14 mph

intransigent
\in-TRAN-suh-junt\
adjective: characterized by refusal to compromise or to abandon an extreme position or attitude; uncompromising

So I've recently started going to the gym - again - to the New York Health & Racquet Club across the street from my office. The plan was brilliant really. Instead of joining a gym that was close to my apartment, I joined one close to my office. Once I get up four flights of stairs, I won't be going back down again, to then walk to the gym, and then run on the treadmill.

Nevertheless, I go, and I run for 60 minutes. Well, run for 15 minutes then walk for 5... until I get back in shape. But I noticed that the treadmill offers its user a speed range of .5 mph to 14 mph. I max out at around 6 mph in order to sustain my pace for a reasonable length of time, so I began to think: is 14 mph really logical to have on a treadmill? can anyone run 14 mph? how fast do animals run? does anything run at 6 mph?

Thanks to the internet, I have recently learned that the fastest speed of a human running was set by Maurice Greene, who sprinted at a speed of 26.7 mph. The highest sustained speed is just over 15 mph which equals a 4-minute mile.

On the slower side is the giant tortoise at .1 mph and the garden snail at .03. The Peregrine falcon travels at 200 mph, which isn't fair because many things travel faster in air (and water) than on land. I bet the falcon might have a run for it's money with the chicken, who clocks in at 9 mph.

So what travels at 6 mph? A bumble bee.

Thanks

Am on my way home for the Thanksgiving Holiday! And I even caught an earlier train from New York to Delaware. I called the Amtrak reservations number, asked what they could do for me, and they offered a 4:05 departure instead of the original 5:39... And they even offered to hold while I called my Mom to get the credit card security code to... Save $5.00!

Amtrak is my dream come true in situations like these. Having spent my fair share of time at our office's registration desk, I can appreciate how difficult customer service is... and we all know how awful it can be on either end (cough, Verizon). .

For some reason or another there is seems a biopolarity of demeanors around the holidays. On one hand: cheer, joy, warmth, love. On the other: impatience, anger, anxiety, humbug. I was watching the news the other morning and the reporter was sharing the "5 best ways to reduce holiday stress.". What happened to "5 best ways to be happy around the holidays" or "5 best ways to connect the family scattered around the country" or even "5 great gifts under $5"... The pessimism is rampant before it has a chance to cultivate in the consumer petri-dish.

And while we all might, at one time or another, dread traveling and scrambling with millions of others looking to get to point x as fast as they can, I am reminded of the reason why we have holidays in the first place.

Yes, to celebrate our nation, our heritage, history, faith... But to celebrate the good in everyone. And the simple gesture of helping someone get an earlier train can get that going.


Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

Sans Microwave

Today's word of the day: docile
\DAH-sul\
adjective: easily taught; easily led or managed

I moved into a new apartment on October 1st and for 39 days I have lived without a microwave.

A move is a fluid process. There are things one leaves behind when moving out and there are things one needs to acquire upon moving in. I left several bags of clothing to Goodwill, knew I would need to purchase a DVD player, reading chair... and recently realized that I could use a kitchen timer... but do I really need a microwave?

My parents tell me that the microwave we have in the kitchen is older than I am. And despite its age, the microwave is probably one of the best appliances that have ever graced the Gregory household. There have been many a toaster ovens, but only one microwave oven. Its survived a few accidental fires (including the time that I decided it would be a good idea to warm a Wendy's hamburger in the foil wrapper) and it served as my "last glance" mirror for my bottom half on my way out for school in the mornings. Oh, and it has helped us prepare millions of breakfasts, lunches, and dinners.

I will proudly admit that no other microwave has earned the respect I have for the clunker in the kitchen. Although its chassis might by boxy and its technology rudimentary, it heats everything through and through. It ranks almost as high on my best electronics/appliances ever list, just behind my alarm clock.

When I set out to write this blog post, I thought I might focus on how I have docilely managed life without creature comforts such as instant dinners and blu-ray movies. And how I walk home 3.5 miles from work like those several generations before me have done. But as I re-read I realize I took an appreciative tone for those things in life that are constant comforts. Ones that, only when we are reminded of them, do we miss and appreciate their cause.

My Mom, driving me to the train station this morning, spoke of the comfort sung last evening by Keb Mo, one of my family's constant musical companions. It's an interesting song, which speaks of comfort as the underlying drive that has led our society to abuse our natural resources and poison the planet. On one hand comfort can be soothing, familiar, and relaxing - a favorite blanket, familiar smell, family favorites... and, on the other, wasteful, unnecessary, and even trivial.

Interesting how concepts evolve, flucuate, wave...

Snooze, a Causerie

Today's word of the day: Causerie

\kohz-REE\  noun: an informal conversation, chat; a short informal essay

This morning it was hard for me to get out of bed.  The night before set it up - it was dark, windy, and cold.  Fall rushed in after the sunny labor weekend, smiting the heat of the summer dog days as quickly as one extinguishes a tea light candle.  Last night was also the first night I didn't let the air conditioning unit run through the night. I woke to my alarm ringing at 6:00am.

Whether or not I have my alarm set, my sleep cycle always intends to wake me at this hour.  Some experts say when you "naturally" wake, you should get up.  I disagree - 8 times out of 10 I am up for at least a few more hours of rest.  This is when the snoozing process begins. 

Let me first say that my alarm clock and I have been a pair since I can remember, since grade school.  It's design has adapted well over the years and while it's no "apple," it has gained my affection and respect as a result of it's longevity.

Over the years, my alarm clock has resided in different places in my room.   Growing up, it was always to my right, on the bedside table, ready and willing to wake me.  In college, I believe it was on my right, at the bedside table once again, but truthfully, I really can't remember.  After moving to New York it was right there, until I moved to the financial district. 

At first, the clock nestled into the corner of the window shelf, to my left.  Then, about a year ago, I listened in on a "sleep seminar" in which the moderator strongly suggested putting your alarm clock somewhere when you couldn't see it, stating that neon lights disrupted the natural ambiance of an ideal sleep haven.  I valued his insight very much since at the time, sleeping wasn't my champion of exercises.  After that, I moved it to the top of a tall set of shelves situated right next to my bed, and I could no longer "see" it.   

Now, back to the act of snoozing.  At first, when it sounded on the summit of these shelves, I simply reached up to hit snooze - only extending one extremity.  I have since changed the layout of my room around a bit, and the shelf now faces my bed, about three feet away.  The alarm clock still rests on the top, but snoozing now requires a "leap" out of bed.  

This I have learned, is quite possible without really "waking."  During my snooze cycles, I am impressed by my agility and grace when moving towards the smooth grey button.  And while pirouetting out of bed to hit a button that allows me to sleep for 9 more minutes does not wake me, I think I am more surprised that this continues for about two hours.  The snoozing cycle is a strange one - at times it feels that I have slept for another hour - others a few seconds.  Regardless, my alarm clock is my right hand, always there to [eventually] wake me.  

  

What's in your cache?

Today's word of the day: Ripsnorter

\RIP-SNOR-ter\ noun: something extraordinary, humdinger

I spent the labor day long weekend in the city with my sister.  I was excited to have her come up, not only was it her birthday but the weather was beautiful and the city was a little more "mellow" than usual.  I had plenty on the "to do" list: Italian dinner at Novita followed by a rooftop bar crawl Friday, an afternoon Mets bar with a visit to Ed's Lobster Bar on the way back, and a Sunday trip to the zoo or... geocaching.

What?

My sister received a GPS for Christmas, for the obvious reason that her sense of direction needed a bit of assistance.  And Mindy Garmin (I learned this weekend that the GPS has a name) introduced Cory to geocaching. 

According to Wikipedia: Geocaching is an outdoor activity in which the participants use a Global Positioning System (GPS) receiver or other navigational techniques to hide and seek containers (called "geocaches" or "caches") anywhere in the world. A typical cache is a small waterproof container (usually a tupperware or ammo box) containing a logbook. Larger containers can also contain items for trading, usually toys or trinkets of little value. Geocaching is most often described as a "game of high-tech hide and seek", sharing many aspects with orienteering, treasure-hunting, and waymarking.  Geocaches are currently placed in over 100 countries around the world and on all seven continents, including Antarctica.  As of September 2009, there are over 893,500 active geocaches over the world.

And while Geocaching isn't an official word in the Merriam-Webster dictionary, Geocaching.com (a ripsnorter of a website) certainly makes a great case for the hobby.  Cachers are required to sign-up, create a profile, keep a log of the caches you visit, etc.  Social networking for global trekkers anyone?

There are a few basic rules to abide by when caching:

1. Once you get close to the cache, act stealth.  Non-cachers can't know what you're up to, or the cache could be compromised.

2. Once you find the cache, take a trinket from the box and leave one of your own.  Think, take a penny, leave a penny. 

Well, because geocaching was very much like a spy mission (in my opinion), I was intrigued.  The website lists over 2100 cache locations within reasonable distance of my zipcode.  Since I was worried about going "off the beaten path in Central Park," Cory and I set off to find a cache located of Chambers street in Tribeca on Sunday afternoon.  It was a kid's cache, and Cory wanted to leave a travel bug which - without making too many references to money in this blog - was like those dollars bills you get that have "where's George been" written all over it.  Cachers who find a travel bug, once again, log into the website and they are able to view where has been.  This particular bug was an airplane, had originated in Canada, and stayed dormant in Delaware for the past few months.  I think it may have also been to the Grand Canyon. 

We made our way to the park and as we neared the location, I was truthfully excited.  Mindy was chiming in to let us know that we had arrived at our destination, and were within 100 feet of the exact coordinates.  It so happened that three nomadic homeless men followed our path.  Instead of looking for the cache, they were searching the trash cans, but we didn't feel that it was appropriate to disclose the location of the kids cache.  I was more worried that they'd get territorial.  

Sadly, we abandoned geocaching for a search for fried chicken and albeit difficult, we found a Popeye's without Mindy's help.  

Mindless Marketing

Today's word of the day: eleemosynary
\el-ih-MAH-suh-nair-ee\ adjective: of, relating to, or supported by charity

I've been working in marketing for three years and now I have a completely different understanding of all print, television, radio, or digital advertisements, commercials, and messages. Gone are the days when I thought "oh, that's pretty," or "hmm, kind of weird but I'm sure I'll remember it." I come across the simplistic of ads and think, "I wonder what it might look like with a lighter PMS color," or "Geez, I can only image how many versions this designer had to work with." Less is more... marketing resources.

Therefore, I'd like to bring your attention to a pop-up advertisement that was recently delivered to my computer at work:

Now, while I usually steer clear from these types of advertisements, something unusual caught my eye right away (besides the fact that when scrolling over the little people, they flip upside down). The advertisement calls upon you to click on your age, ranging from 16 - 60+. Simple, right?

However, the person above 60+ looks exactly the same as the little blonde in the 16-19 range. Furthermore, the same happy boy is pictured under 25-29 and 45-49. Same goes for the brunette under 20-24 and 40-44 in a star-wars-like hair-do. Thus, technically, this advertisement indirectly states that those aged 60+ will never look a day over 19. Or someone aged 25-29 can have just as bright of a smile as someone who is 45-49 (and no frown lines). Heavens, one might be tempted to avoid picking their age (which is well known as a sensitive subject for some) and pick the little figure that most resembles their physical appearance.

Nevermind the people for now, everyone in the picture is driving a blue car. What about the drivers in the world who have red cars, white cars, green cars? Will they feel excluded from this ad, which clearly caters to those with a taste for blue. Dupont tells us that in 2007, white was the most popular color in North America, making up 19 percent of all vehicles. And Silver, black, red and gray rounded out the top five. Blue was #6.

Clearly this is just me, and my mindless marketing, but I do feel that my thoughts and suggestions cater to an eleemosynary cause. For example, today I noticed a man going into the Kinkos on Park Avenue. He tried opening the right door first, which was locked. He then, through the process of elimination, chose the left door which swung open easily. I have frequented this Kinkos regularly in my three-year career, and guess what? Every time, I choose the right door. This obviously needs a focus group.

Subway Cowboy

Today's Word of the Day: contemn
\kun-TEM\ verb: to view or treat with contempt : scorn

I usually don't sit down on the subway in the mornings, but because two seats opened up before me at Fulton Street I decided, well why not? So I nestled in at the end of the bench, quite happy really.

Amidst the rumbling, I noticed the sound of slow swaying steps and out of the crowds emerged a serious looking cowboy, ready and prepared for anything that the MTA might throw his way. His deliberate steps moved him closer and closer to the empty seat next to me.

Crocodile Dundee? maybe... he did have the miniature-vest look going, he wasn't very tan, and way to hairy.

Wyatt Earp? maybe... he did have a mustache that mirrored the legendary lawman's (I was seeing Kurt Russell's in Tombstone without the sexy factor) and he did seem to possess the ability to contemn the souls of outlaws.

Contrary to Monday's lapse of complete alertness in the midst of petty theft, I was fully aware of this cowboy as well as the fact that we were sharing limited amounts of personal space and oxygen.

Silently thanking myself for keeping my sunglasses on in the subway today, I decided to, every few seconds glance in his direction. He was reading the New York Times. His big fingers wrapped around paragraphs and brought the words close to his face. The jeans he donned smelled as dirty as they looked, and were partially covered by tall, black rubber muck boots (whether or not he had spurs, I didn't check). His open vest was host to a walkie-talkie which rested gently against his bare chest, and a red-light contraption was situated on the back of his collar. On his head sat a wide brimmed black western-style hat. A thick set of keys, hung by a metal clip at his waist, splayed every which way across the bench like stubby roots. Every so often he checked the time on a black wrist watch. Where was he going?

Good Samaritan

Today's word of the day: inordinate
\in-OR-dun-ut\ adjective: exceeding reasonable limits : immoderate

Yesterday was a good day. I was fairly productive at the office and towards the end of the day, I had compiled several lists of things that I needed at the grocery store and the drug store. One of my favorite Duane Reade locations (on Park) is close to my office, so I made the decision to tackle the drug store list right after leaving the office.

I entered the store and headed for the body wash. In the isle, I saw a man facing the shelves with a gaping, shabby plastic bag. Before I knew it, his hands were grabbing various lotions, body washes, and bubbles off of the shelves, stuffing them into the crinkled plastic bag. After he finished filling the bag to his liking, he adjusted the bag on his arm and walked placidly out of the isle. I stared at this gentleman with unsophisticated wonderment (for what seemed like an inordinate amount of time) as I watched him bypass the counter and swiftly exit the store. I continued staring at the empty door.

"Did he just walk out of the store." Slowly, coming to I realized that another woman had just witnessed the same event. I stared at her for a bit and then said something, which was most likely dumb along the lines of "Uh, yeah, uh he did." She was a bit more proactive than I was, and hurried off to inform the store personal of the crime.

Why didn't I try to stop him? I could have flung myself in front of the door, shouted or screamed petty theft, tackled or at least tripped him to slow his progress. Instead my Samaritan instincts were succeeded by the rubbernecking kind. Whether or not the store or its personal seemed affected by this $20 deficit, I couldn't tell.

I continued my shopping in somewhat of a hurried daze and when evaluating the pros and cons of adding a new kind of hair product to my list, I decided that the best way to do so was to stick my finger in it. So I did and immeadiately thought - well why did I do that? Now I have to buy it, and at that moment, I more or less felt like everyone in the store had saw me do it. The store even seemed to darken. Needless to say, I went home with the hair product.

I don't necessarily have grand and abstract things to say about theft, crime, or other amoral acts that occur every second of every day. What I was most struck by was the fluidity of the act, the lack of alarm and suspicion, and the casual shrug that it took to wash it from one's memory.

Cyberpunk

So I finally came up with an idea that will bring glorious continuity and connectivity to my blog: Merriam-Webster's Word of the Day. It is perfect. I will start out [each day] with the word of the day, and then elaborate in one way or another - surreptitiously using the word to connect to my subject, thoughts, life, what-have-you.

What is today's word of the day? Cyberpunk. Oh dear. May I hear that in a sentence please?

Cyberpunk -- with its androids and cyborgs and human-electronic networks -- almost turns reading into a computer game.

Geez. I would have been far better off with "droid". If I were to have been the dictionary this Monday morning, I would have at least endeavored to present a word that had been added to the dictionary before the 1980's. Cyberpunk was officially added to the dictionary one year before I was born - 1983 - the year my parents were married. It refers to a specific genre of science fiction that deals with future urban societies dominated by computer technology...

or an opportunistic computer hacker. Since I have not had the distinct privilege of being a computer hacker (just an honorary member of the tech team) nor have I lived in a future world when Dell and Apple are vicious dictators, I am left with much to connect with. I wonder if Will Smith felt that way when filming iRobot. Although he does have a history with Aliens - which are probably the friends, or maybe distant cousins, of the robots who bullied Wall-e and left him to clean-up trash and befriend a cockroach. Those cyberpunks are not to be confused with Optimus Prime and Bumblebee - who are very, very cool.

MW's word of the day is delivered right to my inbox. Twice. Same goes for Banana Republic emails. Although I'm not quite sure how it got to be so, I am fairly confident that one day my computer (which will inevitably become smarter than me) may automatically fix this for me. In any case, I digress.

Since I am, many a times, viewing this word of the day on my Blackberry, I have to scroll through a bunch of tags and image links to get to the actual text. Today I made up my own definition before I got to the real one:

Cyberpunk: \ˈsī-bər-ˌpəŋk\
Noun
1) a practical joke administered through the internet

Today my Horoscope said:

You could be moving so fast today that you meet up with yourself coming back from where you're still going.

Most of the time I don't pay attention to the horoscope portion of my Google homepage, but what? This made no sense to me at 10AM this morning. When I am moving fast, I'm moving fast. Things get done, and done right. (Some mornings I think I should be a testimonial for 5-hour energy via a cup of Earl Grey tea.)

But today, I was working on an HTML email, a subject at which I am novice at best. The design of this email was a bit tricky, as we had more text than space... and the faster I worked to get everything straightened out, and the email "deployed" the more I realized it was never going to get done. But no! At 7pm I realized: Yes, it's almost there! Only to realize that it looked absolutely stupendous in one browser but more like a fragmented pile of text in another. I was devastated.

It was at that time that my boss told me to go home. So home I went. Along the way I met myself, who said, I told you so.

Zuppa di Polla

Today I decided to stay home, and in my bed till noon. Truth be told I was quite tired and decided that it would be best to work from home. Around 2:30 I had read each email and written a few of my own, so I elected to make a trip to the grocery store. I knew exactly what I was going for - a rotisserie chicken, pastina, carrots, celery and chicken broth. Ta da! Chicken Noodle Soup.

Now I know some may say that it's not exactly a challenge to cut up carrots and celery, shred chicken that's already cooked, and throw it into a pot filled with chicken broth - just to bring the conglomeration to a boil and let it simmer for an hour. I agree, and it's probably one my more favorable meals to make mainly because soup is not an exact science - a majority of the time it just comes out alright. I jazzed-up today's version with escarole and a few cloves of garlic. This is the second time I've crafted a batch of chicken soup this winter - the first, just before Christmas.

Over the years, I've watched my Mom make turkey soup many times with the leftovers from our Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner. Soup was one of my favorite meals to have when visiting my Grandparents; when everyone would be dressing hotdogs with mustard and coleslaw, I was warming split-pea soup on the stove. Of course, I consumed my fair share of Ramen noodles in college.

The first traces of soup date back to 6000 BC. Today, Campbell's Tomato, Ceam of Mushroom, and Chicken Noodle soups are three of the most popular soups in America. Americans consume approximately 2.5 billion bowls of these three soups alone each year. (Thank you Wikipedia.)

Although I almost always decide to make chicken noodle soup, every now and then, I go for something different: Broccoli rape and white bean soup, split-pea, or butternut squash puree. The split-pea soup didn't turn out that well, but now I know that I really do need a hambone to achieve the flavor. The butternut squash soup I had to puree by hand, with a flat spatula with holes in it. In the end it was too bland, so we added enough butter and cinamon sugar to make cookies out of it. So it's no surprise that, today, I choose chicken noodle for the comfort and convenience.

Unlike many, who see the turn of the year as the time to lose weight, I made the resolution to go out more... and in all fairness, I don't really want to just go out on week-long benders. I want to get out, see more, and try new things, like Avgolemono, Bouillabaise, Irish Brotchan Foltchep, Scotch Broth and chilled Spanish gazpacho.