Sunday, March 20, 2005

J-Lo's "Trail-of-Tears" AC100 Training Run

Angeles Nat Forest, above Sierra Madre CA, hothouse of Rose Bowl Queens

Sunday dawned clear and warm. This was the first calendar day of autumn and yet was alive with hundreds of eager, ready and willing tiny bugs that wanted to homestead in any available nostril. That's the glory of love.

Meanwhile, J-Lo was making her final tearful preparations. Bennifer was in the bathroom sulking. Her Inflatable Trail Companions in the form of Dr Casino Bingo, Draw Poker and MC Stumpy-D [shout out to all his homies in the HP!] had gathered at Chantry Flats.

They were to run a short 22 miles to Millard Campground. A three-hour cruise. Butt-kickers and high-knees the whole way. Enough time to review the contents of the latest JoggersWhirld, and then get back to the mall for a smoothie. Ask Dave, I've forgotten her name already.

The climb up Mt Wilson-Phillips passed in a blizzard of splits and statistics. Stumpy-D and Dr Bingo traded whiffleball headers. Draw Poker's head snored inside his special mesh bug-burkha. It had the stylish seam up the back, but no garter belt. Everytime he sneezed, a little green friend expired. The mesh also diffused the view of how big Stumpy-D's ass was getting over the last several months. J-Lo was sniffling and whining about why we weren't paying any attention to her caboose.

Heidi Klum made her conversational debut, and Draw Poker woke up. He'd been having a dream about what his youth was like during the Harding administration. At the top of the Mt WIlson-Phillips Toll Road, the cities were spread out before us. It was a balmy 85 at 9:30 AM.

The next stretch down to IdleHour was sunny, then turned into shade. We were studly, once were fab. The sight of next week's IdleHour Aid Station was silent and expectant of staggering shuffling pre-dawn mutants. We crossed the Winton Bridge and made the first climb before the Descent into The Canyon of Despond.

The alert traveller would have noticed that Mt Rob Lowe was a blinding white massif, which only hinted at the delights ahead. But we were still young and foolish. We passed Idlehour Campground before we realized that the creek trailcrossing was bone-dry. We doubled back to the campground, found the creek and began to pump. Both Bingo and Stumpy-D had their bladders out, hefting them and taking their measure. The party member with the most developed right arm was delegated to pump, and pump he did. J-Lo was petulant that her cel-phone dropped Ben's FU calls in the canyon.

Matters improved when a witless HikerBetty decided to go wading with her doggy just upstream of our pumping. Nothing like stirred up sediments to clear the air. We departed, we could hear Rover's excitement as he buried a bone.

Leaving behind the majority of the Rush Limbaugh Experimental Forest, we began to climb out of the canyon. We left behind the morally debilitating effete low 80s temperatures, and into the manly character-building mid 90's. I regretted not wearing tights and polypro.

Stumpy-D ran ahead up to Sam Merrill. He promised he'd keep an eye out for the glacier, and if not that, Mallory. That left Bingo, Poker, and J-Lo. J-Lo ordered a pizza, but no word on sharing it.

Sam Merrill was waiting for us when we arrived. Stumpy-D had taken a restorative nap. He decided he was having more fun than was possible, and elected to descend to Millard via the Mt Lowe Road. Bingo and Poker, sensing an opportunity for Calvinist Redemption, maintained the One True Course down Echo Mountain. J-Lo's phone came alive, and her hoop earrings flashed in the sunlight at the sound of lies. Thank god for nationwide calling plans.

Bingo and Poker were able to determine that the parabolic mirrors and heating coils embedded in the trail work just fine. It was probably about 100 out there, give or take. A raccoon-skin coat began to sound pretty good. Poker pined for his mukluks. J-Lo whimpered under a white sunhat with a 48" brim. News copters hovered overhead.

The Sunset trail down to Millard was partially shaded. Our lads skipped and danced in the best traditions of Morris Dancers everywhere. Both lads resolutely banished decadent images of cool shimmering supermarkets, walk-in freezers, plunging feet into motel cocktail ice machines, Hawaiian waterfalls, Anna Kournikova stumbling out of a Fijian lagoon, Heidi Klum on a slip-n-slide and any number of other debilitating distractions.

At the finish recovery was enabled by large restorative doses of pickle brine, and a stick of butter.

Such was the day as it was spent yesterday.

Tuesday, March 08, 2005

KCRW Pledge-Drive Premium Modest Proposal

We all know about KCRW's infamous Pledge Drives. Yabbering sincerity. Auntie Ruth hectoring YOU about reading other people's NYT, especially since its available only in translation here in LA.

Its hard work being a cutting style-leader, having the latest murmured Brit-pop and shoe-gazer geek chic loaded up on your iPod. And frankly, most of you are guilted into it. You, humble KCRW listener, want something more to show for it. And Aunt Ruth wants a better bottom line.

Enter the KCRW Pledge-Drive Premium Modest Proposal. I propose the following Donor Level--The Double Golden BareBack Angel CD Special. If you're a guy, you give $30k, and you get a weekend suite at Shutters, unlimited mini-bar & room service, and the lissome 15 year old girl of your choice.

The Enquiring Mind might ask "Where's the CD in this?"

O ye of little faith. That's the 15 year old girl, and whatever it takes to get you thru the nite, all right, all right.

And for the ladies, we're still working on that one. Maybe something along the lines of a Gigolo Spa Experience, with the male element to be determined from a spectrum of Billy Corgan on one end to Brad Pitt on the other, with scenic byways including Carrot-top, Jonathan Pryce, and Dick Cheney for those so inclined.

Act now, before Bill O'Reilly gets his loofah into a twist, and co-opts it for his own purposes.

this is in or around west of the 405 Curtain

Friday, March 04, 2005

My Poem 4 Dusty Mountains, By Lady G-Spot

My Poem 4 Dusty Mountains, By Lady G-Spot

I live up here in the Sierra Nevadas,
Where rocks and trees, suck up lotsa water.
The breezes blow strong into my sheltered lair,
Whereupon dust, is an all day affair.

Above my living room,
Blankets hang over railing,
Their near-pristine state,
Confess none of my failings.

They, like I, suffered no consequences.
When I indulge, in Harlequin Romances.
I whisper to you, that I always come clean,
As my Auld Forest Prince, loads my washing machine.
Blushingly, Crushingly

....Lady G-spot