Guaranteed Privacy

If you really want to be able to express yourself in complete privacy, just write a blog.

It's odd to "publish" something that you have to admit you don't expect anyone to read.  It's kind of a fun format.  I mean, someone could easily find the blog and read it, but even if I wanted that to happen, it's improbable.  I could send people the link, but that's not really why I write it.

Why do I write this?  It's sort of like singing while you run or posting the only comment on something online.  It's fun to express yourself, but you're not communicating, you're just broadcasting.  No, that's not the right word.  Broadcasting supposes that a broad audience is receiving it.

I think it's a little like putting a letter in a bottle.  There is a very remote chance that someone may open it up and read it one day, but if they do, you'll be nowhere near and you'll never know it.

Is it ego?  Is it self-indulgent?  I guess it would be ego if you expected people to read it and follow it.  It is definitely self-indulgent, but there's a funny twist.  It's different than a diary locked away somewhere.  It's different than writing on a Word document, password protecting it, and keeping it on your computer where no one can read it.  When blogging, you realize that someone could see it, you just don't expect them to.

I guess it's a lot like sunbathing in the nude in your back yard with a privacy fence all around.  It's possible someone will be able to see in or will come up and pop their head over the fence, and that's part of what makes it kind of thrilling.  The risk of exposure.

I guess the other part is that when you think there's even a remote chance that someone will read it, you write the content to that quasi-fictional someone.  I heard a person say that they wrote blogs or did podcasts or some activity, as if they were writing an email to a good friend (and they kept a particular person in mind).  I guess I don't have a fictional audience in mind.  If I think about who might read this, I think it is just as likely to be someone that doesn't like me as someone who is either neutral or a friend.  Actually, if I had to make a list of people that I know don't like me, it would only be one name long.  But you have to consider that there are people that know you that really don't like you, and you'll never find out.  I believe that's just a condition in life, you grow enemies that you don't know.  People out there that are routing for you to fail.

To those people I have one thing to say: I don't know shit about you, but you're reading my blog, so who's the one having to put up with the other?  Just keep reading and don't ever let me know you're out there.  Better a silent and theoretical enemy than an active asshole in my life.  I hope you have a good day!

Love's is Everywhere

After almost running off the exit because I was so sleepy, I pulled into a Love's Convenience Store, Gas, and Truck Stop.  Love's.  WTF?  Where did this come from?  I sure as hell don't love Love's like I love Quik Trip.  That's a store to love.


Realized I needed oil and went inside.  Weird.  There was a wall dividing two halves of the store.  One side was supposedly for serious trucker types and all you civilians just stay the hell out, y'hear?  I thought it looked like a parts store, so I wandered in and looked for motor oil, which it did not have.


It did have a clerk or cashier, not sure what the title to that guy is.  He looked kind of lonely.  Said this section was for truckers and the motor oil was up front.


Went up front and found the oil and went over to the line.  It was that scene you dread.  The guy in the front of the line was hunched over, scratching off tickets, and the clerk was hunched over some machine, processing the ream of scratch-offs the inconsiderate douche was scratching off.  Cock blocked!  I watched for about a minute, not really getting mad, just noting that it was an unacceptable situation, when I remembered the lonely clerk in the back.  I went back and asked if a civilian like myself could give him money for something from the front of the store.  Yep.  Perfectly permissible.  He warns me to hold on to the receipt in case the clerk in the front mistakes what I'm doing walking out with my purchase.


2 minutes later, I'm out the door, and scratch-off douche and dim-witted clerk are statues, in the same positions as before.  While I am confident that I'm doing nothing wrong, and the clerk is several notches below the minimally alert level, I am thinking that it's good that I have a receipt.'


Hey, I've got nothing to hide, I boldly pop the hood not 25 feet from the clerk and pour the oil into my engine.  Right out in the open.  No attempt to conceal my seemingly criminal actions.


I close the hood of the car and a police car rushes into the lot with lights flashing (no siren, though - perhaps he was in "silent but deadly" mode).  Whoa.  That was fast.  Cop flies past and blocks a couple of cars at the far end of the lot in with that patented "diagonal park" move.


Not sure if it's a case of mistaken identity or a strange coincidence, but not really wanting to stick around, I casually get back in the car and drive off.


Why is a cop zipping in to confront a couple of cars in a gas station parking lot?  Will there be gunfire?  The route back onto the highway takes me in a wide spiral around the scene.  The cop is between the cars, talking to someone through the window.  Doesn't look like gunfire will be featured.  Doesn't look like mistaken identity, he seems to have business with these guys.


Why does a cop zero in on two non-moving vehicles?  Why does a cop "stop" someone in a gas station parking lot.  I'm not sure I've seen something like this before.  I imagined that there was a child custody struggle, a domestic violence incident, or an aggressive campaign for the policeman's ball, but I'll have to live with the fact that I will probably never know.

Gunning for You

I went on a weekend trip to my Uncle's cabin with my brothers.  I took a handgun that my brother gave me, as we were going to have an opportunity to shoot (but we didn't).


I was driving the next day on I-70 toward Salina and saw an oncoming State Trooper quickly pull into the turnaround lane.  It seemed that he was aiming for me and I might get a speeding ticket.  I was going 7 over, but you never know what will trigger something like that, and there were some construction zones ("am I still in it?" you think).


While I passed the police car and watched to see if I was busted, I realized something that made it suddenly much worse.  I had the loaded handgun in its case on the floor behind the passenger seat.  It was in a case, but the case was in plan view.  I shoved it under the seat and took a more keen interest in what the Trooper was up to.


He was cruising along behind the guy behind me, not trying to bust anyone.


What the hell are the laws about transporting firearms?  You know hunters drive with weapons in their car, so it can't be illegal.  Does it have to be out of reach?  Does the ammo have to be separate from the gun?  Oh shit.


Pulled into the Russell Stover Outlet after about 20 miles of fretting and realized he was no longer back there anyway.  Shoved the gun into the "trunk" in back.  Bought chocolate and thought about how bad that could have gone.


Sometimes it doesn't matter if you're a "law abiding citizen".  One wrong move and you are no longer in that category, are you?

Invisible Man

Last year, I ran the Konquer the Konza 25k run near Manhattan Kansas.  I was training for it, and doing quite well, but on Labor Day, I injured myself water skiing.  The event was 4 weeks later, and I was a little healed, but had slipped on my training and still hurting.  I ran the event anyway.  I felt OK until the last 3 miles, when I really started hurting.  I finished, and felt triumphant about it.  However, the two marathons I was going to run in the following month were put out of consideration.


This year, I signed up again.  I got some kind of cold-like respiratory infection that cut about 5 weeks out of my training, and put me behind.  Then I started really packing on the training, trying to accelerate the process.  I was still behind, but determined to go through with the run.  The weekend before the race, I did a 12 mile training run, and did something to my calf at the 11.5 mile point.  I hobbled around for a week, tried once to run on it, and decided to let it heal and see how I felt.


The day of the race, I felt pretty good.  At the start of the race, about a half mile in, my leg started to hurt, and it didn't seem possible to finish.  I had 15 more miles to go.  I reasoned that I would simply run as long as I could and see what happened.  I figured I could quit at any time.  The pain lessened, but I was not really operating at any kind of normal level.  I accepted a 2 minute per mile drop in my pace and just gritted my teeth and plugged along until it was over.


It was a completely different experience.  My iPod was out of battery (must have had the button pressed while it sat in my luggage - my fault for leaving the switch in the on position).  So I didn't have inspirational music or the audio books I was going to listen to.  I did have my iTunes on my iPhone, but beyond listening to one podcast and two songs, I didn't use it.  For once, I ran just listening to the trail.


People talked to me, but only because I was wearing the t-shirt from the run the year before.  One woman told me "Congratulations sir, I think you're the oldest one out here.  You don't see many people your age doing this." You can't tell someone to fuck off when they think they are giving you a compliment, can you?


Then I noticed something else.  I was the invisible man.  The race volunteers would be cheering the people in front of me on, then fall silent as I ran by.  Then they would cheer the people behind me.  The course photographer did not photograph me.  I finished the race and did not talk to anyone.  I simply left.


What did they see?  What did they not see?  It was an eerie feeling, even to the point of being distracting from all the pain.