The World of Morrissey

I was driving with my family today, listening to a compilation CD, when I heard a Morrissey song--"You're the one for me, Fatty. My daughter loves to sing along with this song, and I won't lie and tell you that I don't sing along because I do. Anyway, hearing the song today got me to thinking about Morrissey's popularity--he's a poet, an icon, a subject for college courses, and even big in Mexico. His music is straight forward verse-chorus-verse. His image is upper-class-happy-days. And he tends to sing flat of a song's key. He's the embodiment of thinking England, well-read, and a vegesexual. He taught me how to say Yeats properly. He's indirectly responsible for the James explosion in southern Utah. And he puts on a concert that is truly an experience. But without all of this knowledge, a significant back knowledge of The Smiths, and Craig Kilborn's constant endorsement, I don't know how I would even break into Morrissey's world. It has it's own landscape full of wet sand, cemetaries, Vicars, panic, and murder. It has it's own vernacular, it's own dress code, it's own meat-watchers point system. And it's as polarizing as female circumcision. If you know about it, you have an opinion about it. For me it's a great travel destination when I'm in a certain mood--it definitely takes me back to visit certain places and people--but I don't plan on buying land there anytime soon, especially since I can crash at the Wellzes.

Running with/against the mind

I'm going to write about running. At this point, you are already hesitant or happy to keep reading. Either way, it's understandable. August 2006, I ran a half marathon because my wife thought it would be fun. After the massive amount of miles logged in training--somewhere between 8 and 12 total--I felt surprisingly demolished after the race. My calves tightened up, and the outside of my knee throbbed--especially when I walked down stairs. Because of that day I came to 2 conclusions: I would never run a marathon, and I wanted to learn how to enjoy running. So far, I've accomplished both. After a year of being the guy that everyone sees and says, "If that guy can do it . . . ," I can say I enjoy running. In the past week, a revelation has come, and it says, "There are 2 types of people: those that can't mentally run, and those that can't not run." Obviously, some folks might say, "what about those that have disabilities and can't physically run?" For you, I present team Hoyt:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DXHP-6yWTOo . The rest of us fall into the 2 revelatory categories. Either you think of nothing but the suckitude of running while you are running, or you use your running time to let your mind wander or ponder on those things that are consuming it. I use to be the former. Breath heaving. Feet slapping. I sounded like a tire going flat. Since then, I have found the upside of running. My wife says I'm happier, and, honestly, I relish my duty as "That Guy." If you've read this far, you must be a runner. Or you're still hoping there's a point to all this. The point is if feeble-minded I can do it, then so can you. So start today, Labor Day, and don't look back. Just a few things to leave you with: Try running with your favorite music; read about runners--Rodger Bannister, Prefontaine, Amby Burfoot, or even The Penguin; check out runnersworld.com; and, finally, spend a little money on yourself and buy some running shoes and lightweight running clothes. Until then, search out runners and ask them why they do it.

virgin transmission

Here's how it all begins. This is the first post on this blog, and I'm going to kick it off with a bit about sports. I've always had teams that I root for deep down: the Bulls with Jordan, the Jazz without Malone, the A's no matter what, and the Raiders despite my better judgment. Oh, and ¡Roll Tide! Well, anyway, this summer baseball seemed to spread itself a little thinner than usual, and I worked with the 2nd biggest soccer nut I know-Set. Sorry, Kelly. I had to do it. Oh, and Set, if you're reading, the biggest soccer nut I know isn't any more knowledgable or passionate about soccer than you. he's just bigger physically and definitely more of a nut. Longstoryshort, I am now a fan of the beautiful game. I've chosen sides, made blood oaths, and even purchased a few jerseys. Because of this metamorphosis, a few things have become apparent: the baseball season isn't long enough, Tiger Woods doesn't know anything about being a rock star, and Raiders fans are on the mild end of the continuum when it comes to sports fanaticism. For those of you that think football is the real football and soccer is for wussterbators check out these links-WARNING: violence and some adult language. Every match is bigger than a U2 concert. And keep in mind, clubs put on a show like this, in front of the home crowd, roughly 20 times a year. It makes me ashamed of the way I support my favorite teams, or maybe it doesn't. You may have to copy and paste these URLs.

Pt. 1: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U1wheFwbOsM
Pt. 2: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wCq0GrT74Vw
Pt. 3: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CsDp2YExR0s
Pt. 4: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=035z0Po4CE4
Pt. 5: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rGk18Uz8YgE
Pt. 6: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EmL4Nw8X3YE
Pt. 7: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lgdN9hpxOGo

I'm a little fearful to wear my Argentine jerseys in public. Well, hasta la next time. Go Gunners, Boca, and Los Che.

vis