Morning Music…
Posted in Music
Dead Kennedys – Holiday in Cambodia
This Week in Training – Base Phase Week 7…
Solid week. Amazingly, I feel great this afternoon. This was a full week—I made all my planned workouts. That felt good, but it also meant a big jump in training load, which is not the wisest thing. I’ll keep an eye on it.
Swim 🏊
- Workouts: 2
- Total Distance: 5,000 yards
- Total Time: 1 hour 31 minutes
This is where I technically “lose” time compared to the training plan. The plan calls for 2,500 yards in 60 minutes, and I usually knock it out in about 45. So it looks like I’m shorting the duration, but I’m not losing sleep over it.
Bike 🚴
- Workouts: 3 (including a brick)
- Total Distance: 61.7 miles
- Total Time: 3 hours 45 minutes
The long ride was two hours yesterday in the cold and rain. Somewhere along the lakefront, I discovered a 13.1-mile race was going on that I didn’t know about.
Then, at literally the farthest point of the out-and-back, my chain dropped and wedged itself hard into the front cassette. It took some work (and a fair amount of grease) to get it loose and back on.
Still, it was a good ride. I don’t mind training in bad weather. I have no idea what race-day conditions will look like, so: train for the weather.
Run 🏃
- Workouts: 4 (including one off the bike)
- Total Distance: 18.4 miles
- Total Time: 3 hours 1 minute
Yes, I’m absolutely counting that extra minute.
This was a huge jump in mileage—borderline How Not to Train-level jump—but it felt good while doing it. We’ll see how the body responds over the next few days.
Total Training Time 🧮
- Total Duration: 8 hours 17 minutes
TrainingPeaks Metrics 📈
- Fitness: 56 (up from 39)
- Fatigue: 128 (up from 64… gulp)
- Form: -54
So the numbers basically say:
- Fitness: Going hard
- Fatigue: Increasing fatigue (duh)
- Form: Overloading
I probably should have scaled things back a bit, but I felt good throughout the week.
Reflections ✍️
The tricky part next week is that the training load actually increases again. That’s going to be a challenge. I need to find a way to build in a dedicated rest day, but scheduling swims around pool availability makes that tough.
Monday is supposed to be the rest day, but it’s also a great day to swim. Of course it is.
And just to make things more interesting, the two weeks after next are both build weeks.
Sheesh.
Still… 23 weeks until race day. Plenty of time to keep building—hopefully a little more smoothly than this week.
Shane Gillis at the United Center…
Posted in Comics
Last night, my wife and I went to see Shane Gillis at the United Center. I’ve never seen a comedian play such a big venue. I’ve seen some on Broadway or locally at the Chicago Theatre, but this had to be bigger. It seemed well full. At least 90% if not sold out.
The first comedian (sorry, I don’t remember his name) was funny. He opened with the standard “make a joke about the city they are in.” It was funny, but I’m not a fan of those. Ooh, he name-checked the Red Line. Whatever, minor nit. He was funny.
The second guy was Joe DeRosa. Funny. Not terribly memorable, but I was laughing and enjoyed his short set.
The third opener was a pleasant local boy surprise: Andrew Santino. He’s actually from the Chicago area—born in Chicago and raised in the suburbs—so the local jokes didn’t feel like the usual “insert city here” material. I’ve seen him as an actor and caught clips from podcasts, but I don’t think I’d ever seen his stand-up. He was funny. I could’ve watched him headline.
The last opener was also a local comic surprise: Hannibal Buress. He was terrible. Like awful. Like coke-fueled rambling or something. He did not look well (major sweating for a 10-minute set), screaming for no need, and just wasn’t funny at all. At all.
Shane was hilarious. It’s mostly bro humor, but my wife was cracking up too. She said, “Uh, he was alright, not my style,” but she definitely was laughing hard. He’s a storytelling comedian. No real punchline jokes per se—just telling hilarious stories. He was on for an hour, and it didn’t feel that long.
Good stuff.
Morning Music…
Posted in Music
U2 – Pride (In the Name of Love) (fact check….MLK was actually killed in the late afternoon, not early morn)
The Horse and the Library….
Posted in Old Man Yelling at the Sky
There’s a saying about a horse tied to a post. If you tie the horse there enough times, eventually you can untie the rope and just let it dangle. The horse still won’t walk away. It’s been conditioned. The rope doesn’t even need to be attached anymore.
I’m the horse.
A few years ago, the Chicago Public Library eliminated late fees. Don’t return a book? Nothing happens.
In the last few years, they’ve also done away with the security feature in books. No more demagnetizing the book, so you can walk out without setting off the alarm. They still have a security guard sitting by the door, but I’m not sure why.
Today I went to pick up two books I had on hold. I pulled them off the shelf and went to the self-checkout computer. I try to never go to the front desk because they are some of the most…uh…interesting people in the city. Most still wear masks, and I’m not sure how to put this nicely, but they’re all weird. Not quirky weird. Just weird. Like still wearing masks and smelling vaguely like cat food (or piss)
As I was checking out, it dawned on me that the rope wasn’t tied to the hitch.
Why was I bothering?
They don’t have security features on the books, and it doesn’t matter if I return them on time (or ever), so why didn’t I just take the books off the shelf and leave? Why “check” them out?
I know it might help the library keep tabs on the books, but they don’t care if I don’t return them, and they don’t care if I walk out without checking them out. If they are going to treat it basically like Big Free Library, so bet it. Take a book, leave a book.
Dr. Robby Can EABOD for all I care…
Posted in Television
I’m officially over The Pitt’s resident savior complex, Dr. Robby.
In the first season, they set him up as the classic great ER doctor. He mentors the young docs, handles the impossible cases, and cares so much it practically hurts. Fine. That’s a solid character archetype. We’ve all seen it before, and it works.
But somewhere between Season 1 and this season, he apparently took a master class in How to Become a Narcissistic Douch Nozzle With a God Complex.
First, he’s shaming a doctor for having a panic attack. Really? This is the same guy who, in Season 1, was crying alone in an empty room because the job was overwhelming. Which, by the way, is perfectly understandable in an ER. People crack sometimes. It happens.
But apparently, when Robby melts down, it’s depth and humanity, and when anyone else does, it’s weakness.
Then every single episode turns into the same speech:
- What if the ER falls apart without me?
- What if the attending can’t run it properly?
- What if the doctors need me, or they’ll relapse, quit, or wander into traffic?
Buddy… it’s an emergency room, not a cult.
At least in Episode 12, Nurse Dana finally tells him what everyone at home has been screaming at the television:
You are not the only person in the world who can run this ER.
A reasonable person might pause and reflect on that.
Dr. Robby did not.
Because by Episode 13, he’s back on the exact same speech again. And then they end with the dramatic cliffhanger:
“What if I don’t come back?”
Okay.
Don’t.
Take the motorcycle trip. Ride into the sunset. Grow a bigger beard. Find yourself. Journal in a coffee shop in Montana.
Meanwhile, back at the hospital, another perfectly competent doctor will take the job, and the ER will continue operating.
You know… like it does every night shift when you’re not there.
At this point he’s become the most insufferable TV doctor since Hawkeye Pierce on MAS*H—and yes, I know that’s practically heresy to fans of Alan Alda, but Hawkeye’s self-righteous speeches used to make me roll my eyes too.
So now when Robby launches into another monologue about how the entire medical system depends on him, I’m yelling at my TV:
“GO ALREADY. TAKE THE THREE-MONTH MOTORCYCLE TRIP. THEY’LL BE FINE. VAYA CON DIOS, ASSHOLE”
Because the ER, like the rest of the world, will keep turning without you.
And honestly?
I could use a break from you.
The Wheelbarrow of Regret: A Tax Season Requiem…
Posted in Old Man Yelling at the Sky
Sigh. Costly mistakes were made.
We’ve officially hit that time of the season—the period where my blood pressure does a slow, steady climb in tandem with the blooming tulips. It’s tax time.
Back in my pre-30s “innocence,” I actually didn’t mind this month. I worked for government entities, clutched my W-2 like a security blanket, and usually walked away with a modest refund. I’ve never been a fan of giving the government an interest-free loan (I’m perfectly capable of burying my own money in the backyard, thanks), so I never aimed for those massive, celebratory checks. But it was clean. It was simple.
Then came the law practice years. I’m not sure I’ve seen a “refund” since Y2K (my own personal disaster!) Instead, my life became a revolving door of estimated taxes and the soul-crushing weight of self-employment tax.
I’ve often thought that if every American had to physically write a check for their taxes every quarter—instead of having it stealthily siphoned away before it even hits their bank account—our tax rates would plummet within a week. I’m looking at you, Beardsley Ruml. You and your pay-as-you-go withholding system have a lot to answer for.
These days, the wife and I are back in the government fold, which simplifies things on paper. However, our finances stayed… “complicated.” In the world of adulting, “complicated” usually means “you have some means,” which is a blessing. But it’s a blessing that comes with a very sharp, very hidden edge. [Don’t misunderstand, it’s a blessing. I’d rather have this issue than not. This isn’t really about the money and more about me being slapped in the face by a poor decision]
My particular brand of stupidity this year? Choosing the wrong “means” to pay for my kids’ tuition.
Imagine two accounts. Account A is a friendly, tax-neutral pool of money. Account B is a literal tax landmine. A smarter person—or perhaps a person who wasn’t rushing—would have pulled from Account A. Instead, I reached into Account B, triggered the landmine, and now I’m staring down a tax bill that requires a wheelbarrow to deliver to the IRS. [for reference, take about 40% of the tuition for two kids at college…that’s about what I owe]
So, on the 15th, I’ll be writing two checks: one for the “Oops, I’m Ignorant” fund and one for the 2026 estimated taxes. It’s a double-tap to the bank account that has me beating myself up. I’m all for supporting the infrastructure of society, but it’s hard to feel like a “proud taxpayer” when you know a healthy chunk of your hard-earned cash is destined to be swallowed by inefficient bureaucracy or lost to fraud [or both!].
Theoretically, I’m trying to be Zen about it. I’ve learned a “valuable lesson” (the most expensive kind). I know exactly how to pivot so that next year the pain is reduced by 90%. I am a wiser, more seasoned financial traveler.
But honestly? Zen doesn’t pay the bill. Writing these checks still feels like a kick in the teeth. If you see me wandering around Chicago looking slightly dazed this week, just pat me on the shoulder and ask, “But did you die?”
No. Just money. [cue the crying]