Separated at Birth II: Cindy & John McCain and...

Cono de Tráfico

Technological dissonance

From a local classified ad posting:

i have several multi-set 78 rpm records....ethel merman, frank sinatra, bing crosby etc. they look in good condition, but i don't know if they play

[Italics mine]

Separated at Birth

Proposition 8 blowhard Robin Wirthlin and
beloved celebrity Rosie O'Donnell

The Loneliness of a Middle Distance Runner

Last Saturday in these pages, Frank suggested that I run a 5K, ostensibly to meet women. Never one to back down from a challenge, I completed the Paramus Run 10K on the very next day.

OK, OK, it wasn't that spur-of-the-moment: I'd run the same race in 2004, '06, and '07 (missing '05 due to an ill-timed bout of insomnia); the Nike Run-Hit-Wonder 10K in 2004 and '05 (seeing acts such as Tommy Tutone and General Public perform on the race route); the 5K in Paramus in 2002 and '03; and the 3.5-mile Corporate Challenge each year since 1994 (including one surreal year as a replacement on my company's Corporate Challenge world championship team). Aside from these events, I probably only run an additional 3 or 4 times a year. I am consistently sporadic.

But Frank's words definitely caught my attention, as the exact same suggestion had recently come from another friend, who shall remain nameless. (His parents did not give him a name.) This friend had just completed a triathlon, with great preparation assistance from those fine folks at Team in Training. (Their acronym is the not-quite-accurate TNT, and you can probably guess why.) My family-man friend forwarded a photo of his training squad: Hey, look at all the pretty girls you could meet!

Sorry to get all Bartleby the Scrivener on you guys, but, I would prefer not to. And it's not just because I don't want to ask friends for more fundraising funds. (I already hit them up each year for the AIDS Walk--not a bad place to meet kind-hearted women, actually--and then there was my recent Obama-begging.) Nor is it because I shy away from doing anything where my real, hidden purpose is meeting girls (buying a dog, taking a pottery class, dressing stylishly...).

No, it's just because...I don't want to be a runner. I don't want to be an...anything. I find that people who focus on any one topic can become so absurdly boring to anyone who isn't also focused on that topic. They let that one interest define them as humans. You've met them, hobbyists of all stripes: The football fan. The religious zealot. The day trader (ok, you haven't met one of them recently). The gym rat. Ethics-based diet enthusiasts. Parents of young children. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, as Yul Brynner once said.

And so it is in a race setting: Everyone seems to be talking about their last race, or their next race, or the weather at this race three years ago, and so on. Someone always mentions their meniscus. And everybody is wearing a running-themed T-shirt. (Indie rock must be the only special interest group in which wearing the shirt of the event you're attending is considered a serious faux pas.) Oh, the wide but limited range of shirts you'll see: The Such-and-Such Race to Save or Eliminate Something. The So-and-So Memorial Half-Something-or-Other. The St. Whoever Academy Track Team ("Go Fightin' Mongooses!"). In all honesty, the only woman who spoke to me on Sunday said, "I like your shirt," and only because I stood out by sporting an Obama/Biden logo. But let's just say that I'm not sure she was old enough to vote.

To be overly earnest for a moment, it's one of the things I've enjoyed most when writing non-fiction: You can become an expert on a subject for a brief window of time—and then drop it if you like. I'm a dabbler by nature. I know way too much about some things (music, comedy, baseball, where to get fresh mozzarella in Hoboken). I know enough about a number of other subjects to do pretty well in trivia contests. And on many very important matters, I'm woefully ignorant, having only read the Yahoo News headline.

But I know what you really want to hear: How did I do in the race? I'll keep you waiting no longer. I ran the 6.2 miles in 56 minutes, 35 seconds. I was pleased; it was 35 seconds faster than last year. Though to keep things in perspective, I did finish just behind a dog.

Hmm...I wonder if his owner was really just hedging his bets in trying to meet a girl.

Found in Closet: part three of four

It's some sort of tote bag.

Advice to the Lovelorn

Jack has had no luck meeting anyone special at lesbian weddings, on subways, at his neighborhood deli, and especially not through the Salt in Wound community. Might I suggest a 5k race? Actually, a half-marathon would be even better, but first things first.

51% of all race finishers in the US are women, with a median age of 35. Many are single. Many are affluent. All are healthy.

At a race last winter I overheard some women talking about how they were in need of an anchor for a (non-competitive) marathon relay team. I volunteered. It was a group of mostly teachers, elementary school through college, mostly single. They were running together on Sunday mornings with the goal of eventually each running their own marathon.

There are lots of little groups like this around, but they're not always obvious to find, which is why if I were single I would opt for Team in Training. You get actual coaching and a demographic that is probably 80% women and 80% pure beginners. You commit to raise what sounds like a lot of money but which probably amounts to 2 or 3 weeks rent. Slowness is not an issue. In fact, it's an asset, since women are even more concentrated toward the back of the pack.

The fish photo reminded me of this movie poster

The Elmo costume reminded me of this photo

Altar the Laws

Gay marriage is back in the news. On the positive side of the ledger, Connecticut just became the third state to legalize same-sex marriages. On the negative side, both vice presidential candidates were quick to denounce gay marriage in their recent debate.

I have to wonder: Among those who have railed against same-sex marriages, how many have actually attended such a ceremony?

Jack Silbert has. And I lived to tell about it. You know what, my friends? It’s not a big deal. Not at all.

I found it amusing that to get to this very “liberal” event in western Maryland, I’d first have to travel through a large red swath of Pennsylvania. Thinking I could do a little good for my man Obama, I attached his MoveOn.org bumper sticker to my 1991 Corolla before making the drive.

When I stopped for gas in a small southeast Pennsylvania town, circled by pick-up trucks with the occasional Confederate flag sticker, I wondered if perhaps I’d erred in judgment. Was everyone staring at me? Was a beat-down imminent? And yet, going to the back of my car, I noticed that my bumper sticker must’ve fallen off at some earlier point in the trip. It was as if a higher power was telling me, “Look, you’re already pushing your luck around here as a Jewish guy driving a Japanese car. Let’s take your support of the Hussein-middle-named candidate out of the mix, shall we?” Either that, or MoveOn uses a cheap adhesive.

Several hours before the ceremony, I accompanied my friend the bride to a local hair salon. One of the friendly employees asked if I was the groom. Rather than go into a full explanation, I merely said that, no, I was just a friend. I didn’t want anyone’s political or religious leanings to adversely affect the bride's coiffure.

I arrived at the bed & breakfast/farm where the ceremony and reception would be held. I can’t say I knew what to expect. Perhaps a sexy, Eyes Wide Shut-style bacchanalia? But in fact, in nearly every regard, the event was identical to a heterosexual marriage. Let me count the ways:

• Just like most of the recent weddings I’ve attended, I was once again invited without a guest. And boy, if you thought I had a hard time picking up women at these other affairs, try surrounding me with lesbians. (Actually, the crowd was a good mix of straight and gay, families, couples, and singles, young and old, and no one seemed the least bit traumatized. And no one got cooties.)

• Up at the altar, one person wore a dress, and one wore a suit. This was the fourth lesbian wedding attended by the woman sitting next to me, and it was the fourth time she’d seen the dress/suit combo. Though she guessed that two dresses or two suits would also work just fine.

• As usual, the ceremony was filled with enough Jesus talk to make me, the secular-humanist Jew, quite uncomfortable. (Also quite uncomfortable: Wearing a suit at an outdoor ceremony in stifling, late summer, south-of-the-Mason-Dixon-Line humidity. And yet removing the jacket was a no-go; it would reveal that I’d completely sweated through my dress shirt.)

• The pastor asked if anyone had any reason why these two should not be wed. I resisted the urge to shout out, just as a goof, “Because it is an abomination in the eyes of the Lord! Hallowed be thy name!”

• Scanning the crowd, I spotted him: the token black guest. Yes, gay weddings have them too!

• As with many weddings, a modern touch that probably seemed like a great idea in the planning stages didn’t quite gel in reality. In this case, it was a group sing-along of the Cat Stevens classic “Morning Has Broken.” Sing-alongs generally don’t go well when most people only know the first three words of the song. Next time, I suggest a crowd pleaser such as Don McLean’s “American Pie.”

• What wedding would be complete without an obscure ethnic tradition mangled beyond recognition? Here, a party guest with roots in war-torn Georgia served as the “tamada” for a traditional Georgian toast. Guests were to speak on a chosen theme, and end by saying “Gaumarjos!” (meaning “Victory!”). In practice, though, no two guests seemed able to stick to the same theme. And forget about pronouncing “gaumarjos.” A nation wept.

Not being as up-to-date on gay marriage legislation as I could be, at the time I wasn’t sure if such marriages were legal in Maryland or not. Was this a "commitment ceremony"? A "civil union"? Sure seemed like a wedding to me. It said “wedding” on the invite. There was a flower girl. Ring bearer. Rose petals. A dad escorting his daughter down the aisle. “You may kiss the bride.” Numbered tables. DJ. Dance floor. Chicken. Fingerling potatoes. Cutting the cake. Clinking glasses. A happy couple kissing. They’re in love, and no one is going to tell them they’re not married. Even if the pastor did smilingly pronounce them “unlawfully wedded.”

Forty-seven states to go, huh? Well, if the basic concept of equality doesn't sway you, how about the economy? Think of all the event-planners we could employ! The cater-waiters! Surely you fingerling-potato growers have lobbyists on the payroll. Let's get on it, people. Time's a-wasting.

Array of Wall Street Photos

Market trends

I used to have this sort of vague idea that I would let my son pick a stock and buy a few shares of it as a way of providing a lesson in economics and finance. I just checked, and in his lifetime the S&P 500 is now up a mere 1.1%. That's worse than my interest-bearing checking account's 0.1% APR. But more of you reading this blog know Isa. In her lifetime? Down 16.2%.

Swallow Me Elmo

My 11 year old son finds this to be the creepiest costume in the catalog.

Palin/Biden debate

Palin said they didn't rape the continental shelf when drilling 'up there in Alaska.'

John said, "Biden should counter with, 'yes they DID rape the shelf and that Palin is going to make the shelf pay for the kit."

Estonia recap

So, I ended up finishing about where I expected (in the bottom third), but not for the reason I expected - my teammate ran out of steam long before I did.

Also, to my surprise, I think I would like to try this again.

Here is how it was reported on Estonian television.