Takeru, Joey, & Me

I watched the annual Nathan's Famous Hot Dog Eating Contest on ESPN today. It has become as much a 4th of July tradition around the Bone household as grilled burgers and shooting bottle rockets out of your bare hand. Because really, few things are as American as forcing fifty-nine hot dogs down your esophagus in ten minutes or having second degree burns from putting on your own fireworks show.

Congratulations to this year's winner, Joey "The Clay Aiken Of Bacon" Chestnut. He defeated the legendary Kobayashi in a five dog eat-off to claim the title for the second consecutive year. And this has inspired me to share with you a tale of my own recent athletic prowess.

Last Saturday, in the immortal words of Flock Of Seagulls, I ran. I participated in a five mile race, finishing with a time of 39:10, which was OK. I've only been running about once a week since my 10K in May, so I was satisfied with a sub eight minute pace.

More importantly, I set a new personal record for the most races I've run in a single year, with two. This not only surpasses, but doubles my previous all-time high, of one.

But the most impressive thing about last weekend was that I actually got out of bed at 5:45 on a Saturday morning to go and run five miles. My bed was beckoning me, my body was crying out in protest, and my fish was swimming around as if to say, "What in the world are we doing up at this hour? But as long as we're up, feed me."

This brings up an interesting question: What possesses the runner to do such things? What inspires the runner to run? Some might say it's the sense of accomplishment and personal fulfillment one feels when one crosses the finish line. I say, poppycock!

It's all about the free cookies, bananas, watermelon, Gatorade, soft drinks and other refreshments provided after the race. Oh, and the free t-shirt. Not to mention the blog material it provides. That's why I run.

Still, I'm sure others would say it's the opportunity to wear super sexy, super short running shorts without being subjected to (much) public ridicule, banished from society, or thrown in prison. To wit:



Happy 4th of July, all! Have a hot dog, or fifty-nine. And here's hoping no one has a "reversal of fortune."

"The cloud is moving nearer still. Aurora borealis comes in view. Aurora comes in view. And I ran. I ran so far away. I just ran. I ran all night and day..."

When I come to Myrtle Beach, will you teach me to shag?

The National Blog service has issued a Severe Randomness Warning for the duration of this post. Those in the path of this blog can expect widely scattered thoughts, which may or may not include such topics as Newhart, why the bank always asks for your mother's maiden name, and poke salad.

Since I haven't blogged in a few days, as you might imagine, I have quite a few things to talk about. I figured I could either divide them into several separate entries, or throw them all into one. Guess which one I decided to do.

In many ways, the past few days are a perfect microcosm of my life. Friday night, I hung out with three lovely ladies. (I know this same routine every weekend must get old to all of you.) OK, perhaps I should mention the three ladies were my aunt who always gives me $10, another aunt, and my Mom. We went out to eat for other aunt's birthday.

After that, we hung out at K-Mart, sorting thru the discounted Christmas merchandise until the break of 9:00 PM. OK, really just 8:30, but that sounded kind of early. I looked for a new Festivus pole, but they must have been sold out. I got a new Christmas tree at 75% off.

In other news, it looks like the the Darryls and I will be going to Myrtle Beach for our annual beach trip this year. I brought up the idea Saturday night. And since the Darryls never make any decisions and pretty much go along with whatever I suggest, I guess that seals it.

On the homefront, GabeKaplan--the fish, not the actor--has been doing swimmingly. He's almost out of food though. And by almost out, I mean the box is empty. So for the past few days, I've been on my knees scouring the carpet for pellets I may have dropped. I really think I found the last two today. Guess I'll have to go to the store.

Yesterday, my right arm itched all day. I was afraid I might be coming down with another rash. I thought maybe I'd gotten into some poke salad. But then I googled poke salad and it didn't appear to be known for causing rashes, just potentially fatal gastrointestinal problems. Anyway, around 10:00 last night, I was scratching myself and a fabric softener sheet came out of my sleeve. That's not some magic trick I do. That's my life, in a nutshell.

And what about this weather? The temps have been in the seventies the past two days. I'm wearing flip flps and short sleeves. And I finally broke down and cut on the AC last night after getting hot taking down my Christmas tree.

It's like I retired and moved to South Florida, except there's no shuffleboard and I'm still having to go to work everyday. It's really messing up my Seasonal Affective Disorder. I can't even get good and depressed anymore. There are no seasons, I'm not affected, therefore no disorder.

I don't know what's going on, but I did pass a church sign on my way home the other night that said "Eternity is straight ahead." You know, it would really be helpful if they'd put some sort of mileage estimate on that. Do I need to get a bite to eat? Should I stop for gas? I don't start out on I-10 and see a sign that says "California is straight ahead."

Regardless, I just kept driving. I mean, I spent my Friday night hanging at the K-Mart, I'm crawling around on all fours looking for fish pellets, walking around in public with fabric softener sheets in my clothes. What am I clinging to?

"Down on Peaches Corner there are Good Ol' Boys. And Mother Fletcher's makin' lots of noise. They're dancin', shaggin' on the boulevard..."