…so as the rat’s milk is returned to the sewers, the circle of life is complete. ~ Kent Brockman
Yesterday: Run – Casa del Critters, 45 minutes
Today: Ride – Ned area, 1.5 hours
Tomorrow: Ride – Casa del Critters, 1.5 hours
In one week, I should be somewhere in-between Fish Hatchery and Half Moon. Good stuff.
I can’t believe this thing is only a week away. I started getting my stuff together last night and will continue gathering and organizing over the course of the next five days or so. I think I have everything I need (aside from food) and feel fit and fairly rested. I have been a little sleepy of late and hope to relieve that over the next few days.
Last night I went for a fun little run in the woods around my house. I didn’t feel super snappy until later in the run but that is to be expected. It takes me awhile to warm up, as you might imagine. When I raced bikes, I put on some serious miles one summer and it would take me a couple of hours to start feeling good. I once had a crit in Copper mountain (about an hour-long event) for which I rode to the top of Fremont Pass to warm up. Kinda silly.
Today, I am hoping to go for a bike ride. Trying to cajole some of the Crüe to come up to join me. I also hope to get some things cleaned up and organized around the house so that I can focus on work in the coming weeks. I also need a new chair as my exercise ball on which I normally sit blew up. But I digress.
Movie review: The Black Dahlia is a train wreck. This film – based on the amazing novel of the same name by James Elroy – was simply a mess. Elroy has the ability to weave about 19 seemingly divergent plot-lines together into a coherent narrative that somehow works out in the end. (Not necessarily true for all his books but The Black Dahlia is a fine example of his talent. Also read L.A. Confidential.) It takes an equally skilled craftsperson to massage his work into a film that makes any sense whatsoever. When this is done well, the results are amazing (again, see L.A. Confidential). When not, it gets ugly – fast.
Couple this with inane casting (Hillary Swank as the femme fatale???) and pretty dismal directing by Brian De Palma and you have the recipe for disaster. Avoid this one. Trust me. There are plenty of less painful opportunities to see Mia Kirshner’s boobs.
Get your countdown on.