...Prove Their Worth...

"Problems worthy of attack
prove their worth
by hitting back." - Piet Hein

A kind of running diary and rambling pieces on my struggles with assorted books, classes, and other things, as they happen. You must be pretty bored to be reading this...

Monday, September 02, 2002

Tonight's jog was far less exciting adventure-wise than yesterday's: no Mr. Thumpy sightings, no rain, glasses, no close encounters of the third kind with parked Hondas. On the other hand, jogging-wise, tonight was great. It's about sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit*, ninety-percent humidity, partly-cloudy... Just about perfect. The air is cool, but not so cool that it's dry (which, when running, leads to what I call 'burning-itchy throat syndrome'). I managed to go into the 'third wind' today, which is fairly unusual. That is, while I suspect if someone had a gun on me I could it more often, it's normally too much effort to push my lazy ass that much. Tonight it was a lot easier due to the ambient conditions. What's even better is that this third wind came just before I encountered some neighbours out for a walk (presumably - I don't recall ever seeing them before, but given the neighbourhood, they are either neighbours, or CIA and/or NIST agents cunningly undercover as neighbours).

The reason getting it was so nice getting a 'third wind' just as I had to pass by the aforementioned individuals is this: for some reason, I have this thing about revealing what a lard-ass I am to others, at least when I don't have to. So being able to put on a burst of speed while encountering someone at night is psychologically nice, and I can always slow down and catch my breath once I'm out of sight around a corner or what not. "Look, people I've never met before and am unlikely to see again any time soon! I'm really running, and not waddling, as you may have suspected from a distance!"

Well, in this case, thanks to this third wind, I surprised myself by actually sprinting at 'funny speed' past these people (or so it seemed, subjectively), complete with the proper raising-high of the knees and all. I suspect I looked somewhat like an inept soldier asked to run in some sort of parade posture, but it was the best I could do. Anyways, toward the end of this third wind, I noticed that my breathing sounded somewhat like Darth Vader on a creamy cocktail of crack, 'shrooms, LSD, and other illicit substances. So I ended up deciding to wrap up the jog, and walked home.

I don't have much to say about my reading except to record that I've now more-or-less finished Part I of Baez and Munian. I haven't digested it yet, but damn, what a way to end a section. Wormholes and monopoles and Dirac, oh my! Whee!

* - I hate oddly spelled German names that I don't know how to spell**. I'm probably going to wake up in the middle of the night foaming at the mouth, feverishly trying to decide whether I've spelled 'Fahrenheit' properly.

** - On the other hand, I do like odd German words and names I do know how to spell. Deploying them whenever I can get away with it makes me look sophisticated, well-read, articulate, and just generally like a sexy, sexy beast. Yeah. Or so I like to think. I mean, come on, what better way to play the primate dominance game than to dishevel your hair, stick your hand (with dignity, mind) into your coat's lapel, blow a pipe-smoke ring, dangle a pocket watch on a chain from your other hand, and declaim in a vaguely central-european accent: "Vell, Wolfgang, and vot do you zink of my zweibein gedanken-experiment?"


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