Book Update

As you may know, The Traveling Wombury came to Boulder to fashion a book about his Travels, using the time-honored method of watching TV. So far the book is almost finished, if by almost finished you mean not started. But there are chapters. 12 so far.

If you have any suggestions for how to write a book, please send them to me.

In other news, David and Elizabeth are at a play with Randy and his wife. Randy drives a Jaguar and flies planes. He makes the brass connectors for the ends of Monster Cables. David told me he's waking me up at 8 am to go for a run.

I'm also visiting my cousin Tyler tomorrow in Denver. He invited to me listen to a band at his favorite biker bar. Tyler is 37 years old. He lives and works in Denver. I called him the other day to let him know I had arrived. He told me it was bad time to talk. He was in South Dakota pheasant hunting and he was sure someone had stolen his hunting dog. "Kind of a tough day for me bro." He called back two days later. It turns out he found his dog but its leg was broken. "I think someone shot him," he said. I thought that was ghastly but I didnt say the word "Ghastly" because that word is sort of British and emasculine, and Tyler climbs rocks and jumps from planes. Tyler then told me, matter of factly that he had the dog put down that afternoon. "I said to the vet, 'look man, we're both looking at this leg and we both know it's broken; we don't need an x-ray to tell us that. The question is, how much is going to cost?'" The doctor said $4,500, which in the Tyler's cost-benefit analysis is too much. "My little one is going to be pissed when I tell her."

That's Tyler.

So, nothing written in the Off the Grid book, but there are chapter titles, and my cousin's daughter is pissed. And I'm going to watch the sixth episode of season one of The Wire. It's gritty. Like me.

Until then.

The Traveling Wombury

A Masquerade

Eerie Race today. Held in Eerie, Colorado. No one knows why it's called Eerie. Eerie. 40 degrees, very overcast. Race started at 9:30 am. I finished 61st out of 360 5k runners. No, the other 300 runners were not in wheelchairs, or smack addicts. I ran hard and true. I even managed to squeak by this red-headed kid just at the finish line. He was about 10 years old. I have quite a kick. Although I finished 61st overall, I did finish 3rd in my age division. Weird, huh? I assume there were more than three 29 years old, but I could be wrong. Mostly it was people in their teens and 50s. I ran the Race in 25:12, with an 8:07 pace. See, my problem with ranking the runners by age is that it doesn't take into account lifestyle. They should have a division of people who've been drinking and smoking for a minimum of 1, 5, and 10 years. I could do well in the 10-year Smokers/Drinkers division. I brought this up with Elizabeth and David and we laughed. Then Elizabeth said she smoked. I couldn't tell if that meant she smokes currently (haven't seen her) or in the past, or if she was being sarcastic. I wanted to ask but somehow being surrounded by 600 jogging enthusiasts distracted me.

Elizabeth and David were really impressed. They ran the 10k. Elizabeth finished first in hers. David finished sixth. Shit, Elizabeth finished first in the 65 year-old women's division of the Chicago Marathon. She's no joke. I was proud of finishing. The race ended 10:00 am or so. Afterwards this guy Dave Dooley had a bunch of runners to his place for breakfast. Dave is 60 years old. He ran 10k in 38 minutes, which is damn fast.

I've been on the couch since noon watching five straight episodes of The Wire. Nicole's going on another date tonight with her new boyfriend. This is date six I believe. He doesn't know about me, but I know about. Nicole swears up and down they haven't gotten physical yet. Actually, she swore they haven't had intercourse yet. They've probably kissed several times, but if he doesn't start getting major action by the sixth date he's either going to be really pissed or gay.

Last night she told me to email Ms. Lannan and tell her I love here. See what happens. It angered me that she would joke about stuff she knows will piss me off. She accused me of "verbally bashing" her. I think it was an excuse to dehumanize in order to rationalize her hook-up with the new guy.

The thing about this that makes bug out is a dream I had several weeks ago. It was right around the time Nicole told me she was dating someone else. It was a day or two before actually. Made sense to have the dream. We're animals. We need love to survive, love that is physical as well as emotional. I'd been away for nearly a month, so it was natural for my subconscious mind to raise a few red flags with a dream or two. I don't want to give a detailed description, but let's just say what I witnessed was discomfiting.

In the dream I felt the need to fly back to Brooklyn to confront the lady. I made it just in time...for Halloween. In the dream Nicole and I had it out, tears, screaming, pointing, red-faces, aching insides, you name it. In the dream I let her go once it become clear it wasn't about revenge, but about transferring her feelings. I left her in her bedroom alone with her thoughts, shutting the door behind me. Outside her bedroom were the familiar sights, sounds, and smells of a halloween party. Men in bad dracula costumes draped over women in outdated nurses' uniforms. One of the draculas was the boy Nicole was seeing. We talked. Rather he talked. I hollered. Eventually I relented, dropped my act in the face of something authentic. End of dream, I wake up full of anxiety. Two days later Nicole told me she was going on a date with a gentleman caller. Someone she'd been corresponding for two weeks. It cuts like a knife. I think John Cougar Mellencamp sang that. Maybe Tom Waits or Nazareth.

It's not Halloween tonight, but it's Halloween party night. Sixth date, drinking, costume. There's a reason why most 16th and 17th century aristocracy met their mates at the Masque. The mask gives our ids room to breathe, the opportunity to do things we normally wouldn't do.
Tomorrow or tonight I will receive a very call and the conversation will be very painful.

Pickup Trucks, Bathtub Drains, and a 5k

Today was fairly eventful. Started the day giving George a hand with the tractor. George, you'll recall manages David's farm. He lives in a double wide trailer on the property. Seems the fuel filter failed George midway through spraying the alfalfa fields. Then he killed the battery trying to start the damn thing. Elizabeth gave him a ride home. David woke me up 8 am to tell me I needed to give George a ride in the F-150 pick-up truck, give him a jump, and follow him home. You can drive stick, right, David asked. Hell yeah, just not in front of other men.




After the pick-up truck rescue and breakfast, I took a bike ride with David. We rode around Colorado in 40 degree weather for an hour. David said it was a leisurely stroll. We had to screw on the pedals, get water bottles, find a helmet, put on sunglasses. David had extra work to do, since he had to put on spandex tights. This might be the toughest photo of the Traveling Wombury ever taken. If you agree, please send in a tough photo of yourself.



See that? That's hardware. David drove me to a hardware store to buy it. I sort of fucked up the bathtub drain on Wednesday. After running 6 miles and ten (TEN!) hills with David, he told me to soak my extremities in the basement bathtub. Like the mindless ape-man that I am, I pulled the drain lever clean off. Pet the pretty drain. Where I'm from we didn't fix stuff. We were like aboriginal neophytes who looked at electricity like it was the sole possession of the Gods of Olympia. We once gave our sister's hand away in marriage to the electrician for showing us how to program the microwave. But David and Elizabeth don't play that. David took me to Mcguckins and we bought a new drain and installed it. Afterwards my jeans no longer fit because my love stones had swollen to the size of hairy grapefruits.



Guess who's running in a 5k race this weekend? That's right, tomorrow at 9:30 am, The Traveling Wombury will be in the thick of his first competitive race. I asked David if I could wear a wife-beater and face paint. He said runners, "don't do intimidating; either you can run or you can't." Tell that to Muhammad Ali, or Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. These men knew and know the value of trash talking and being righteous muslim men. Which is why I plan on taking two wives after the race tomorrow. Elizabeth and David took me to dinner and we talked strategy. We all agreed I would start at 9:40 pace, run alongside with David, and then take off. I asked them when to go all out like a crazed madman. When you have the finish line in your sights. Elizabeth told me running was all about the mental aspect. How would I react when the body begins to tire, screams for relief? She told me she wants to see me flat on my face after the finish line. That way she'll know I tried my hardest. That's your challenge, she said, looking me straight in the eye. To try as hard as you can. For once.