There's gonna be a jailbreak

I've done my sentence, but committed no crime. Well, none that you can pin on me without a convincing false witness and some contrived evidence.

The photographer liked my sad face. "You got it right.
Most people get behind there and smile."

I confess, though, that I did sort of slip my bonds yesterday. I failed to raise the requested $800 bail. I did, however, come up with more than 50 percent of it. That's rather remarkable considering the minimal effort I put into the MDA Lockup. For that I apologize. I should have tried harder. Honestly, it was easier than I expected, and had I made a genuine effort from the start I am confident I would have raised more than asked.

As it is, I delayed online registration for two or three weeks and then only posted a notice on my Facebook page. That drew a few comments and some notice from friends. At least one person noted in a message later that she would probably contribute to my release fund.

In the end, I generated $285 in cash and pledges during the Lockup and pulled in another $180 online. That's a grand total of $465. Pretty sure that's considerably more than my most successful youth bike-a-thon.

I've expressed my thanks to all who donated, but I'd like to reiterate my appreciation publicly. Thank you all for the generous donations to MDA. I am blessed by your willing spirit. And I should apologize to my father for unnecessarily compounding his daily stress level yesterday.

You see, I tried to have a little fun with the calls.

Me: Hey, I'm in jail.

Dad: You're in jail? How much is it gonna cost to get you out?

(I could sense the defeat in his voice; he thought I really was in the pokey.)

Me: I don't know. Whatever ya got. Pause... It's for the MDA Lockup. I'm not really in jail.

At that point Mom got on the line and took over from my shocked father. She had seen my morning email reminder and knew what I was talking about. As promised, she made a donation to the cause. I suspect Dad might have left me after I sent his nervous system into overdrive.

Of course, had I been left to rot, there were plenty of Wild Wings and loads of beer to be had. Not a bad jail (if you can stand the constant commotion from the bazillion blaring TVs).

Running Like Snakes from St. Patrick

Today was the day. CASI's 30th annual St. Patrick's Day Race was this morning in Davenport, Iowa. What a change from last year: I'll have to check last year's entry, but it was considerably colder and windy as all get-out. You could hear it in the video I made during last year's run.  That was harsh. By contrast, this year the temp pushed into the 80s and there was only a slight breeze off the river.

It was beautiful. Undoubtedly that contributed to the increase in entries. I believe there were about 2,400 last year. The announcer this year said there were 3,000. It ain't the Bix, but it's a crowd.

As usual, I fell in at the back of the back. 1. I know I'm slow, so there's no sense contributing to the clog at the start. 2. It feels good to pass people. I overheard a couple of guys talking about the course before the start. The route is similar to last year, though we started on Second Street this time instead of the cross-street. Runners head over a block to Third Street and follow it down and back and finish at the start. But the explainer, wasn't quite sure of the finish. "I don't know how it ends." I wanted to chime in: "It ends with me collapsing in a heap over there."

Well, I didn't collapse. But I felt the extra 20 pounds I've packed on since last March. I'm used to stopping periodically to pick up stuff on my runs, so aside from my track jaunts I rarely run a full 5K straight up these days. I'll admit, I walked a total of about a block and a half over the course of three brief stints to give myself a rest. I'm disappointed, but I'll do better next time. I am proud that I didn't get lax at the end; in fact I kicked it up a notch and passed a couple more runners at the finish.

Had to laugh when I shared the news with friends afterward. Jay Redfern texted back: "DId you have a ponytail to follow?" He knows my motivation. I've confessed it before. I assured him there were plenty. Of course, if I settle in behind one and she's slower than I am, well, that can affect my time. So what! :)

OMG. I just used an emoticon in my blog! :O Good Lord, another! Stop me!

OK, so that's out of my system. 

Cool band playing near the turnaround.

Anyway, I had to do a double-back within the first mile to pick up a big shamrock. Thought it was vinyl but it's just posterboard. Three large, flat magnets on the back indicate it was meant for a car -- perhaps for the parade later. I carried it the whole way, my sweat fraying the edge where the web of my hand rested. At the end of the race, as I headed for the refreshments and the results table, I discovered a pair of pink earbuds by the wall of the bank across from Figge. I intended to turn them in at the lost and found but the table was unstaffed when I got there. They've been donated at the free trade table in the lobby here at Swing's Leisure Apartments.

Post-race I took D2 and D3 to lunch (how can it take 25 minutes to find a Culver's even with an iPhone map app?) and we returned to the Burg to rest. All in all, a good day.

Today's Stats
Temp: 82 degrees F
Distance: 3.1 miles
Weekly Total: 7.7 miles
Treasure: 1 magnetic shamrock decoration; 1 pair pink earbuds.

Race weight: 205 lbs.
Age: 45
Overall: 985
DIVP: 45
DIVT: 69
SEXP: 589
SEXT: 815
Time: 30:25
Pace: 9:49

iPod Playlist (shuffle)
Wrapped Around Your Finger - The Police
You Won't See Me - The Beatles
Seasonal (acoustic) - Ryan Patrick
Old Brown Shoe - Gary Brooker
Virgin State of Mind - K's Choice
Right Here Now - James McMurtry
I'm Your Baby Tonight - Whitney Houston
Distance - Ryan McCullough

Shrek and Fiona ran the race, too. I think I beat them. But they were awesome!

An Innocent Man

So, I'm going to jail. That's right, headed to the slammer, and for what? I'm not sure how to feel about the charges against me. I'm wanted on two counts: being a nice guy and having a big heart. Maybe I'm not innocent of those charges. (No, I did not make up those allegations; they were leveled against me by a well-meaning co-worker.)

Ironically, those who might prefer that I rot behind bars for a long, long time, would say I am most definitely not, as Billy Joel sang, "An Innocent Man." And those who will reach into their wallets for cash and credit cards to bail me out undoubtedly will do so because they believe the charges against me. 

Is it any wonder justice is elusive and confusing? They say she's blind. I don't know about that, but she is a wily one.

I suppose it’s been a couple weeks (OK, it’s been three) since I was called by a representative of the Muscular Dystrophy Association to cajole me into participating in the 2012 Knox County Lockup for MDA. Lisa Strong, who works in the circulation department at The Register-Mail, is the rat stoolie who ratted me out to the MDA coppers. Boy, have I got her buffaloed if she was sincere in telling them what a swell guy I am. Ah, the MDA goons probably use that same story on everybody. That’s OK, I can take one for the team.

By “take one for the team” I mean I’m happy to try to raise the requested $800 bail and spend an hour March 27 enjoying a free lunch at Buffalo Wild Wings and harassing friends by phone. Really, what are they going to do if I can’t come up with the bail – keep me locked up? Talk about the ironic punishments department. Sure, don’t let me leave the BAR with loads of tasty chicken morsels and chips and salsa. Don’t let me go back to work for the day. Can you say woo-hoo!?

My goal in this endeavor is to raise $800 bail. That’s enough to send a kid to MDA summer camp. As a master procrastinator I managed to put off doing anything with this until now. If I were sure I could ask three people for the money during lunch, I’d wait ‘til then, but I figure I better get a start on it.

I’ll try to include the proper linkhere. If it doesn’t work, I’ll fix it soon. Let me know. I’m counting on you folks to get me outta jail – and, more importantly, to help out a kid with muscular dystrophy. Some of you will receive emails from me, too, just to cover all the bases. If you’ve already donated by the time I figure out how to do the email thing, just disregard it. If, however, you’ve procrastinated, too, just follow the link in the email and make a gift. It’s easy!

Well, that’s the meat. Here’s the potatoes:

The other cushion is further down the hill.

Finally got in a good run today. It was freakin’ beautiful outdoors. I did a mere mile and a half Tuesday and never got around to writing anything. Today I felt I could conquer the world. I love that feeling after a run. I passed up a work glove that was just gross (leather doesn’t wash up well). The flat basketball in front of Umbeck Mathematics-Science Center on Academy Street wasn’t worth anything but a couple of photos. And who needs nasty couch cushions from the roadside? The one glove I did scavenge may find its rightful owner yet. It was across from my church, so I speculate it was lost after Wednesday Night Live! activities last night. I washed it with several others I’ve picked up in recent weeks and I’ll drop it by the church Sunday or next Wednesday. Ah, my good deed for the day.

Today's Stats

Temp: 72 degrees F

Distance: 3.1 miles

Weekly Total: 4.6 miles

Treasure: 1 colorful glove; 1 leather work glove (too icky to keep); 1 flat basketball; 2 couch cushions (left where they lay); 13 cans.

iPod Playlist (Sweet WIU playlist)

An Innocent Man - Billy Joel

Only The Good Die Young - Billy Joel

Careless Whisper - Wham!

The Night Is Still Young - Billy Joel

Don't Let It End - Styx

I'm On Fire - Bruce Springsteen

I'm Going Down - Bruce Springsteen

I Want Your Sex (Parts 1&2) - George Michael

“Mon crayon est grand et mon crayon est jaune.”

That’s write. My pencil is big and yellow. Funny, but that line from one of my favorite movies of the 1980s, “Gotcha!,” is what immediately popped into my head when I spotted the splintered No. 2 lying the grass as I ran past on Kellogg Street. I doubled back for a photo just so I could lead off with it. I would have kept the pencil, too, had it not been busted.

It really stinks, though, when your springboard loses its spring before you’ve leapt anywhere. I mean, I don’t really have a lot to go on from here. But, at least I got in the bit of innuendo I promised a friend. You see, “Gotcha” is all about the pursuit of sex. Our hero, Jonathan (Anthony Edwards) is off to Europe on spring break with his handsome homey Manolo (Jsu Garcia). They start with Paris, in hopes of the lovelorn Jonathan losing his virginity.

Jonathan does just that. He also become ensnared in a little espionage. It’s rollicking Cold War fun. The film has a decent soundtrack, fun plot, sexy Sasha (Linda Fiorentino) and … well, what more do you need?

The clever wordplay with which I began is the extent of Jonathan’s French. It’s about all I have to show for a term of college French, too. And to be honest, I remember it from the film, not from class. French was not my forte. I had two years of German in high school and excelled. I took a year off, though, and when I signed up for a class at Western Illinois University in my sophomore year, well, my Deutsch was rather rusty. So I struggled through a semester with Professor Voss and decided afterward to expand my horizons. Ah, French. Language of lovers. That’s what I needed.

Another glove for the collection.

Well, as much as I romanticized French, I failed to buckle down and learn the verbal aspect of the tongue. I liked my professor, though I don’t recall his name. I remember telling him I was going to study my butt off over spring break and boost my grade for the second half of the term.

“Ah, Robert. You know what they call that in French? ‘Les bonne intention,’” he replied.

He was right. Good intentions. I did manage to have Mom buy a little wheel of Camembert and some grapes so I could sample the café life. No fan of wine, I passed on the obvious beverage choice.

Well, upon my return I was able to inform monsieur that I had at least sampled a little French culture, even if I failed to follow through on my study plans. He reiterated his catchphrase. Future efforts, even when I did follow through, were equally fruitless (not counting the grapes). I walked into one test with an air of confidence I didn’t exude outside of English lit classes (B.A. in B.S., baby). I even felt good after the test. Was I ever surprised when that paper bearing a big red “C” was returned to me.

Anybody know what these little plastic tags are for?

I should have stuck with German. I think if I were dumped there now I would pick it up in good time. Not instantly, mind you, but quickly enough. I’ve got a good start on the important stuff: “Ein Bier, bitte.” “Wo ist die Badzimmer?” (“A beer, please.” “Where is the bathroom?”) What more do you need in a foreign country?

Today's Stats

Temp: 46 degrees F

Distance: 3.1 miles

Treasure: 1 splintered pencil; 1 tiny green magic glove; 2 strange plastic tags; 7 cans (one was full! – Keystone Light).

iPod Playlist (Sweet WIU playlist)

(Shout out to Carmen Peterson to telling me about the check-box for opening links in a new window.)

Dance Hall Days – Wang Chung

Sister GoldenHair – America

You’re The Inspiration – Chicago

Lady – Styx

Best of Times – Styx

I Can DreamAbout You – Dan Hartman

Can’t Fight This Feeling – REO Speedwagon

I Want ToKnow What Love Is - Foreigner

‘I used to be a heartthrob, now I’m a coronary’

Hey, Davy said it, not me. Read about it here.

Common theory has it that celebrity deaths happen in threes. If Whitney Houston was the first and Davy Jones is the second, who’s next? Or did I miss somebody else noteworthy?

In keeping with the precedent I set by listening to Whitney music after her death, I decided to go with The Monkees tonight in honor of Davy Jones. And, while news of his death won’t run rampant through the media like Whitney Houston’s did, nor stir controversy because of that attention, I thought it fitting to reminisce a little about the first Monkee to go to heaven (that’s a musical reference for the elite).

Actually, I spent a good portion of my early Monkees fandom thinking my favorite Monkee (not to be confused with My Favorite Martian) was already dead. My boyhood friends Rich and Greg and Ricky and I tarried with The Monkees for a time as we branched out from The Beatles and The Rolling Stones to broaden our interests. There being four of us it was only logical that we each choose a favorite Monkee, just as we had done with The Beatles (though not The Stones). My favorite Beatle, by the way, was Ringo (today I lean toward George, God rest his soul). But my favorite Monkee was Mike Nesmith.

I suppose I associated with Mike because he was the quiet one, the thinker, the poet. I wasn’t prone to wearing ball-topped stocking caps, however. Still, he was my Monkee hero. Empathetic, caring, thoughtful, talented. He was just the kind of guy I imagined myself becoming someday. I don’t think I landed too far off the mark.

Man, I loved those shirts!

Anyway, Rich, bless him, for reasons known only to him, informed me that one Michael Nesmith was dead. It hadn’t happened recently (it was about 1977 or ’78), so it wasn’t in the papers (not that I’d have bothered to go researching it anyway; my friend said it was so and I believed him). The story Rich wove was that Mike liked to motorcycle. One sunny day on a stretch of Texas highway, Mike made an ill-advised attempt to pass a vehicle ahead of him and was struck head-on by a semitrailer. His final words, according to Rich, were “Julie … jump!” to his passenger wife. I don’t even know if that was his wife’s name.

It wasn’t until a number of years later that I learned, while watching MTV, that Mike Nesmith was alive and well and was one of the pioneers of the music video revolution.

Well, live and learn. Kids will make shit up just for kicks. They like to tell stories. Between story-telling, we would visit the old Cottage Corner thrift store on North Seminary Street and rifle through the second-hand albums in search of Monkees records, among others. And many an afternoon was spent arguing and bargaining with my brother so I could watch “The Monkees” TV show (he preferred “Hogan’s Heroes”). And as I listen to songs like “Take a Giant Step” and “I’m a Believer” I am pretty sure they were among the tunes to which I practiced my drums.

So, while Davy Jones is no military hero deserving of my thanks and praise, he was more directly involved in my formative years than Seal Team 6.

Today's Stats

Temp: 37 degrees F outdoors

Distance: 3.25 miles

Treasure: 5 friendly texts from a pretty girl.

iPod Playlist (“Then & Now … The Best of the Monkees”)

(Theme From) The Monkees

Last Train To Clarksville

Take a Giant Step

(I’m Not Your) Steppin’ Stone

She

A Little Bit Me, A Little Bit You

I’m a Believer

Look Out (Here Comes Tomorrow)

Sometime In The Morning

The Girl I Knew Somewhere

Randy Scouse Git

You Just May Be The One

For Pete’s Sake

What Am I Doing Hangin’ Round?

Words