Prospect Park

Frederick Law Olmsted's 285 acre Prospect Park has been a central part of my life in Brooklyn Unlike many places that were important to me as a kid, the park is, to this day, a central part of my life here in Brooklyn. As such, it was fitting that I chose to spend a few hours there this morning.

My first memories of prospect park are of participating in soccer with the American Youth Soccer Organization (AYSO) as a kid. These games were played in a part of the park called the parade grounds, which were was a series of big fields. We used them for soccer, but they were also used for football and baseball. The parade grounds are divided into four quadrants, each of equal size. There was a field house at the far end where goals were stored. I passed many autumn weekends arriving early to the park with my family to play games that at first consisted mostly of running around the grass, chasing a soccer ball. Later, I played slightly more coordinated games.

The Parade Grounds
Now astro-turf,
was once grass and dirt.

Those of you who know me well will not be surprised to learn that I was never much of a soccer player. But the imported game was still an important part of my youth. My Dad often coached my soccer team, and would organize team practices before the games were scheduled. Though he didn't have much experience with soccer prior to coach mine and Eric's soccer teams, he was a patient and enthusiastic coach as he guided us through dribbling drills and practice shooting.

On fall weekends the whole family would pile into the car and head to the parade grounds. Sometimes Eric and I would see each other's games, and sometimes we'd be too busy playing or practicing, but we were all always there, Eric and I playing and my Dad coaching one of us.

Even Mom got into the mix, taking classes to become a certified referee. She would dress in black pants and the prescribed black-and-white striped shirt, and run up and down the field with a stop-watch, blowing her whistle and handing out yellow and red cards to unruly players. I don't have too many memories of my Mom's participation, as she never ref'd my games, that wouldn't have been fair.

When we played AYSO the fields at the Parade Grounds had some grass, but also lots of dirt and dust. When my Dad turned 50 he asked guests at his birthday party to make donations to the Park to be used to re-sod the fields. I'm not sure exactly what the money was used for, but most of the grass and dirt has since been replaced by beautiful astro-turf. Hopefully Dad's gift helped to make the project happen.

Had I been a serious soccer player, I would have played soccer at my school, where there were several teams I could have joined. Had I been skilled, I would have joined one of the prestigious travel clubs in Brooklyn. As it was, I was content to run around in the park on weekend mornings. It was much the same situation during the spring, when I played baseball in Prospect Park's Long Meadow.

If I was a mediocre soccer player, than I was a dismal baseball player. The difference for me, I think, was that I liked running around the soccer fields. But the hours of standing in right field waiting for that one-in-one-hundred fly ball was a kind of tedium that I had hardly known in my whole life. And there was nothing quite as unpleasant the embarrassment of three strikes and you're out, every single time I came to bat.

My Mom recently told me a story that went like this: It was the final regular season game, and my team was down three or four runs. My team was at bat, with two outs in the bottom of the seventh inning. To make matter worse, there are only seven innings in little-league baseball. I came up to bat. Naturally, all of the parents on the team knew that I had about as good a chance of hitting the ball as the US Army had of finding WMDs in Iraq, and everyone started to pack up their coolers and lawn chairs. Well, boy did I show them. I hit what might have been my first and only little league hit, getting onto a base. I eventually scored, and in doing so started a rally that saw us win the game!

Now, keep in mind, that's my Mom's version. I have absolutely no memory of any of that, and as I've been showing you over the past days, I remember a lot of stuff. So did that really happen? Well, I figure that I probably did hit the ball, but my guess is that it wasn't quite that dramatic, nor did it have that much of an impact on the game. My Mom, you see, always liked little-league much more than I did.

These are the baseball diamonds on the Long Meadow
I became an expert on Right Field
And cultivated immense patients.

Unlike in soccer, where I'd be on a different team every season, in baseball I played with the same kids every year, so every year my Mom (and Dad) would get to hang out with the same people, who became their friends. Neither of them were involve in baseball in any capacity other than that of spectator, so they were free to hang out and socialize to their heart's content. I sometimes wonder if I didn't keep playing because my parents didn't want to loose that part of their social life. I mean, all I remember now about baseball is being painfully bored. Could I possibly have voluntarily subject myself to that? Who knows.

Other than the tall-tale above, my most prominent baseball memory is of a play book that I was given during the last season I played baseball. At that point I was probably ten or so years old, and I had experienced the full range of baseball experiences, from winning to losing, and standing alone in right field to sitting alone on the bench. but this play book was something new. It was as if my coach had handed a three-year-old a text book for multi-variable calculus. He told us to go home and study it. Yeah right. That was the end of my baseball career.

Fortunately though, it was not the end of my fun in Prospect Park. When I played baseball and soccer, the earliest games were at eight in the morning. To a younger me, that seemed incredibly early, and I remember praying for rain days on the morning of early games. Little did I know what was in store for me when I took up bike racing.

In addition to its fields, streams, playgrounds, dog runs and woods, Prospect Park also has a 3.33-mile loop of tarmac perfect for bike racing. The road is closed to vehicles almost all day, aside from rush hour during the work-week. Most of the time, us cyclists from Brooklyn, from recreational riders to families to racers, can train for our sport, undisturbed by cars. And on weekend mornings during the summer, it is ours for racing.

I did my first bike race in the park when in high school, and it didn't go well at all. Five years later, I'm still racing there, almost every weekend this past summer, and have even come close to winning races there (second has been my placing so far). Races always start at 6:30... and I thought 8 was early. In addition to racing on the weekend, I also train there almost every day that I'm in Brooklyn. Today was likely my last ride in the park for quite a while.

A day at the races.
See me? I'm third wheel.
Three laps to go!

If only I had counted the number of laps I've ridden in Prospect Park. It started out as a once or twice weekly trip to the part to ride 5 or 6 laps. As time went on, 5 or 6 laps turned into 10 or 12, on a short day. Today I rode 20 laps in the park, and I would have stayed longer, if I hadn't had so much to do at home. After all, I am moving tomorrow.

At first the park was a place to go to be alone, to blow off steam. Later it became a place to meet other cyclists, and in recent years, it became a place to meet friends, and catch up and check in. There's lots of great riding in Saratoga. there are rides on which I could do 5000 feet of climbing over 60 or 70 miles, without ever once riding on the same road twice. But there is nothing quite like the social scene of Prospect Park, where no matter what time you show up, from 5 in the morning until 9 at night, you're always guaranteed to run into somebody else, doing the exact same thing you are: riding in circles. Of all of the time I spent in that park, that's which I'll miss the most.

I've got so many great memories from Prospect Park. And they don't all have to do with sports. I went sledding there, and I went on picnics there. I shopped at the farmer's market and I went roller blading there. One experience, however, cuts through all of the ways I experienced the park: It was always fun, even when I was picking daisies in the outfield.

Well, that's all for tonight. I talented young woman that I graduated from high school with is on a major NBC drama right now, so I've got to go watch, then it's back to packing. I'm going to be pretty busy for the next couple days, so I'm going to have to put the memory lane series on hold until the dust settles. In the mean time, I'll try to post some pictures of my new place! Stay well!

The Places I've Worked...

Ok, ok, I know I promised to write about Prospect Park today, but today was my last day of work at the Rabbit, so I'm going to write about that instead. I'll get to Prospect Park soon, I swear...

Anyhow, I first began my career as a sneaker salesman/ athletic footwear expert in May of 2006. Home from school for the summer, I need a summer job. A place where I could hang out with other athletes, and buy spare inner tubes for cheap seemed pretty ideal. So I worked there through the summer. In that time I cultivated some great relationships with my co-workers John, Todd, Mike, Troy, and Laura. I left early that summer, but had made a good enough impression on the managers (Todd, Mike and John) for them to leave the door open for me. I gratefully returned over my winter break to work in December and January.

The Rabbit
This is where it all happened
So many memories

When my lack of post-graduation plans brought me back to Brooklyn, JackRabbit awaited me with open arms. Shortly after starting for the summer, a couple of new employees were brought on, Christy and Peter. Over the winter Bonnie and Lisa had started working, brining even more people into our little JackRabbit family. This past summer passed in a blur of selling shoes, explaining the importance of stretching to new runners, and fielding questions on what a cyclist like me was doing working at a running store.

Through my time at JackRabbit I had a chance to meet a whole slew of people, from all different kinds of backgrounds and with all different kinds of goals. There were the religious zealots and there were the stay at home Moms. There were nannies sent on errands, and there were the triathletes. Then there were the "triathletes," and the "marathoners." There were firemen, and even a movie star. There was a manic guy who tried to buy everything in the store, and there was a guy today, who, after carefully examining the clearance sneakers, handed me the mythic American Express Centurion card (The Black Card, of much mystery and fame). So now I know what it feels like to be on the verge of calling the police to eject a problem customer. And I know what it feels like to hold a titanium credit card with no spending limit. Where else can you have experiences like that, and all in the span of just a few months?

Team Rabbit, 2006-2007
We were at my house to say goodbye to Mike
John really likes Mike

Now, I'm not going to pretend that I didn't get sick of the constant stream of bunions and shin splints, but all in all, I'm grateful for my time at JackRabbit. I met a lot of really great people, who I know I will be friends for years to come, and I know that I will miss the satisfaction of helping someone get into the perfect pair of sneakers. The satisfaction of writing a great piece for the newspaper will be much less direct.

Today was my last day. The day got off on the wrong foot, as I was hung over (I drank three beers last night with my pre-school friends... and, well, three beers is a lot for a four year old), and I arrived late. It didn't help matters that business was painfully slow. Todd was quick to berate me when I told a customer that I'd gotten a "real job," and he's right to do so, because I can honestly say that there is nothing fake about JackRabbit, or the role that it fill -- both for the customers it serves, and the people who work there. Before I was offered a slot at the Saratogian, I was seriously considering applying for a job at a running store in Seattle, because I had come to feel a real connection to the work and the products, and there was something very comfortable about the thought of staying in the sneaker industry, even as I moved cross-country. I hope that I'm able to find a similar passion for the daily newspaper business!

The day ended on a much better note, when my co-workers bought me a going-away cake. Thanks guys, I'll miss all of your company, and I'll hope that our paths cross again soon.

This is the cake my friends bought me today
It was deliciouses
And sweet

Rain Delay!

Okay, I know I promised that I'd be writing tonight about Prospect Park and the sports I played there, but I'm going to have to delay that one night, as I just got home for a pre-school reunion of sorts, and am a bit our of sorts as a result. For now, you can enjoy these photos. These were taken of me on the Staten Island Ferry by the French photographer Richard Delume, and one of these will be published in the French magazine A Velo some time this winter. You get to see them here first!:

The sea is blue
My bike is red
I'm looking away from the camera.

You can see Manhattan in the back ground
You can see the ship's wake
I'm looking at the ferry's upper deck.

My bike is standing up.
I'm looking quite stoic.
I was quite cold.

More Playgrounds...

Today we'll be looking a little more at the places where I played as kid, and continuing our look tour of my neighborhood.

Family First
Families First, Inc.
Many vague memories.

When I was but a wee child Families First, Inc., a public organization whose mission it was to support family structure. They did this in a number of ways, from holding "classes" for kids -- from exercise classes to art classes -- and also organized various structures to support family life. The mother's support group, through which my Mom met many of her current and closest friends, was organized through this agency. Anyhow, the photo above is a picture of the door.

As I recall, when you entered into this door, there was an enormous gym off to the left, where I played with a parachute as a kid. Upstairs were a few different classrooms, and a big play room with all sorts of board games and building toys. The idea, I think was that if, say, I was in a class, and my brother wasn't, be and our babysitter could hang out in the play room, and be occupied. It was really one of the most kid-friendly places I remember from my childhood. I also remember taking some kind of an art class that was held in a carpeted room, in which made many messes.

Families First, Inc., also had an annual fair, at which they would bring in a pony ride and other "carnival" events. This was the event not to be missed during my childhood. I think that Families First, Inc. also served as an important networking hub for area baby sitters. I always remember my various care-givers being engaged in length -- if disjointed -- conversation about all manner of important-seeming things while I played in the play room. The conversations were disjointed because the baby sitters would often have to interrupt their conversations to break up a fight or hug a crying baby. But it was all in good fun.

Our neighbor and fiend Linda is, for many years, the Executive Director of Families First, Inc. She recently retired, but I feel very appreciative of all of her hard work. On a side note, much later in life her son Jon and I would be co-workers at the Rabbit.

Veranda Place Park
As much a place to socialize as to play
But still a pretty spot

The last place I remember playing as a kid is the Veranda Place Playground, at the corner of Veranda Place and Clinton Street. The park has several nice gardens, and a play ground that was thrilling for a three year old. When I got older I liked riding my bike around it, until one day I fell off an injured my wrist. After that I didn't really frequent the park much until years later, when it became a prime late-night hang out and drinking spot, but that's a story for another time.

Most of my memories of this park involve tag. As you've probably gathered from previous posts, tag was an important part of my childhood. I've always loved running around (I still do), and any chance to do it was fine by me. This park was great for tag, as kids here were friendly, and everyone wanted to play. And the park's paths and gardens lent themselves to ducking and evading across the grounds. So that was fun. That's all the memories I've got for tonight, but I'll be back tomorrow with some sports recollections. Also, to prove that I really did do a cyclocross race last weekend, here are some photos:

Andrew runs,
Andrew jumps the barriers,
Andrew chases the other fools.

Andrew chases Eloy
Andrew pushes his bike uphill
Andrew should stick to road biking

Saturday Top and Bottom Five

I'm taking a much needed break after a hard week of dredging up memories from the far-reaches of childhood. I'll be back with more memories tomorrow, but for now, enjoy the best and worst from the week:

Tops from the last week:
1) My first cyclocross race... do we smell a new athletic fixation?
2) Visiting Lisa's eighth grade students and talking to them about writing non-fiction... I think some of them were listening...
3) Moving out, and cleaning out my room... I feel so much lighter, and ready to spring to the next step!
4) Mike Pulli... a married man!
5) This week's blog posts... sorry to toot my own horn, but I've had more readers this week than ever before!

Bottoms from the week:
1) The rain.
2) The fires in California.
3) I haven't seen Becky in nearly a month...
4) My time in Brooklyn is quickly running out...
5) Four days to go and still no Halloween Costume...

Playgrounds

When we got bored of playing in our various houses, or nice weather demanded that we enjoy the sun and the air, my friends and I (and our mothers or caregivers), would repair to any one of a number of different playgrounds around the neighborhood. Here's a look:

Pierpont Playground
Once a fun wooden play structure
Now a sterile aluminum affair

The Pierpont Playground, which adjoined one of my favorite Brooklyn spots, the Brooklyn Heights Promenade, was a place where I played infrequently as a young child, but slightly more often when I was a little older and went to school nearby. Because this playground was outside my normal sphere of living, playing there was a special treat. I specifically remember spending time there after High Holy Day Services, when my whole family was in the heights for synagogue. There were always loads of kids at the Pierpont playground, and playing there was always sort of a free-for-all, with kids everywhere, and their caretakers trying to keep tabs on their wards, while not getting carried away by the fray. Perhaps a reflection of the neighborhood, kids there always played in small groups, which meant that you had to have a posse to hang with.

When I was a kid the playground had a large wooden play structure, once painted red, but faded to gray by the time I was there. I always liked to pretend that the structure was some sort of a boat, like an oil tanker. The wooden structure was set in a giant sand box, which made for soft landings when jumping off of tall spots on the structure. It was one of the best places for an enthusiastic game of tag, and one of my specialty moves in evading a tag was rolling in the sand under a low bridge. The old structure was fun, but it was also prone to giving children large and deep splinters. At some point in my youth the old wooden tanker ship was scrapped, the sandboxes were filled with concrete and covered with a pliable rubber mat. An aluminum and plastic structure was built. It didn't give anybody splinters, but didn't have any of the charm of the old playground.

The best thing about this playground was its swings. As a kid, I could swing for hours. I probably still could. There was always a line for the swings, but I never minded waiting. Another playground, much closer to home, also had swings, but never a line.

The Carroll Street Playground
This one has a little of everything
And a lot of pigeons.

There was no need for a posse at the Carroll St. Playground. This expansive park had a little of everything, from an asphalt playground with basketball courts and a chain-link back stop for baseball, to bocce courts, that were always crowded with an old guard of neighborhood Italian men. Sometime they would throw bocce balls around, but most of the time they would just sit and smoke. Past the bocce courts was a cobbled expanse with a obelisk in the middle. I don't know what the obelisk was supposed to memorialize, and I didn't think to look for this blog post. I suppose that I never looked at the plaque or inscription because this monument never figured in the life of the child at play, except, maybe, as an object to briefly hide behind, while running across the otherwise empty lot.

Surrounding the obelisk in a ring, were innumerable park benches. These were occupied alternately by babysitters with carriages, the homeless, Italian men playing checkers at the built-in tables, and Greek ladies surrounded by shopping bags full of old bread, which they would tear up and feed to the flocks of pigeons that swarmed around the park.

If the benches were the province of the old men and pigeons, the two play areas in the park were the province of kids. I don't have much of a memory of either of these, and the park was re-done at point during the later years of my youth. The new structure was aluminum and plastic. There wasn't too much outstanding about the play structure, but as I mentioned, the swings were not to be missed.

There were two other places that I remember playing as a child, and I'm excited to tell you about them tomorrow! In other news, I'm seeing that this project of memory is going to take more time than the five days I have left in Brooklyn, so I'll be continuing to empty my head for as long it takes... I hope you're enjoying reading my memories.

The Places I Played

The weekly top and bottom lists are going to be on hiatus for a bit, as I continue my trip down memory lane. For todays' post I'll be showing you some of the places where I played as a kid. Aside from going to school, eating and sleeping, playing is the principal occupation of most children, and those of us in Brooklyn had a variety of places to choose from. I never had an experience of playing unsupervised in the streets like children in my parent's generation did. Instead I always remember spending time in the homes of my friend's, being watched by their parents or baby sitter. At home, both of my parents worked demanding jobs, so I always had a babysitter to take care of me, and Eric when he came along. To add some variety to my play-life, I spent a lot of time at the homes of close friends.

The Kelley House
Where I first met the Beatles
and spent many happy afternoons.

Shortly after I was born my Mom joined a mother's support group organized by Families First, Inc., a local organization that ran after school classes and other family support programs. In that group, my Mom met four women who she still counts among her closest friends. Margaret, Mary, Nancy, and Brigitte, all had their oldest child around the same time, and hence all wound up in the same support group. A few years later, they all had their second child around the same time (except for Brigitte, who had moved back home to Germany, and has only one child.)

Of all of these families, the Kelley's are the only one that still lives in the same home that they did when the mother's group first formed. I spent many happy hours playing with my friend Daniel in their apartment. I remember birthday parties with powdered donuts hanging on strings, and pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey. I also remember Daniel's suitcase full of costumes, which he kept under his bed. Dress-up and pretend were his favorite games. As is fitting for someone with those interests, Daniel is now a successful play write and comedian. I've long since lost touch with him, but because our mothers are still close I'm sure to continue getting updates for many years to come.

Eric was born at roughly the same time as Timothy, Daniel's little brother. Soon the four of us would play together, and I remember one game of hide-and-seek when someone tried to hide in the washing machine, surprisingly, they didn't fit. A few years ago there was a terrible electrical fire in the Kelley's apartment, and they were forced to move out for about a year. They are now back in their home, but I remember with striking clarity the morning of the fire. My memories of their apartment were so clear that I could picture exactly where my Mom described the fire taking place. My memories of their home are even older than my memories of my own home, and that is a striking thing to realize. The sense of loss that I felt on the Kelley's behalf was hopefully as close as I will ever come to loosing something that precious of my own.

But future tragedies aside, childhood was largely a happy time. Sometimes Daniel and I would go play with Chris, the son of Mary, another of my Mom's close friends.

Chris and his family moved a lot
I remember spending many afternoons at this house
It was very close to my house, they have since moved.

Mary was (and still is) another of my Mom's close friends. I first remember her family living around the corner, on Clinton Street. Then they moved a few blocks farther down Clinton. Then they moved to Park Slope, which might as well have been another planet. The photo above is the second home they lived in on Clinton Street. Chris and I, and later Eric and Will and Chris and I had many happy afternoons here, and at their first home in Park Slope. I remember once accidentally hitting Chris in the temple with a swing that they had in their background. He had a little lump, which eventually healed, but I still feel bad. I also had my first sleep over at Chris's place, and remember sharing many pizza pies with them at a brick-oven pizzeria called Leonardo's, but more on that when I start writing about food... Daniel, Chris and I were definitely a group of guys, but Rachel added a very necessary feminine influence to our threesome.

This is where Rachel used to live
You could say that she was my first wife,
but it wasn't official

Of all of the mothers in the mother's group, Nancy was the only one who had a daughter. In fact, she had two daughters, but Rachel was the first, and so she became my friend. Actually, she was my first wife. It was a small but beautiful ceremony, in Rachel's place. Afterwards, I went home with my Mom (who was not present at the wedding), and Rachel stayed at her home. I was always fascinated by Rachel's Dad's job. I'm not sure exactly what he did, but he had some sort of a job at PBS, and gave me a photo of the cast of Shinning Time Station, including Ringo Starr. The photo was autographed by "Schemer," one of the show's protagonists.

Of course, we would occasionally get bored of playing inside, so we'd head over to one of our neighborhood's many play grounds. I'll be back with some stories about that tomorrow!

Adult Swim/ Schools, Part II

Before we resume our trip through my memory banks I'm going to give you a condensed version of this week's swim class: Last night we worked on kicking. I always thought that my legs, made powerful from cycling, would be a huge asset to me for swimming. It turns out that such is not the case. My legs are heavy, and sink when not supported. When Coach Stewart told us to kick down the pool on our backs, while keeping our knees locked, I was unable to do so. It seems that I'm just too used to moving my legs in the cyclical motion of pedaling. I simply couldn't lock my knees!

In any event, we also received the videos coach Stewart made last class. I got the chance to watch mine today, and my improvement was quite noticeable. I could almost pass for a real swimmer! Where I once flailed through the water like a hippopotamus that got in too deep, I now move through the water about as well as a Portuguese Water Dog. That is to say, pretty well, but I've still got a long way to go before I can challenge Michael Phelps. Finally, I just want you all to know that the man I thoroughly ridiculed in last week's "Adult Swim," "Peter," was the first person to ask me last night how my interview went, and the first to congratulate me on my new job. Yup, I'm a real asshole. And now back to Memory Lane...

On today's leg of the voyage down the Memory Canal we'll be taking a look at some of the other places where I did my learning. Yesterday you saw my first two schools, where I got the foundation for being a person. Today we'll be looking at the places where I learned even more of the foundations, and some finer points:

Packer Collegiate Institute
Grand old building
Once a women's school, now co-ed

As I mentioned yesterday, I entered Packer in the second grade, and stayed until I'd graduated from high school there. Eleven years, one school. A lot happened while I was there, to me, to the school, and to the world we existed in. When I started, Packed had a laughable computer lab equipped with Apple LC IIs, and a rudimentary file server. Eleven years later, my graduating class was the last class not issued laptops. The classes below us were given the computers to take notes, complete homework, and instant-message their friends. One of the sorriest sights I've ever seen was two fifth graders sitting across from each other in a hallway, conversing via instant message, rather than actually talking to one another. I'm going to give you a quick survey of my time at Packer, focusing for now on the earlier grades. With so much history at Packer, it's a lot of material to cover, so I'll get back to High School at a later date.

My first teachers at Packer were Ms. Mednick and Ms. Christiansen. Our classroom was in the basement of the St. Francis Church building, which Packer had purchased some years before. At that time, the building's sanctuary was condemned, but the basement housed an expansive library, with classrooms radiating off on all sides. They were all the lower school classrooms, for kindergarten, first and second grades. Other grades were housed in other parts of Packer's "urban campus." At Packer, I met many of my childhood friends: Peter, Theo, Brett, Eryn, Charlie, and Josh.

I don't remember much from second grade, save that we were learning cursive, a process that involved exhausting hand exercises, and much frustration. I also remember that my Dad and I were reading "The Brendan Voyage," by Tim Severn. The book is about an archaeologist's voyage across the North Atlantic Ocean in a sailing vessel made from a leather skin stretched over a wooden frame. Predictably, all of the "creative" writing I did that year closely mimicked that story.

In third grade, my teachers were Ms. Turner and Mr. Bryan. Our classroom had a loft, which was a great place to read. By this time, with a lot of help from my parents and a tutor named Joan who I saw after school (I was going to include a photo of the building where I met with Joan, but it was vertical, and needed to be horizontal, so it got left out), I had become a voracious reader. Sitting in the loft, I read Michael Crichton's "Jurassic Park," by far the longest book I'd yet read on my own. This was also the year that all of my classmates got braces. Oh, the endless suffering they had to endure. I still feel their pain. My fourth grade teacher was Ms. Byam, and the "highlight" of that year were my weekly attempts to learn how to play the oboe. If you've never tried playing a double-reed instrument and are curious about what the experience is like, it's akin to solving a Rubric's Cube with your toes while simultaneously eating a bowl full of jalapeño peppers. So that was fun.

I thoroughly enjoyed my time at Packer. Once I entered the fifth grade, school became a jumbled mess of getting from one class to another, keeping my locker neat, and trying to find time for homework between play rehearsal, Hebrew school (more on that later), and impromptu games of hockey and football on the street.

During my junior and senior years of high school, Packer under went a major renovation. What had once been an airy dance studio was converted into a new dinning hall, with heavy wooden furniture and high, vaulted ceilings. Though it was a loss for the dance department, it was a gift for every student who didn't dance, as they now had a much nicer spot to eat lunch. (The previous lunch room was an airless room in the basement.)

In the condemned St. Francis sanctuary, a new complex of classrooms were built to house the middle school. When I last visited, the year after I graduated, I didn't even recognize the interior, and have since been back only for my brother's graduation. A graduation of another sort was my Bar Mitzvah, when I was transformed in an instant from "boy" to "man." This may seem odd to anyone who knows me as an adult, but out side of Packer, I spent a lot of time at synagogue.

The Brooklyn Heights Synagogue
A place where I was compelled to spend time after school
Also the site of my Bar Mitzvah

Yes, for as long as I can remember, I was compelled by my parents to go to Hebrew School, where I learned how to read Hebrew (for pronunciation only, not understanding), and about Jewish culture. At the time I hadn't the foggiest notion of why I had to go to Hebrew school. Now I understand that it was all in preparation for my Bar Mitzvah. The only highlight from who-knows-how-many years of Hebrew schools were the stale bagels we'd get during an afternoon snack break. When I was in middle school, our synagogue moved down the block to a larger building. The congregation was able to buy the new building without borrowing any money, but they couldn't find the funds for fresh bagels, which remained stale. Of course, the new building also had to be renovated, a process that went on throughout the end of my Hebrew school career. This was good because I was used to constant construction by the time Packer began its renovation.

So, I was Bar Mitzvahed in the 7th grade, and my grandparents got to see me receive that honor, and all of my friends got to sit in the sanctuary while I did my best to chant from the Torah. But my real passion was never in the synagogue, it was in the time I spent with my friends. But we'll get into that tomorrow...

The Schools I Attended, Part 1

For the next couple weeks I'm going to be giving you a visual tour of the Brooklyn that I grew up in. I started yesterday by showing you the homes I lived in. Today, in part one of school installment, we'll be looking at the first two schools I attended:

The Neighborhood Playground, my first school
It was in an Episcopal Church, around the corner from home
Eric went there too, then the church kicked the school out

The first school I ever attended was the Neighborhood Playground. It was a nursery school around the corner from our house on Tompkins Place, at the corner of Clinton and Kane. A close friend of my parents, Jackie, ran the school. I attended for two years, and learned to play with other children and to share. I also learned that I did not enjoy napping. Jackie and her husband, Harvey, are still some of my parent's closest friends, and they were the only people not related to me to attend my graduation from Skidmore. (Harvey and my Dad go back to the days before I was born, and before my parents were married) At this point, Harvey and Jackie have known me longer than almost anyone else I know, and are practically family. Their annual Chanukkah Party is not to be missed. But I'm getting side tracked. At Jackie's school I met four of my best childhood friends: Lee, Andy, Rachel, and Rachel.

This was the garden where all the children played
There was a pool in the summer, and climbing structures all the time
It was a fun place to be a kid

My brother also went to the Neighborhood Playground, but a few years after he had graduated, the church that housed the school decided they could make better use of the space and kicked Jackie out, effectively putting an end to a neighborhood tradition. After finishing my two years at the Neighborhood Playground I attended the local public elementary school, PS 29, which is on Henry Street, between Kane and Baltic Streets.

I developed my street cred at this public school
I had so much cred, that I left after only 3 years,
so as not to terrorize the neighborhood.

When I was younger, I always thought this building looked like a castle. Now I think it looks like a school. I entered PS 29 in Kindergarten, and my teacher was Ms. Franco (sp?). We had a sandbox in our room, which was quite a privilege, we were told. I did things that one does in Kindergarten, like paint, and draw, and have books read to me. I also remember finger painting with some kind of chocolate paint. We had a coat room in our classroom, and I vaguely remember a big hullabaloo among the parents when a little boy named Nathan exposed his penis to a little girl in the coat room. Clearly, this was a pervert in the making, and not a little kid who didn't know any better. Ah kindergarten...

This is what you see when approaching the school from my house
There is a big black-top school yard where we played
I always wanted to go onto the roof, but never got the chance.

In the first grade my teacher was Ms. Rothman, and in second grade my teacher was Ms. Patterson. I remember desks with built-in cubbie holes arranged in large clusters, and I remember taking lots and lots of "city-wides," tests with bubble sheets. In first grade we finished our curriculum a few weeks before the school year ended, and wound up playing board games for three weeks. Great planning Ms. Rothman!

There aren't too many other stand-out memories from those years (certainly none like those from kindergarten), except for Christmas time in second grade, when I remember someone giving our teacher a wallet for the holiday, even though she had told us not to buy her gifts. I also remember being thoroughly confused at the difference between two, to, and too. I suppose that some things will never change. There were lessons in cursive, and daunting chapter books. There was "computer class," which involved Commodore 64s and 5 1/4 floppy drive, and programs like Logo Writer. Oh, those were the days... There were also incompetent teachers protected by the union, like our science teacher Mr. Wallace, and there hairy lunch ladies who served glop from a trough. I suppose that that probably hasn't changed either. All in all, it was a pretty fun experience. I met several more of my close childhood friends at PS 29: Daniel, Hunter, and Jenna.

At PS 29 I was tracked into the gifted program. On the one hand, this was a good thing as it meant that the school system saw that I was a smart kid. (I know, I know. What happened?) On the other hand, it was a bad thing, as it was not initially recognized that I had a pretty severe learning disability, and was slow in learning to read and write. For this reason my parents decided to pull me out of the public school system after the second grade, and entered me in the Packer Collegiate Institute. At Packer, because the age cut-off was different than it was at public school, I had to repeat the second grade. On the one hand, this sucked because I had to explain to all the other 7 year olds why I had already done second grade. On the other hand, it was good because I was now matched with kids who were closer to both my physical and developmental age. I stayed at Packer until they kicked me out at the end of high school, but more on that tomorrow, when I'm back with part two...

Memory Lane and Poll Analysis

You've had a week to let me know how you feel about the use of performance enhancing drugs in professional sports. Thanks to everyone who voted. After looking over the results of the poll, it seems that 4 of you take an optimistic view of sports, believing that sports should be clean, or shouldn't happen at all.

Four of you are less scrupulous, and admitted to doping to win your local turkey trot. Really people? Are turkeys really that expensive? Well, at least you're honest.

At least my readers are aware of the world around them, none of you are take the Hein Verbruggen approach and hiding your heads in the sand. And okay, since you twisted my arm, I'll admit that I voted for letting professional athletes dope... but I only voted that way to play devil's advocate.

Anyhow, I'm temporarily suspending my weekly poll so that I'll have your undivided attention for a special new feature. I'll be moving to Saratoga to start my new job between November 1 and 4, so in the remaining time leading up to my move I'm going to share with you photos and memories from the 23ish years that I spent living in Brooklyn. Tonight, for the first installment of this visual trip down memory lane I'm going to share with you some photos of the places I've lived here in Brooklyn.

11a 3rd Place.
The first place I ever lived.
We moved when Eric was born.

My parents lived in the upper duplex of this narrow brownstone in Carroll Gardens when I was born. They still own the building, which has two rental units. Although I don't remember much from living there, it was still an important place when I was a kid, as my Dad and I would frequently spend time in the basement, where he had a wood shop. I don't know how the tenants felt about our visits, but I don't remember going into the apartments when they were occupied, so perhaps we weren't that much of a pain. In case you're curious, the house is numbered 11a because at one time there was one building lot at 11 3rd Place. Eventually the lot was split in two, with one number 11, and the other 11a. This is also why the building is so narrow.

Anyhow, in 1988, shortly before my brother was born, my parents bought a larger building at 48 Tompkins Place. We moved in either in late July or early August of that year, and have live there ever since, aside from my four years at college.

48 Tompkins Place.
Where I spent most of my life.
This is what I think of when I think of home.

When we first moved in my parents rented out the apartment on the ground floor, but we later took over the whole building, which gave us a a couple extra rooms. This became important when I was older, and owned 3 bikes. I was lucky to grow up in the neighborhood that I did, in a home with so much space, on such a quiet block. I obviously have a lot of memories associated with this place where I lived so much of my life, too many to write here, but when I think of home, this is what I think of.

So that's all for today's memory lane. Check back tomorrow for a look at where I went to school, the place where I spent the second-most time, outside of my home.

Cyclocross!!

As promised, I participated in my first cyclocross race today. I can honestly say that it was one of the hardest events I've ever done on two wheels. Like a criterium on the road, I was in the red zone throughout the entire event, struggling to keep up with the rider in front of me. The race was in a park in Rockaway, New Jersey. The course featured soggy, grassy fields, lots of gravel pits, and a couple of steep climbs, which racers had to run up while carrying our bicycles. There was two steep descents, both into gravel run-outs, and a series of two barriers, that racers had to jump over. BVF was out in force, with six of us racing in the 'C' event, and a seventh watching from the sideline with his toddler son.

The race started like a mountain bike race, with racers stacked in a wide section of the course. When the official blew the whistle we all raced as quickly as we could for the narrow section of the course. The field quickly strung out, just as it would in a mountain bike race, with smallish groups of 4 or 5 riders zipping around the course. early in the race, I was able to pass other racers on the wider section of the course, and on the technical sections, where the suspension on my mountain bike was a huge help. Eventually, I fell in with a group of riders going about my pace, and then I quickly started loosing ground, as guys on 'cross bike out-accelerate me out of turns on the wide-open grassy fields.

As my team mate Ben (who was our top finisher at 4th place) pointed out to me on the way home, you can participate in a 'cross race on a mountain bike, but you can't really be competitive. I didn't have big enough gears to keep up with riders using regular 'cross bikes, and my wheels where simply too small to keep up. I was able to ride faster through some of the more technical sections, but in the long run, this proved not to be enough of an edge. I suppose that means I should buy a 'cross bike...

Eventually I got into a rhythm, and started racing behind my team mate Jason, who is a much more experience 'cross rider than I am (which is to say, he's done it before, and I hadn't). We cruised a long for a few laps, until we can to one of the steep descents. He hit his brakes too hard and dove over his handlebars. He was uninjured, but after leaving him behind I was racing mostly on my own, and wasn't sure of where anyone else was on the course. I passed some more people, and some people passed me.

On the last lap, a youngish kid passed me on a 'cross bike, only to crash directly in my path, which irked me a great deal. I rode around him, and continued racing, now with the goal of beating him to the line. Of course, he soon caught up to me, and kept trying to pass by calling out that he was passing on the left, or passing on the right. Each time I'd move to block his path. After all, this was a race, even if the race was for 30th place. Anyway, he eventually passed me, and I wasn't able to catch back up, and he beat me. Oh well.

I have not yet seen the official results, but I think I somewhere close to 30th place, out of a field of about 45. Not bad, I think. for my first cross race ever! There were some photos taken, and I'm hoping to be able to share those with you soon. Until then, vote in my poll!!

In the next couple weeks, as I prepare for my move back to Saratoga I'm going to be doing a daily feature on the blog that will highlight spots that were important to me in the 22 years that I've lived in this neighborhood. So check back daily to see what gem I've dredged up from memory lane!

Saturday Mix

I've got a nice mix of things for you today. First of all, I've got a photo of what I'll be doing tomorrow morning -- my first cyclocross race! Then I've got an original composition by my co-worker John, which he requested I publish here.

Cyclocross:

bike, run, jump

Should be fun!

I Need a New Down Jacket This Winter

red hoop earrings

crescendo

Upon My

Pillowy

Peanut Butter Souled Shoes

JP -- 10/19/07

*Friday* Top and Bottom Five lists

Yet another week has come and gone, and it's high time for another top and bottom five list:

Tops from the Week:
1) The Saratogian's newest City Reporter!
2) The MS bike tour. A great cuase, and a great ride with great friends!
3) My new apartment. Second Street is the place to be...
4) Gotta say it again: my new job!!
5) Not that either of them are reading, but Kevin O'Brien and Miles Reed. You've both done incredibly well by me.

Bottoms from the Week:
1) The pouring rain outside.
2) This week's heat and humidity. Is it October or August?
3) This awkward conversation that I'm about to have with a problem customer who wants to join BVF.
4) The MS Bike Tour: a flat tire on the start line, a crash at mile 9, and no PB&J?!
5) Leaving JackRabbit, and my friends and co-workers here. Plus, I'll never be able to walk the streets of Saratoga without spotting over-pronation everywhere I look.

Big Announcement!!

This is the only Saratogian Front Page I could find online
It's from a few years ago, but otherwise looks the same
I'll soon be on their staff.

Yes, that's right. After a successful interview that took most of yesterday afternoon, I was offered a job as a city beat reporter at this daily newspaper. Of course, I jumped at the opportunity. I'm very excited about this opportunity, which will be my first full time job, and the first job in what I hope will be a career as a writer. I'm very much looking forward to the opportunity, even though I'll actually be earning less than I would be if I worked full time at JackRabbit, because scraping by on a meager salary is a rite of passage that I'm eager to participate in.

Of course, I'll miss the convenience of living with my parents, and the favorable rent there. And I'll miss my friends in the city, but this is a very exciting change, and I look forward to telling you all about it in the weeks leading up to November 5, my first day of work!

I also wanted to let you all know that this blog helped to make me a desirable candidate, and a blog is nothing without its readers, so thank you all for helping me to get this job! Once I start at the paper, in addition to maintaining this blog, I will also be keeping a blog of Saratoga city politics, giving you yet another opportunity to read my thoughts!

Be well, and I'll get back the top and bottom five lists tomorrow!

Adult Swim!!

*I was going to include of the subject described below, but it just wasn't nice. Sorry, no photos today.

Last night saw me, once again, doing my best Michael Phelps impression. The pressure was up last night, as coach Stewart was filming us for the second time since the class started. I focused all of the energy I usually use for 60 minutes of difficult swimming on just two lengths of the pool. I think I did pretty well on my two lengths, or at least I felt like my swimming had improved since the first class. I suppose we'll see next week when I get to see the video, and can compare it to the first one.

Other than my lap of reckoning, I spent a large portion of the class not swimming and talking about cycling with some guy whose name I don't know. It turns out he's been doing "club rides" (what club? I don't know) for about a year, and is set to join a team called Nyvelocity for next season. Here's what I don't get: Why do people think they need to join a team before racing? Doesn't it make more sense to give racing a shot before plunking down an initiation fee and buying a team kit? Perhaps people like this guy (who, by the way, looked like Lance Armstrong, if Armstrong gained about 60 pounds and looked like a mouse), is joining just because he wants to go up to women at bars and say "Hey, did you know that I race for Velocity?"

Well, I hope he does, so that some woman can say to him: "Get away from me, you fat piece of shit. "

Anyhow, this guy (who I will henceforth refer to as "Peter") was very friendly, so I shouldn't make to much fun of him, but I'm going to, because there was something decidedly comical about his appearance: He wore a white lycra bathing cap that looked a lot like what I imagine a condom would look like, if stretched over one's head. He had a decidedly mousy face, the features of which were accented by the fact that he appeared to be nearly blind without the glasses he had in the locker room, as he was squinting through slanted eyes throughout our whole conversation. Then there was his ponderous gut, which was covered in thick layer of short curlys. Clearly wanting to fit in, Peter wore an all-black pair of jammers, that barely contained his flabby thighs, and allowed his gut to spill over their top. His unshaven legs stuck out the bottom of the suit like a couple links of hairy sausage, which grew wrinkly as the class progressed.

But beyond any of Peter's physical attributes, what struck me most about him was the way he tilted his head to the left and squinted his eyes even harder any time I mentioned anything he wasn't familiar with, or anything that made him uncomfortable. Example:

Peter: "So what kind of bike to you ride?"
Me: "A Douglas."
Head tilts, eyes squint, brow furrows
Peter: "Oh, I'm not familiar with that brand..."

Peter: "Oh, what team are you on?"
Me: "Brooklyn Velo Force."
Head tilts, eyes squint, brow furrows
Peter: "How'd you get hooked up with them?"

And so on. In the end we had a very nice conversation about the cycling life, and I think I was able to dispense some information that I would have found very useful as a beginning racer. For example, I told him that this time of year I'm actually ramping up my weekly mileage, while I let my intensity slide a bit as I focus on building a solid base. Then the mileage comes way down and the intensity skyrockets in January and February when it's often too cold to ride outside, and the trainer is a convenient alternative. Will he follow my advice? Probably not this year, but maybe, if he actually likes racing, he'll give the Bernstein program a shot next year. In any event, our conversation ended when I took off my bathing suit, which I think made him a little uncomfortable, as I wrapped himself tightly in a towel and turned to face the corner.

I'm not going to give any hints, but I'm going to be making a huge announcement on the blog tomorrow, so check back!

MS Photos

For tonight's post I was going to share with you some more photos from Sunday's MS century ride. Unfortunately, blogger is not cooperating. Instead I'm going to share with you this poem by Kanye West:

Let's get lost tonight
You could be my black Kate Moss tonight
Play secretary, I'm the boss tonight
And you don't give a fuck what they all say right?
Awesome, the Christian and and Christian Dior
Damn, they don't make 'em like this anymore
I ask, cause I'm not sure
Do anybody make real shit anymore?
Bow in the presence of greatness
Cause right now thou has forsaken us
You should be honored by my lateness
That I would even show up to this fake shit
So go ahead go nuts go ape shit
Especially in my pastel on my bape shit
Act like you can't tell who made this
New gospel homey, take six, and take this, haters

Until next time!

New Post and Analysis

That's one muscular arm!
My arm is pretty spindly, by comparison.
Do you dope?

Well, not surprisingly, readers of my blog are not the most thoughtful critics of professional baseball. Joe Torre (whose name I spelled wrong) received one vote of no-confidence, so I guess he'll get to stay on the Yankees' roster. A-Rod, however, may find himself looking for work, as two of you voted to have him removed. However, they may both get to keep their jobs, as two of you also voted that the best team won the series, and that the loss can't be pinned on any one party.

In the ultimate demographic study, however, I noticed that four of my 9 voters asked the question: "What's baseball?" What's baseball, indeed. To be honest, I think of baseball as a waste of time second only to such absurdities as "Dancing with the Stars." And yet, it's front page news when the Yankees loose their playoff bid. So that's interesting. Alright, that's all on last week's dude of a poll.

Let's try something more interesting (at least to me) this week. I've recently finished reading David Walsh's book "From Lance to Landis," about doping culture among professional cyclists. He fingers almost every major American pro who raced from the mid-90s to now, taking extra care to blast Lance Armstrong and Floyd Landis. The book certainly gave me a new perspective on doping. But with Marion Jones's doping admissions last week, what I'm really curious about is what others think about doping in sport. Make yourself known in this week's poll!

Start to Finish MS

Team 99 (minus one)
Slap Happy after 100 miles
Proud Day

As promised, I completed the MS Century ride today, in the company of my good friends, Dante, Travis, and Jonathan, as well as Ian, a family friend. As of this morning, the 5000 participants in the bike tour had collected more than 1.5 million dollars! Congrats to everyone on your work to raise funds.

The pace was somewhat slower than last year's MS blitzkrieg, but the weather was perfect, and the company was the best I could ask for. The 100 mile route took us on a circular route around Manhattan, than through the Lincoln Tunnel, into New Jersey. We zoomed through Englewood Cliffs, and the Pallisades. Then we ripped back into New York (Travis beat me in the state line sprint), and deep into Rockland County, before wheeling back around and flying south back to Brooklyn.

A great time was had by all, and if I weren't in a rush to get to JackRabbit, so celebrate last months' record shoe sales, I'd tell you more. I'll be posting more photos when I get them from Dante. Be well out there!

Last chance to give!

This is what it looks like

When the FDR is open

Only to Bikes

I'll be back with part two of the dentist saga soon, but for now, I just wanted to remind you all that I'll be riding in the Multiple Sclerosis Society of New York's Annual MS Bike Tour tomorrow. There's still plenty of time to donate, by clicking on this link.

Last night my parent's held a fundraising cocktail party our house, at which we brought in nearly $2500 for MS. The is a tremendous sum, and I feel extremely proud to be a part of such a successful fundraising effort.

As I've told you before, two of my good friends and former room-mates, Dante and Travis are coming down to the city to ride with me and my team mate Jonathan. Last year we blitzed the 100-mile ride, finishing in less than 5 hours of ride time, after spending nearly the whole ride at or near the front of the "ride." I put ride in quotations here, because at the front of the "ride," most of the people are seasoned racers, and the pace is definitely race pace, not smell the roses pace.

So it's a good time. I'll be letting you know how it went tomorrow, but for now, think good thoughts for us, and donate if you can!

The Dentist, Part I

Worst.

Thing.

Ever.

I love that the first thing the oral hygienist said to me (in a thick Russian accent, no less) when I sat down on her chair yesterday morning was: "How are you today?"

"Well, I'm at the dentist..."

Yup, I was at the dentist, a pleasure that I havn't known since some time in 2004. I detest going to the dentist, and not just for the usual reasons -- that it's unpleasant, occasionall painful, and inconvenient. I also hate it because ever since I was young, the dentist, after prodding my gums to the point of bleeding, and then using rubbing compound smeared on the end of a stone grinder to wear down my enamal, would always remark on what perfect, healthy teeth I had. "Like a text book," was a phrase I often heard in regard to my teeth during my youth and adolescence.

Yup, I've got great teeth. I've never had headgear, braces, a retainer, or any of that stuff. I've never even had so much as a cavity. Not one, and that isn't something many people can say.

And yet here I was, lying on my back with a bright lamp shining in my eyes while a woman who apparently attended the CIA school of dental hygine, prodded the inside of my mouth with what amounts to a razor-sharp toothpick. Why was in this position you might ask? Well, there are a couple answers.*

First of all, my Mom had been nagging me to go to the dentist for years. If I was only home for Winter break, I always had the excuse that I couldn't get an appointment, and if I was home for the summer, I would just ignore her. But I've now been living at home since the end of May, and I eventually got to the point where I could no longer stand up to her contstant nagging.

Secondly, since I had last been to the dentist my wisdom teeth had come in. There was even a period of time in 2005 when the teething was so painful that I could be seen walking around Skidmore with my finger in my mouth, just like a teething infant. The pain eventually subsided, and I figured my teeth had come in without any problem. Of course, food got stuck in them occasionally, and every once in a while I'd bit my cheeck, but neither was more than a slight inconvenience.

But anyhow, I had four new teeth in my mouth, and I figured it couldn't hurt to get them check out, just in case...

Stay tuned for part two...

*Mom, if you're reading, (and I know that you are), you might want to skip this next paragraph.

Thursday Top and Bottom Five

Here we are, once again at Thursday. That must mean it's time for another Top and Bottom Five list! Yay!!

Tops from the Week:
1) Spending the weekend with Becky in Barrington, and having an extra day off on Monday. (Thanks for covering for me on Monday, Troy!)
2) Finishing Uncle David's publicity flier, and hearing how satisfied he was with the final product!
3) Swimming as hard as I could on Tuesday night.
4) Everyone who has donated to MS in support of this weekend's charity ride.
5) 22 years and not a single cavity!!

Bottoms from the Week:
1) This morning's visit to the dentist, but more on that later.
2) The way my teeth hurt after visiting the dentist.
3) The thought of potentially needing to have my wisdom teeth pulled.
4) The bedside manner of my oral hygienist.
5) The pouring rain outside.

Adult Swim: Unleash Your Inner Tiger Shark

Last night was another attempt on my party to avoid drowning in the pool, while coach Jon Stewart looked on with a bemused expression on his face. I've reached a point in my swimming where I really feel like I'm beginning to get it. When I concentrate, and think about every part of my stroke, I'm able to more efficiently through the water, in a more-or-less straight line. It's a very satisfying feeling. Of course, it all fall apart very quickly if I loose my concentration for even a second. Last night I had the perfect opportunity to forget all the good technique and form I've learned, just when it would have been ideal to swim with grace and ease.

Last night saw our class attempt its first relay races.

Sensing that we'd be racing, my co-worker Troy was doing an exemplary job of putting me in the hot seat as the class gathered in the pool's lobby, while waiting to be let into the locker rooms. "Andrew had the second-fastest time in the time trail last week," he'd say, "so try and get in his lane," and so on. Well, thanks for the compliment Troy, but you really made me feel the pressure. Never mind that you also posted a fast time in the time trial, wouldn't want anyone expecting you to swim fast, would you?

Anyhow, I wound up in a lane with only four people, leaving one of us to swim two 50-yard laps in the 250-yard relays (That's five laps). Well, guess who had to swim twice? Yup, Mr. 1 minute, 36 seconds. Stewart told us that after the first relay, we'd see what the fasts time was, and re-giger the groups with the goal of beating that first time. So we started, and I was the first to go, as I had to swim twice.

Well, swimming fast left me no chance to think about any of the technique and style that we'd learned. I took off as fast as I could, trying to turn over my arms as quickly as I turn over the pedals on my bike. I was soon at my anaerobic capacity, and could feel the lactic acid seeping into my arms (which is a very strange sensation for a cyclist). Some how I kept the pace up, thrashing the water all the way through my first length. After turning around at the far end of the pool I realized that my old nemesis Nadia, the only person to swim faster than me in the time trial, in the lane next to me. We were exactly even. I tried to turn my arms over even faster, as I thrashed the water with my legs. I couldn't pull ahead of her; it was the best I could do to stay even, and we both touched the wall at the same moment. I finished the first lap in 35 seconds.

Another JackRabbiter, Peter was also in my lane, and he took off as soon as I landed, skimming his way across the pool. We didn't get any more time splits, but our four-person team was very fast. By the time I was up again we were at least a length ahead of our closest competitors. I was still fatigued from my effort in the first lap when it was my turn to swim again, so I couldn't trash the water quite as fast as I would have liked, but we still finished our 250 yards in 3 minutes and 35 seconds. This became the time to beat for the rest of the evening. And as everyone became more and more tired as the evening progressed, no one was able to come close to our time (everyone, that is, except Peter, who was swimming circles around me in the fourth relay race).

Now, there is no Olympic 250 meter event, but to give you some comparison, the world record for the 4x100 meter relay in a 25-meter pool is just a shade over 3 minutes and 9 seconds. So, at the world record level, swimmers move through the water more than twice as fast as we moved through the water last night. That, I find that incredible.

My arms are still quite fatigued from last night's efforts, but it's okay, as I had a great time. Peter thought I was getting a little too competitive in the locker room after class, but I think it's OK to get competitive in this class, as I get beat up on by people who are much faster than me at bike races all weekend, so this is my chance to let out a little steam, and my turn to be one of the faster people. So far, I'm enjoying it enormously. That's all for now, don't forget to vote in my poll (PS, I spelled Joe Torre's name wrong, my apologies). Donate to MS if you feel inclined, and stay well until next time!

Wednesday Update...

Adult Swim later, I just wanted quickly to let you all know that my efforts to raise money for MS research ahead of this weekend's MS New York Charity ride are going along swimmingly. So far, I've raised $160, and my "team," which consists of family and friends, has raised nearly $4000!

If you'd like to contribute, you can give me a check payable to "MS New York," or log onto this webpage. Thanks to all of you who have supported me, and keep the donations coming in, together we can beat MS!

New Poll and analysis!!

This is Joe Torre.
He is the Manager of the Yankees...
For now.

Last week's poll was, in my humble opinion, the best yet. The question forced you readers to consider being stranded, isolated, lonely, abandoned, wrecked, and worst of all, perpetually bored. I asked what book off of my shelf you'd want with you on a desert island, and the overwhelming response Mark Bittman's "How to Cook Everything."

Yep, you sickos would want to torture yourselves with the tantalizing recipe's in this cookbook, even as you tried without success to spear fish in a tropical lagoon, or to squeeze milk out of coconuts. Perhaps it was a sense of whimsical nostalgia that lead 4 out of 9 voters to choose this book. You want to remember the delicious foods you once ate on this desert island, where the only source of heat is the scorching sun. Beats me. If I were stuck on a desert island, the last thing I'd want to be reading about is food. But that's just me.

I voted for the second-most popular choice, Walter Isaacson's "Einstein." This book recieved 3 votes. I chose it because if I were trapped on a desert island, I'd want to have a book that I don't find interesting at all, that I have to struggle to pick up. I figure that this way, it would last longer, as I would have to force myself to read a page each day. I can only assume that the other two people who voted for this book feel the same way. Either that, or they are Einstein fans. By the way, I received this book as a graduation gift from my cousin Sydney, who apparently does have a wierd interest in Einstein, which he assumed that I would share. Sorry Sidney.

Kurt Vonnegut's "Cat's Cradle," received 2 votes. This is my favorite book of all time, and I've read it dozens of times. Although I though about voting for this book, since I know that I could read it over and over again, ad infinitum. I ultimately decided against it, as I worried that I might be driven to do what you're lead to believe the narrator does at the story's end, which is essentially to kill himself. Wouldn't I be the fool if I killed myself, only to have a rescue helicopter find my carcase the next day? Anyhow, it's a great book, and I certainly understand why the two of you voted for it.

NEW POLL!
For this week's poll I've decided to do something extremely out of character. I'm offering a poll about baseball. I figure that this poll will do one of two things. I'll either alienate both of my readers, neither of whom know a damn thing about baseball (just like me), or I'll get a whole new, exciting, and different group of people interested in reading my blog as they realize that I really do have a life outside of my lycra bike shorts.

Anyhow, after loosing to Cleveland Indians last night, the Yankees lost their bid for the playoffs, and are now done for the year. Some people are saying that this is the end of General Manager Foe Torre's long tenure with the Bronx Bombers. Others are saying that the loss was the fault of an overpaid pitching staff, and Torre couldn't have fixed that problem. I'll give you four poetic options.
1) Toss Torre
2) Remove Rodriguez
3) Yoink! The Indians were just the better team.
4) What's baseball?

Let me know what you think, and as always, feel free to voice other opinions in the comments! Happy voting.

2007 is in the Books

They say that looking good is about 90% of Victory.
This is the Start of Jamestown
Looks like I'm keeping some fast company...

Well, that's all folks. My 2007 racing season officially ended today with a spectacular DNF in the 32nd Annual Jamestown Classic Bike Race. Although I'm bitter and disappointed with this result, I can take solace in the fact that there's always nest year!

Here's a quick recap of the race: Jamestown was sort of a funny event, as it featured no fewer than 20 fields. Races were offered in various age groups, starting as young as boys and girls aged 4-7. The event benefits the Jamestown Rotary Club, which does things like set up literacy programs around Rhode Island and send wheel chairs to Nicaragua. Certainly a good cause, and as with all good causes, everyone and their uncle wants to help out, so anyone with two legs and a bike signs up to race. The wide array of equipment, age, and experience levels of the racers gave the event a real down-home feel.

Of course, my race didn't feel down home at all. I was in the Pro/1/2/3 event, which featured some real pros, and many 1s and 2s. Among those, there were a few familiar faces from the city, but mostly, it was the fast guys who win the races in which I just sit in. There were a few of us 3s, but we all knew we were doomed. Jamestown is one of the last events on the calendar, so it attracts some real talent, and my chances of scoring a good result on the flat, windy course were about as good as the chances of a Green Bay fan not knowing who Brett Favre is. (By the way, did you know that the Packer's quarterback's name is pronounced "Far-Vv" I think he should change the spelling.)

It was pouring rain when I woke up this morning, which I was happy about, as I tend to have good races in the rain, even though it's cold and miserable. Unfortunately, the rain stopped before Becky and I got into the car, and by the time we arrived at Jamestown, the sun was thinking about poking through the clouds. Of course, the ground was sopping wet, which was sure to guarantee a sloppy race, with out the benefits of rain. In short, it was the worst of both worlds. At least I had my wonderfully dedicated cheerleader on the side of the road.

When we started in down town Jamestown, the pace was immediately fast. It took me a few minutes to get settled in. Soon we were flying down country roads at 30 miles an hour. There was one bumpy section where we slamming over craters the size of Mini Coopers. Although I knew my wheels were going to pay the price, I advanced from the back of the field, all the way to the front on this section. I lost a water bottle in the process, but soon found myself at the front of the race, which was a good place tot be, as I was still harboring notions of a good result, or at least of attempting a break away.

I tried to put in an attack, because my legs were feeling pretty good, but there was no way lowly me was getting away from this high-powered field. I drifted back in the field on a climb, and then accidentally found that I had drifted a little too far and was off of the back. No worries. I chased my way back in, just in time for a big acceleration on another climb. That was where I got popped for real. I was on my own, riding at 29 MPH, and still not gaining any ground on the field, which was slowly pulling away from me.

I gave up when I lost site of the group around a big bend. The course was a 19 mile lap, and I rode the last 5 miles of the lap out of contention. In the end, a pro from the NERAC team won, with a bunch of other really good riders finishing in all of the top spots. Becky and I got to watch the very exciting and fast finish.

So that was how that went. Hopefully I'll have more exciting results to write about next season. Check back tomorrow for a new poll!

Anybody Need Software for Your Ambulance?

This is page one of four.
I think it looks pretty good.
Want to buy some software?

After nearly six weeks of work, I finally finished the publicity materials for my uncle's Emergency Services Software late on Friday night. I've posted the first page of the four-page pamphlet for your viewing pleasure. I did all of the work on this document, including the source interviews, photography, copy, page design. The document is going to be printed on one sheet of of 17" x 11", which will be folded in half for distribution.

Although this project was a headache at times, I am very happy with the end result, as are, I think, my uncle and his business partner. I hope that this will be the first of many such projects that I'll be able to undertake in the coming years, as this kind of work pays a lot better than selling sneakers at The Rabbit.

If you know anyone who needs some press materials made for their product, please let me know! Also, now you know what I do when I'm not selling sneakers, riding my bike, writing blog posts, or sleeping. As I mentioned yesterday, I'm visiting Becky in Rhode Island over the holiday weekend, so I'm going to push the usual blog schedule back a day. I'll be writing a brief post tomorrow, with a new poll and analysis coming on Tuesday. Adult Swim will be back, as always, on Wednesday. Have a great long weekend!

I'm driving to Rhode Island to visit Becky tonight, so this is going to be a brief post. Something very blog-able happened today, but I can't bear the thought of what my life would be like if I wrote about it, so I'm going to have to leave you in the dark. Enjoy this photo instead:

My pants were ripped, so I made them into short-shorts.
Smerwin made me a sign.
He also set the price. I think it's a bit low.