He's got claws and goes "Rawr!"

Running on a treadmill is a tedious task. Now, I'm aware that many people find exercise relaxing, however, I personally find that raising your heart rate and getting all of your muscles going is pretty much the antithesis of relaxation.

I digress - exercise is necessary and beneficial and you always sleep well afterwards, but actually running on a treadmill is, again, tedious.

There are several ways to solve this. Music, for one, has become most runners' constant companion and it is a qualified distraction from running. Running outside is also an option, or with a friend (though if you're running with me, the conversation will be one-sided as a third of the way through my full attention will have to be focused on breathing and all around staying alive).

However, today, while on the treadmill, during my supposedly bi /tri-weekly run I came up with something a little more fun. Let me set this up for you: I can either look down at the little dot going around a little quarter-mile track on the treadmill screen or look straight ahead, where four feet in front of my face is the most prosaic, washed out yellow brick wall that I have ever stared at for a half hour. So, the decision that neither one of these is a good impetus for me to run was an easy one. What makes for a good impetus to run, you ask? Well, simply? Something chasing you.

Monsters, to be exact. Hire monsters to chase people and we'll all be real fit, relatively fast (depending on what setting you set the monster to - lumber, trot, stomp-run, or maul speed).

If this isn't actually feasible or healthy, I'd settle for a little monster chasing my little dot around the quarter-mile track on the treadmill screen.

Like an Early Thanksgiving

Dear Richmond,

I have a number of things to thank you for. The very first time I visited your streets, you stole a bumper magnet off of a grandmother's car. This has taught me not to value material things - and not to take them with me.
Thank you.
Through the years, I have tripped countless times on your sidewalks. This has taught me humility - and to laugh especially hard when others fall.
Thank you.
Your weather has caught me unawares in heat and rain and snow. This has taught me versatility - and to curse loudly in front of children.
Thank you.
Walking your streets, I've very nearly been killed. This has taught me the fleetingness of life - and how to successfully jaywalk.
Thank you.
I have also driven on your streets. This has taught me to pay attention to my surroundings - and that I must kill or be killed. Thank you.
And finally Richmond, I have been caught in your blackouts. These have taught me to enjoy a breath of fresh air - and to remember my stupid ID if I'm going to the library after 10pm. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Sincerely yours,
X

Factsheet for 09.06.09

Morning time is no time to be cheerful.

If a car window is left open and then it rains, the car seat will be wet.

Sometimes, parents give up and

• swear.


• call their youngest child a dumb ape.


• confess this to the oldest child, who congratulates them on acceptance.

There is an employee in Best Buy who is proud to announce to customers that all scanners are "pretty much the same".

There is an employee in Best Buy who is lucky he didn't get "ripped a new one".

A cashier at Borders doesn't understand that 40% off of $19.98 is a better price than $19.97 .

The 2008 Physicians Desk Reference is very heavy, and on sale at Borders for $19.98 .

If Mexican Bean Beetles no longer have beans to eat, they will make do with eating, laying eggs on and having all of their friends over to the neighboring herb garden.

Even if you hope really, really hard, Kirsten Dunst will still say, "Go get 'em tiger," at the end of Spiderman 2.

Most Important:

If you leave the top open on a hot tub, an 9 month old black kitten can fall in.

Campus Celebs

For the past two years, I have regularly seen Samuel Clemens (aka Mark Twain, aka VCU history professor?) walking around campus. Wearing his bushy white moustache and equally Twain-esque white rumpled hair, his coif is slightly obscured by his 19th century hat. He also sports a matching beige trench coat, which is apparently an essential part of his person, because I have never witnessed Mr. Clemens without it. He frequents Franklin Street, has attended free concerts in Monroe Park and brings a crooked smile to passing by students everywhere (except perhaps the English majors, who might harbor a longstanding grudge against literary creators - also those who ask if, after they graduate, are they are going to teach?).

This, however, is all old news. No, the most groundbreaking sighting was last week when Jeff Goldblum walked out of the old Business building. I'm sure he is often stared at, and I did not spare him from my unabashed gawking.

My dream for this coming semester is learning what Mr. Goldblum and Mr. Clemens would discuss if they found themselves trapped in an elevator together. This may be a challenge to set up.

Ceiling People

There is a door in my ceiling, and it is well hidden. While I am sleeping, the people who live in the room upstairs (or between my room and the room upstairs) open the door and come into my room. They are small people; they just look like someone took a shrinking gun to an average human. They're not over three feet high, and so, are able to walk upside down on the ceiling. This is good for them because if they could not do this, they would fall down 12 feet to my floor. They walk upside down on the ceiling and then sideways on the wall and then right side up on the floor. It's night time but this is not a problem because the street lights pour copious amounts of light into the room. The ceiling people use this light to play bridge on the decorative rug centered on the floor. After they are bored they toss and turn until they fall asleep comfortably on my new, old loveseat.

This is why when, in my conscious hours, the loveseat cushions are always slightly pulled out. I push them back in and go to class.

Furniture Overhauls

While watching the N-th discount furniture store commercial of my lifetime, I realized that I hate furniture shopping. That's a lie, I didn't realize anything; it's something everyone intrinsically knows. At birth. The sales guy is always ready to jump up your butt if you even bat an eyelash at a sofa or make a sarcastic comment about how much you love that pattern when really one of those "artworks" made by the guy who gives himself paint enemas would make better upholstery. All beside the point.

What should happen:

All of the furniture is setup in a giant warehouse. The entrance door locks behind you. All of the furniture is stacked 5 units high on some sort of massively industrial shelving unit (so that you can't jump over them). Well, the moral of the story here is that the whole thing is a giant maze .

(This is not far-fetched. Furniture stores are legitimate mazes anyway - you can never seem to find your way out of the entertainment section when all you wanted to see was if there was a game playing on the big screen. There's not, it's a giant, lying sticker taped to the front of the screen. It is also socially unacceptable for a so called "grown person" to jump over the furniture, even when they have somehow lobster trapped you in the back of the store.)

Well in this giant maze you look for whatever you want - sofa, love seat, loft. This all sounds a little crappy for the potential buyer, but in this bona fide maze you get to run away from salespeople as much as you want. So, in the end, you maybe find what you want and the sales person gets a little exercise, until you find the exit. So, I guess its the same. Just a little more exercise?

If there had been anything worth watching between these commercials, I wouldn't have written all of this. So I blame cable.

(I think that recently buying a loveseat might also have something to do with it. Where did I buy it? Craigslist.)