amongst folks in Viking costumes and fairy skirts. We were dressed simply in blue T-shirts and black shorts. As music played down below, we worried about the big issues in life: Would we die? Would we have to pee while on the course?
Fire spewed from torches. We were off.
The first mile or so ran strictly uphill. That doesn't sound like a big deal, except for when you're running up a ski mountain. It kept going up, and up, and up...
After I saw jacked-looking men walking, I decided it was okay to join.
The first obstacles we encountered were nothing to write home about. Crawled under some wood and made our way through the junkyard of old cars and tires. However, we soon heard screaming in the woods. That's when we knew we were in for the good stuff: jumping into the water to climb over logs.
The logs spun toward us as we tried to climb over them. The water came up to my shoulders and my super-saturated sneakers kicked for the bottom. Some chivalrous boyfriends held the logs down for their girlfriends, so we tried to capitalize on that. Then they'd release just in time for us to fall back. I tossed one leg up and over and propelled myself to the other side. True gymnast form.
We exited that obstacle thoroughly muddy.
The other obstacles up on the mountain weren't too tough. There were ropes to climb and wooden A-frames to slide down. Lauren and I had some romantic Titantic-like moments where she waited to catch me, should I have needed catching.
The actual running course, however, was another story. After going uphill for that first mile, the two miles down were just as steep; it felt like you could easily fall over yourself and roll down the mountain. There were divots in the long grass and you had to watch your step. Parts of the trail wove through the woods, bringing back the cross-country days.
Down below, we could see the smoke and the parking lot. "I smell food," Lauren said, and thus we were motivated to run forth.
Three obstacles presented themselves at the very end of the race, as the spectators cheered and took photos: a slip and slide, fire to jump over, and a mud pit with barbed wire.
Now, there's actual video footage of me at age three refusing to go down the slip and slide in our front yard, because I was too scared of wet tarp, apparently. On this day, Lauren ran all gungho and leapt belly-first onto the slip and slide. I was more conservative, but still cruised down the tarp on my stomach.
We made it over the fire, and for the finale, crawled in the mud under barbed wire. The wire wasn't all that low, so I didn't live in fear of getting stuck. However, one had no choice but to go on one's hands and knees as the photographer snapped away.
Finally, Lauren and I ran through the finish line together. I threw up a fist in the air, but did not throw up. Which is an achievement.
Sure, the Warrior Dash was a silly time. But it brought back something I'd forgotten: the desire to work through unusual physical challenges and find that I am capable of accomplishing them. Like the Project Adventure courses in high school and trapezing last summer. Contorting not only my body, but my mind, in unexpected ways.
Monday, August 15, 2011
shorty shorts
I just wrote what may be the world's shortest screenplay. That's hyperbole, certainly, but it's quite brief. 358 words and just onto the second page.
Often I have glimpses of scenes. Usually they're comic sketches, over in a moment. The sort of thing that would probably lose its humor if extended beyond a few minutes.
This piece, I think, could stand to go a little longer. Maybe five pages, max. ::does a quick re-scan:: Maybe three. Or a full two.
There's nothing wrong with scenes, I believe, especially since so much thought lately goes to lengthy works. Scenes are the heartbeat. A quick inhalation of air, the hand on the doorknob, the voice that asks, "Who's there?"
Often I have glimpses of scenes. Usually they're comic sketches, over in a moment. The sort of thing that would probably lose its humor if extended beyond a few minutes.
This piece, I think, could stand to go a little longer. Maybe five pages, max. ::does a quick re-scan:: Maybe three. Or a full two.
There's nothing wrong with scenes, I believe, especially since so much thought lately goes to lengthy works. Scenes are the heartbeat. A quick inhalation of air, the hand on the doorknob, the voice that asks, "Who's there?"
Friday, August 12, 2011
Happy Family Friday
I touched upon writing preoccupations back in May - what is the story we were meant to write?
As someone who enjoys writing about the inversion and struggle in relationships, I appreciated this quote from writer Kevin Wilson:
"I'm most interested in the way that people are put together and told that they're connected and how they make peace with that and make a life together. I think I'll write about family forever."
As someone who enjoys writing about the inversion and struggle in relationships, I appreciated this quote from writer Kevin Wilson:
"I'm most interested in the way that people are put together and told that they're connected and how they make peace with that and make a life together. I think I'll write about family forever."
Monday, August 08, 2011
I wanna hold your hand
As I write, I hear the words of the workshop: Why is she saying this? I want to know more about this character. What is their relationship? Why is she acting this way? Tell us more.
Many times those questions have been helpful. I probe into areas that I wouldn't have gone into otherwise. I think through all the why's and why not's.
My brother's advice for writing a cover letter is to make things as obvious as possible for the prospective employer. "You need to add a little more here about how your experience relates to the position," he says on the phone.
"Yeah, but isn't that clear already?"
"Yes, but sometimes you have to hold their hand a little."
However, I hear those same workshop voices when I read a novel and see a slip of a character that I know, I know, somebody in the group would jump on and say, "I'd like to see you develop this more."
But maybe that person just doesn't matter much beyond their one appearance. Maybe we don't need to know everything about his background and her interior monologue and what they wore when they sat down to breakfast.
Maybe a little mystery's good for you, and if you want that relationship developed further, well, keep on wishin'.
///
#220: Keith Urban, "Long Hot Summer"
#221: Pitbull & Marc Anthony, "Rain Over Me" (beyond ridiculous...to the point where I kinda love it)
#222: Enrique Iglesias, "Ayer"
#223: Lykke Li, "I Follow Rivers"
Many times those questions have been helpful. I probe into areas that I wouldn't have gone into otherwise. I think through all the why's and why not's.
My brother's advice for writing a cover letter is to make things as obvious as possible for the prospective employer. "You need to add a little more here about how your experience relates to the position," he says on the phone.
"Yeah, but isn't that clear already?"
"Yes, but sometimes you have to hold their hand a little."
However, I hear those same workshop voices when I read a novel and see a slip of a character that I know, I know, somebody in the group would jump on and say, "I'd like to see you develop this more."
But maybe that person just doesn't matter much beyond their one appearance. Maybe we don't need to know everything about his background and her interior monologue and what they wore when they sat down to breakfast.
Maybe a little mystery's good for you, and if you want that relationship developed further, well, keep on wishin'.
///
#220: Keith Urban, "Long Hot Summer"
#221: Pitbull & Marc Anthony, "Rain Over Me" (beyond ridiculous...to the point where I kinda love it)
#222: Enrique Iglesias, "Ayer"
#223: Lykke Li, "I Follow Rivers"
Sunday, August 07, 2011
You love the thunder
People have always come to me with their stories. They find me empathetic or sympathetic or maybe quiet in the "I can count on her to keep a secret" way. I'm not sure.
For the most part, I enjoy the stories. But there's a particular variety that I enjoy above the others: disastrous relationships.
To be clear, I'm not talking about abuse or stalking or real danger. But I am thinking of stories before those points. The relationships that seem lovely on the surface but, after the fact, turned out to be a hot mess of missed phone calls, inexplicable silences, public fights, drunken texts, and a whole lotta he said-she said.
In college, Lena and I reunited with our friend Natalie one afternoon for lunch. Natalie had been in a relationship for several months and, as far as we knew, things were just peachy.
"How are things going with you guys?" I asked.
She rolled her eyes. "Oh, God."
To me, that just screamed, Tell me more!
I love the denouement. The undoing. I can spy it coming now in stories. He's been a little weird lately, but I think he's just stressed. Watch out, girl. It's on the way down.
But to be fair, I also enjoy beginnings. Quite a bit, in fact. I love learning how people in the randomness of life and humanity and coincidence find one another, start talking, connect. The chance encounters, the nothingness that becomes something.
Then there's "everything is great and we're thinking about buying a dog together" in between. It's great and I'm happy for you.
It just doesn't make for as good of a story.
For the most part, I enjoy the stories. But there's a particular variety that I enjoy above the others: disastrous relationships.
To be clear, I'm not talking about abuse or stalking or real danger. But I am thinking of stories before those points. The relationships that seem lovely on the surface but, after the fact, turned out to be a hot mess of missed phone calls, inexplicable silences, public fights, drunken texts, and a whole lotta he said-she said.
In college, Lena and I reunited with our friend Natalie one afternoon for lunch. Natalie had been in a relationship for several months and, as far as we knew, things were just peachy.
"How are things going with you guys?" I asked.
She rolled her eyes. "Oh, God."
To me, that just screamed, Tell me more!
I love the denouement. The undoing. I can spy it coming now in stories. He's been a little weird lately, but I think he's just stressed. Watch out, girl. It's on the way down.
But to be fair, I also enjoy beginnings. Quite a bit, in fact. I love learning how people in the randomness of life and humanity and coincidence find one another, start talking, connect. The chance encounters, the nothingness that becomes something.
Then there's "everything is great and we're thinking about buying a dog together" in between. It's great and I'm happy for you.
It just doesn't make for as good of a story.
Friday, August 05, 2011
silent stories
Ideas for the novel keep rolling. Thoughts on Mexican sequels. Even a poem inspired by reading posts for adjunct instructors.
But when friends ask about my life, I've got nothin'.
This evening, Lauren and I had a laptop party. In the past, we would have stalked boys online. Tonight, we researched carousels and pirate-themed races. The adult things in life. Then we each settled into work mode and got cracking.
And...that was my night.
Some friends still have stories of nightly shenanigans. Others talk about husbands and homes. I'm in a sort of no man's land.
From what I gather, I'm not the only one experiencing this phenomenon. The dry spell. A general lack of life stories worth sharing. But fortunately my imagination's still crackling, and so long as you don't mind that the fictional world is more interesting to me right now, a story should come 'round again one day.
...
#216: Darius Rucker, "Alright"
#217: Darius Rucker, "It Won't Be Like This For Long"
#218: Regina Spektor, "Us"
#219: Regina Spektor, "On the Radio"
But when friends ask about my life, I've got nothin'.
This evening, Lauren and I had a laptop party. In the past, we would have stalked boys online. Tonight, we researched carousels and pirate-themed races. The adult things in life. Then we each settled into work mode and got cracking.
And...that was my night.
Some friends still have stories of nightly shenanigans. Others talk about husbands and homes. I'm in a sort of no man's land.
From what I gather, I'm not the only one experiencing this phenomenon. The dry spell. A general lack of life stories worth sharing. But fortunately my imagination's still crackling, and so long as you don't mind that the fictional world is more interesting to me right now, a story should come 'round again one day.
...
#216: Darius Rucker, "Alright"
#217: Darius Rucker, "It Won't Be Like This For Long"
#218: Regina Spektor, "Us"
#219: Regina Spektor, "On the Radio"
Monday, August 01, 2011
Young and true and free
Back around the ages of seventeen/eighteen (and right around when I began this blog), my friend was trying to date this dude. We were talking online and she copied/pasted what he had said to her, which was to the effect of: "I like you, but I want to stay young and true and free, you know?"
Both of us could get the "free" part, but "young and true"?
You'll be glad to know that these youngsters eventually did date and did not seem to age each other beyond repair. But that phrase came to mind last night. I spoke with another friend about careers in writing and the kind of writing that is useful to people, not just to sell magazines/publications. Not changing majors or going to law school, though certainly either option would have been practical.
His response was, "You know what, at least you're true to yourself and what you want to do. Most people never get there."
And that is, well, true. Though I don't always know what to do with myself, I'm pretty clear on who I am.
Both of us could get the "free" part, but "young and true"?
You'll be glad to know that these youngsters eventually did date and did not seem to age each other beyond repair. But that phrase came to mind last night. I spoke with another friend about careers in writing and the kind of writing that is useful to people, not just to sell magazines/publications. Not changing majors or going to law school, though certainly either option would have been practical.
His response was, "You know what, at least you're true to yourself and what you want to do. Most people never get there."
And that is, well, true. Though I don't always know what to do with myself, I'm pretty clear on who I am.
night hymns
This article reminds me of how I felt as I began my first year of grad school, immediately out of undergrad. Just not so extreme, and sans the eating disorder. And not just about gymnastics, but about, well, everything.
Even now, a year out of grad school -- which turned out to be two fantastic years of my life, those hallowed academic and residence halls -- I still feel like something is missing from those six years of higher education. Now I feel that I should have walked into rooms that I chose not to enter. I should have had conversations that I didn't. But what those rooms and conversations were, I don't know. It's not specific, this "it." It is a vagueness that grows.
Which year did it steal out of it? Did I never have it at all?
What is it that I feel I have lost, and where did it go? More importantly, does it matter if I know?
...
#214: The Black Keys, "Tighten Up"
#215: The Black Keys, "Howlin' For You"
Even now, a year out of grad school -- which turned out to be two fantastic years of my life, those hallowed academic and residence halls -- I still feel like something is missing from those six years of higher education. Now I feel that I should have walked into rooms that I chose not to enter. I should have had conversations that I didn't. But what those rooms and conversations were, I don't know. It's not specific, this "it." It is a vagueness that grows.
Which year did it steal out of it? Did I never have it at all?
What is it that I feel I have lost, and where did it go? More importantly, does it matter if I know?
...
#214: The Black Keys, "Tighten Up"
#215: The Black Keys, "Howlin' For You"
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