The Hartford Half Marathon: fun, pain, and a bag of junk

Saturday, October 11th, brought the 15th annual Hartford Marathon to our fair capital. And, since today is Sunday, October 12th, all signs point to myself having survived the festivities.

This is not to imply, dear reader, that I completed the full marathon. Oh no. I partook in the hosted half marathon, along with a sell-out number of runners (3,500, though only a little more than 3,100 completed the event and had their times recorded). Packed like sardines for the first few miles, we made our way around Bushnell Park, over Founder's Bridge, around East Hartford, back over Founder's Bridge, through downtown, over to Park Street, and eventually back to Bushnell. It was certainly an interesting way to get a tour of the city, seeing as I still hadn't explored Hartford since arriving in the state late this summer.

I ran with my uncle and good friend. We lost my friend shortly after the 7 mile water stand, but my uncle and I stuck together until about mile 12, when the mad dash to finish took place. I didn't set a personal record yesterday (I finished at 2:02), but I had a fun time getting from Point A to Point B. And, now that the event is over, I can let my sore hip, hurt about 6 weeks ago (thanks to one of the BEST drivers in West Hartford failing to stop for pedestrians at a crosswalk) and throbbing by mile 10, heal itself properly. Though, to be quite honest, I don't know if I can lay off the running for the week needed to rest.

So, congratulations to all the runners, from the 5k to the marathon to my brethren in the half. Just completing these runs are accomplishments and everyone involved should be proud. Now, enjoy your just desserts. Have a big bowl of ice cream. Order a big, juicy hamburger. You've all earned it!

Oh, and, for those attending and not running yesterday, thanks for all of the support. Your cheering really motivated all of us on the road. And, a special thanks to the folks that volunteered, manned the water stations, and provided course music and entertainment (and, "officer-dancing-to-'Bust a Move'," that especially applies to you).

A final note . . .

Non-participants may have noticed a sea of orange bags carried by runners before and after the race. What was inside? To be honest, mostly items filling many recycling bins this week. Lots of ads from sponsors. A few coupons. Some lip balm. A pen. A can cozy. A full page ad from McDonald's touting healthy foods and quality products (whaaaa?). Some sunscreen. Nothing very exciting, so you didn't miss all that much.

That's it. We went, we saw, we ran. And, after some ice packs and Advil (and, for me, 7 days of scheduled rest), we'll be ready to do it again.

My own "Mary Worth," part three

It's the night before Toby's big bank robbery! And, in part three of Ben's Mary Worth, we see the anxiety of the evening as our heroine tries to get some sleep!

Click to enlarge for easy reading!

Great "Wheel of Fortune" moments

The Professor and I were talking about old episodes of Wheel of Fortune the other day, back when the winners got shop with their prize money at a gallery of often very-expensive products (like an $875.00 VCR). 

Anyway, this got me to hunting for video of really bad Wheel contestants. People that just couldn't solve the puzzle, even when it was right in front of their face, plain as day.

Here are a few examples of my findings:

And, to top it off, there's this gentleman, who didn't get stumped once, not twice, but THREE times:

West Hartford real estate agents, beware . . .

Allegedly, folks (and, by "folks," I mean one individual . . . so far) in town are lacing their cakes with poison! And, they're then serving said cake to their real estate agents!

I've heard the old Halloween story of getting an apple with a razor blade in it, but this is ridiculous.

So, beware, real estate agents. Make sure you carry your NAR-certified "poison identifying kit" with you at all times! Sure, it seemed silly to you when it was issued, but now you can all thank your lucky stars for the thoroughness of the organization.

Of course, I'm kidding about the kit. Just don't take cake from strangers.

Read on about this odd story at courant.com. 

Tomorrow: Hartford Marathon

Looking for something to do tomorrow morning at 8AM? Then head over to the 15th annual Hartford Marathon. The more spectators lining the route and cheering runners on, the better. I'll be participating in the Half Marathon portion with my friend and uncle. You'll be able to pick me out by the following description:

I'll be the guy wheezing and begging for a water station.

Anyway, it should be a fun event for everyone. And, after the race, there's a big party in Bushnell Park with a ton of vendors (I'm personally looking forward to the Harpoon tent). The weather is going to be great, so get outside and support your neighbors!

For more information, visit the marathon's website here. 

My own "Mary Worth," part two

Here's part two of my ode to Mary Worth. Click the comic to make it larger.

A bibbi-babka interlude

While making dinner tonight, the Professor and I, for reasons unknown, began to sing the "Bibbi-Babka" song from our childhood ABC television staple Perfect Strangers. This lead to a hunt online for the actual video of the song, sung by cousins Larry and Balki. To our joy, it was not difficult to find. 

However, while watching our treasured "Bibby-Babka" clip, we realized how unfunny Perfect Strangers actually was. Hearing the audience cackle made me wonder how many drinks the stage manager plied them with before letting anyone into the studio.

This is the problem with revisitation. Revisiting childhood television always leaves the viewer open for potential disappointment. For every Cosby Show, which, in my opinion, still holds up fairly well, there's a Sledge Hammer, a show I absolutely loved as a child, but couldn't stand to watch when I rented the DVD of season one.

Though tempted to watch more clips of Perfect Strangers, I decided to let my memory retain the show and characters as the version seen through the eyes of a kid twenty years ago. That's probably the only way it can continue to be enjoyable.

Okay, I did watch this MC Hammer-inspired number. Then I called it a day.

 

Things my cat makes me learn about others through Google

I finally got a new ID tag for Tuesday, our cat. He's an indoor pet, but I've always made sure he's had a current tag, just in case of emergency. To be truthful, though, I also have a paranoia that one day he'll find an escape route, some sort of secret passage in a closet, a trap door only he has noticed, and crawl past treasures hidden and forgotten by time in the walls, past bricks of gold and bags of silver, through some sort of ventilation duct and eventually out onto the busy streets of West Hartford, a cat free from human clutches. 

Either that or he'll walk out when the door's open.

Regardless of the plausibility of either circumstance, he needed an updated tag, if, for nothing else, to at least make him identifiable. So, I made the trek to the pet store in Bishops Corner to buy a new little metal oval. The self-service machine inside engraved it for me as I waited and watched, and the smell of a cage of birds nearby provided a farm-like atmosphere. In only about 2 minutes, the gold plate was completed. I took it in my hand and read it to make sure the machine (and by "the machine", I meant "I," the person who typed in the information) didn't misspell anything.

I'm Tuesday.

I'm lost. Call

860-XXX-XXXX

Everything seemed fine. Though, looking at the tiny ID in my hand, I couldn't help but feel a bit ripped off. $6.50? Really?

Getting the new tag on Mr. T was pretty easy. And, after doing so and sitting down on the couch, the cat jumped up behind me and, beginning to purr, proceeded to burrow his head into my hair. This isn't uncommon for Tuesday. In fact, it's a trait he seemed to pick up about 8 months ago, completely out of the blue.

Once the session was over and Tuesday settled in for a nap, I got up and turned on the computer. I had been meaning to find out where this relatively new sign of affection generated from, and to see if anyone else out in the world shared such a pet experience. And today seemed to be the day to find out. It was time to learn what this hair sniffing meant.

After my search, I'm still wondering. Though, some Google queries did provide a few funny web links.

I started with a search for "cat hair smelling" (in hindsight, not the best phrase to use). Of course, this lead mostly to websites devoted to cats that smell. From "Is it normal for a cat to smell?" to "Cat hair is not sexy," the gamut was run on follicle odor. But, I did learn through Yahoo Answers that it is OK to wash one's hair with cat shampoo. So, if I'm ever in that pinch . . .

Of course, this cat shampoo link made me wonder who was in such a desperate situation that they had to pose such a question. I mean, is this James Caan in Misery typing away? Is this person stuck in a house with no supplies? If so, shouldn't they spend their online time asking for a rescue team to find them? Honestly, don't worry about your hair! We're coming to save you!

I refined my search to "cat smelling human head," thinking this would weed out the sites devoted to smelly felines. And, thankfully, it did. But, it also weeded out any site willing to answer why my cat decided to start loving my hair. Oh, and there was a strange UK Yahoo Answer post debating whether a dead cat smells "bad" or "really bad" if confined to a small space.

I did not click to find out.

Finally, I went for broke and searched for "cat smelling MY head." Again, I did not find my answer. The only site of interest in the bunch attempted to answer the age old question, "How do you tell someone they smell like litterbox?" (a question stressing the minds of man for generations). There was also a vegetarian that claimed to love the smell of cat food and who wondered if cat "waste" had an invisible smell. 

Now, I don't know what kind of smells this vegetarian is accustomed to, but if they're usually VISIBLE, I think they should question the type of "plants" they're eating.

In the end, I was unable to find an answer to my question. I only can assume that Tuesday started to do this odd little act out of boredom. Why he waited until the age of 6 to begin, I'll never know, but I don't mind. As long as he doesn't start wielding scissors while he's back there, I think I'll be safe.