Hookey

Yesterday I took some liberties with the traditional 9-5 (or 6:30, or 7) schedule that I typically keep.  I needed to do some concentrated writing, and typically can't do that well in the office.  SO I opted to take the day and 'work at home'.  I figured that I'd clear my mind first, and do a nice long bike ride to get the blood moving, and to kill some of the fidgetyness that has been building over the past few rainy, overworked weeks. 

Juvenile Eastern Red-Eared Slider

I took a long ride up the Green Ribbon Trail and ended up around Mile 5, near Gwynedd Township.  I stopped for a couple of minutes and then pulled out my tenkara rod for some sunfishing. The weather was warm and sunny and it was perfect to be standing around in a creek for a couple of hours.  Given that I was already 30 hours in to my work week on a Thursday, I just stayed out.  

I remounted my bike to head home at about 1:30, but took just a little detour to check out the lower reaches of the creek.  I ended up stumbling onto the most incredible fishing hole that I'd ever seen.  It was where all of the little fish go when they grow up.  So i did what I had to do, and started fishing again. 

Biggest fish I'd ever caught from the Wissahickon

Right after I caught this awesome bass, I also caught the first of what would end up being 8 yellow jacket stings.  I have no idea what I did to them, but they sure as shit stung the crap out of me!  The first one was on my eyebrow and was quite the surprise.  Then came the second through 5th in rapid succession.  It was terrifying--you just don't know where they're coming from, but you can hear the buzzing and then all of a sudden a hot poker of pain jolts through wherever the little bastards landed. I am not the quickest, but I can take a hint.  This was a definite sign that I had to get home, but it was quite the battle to get back to my bike which was leaned against a tree in the 'no go zone' patrolled by angry wasps. Fuckers got me on the ass, arm and side by the time that I was rolling.  

Awesome Amigos

After more than seven years living his life as a solo goldfish, we finally realized that Mr. Fish was lonely.  Though he's had dozens of generations of guppies to keep him company over the intervening years, they just aren't the same as a friend of the same species. My parents tipped us off last summer during their visit, and we made a run to the big box Monster Pets.  It's close to our house, and does have 'stuff' for pets, but loses major points on service and quality and vibe. We left sans-fish, and with a bit of a bad taste in the mouth.  This year I opted to widen my net, and rode up to Worldwide Aquarium and Pets in Roxborough with panniers and aspirations of a cool friend for Mr. Fish.  

The shop was set off a dingy parking lot on Ridge Avenue, reminding me of my childhood pet paradaise, The Ark in Ames' campustown.  It had all the right features. 

Petshop smell? Check.

Dark room full of tanks of exotic fish? Check.

Surly, yet helpful staff? Check.

New best friend? Check!

 After looking through the various tanks of wondrous fish from around the world, I found the tank of subunkin goldfish and locked eyes (well one of his, two of mine) with a calico with mirrored scales.  He goes by the name of Shabu-Shabu, or just Shabu for short, and he's accompanied by Shelby, the giant pond snail. 

Mr. Fish and Shabu are now inseparable, though that's mostly because they are living in the same 55 gallon stock tank.  That said, they seem to enjoy chasing each other around, and eating fish food together.  Match made in heaven. 

The Club

We've been members since last year, when they were taking in new applicants, but it took until last night to eat there.  House rules forbid me from going into detail about what transpired within the doors, but let me say that Eric and I left quite satisfied. 

Hunterdon was Hell on my wheel

So I made it to the line in time to start with the first wave, which was great. Great that is until about mile 30 when some bonehead decided to ride into my rear wheel. I lost FOUR spokes, but was able to true it up enough to ride the remaining 50 miles of the route.

On the plus side, it gave me a good excuse to take er easy.

Man of the Yunk

Windy today, so I kept my ride close to home and was rewarded with a fantastic sunset.

My bread game is on

I think after years of trying I finally figured out how to make bread. The key for me is patience. This shouldn't be a surprise to anyone who knows me. Most of the time I just don't give my bread the time. I've made a great number of tasty hockey pucks, leaden loaves, and baguette bats.

With enough kneading, the right amount of yeast, and just a bit more patience, things turn out much better.

Eaglemath

Something like 2 million people showed up for the

parade and celebration in Center City Philadelphia today. They were jubilant, and made one hell of a mess.

This is the kind of town we live in.

I'm still trying to figure out what all the fuss is about. But Philadelphia loves its Iggles!

When there is a light at the end of the tunnel

Sometimes it actually is a train. I went for a ride that included a quarter mile section of dark tunnel where the CSX line runs along the Schuylkill. Turns out the line is active! I heard the train whistle with about 50 meters left to ride until daylight. A bit of extra exhilaration in my endurance ride.

It looks bigger in a panorama

I'm still moving into my office after about a month, but it is great to have a door and a bit more space. Also, windows are cool.  They still let in the sound of hundreds of thousands of football fans, but filtered through two panes of glass. 

I can do it all by myself

Who needs professional pogies when you can cobble together something from old couch leather and a clapped out rain jacket?

Bar- mitts are fantastic for rides below freezing. Just one light pair of gloves and away we go.

Kaisha-in

When asked what their job is, many Japanese would say, "Kaisha-in"  as in "Company Person" or "Office Worker."  The term really doesn't translate well into English, but in Japanese it tended to mean someone who was more or less dedicated to his or her job at the company.  Like many aspects of Japanese culture, there is a sense of going all in with no other options.  Being a dilettante is for rich kids and the frivolous. 

I never used to think of myself as someone who would go 'all in' for my job.  I thought that the people who stayed late and showed up early had something a bit wrong with them.  And while that might be true of the many people I saw in Japanese offices late after dark and early in the morning, or on weekends with their co-workers, I kind of get it.  After 8 years here at the City of Philadelphia, I realize that I identify to a perhaps unhealthy degree with my work. Each weekend is a slow and painful process of letting go of the million tasks to do, and then a bit of dread as I realize on Sunday night that it's coming back at me in the morning. It's not the type of dread to make me call in my 90+ sick days, but it is there all the same.

Responsibility has played a big part in that.  I feel as though I've got a personal responsibility to the people who I work with, and increasingly, who work for me. I also feel a personal connection to the Indego bike share program which I have seen from its basic inception to now.  I'm intermittently terrified that I'll fuck it up and bring the whole thing down.  All to easy to do; things don't tend to run themselves.

I think that the next bit of my life is going to have to be dedicated to balancing things a bit better.  That will probably start with figuring out that I can't do everything I want to do with a single lifetime. Dilettantism has its limits.