Updates to and fro

Last week the two of us left our suddenly-chilly new hometown and drove the twelve hours to our sunny old hometown of Albuquerque for Thanksgiving. Due to my fairly flexible academic schedule, we were able to leave on Monday afternoon. All day Sunday and Monday morning I was feverishly checking various sources of weather information, as we'd been told Flash Floods were expected in northwest Arkansas on Monday night. My plan was to get the hell out of here ASAP to miss the weather.

Well, we got out of here in good time, but sadly hit much weather on the drive between Oklahoma City and Amarillo. We also stopped in Tulsa briefly so I could do some quick dress shopping. We spent the night at a cheap national brand chain hotel in Amarillo that pissed me off for several reasons. First, when we walked in together to check in, the desk clerk said "Nice jacket" but actually meant Doug and not me. Both of us were very confused, as people rarely compliment his clothing over mine. We were then promptly informed that "Corduroy is the new suede," which would have been hilarious had it not been followed by "Oh and you only booked this room for 1 person but as there are two of you I will have to charge you an additional $10. Is that OK?" No, that's not OK. When he said "all hotels do this," I had to bite my tongue from saying "Nice ones don't." I suppose I know from now on to just leave Doug in the car when I check into crap hotels in Amarillo.

Suffice it to say we made it to Albuquerque in one piece, and spent several days seeing friends, eating at places we'd missed, attending Geeks Who Drink on Tuesday night and spending time with Doug's family. I even swung by the VA for a few hours to see some of my old supervisors and got all caught up on VA life.

On Thursday morning we ran the Albuquerque Turkey Trek, an annual 5K race in the Old Town neighborhood of Albuquerque. It was pretty darn cold that morning, and leaving the house at 8am on vacation seemed mighty stupid, but we both finished the race and thus felt justified in stuffing our faces with turkey and other delicious Thanksgiving foods. Like pie. Anyway, it was officially my second-best 5K ever; I came in at 27:56, which felt pretty great considering I haven't been running that much and considering the change in altitude.

On Sunday, we made our first pass at driving the entire way back on one day. Armed with an Ipod stuffed full of tunes and many entertaining podcasts, the day still felt crazy long. In part because I felt the beginnings of a cold and was trying to drink as many fluids as I could...and my tiny bladder prompted us to make several stops. But we made it. We made it until after Thanksgiving to turn the heat on in our apartment, we made it safely to Albuquerque and back, and I am making it through this cold.

Sorry there aren't any pictures....but the only picture I have of the whole week is one from the race website with me running to the finish line, and it's one of the worst photos of me ever taken. If you really really care, you can look up the website yourself and I'll tell you that I'm photo number 1336.

Hit That Line, Hit That Line, Keep on Going

Jenn went to Toronto for a conference. When Jenn leaves town, I go into bachelor mode. That means I don't bother making the bed, dishes don't necessarily get washed right away and taking showers and getting dressed become significantly lower on the priority list.

I got an email from one of our trivia teammates telling me that he won two tickets to the Razorbacks game, and he asked if I'd be interested in going. Sure, that seemed like a good enough reason to shower and get dressed. I put on the only red shirt I own, a shirt I bought at Target advertising the fictional beer Homer Simpson enjoys.

I don't have much of a background with college football. I grew up on Long Island where the attention is on New York's professional teams. Same deal with my time in Philadelphia and their temas. It wasn't until I moved to Albuquerque when I lived in a place where people cared about college football, and UNM's team is terrible, so I was able ignore the Lobos. Things are much more different in Fayetteville.

First off, the seating capacity in Donald W. Reynolds Razorback Stadium is about 70,000, which I can't really fathom. The only other college game I've been to was when I was in college.

University of Delaware Fightin' Blue Hens:
One of the nation's few female mascots.

University of Delaware's stadium holds about 22,000. I can't remember if the one game I went to was at capacity. I don't remember, because I may be confusing it with the only other time I went to Delaware Stadium -- the rainy graduation day 3 1/2 years later.

I would say all in all, the Razorbacks game was an interesting experience. It kind of reminded me of the first time I went to a church service. I didn't grow up in a religious household, so the first time I went to church was for some Cub Scout event. The priest would say something, and the congregation would say something back. People seemed to know when to stand and when to sit. I had no idea what was going on.

This was exactly like that. People did certain cheers at certain times. They would yell things in unison. I was lost, but fascinated.

It was pretty interesting to take it all in.

I was fortunate to be going with someone who has about the same amount of interest in the game. We can follow along without getting lost. And yeah, it's nice to cheer for the team, but we can't muster enough team spirit to "call the hogs."

Calling the hogs is when everyone in the stadium lifts their hands above their heads while giving spirit fingers, making a long, high-pitched "Woooooooooo" sound. That's followed by them yelling "Pig! Sooie!" They repeat that process two more times and then yell "Razorbacks."

Yeah, I'm not doing that.

We were "lucky" to be sitting in front of two people who spent the entire time yelling at the players on the field. They can't hear you, dudes.

I started thinking about this human condition that makes people want to yell things at people who can't hear them. I compared it to people who yell at the television. After thinking about it for a bit, I considered that yelling at the television was more acceptable. By my theory, the thing you're yelling at is actually in the room with you, so you have some psychological pull to yell at it since, hypothetically, the television would be able to hear you even though you're actually directing your anger at the people being shown in the television, even though they can't hear you. But then I started thinking that maybe that was more acceptable because if we're in the same room as the person yelling at the television, I most likely know the person well enough to tell them to shut up. I didn't really have that luxury here.

After the Razorbacks scored a touchdown, the guy behind me patted my shoulder. When I turned around, he yelled, "That's why we're #1!"

Actually, the Razorbacks were #7 at that point; which, while impressive, is not #1. Also, I've always had a problem with people who use the pronoun "we" when referring to their favorite team. You're not on the team. It's nice that you're a fan, and I'm sure they appreciate your support. But if you have to pay to see a game, then it's not "we," it's "they." That's why they're #7.

My favorite part was when they yelled, "C'mon, cheerleaders. Call the hogs! These cheerleaders are terrible." Apparently, even the cheerleaders weren't safe from these guys.

From where I was sitting, in some angles, this guy's head was blocking my view of part of the end zone, so I was only able to see "ZORBACKS." I amused myself by imagining and old couple complaining about an annoying family, the Zorbachs. "Ugh! I can't stand those people. Who do they think they are?"

I think it was funnier inside my head.

Neither of us were interested in leaving with the huge crowd at the very end of the game, so we left with about 10 minutes left in the game. Arkansas 42, Tennessee 7. At that point, a lot of people had the same idea as us, so we left with a large group of people anyway. Arkansas scored another touchdown after we left.

Despite my curmudgeonly aversion to team spirit, I'd have to say it was a good time worth doing again.

Tis the season....

...Not for boughs of holly, not yet. Though here the Christmas store is open and some places have already strung lights. It's too early for that, people, it's too early. Wait until AFTER Halloween already, could you?

Speaking of, I have an apology to make to the blogosphere. Halloween is a sacred holiday in the lives of me and my beloved fiance, yet we did not participate in the revelry this year. We've been talking about Halloween costumes since June, yet none were made, found, borrowed or gathered. This is because we know no one who threw a party and we were unwilling to mingle with the college students at the drunken slutty-nurse type bar parties. Sadly, no clever costumes for us this year. We did, however, go see Rocky Horror Picture Show last night and got covered with rice, bopped in the head with toilet paper rolls and showered with toast crumbs, as is traditional. It was, all in all, a good time.

Halloween is not my purpose of writing today, however. I'm here to share a few more pictures that I took on walks to work at various times of day.

This one is the spookiest, and I almost wish it had been this morning, because it seems so Halloweeny. It was taken just out our door, on a morning where I could barely see four feet in front of me.



Another morning brought a beautiful sunrise, especially lovely with the hills of downtown Fayetteville in the background:



The last photo was taken on a weekend afternoon, heading to the office (yep, working on a weekend, just like grad school!) on a crisp fall day. The colors on the trees are fab right now, and I just said to Doug the other day "this town is growing on me," in part because of how pretty the trees are. It is the one advantage I've found for Fayetteville over Albuquerque, which is gorgeous in it's own right but doesn't really have the fall colors, probably because there just aren't very many trees.



Happy Halloween, everyone! May the candy be plentiful and calorie free, and the ghouls friendly! Don't go to a new costume shop owned by a devilishly handsome stranger who happens to know the high school librarian...or you might be in for a nasty surprise.

Adventures With My Car PART II

I needed a mechanic to look at my car. I needed some sort of peace of mind letting me know that my car was not likely to spin out of control again. I got lucky and managed minimal damage the first time, but it wasn't something I was willing to gamble on again.

My car is kind of old, so going to the mechanic is nothing new to me. The place I took it to in Albuquerque was pretty reliable. As an added bonus, it was within walking distance from my place. I absolutely loathe having to wait while my car gets serviced. I feel like it's a waste of my time. I'd much rather drop it off and waste time in the comfort in my own home.

I found a place nearby that got good reviews online. As an added bonus, it was only 0.7 miles away. My plan was to drop off my car and walk home. I even brought a banana with me so that I could have a snack during the walk home.

When I turned into the garage's parking lot, it was empty except for one truck. There didn't seem to be anyone around, but the garage door was open. I parked and went inside, but the office was empty too. A man appeared, seemingly coming from behind the building. He asked me what I had wanted and through talking to him, I got the impression that he wasn't all that interested in helping me out. He spoke to me like I was some idiot brother-in-law who knew nothing about cars who was hounding him to look at some imagined problem, and not some potential customer ready to throw down a few hundred dollars. Finally, he told me that he'd take a look at it, and he told me to drive it into the garage.

I hesitated because I don't think I've ever driven a car, literally, into a mechanic's garage, but sure enough, he was guiding me onto the lift. I got out, he lifted the car a bit and checked the tires out. I was watching him from outside of the garage, but he waved me in.

I felt pretty uncomfortable being next to my car as it running while on the lift. First, and irrationally, I was still not convinced that my car was not trying to kill me. What was keeping it from falling on me and finishing the job? Secondly, am I even supposed to be in the garage like that? That seems like some insurance problems would arise if I were to somehow injure myself — or if my car fell on me.

I could barely understand him. Between the accent, his low-talking and the fact that he was competing with talk radio blasting throughout the garage, I could only pick up the general ideas he was trying to share with me.

Basically, the rear tires needed to be replaced. He suggested that I get new tires for the front and put the front tires in the back. He also suggested that I go across the street to the tire shop to do that.

I was taken aback by the fact that a business telling me to go elsewhere. If he had said, "I don't really do tires, but go across the street. They'll give you a good deal," I'd appreciate it. No, he was just telling me to go across the street.

I figured he put ten minutes or so into looking at my car, I felt weird just leaving without offering anything. When I asked him if I owed him anything for his time, he replied, "How about that banana?"

So, I paid a guy one banana to look at my car. The barter system seems to be very much alive in this town.

After getting new tires, I learned I still needed to get the exhaust fixed. Apparently, my off-roading did more damage than originally thought.

So, I have new tires, but I still need work done on my car. I was worried about going to a mechanic who would snow me into getting things I didn't need, and here I went to two places that didn't do enough.

Adventures With My Car PART I

I bought my car, a 1999 Toyota Corolla, in May of 2003. It has its problems, and they're increasing with age and mileage, but I've taken moderately good care of it over the years.

Taken Sept. 2005, before the paint started to chip.
Ghost Ranch, Abiquiu, N.M.

We transported my car to Arkansas because we were unsure how it would respond to a 12-hour drive. Plus, collaborating a road trip like that — ensuring that two people in separate cars stop in the same places for meals, etc. — seemed like an unnecessary hassle.

Since getting to Fayetteville, Jenn has told me that if I wanted to drive her car around town, I'm perfectly welcome to do so. I usually don't do that unless I have to because her car is manual transmission. I'm fine with driving stick shift (my first car was one), it's driving stick shift in such a hilly area that makes me anxious.

Monday night, I was driving to the airport to pick Jenn up. While driving up I-540, I ran into a pretty heavy storm. I could barely see the road and had to slow down to under 30 miles per hour, along with the other cars around me. The rain let up after a few minutes and the traffic picked up some of its speed again. I had gone maybe a mile or two (at about 50 mph in the right lane) when I felt my car drift into the other lane.

I can't really say I remember exactly what happened. All I knew was that I had no control of the car. At one point, I was facing the wrong direction. I was really just waiting for my car to hit something, but it never did. When it stopped, I was facing the correct direction again, halfway in the left lane, halfway on the grassy shoulder. I was fine (physically). My car? I didn't know. I got out to take a look, but I couldn't really see anything. There seemed to be no body damage, but I couldn't really see the tires in the dark. After having a freak-out attack about what had just happened, I started panicking that I would be a sitting duck as the same thing happened to another passing vehicle, right into me.

The traffic cleared long enough for me to get back onto the road. All this happened right before an exit, so I figured best-case scenario, I get off and get to a gas station to see what was up. I got on the road and heard an awful sound. I immediately pulled over to the right-hand shoulder to investigate further. Still couldn't see anything. By this time, I was calming down.

I got back into the car and decided to get off of the highway, if I could. Sure enough, the car seemed to be driving okay, it was just dragging something. I had hoped I wasn't dragging anything important that would fall off during the short drive to the gas station.

As I pulled into the gas station and parked my car, a young man in a pickup truck passed me. I guess seeing someone pull into the gas station with hazards on caught his attention. He turned around and parked next to me as I was finding the source of the noise; the part that holds the muffler in place lost was hanging on one side. After all of that, that seemed to be the extent of the damage my car suffered.

I told him what happened, and he said, "I'm sort of a mechanic, I can take a look," and he got down on the wet concrete and climbed under my car. He emerged to tell me that I'm just missing a some bolts and washers and he would be able to give a temporary fix with a few plastic ties. He did that and five minutes later, he was off on his way.

I didn't know how to thank him, and he seemed totally fine with stammering words of appreciation I offered.

So all was fine, except I still needed to get to the airport and then drive home. It was nerve-racking, but we got home safely. Of course, I avoided the highway on the way back.

Getting the car checked out and fixed has proven to be another interesting story, though less terrifying.

The roar of the hogs

A few weeks ago, Fayetteville hosted it's annual Ode to Motorcyles, the Bikes, Blues and BBQ festival. According to Wikipedia, which cites the festival organizers, this is the second largest motorcycle rally in the country (after Sturgis). Having witnessed the leather-clad takeover of Fayettville, I am leaning towards believing them.

We did not partake in even a fraction of the activities that Bikes, Blues and BBQ had to offer, which included things like a parade, BBQ sauce tasting competition, lots and lots of free music at stages all over town.....and a whole bunch of other stuff. There were events on Dickson Street (near us), down by the football field, and over at the county fairgrounds.

In fact, we really only participated in the revelry for about half an hour. We left the house, walked the two blocks down to Dickson Street, bought some BBQ sandwiches from a vendor (but not from the "Porky Chicks" truck, because....rude), bought some curly fries from another vendor when we were still hungry, and then found the pinnacle of our fair visit: the frozen cheesecake on a stick. That's right, a full slice of cheesecake, dipped in chocolate and frozen. Mmmmmmmmmm.

At that point, we decided enough was enough and headed home.

Of course, from Wednesday through Saturday the festival was hard to miss, even if one was not trying to explicitly visit. Namely, the roar of motorcyles could be heard pretty much anywhere and everywhere. My walk home from work involved passing rows and rows of bikes parked in the Bank of America drive through and in every other place with a few feet of surface space. The sidewalks were lined with vendors selling chaps and leather vests as well as hard-core biker childrens t-shirts (yes, I'm being sarcastic).

People in this town seem to simply hate the weekend when the bikers come to play. Most of my colleagues were talking about leaving town for the weekend, or hunkering down and avoiding the roads. Me? I thought it was fun. Loud, yes, but I like the biker style (no, I did not buy any leather chaps) and it was fun to see the parking lot near the arts center filled with trucks selling BBQ and funnel cakes. Plus, I discovered cheesecake on a stick!

Mostly, though, walking around during the festival reminded me of one of the jokes that Doug and I have, dating back to our time in New Mexico. Namely, after we started dating, I forced him to watch the movie Wild Hogs starring John Travolta and William H. Macy, a film that my parents introduced me to a few years back. The movie is pretty forgettable, but it was filmed in New Mexico, even the beginning parts that are supposed to be Cleveland or wherever. The climax of the movie is set in a small town in the mountains of New Mexico, between Albuquerque and Santa Fe, called Madrid. I've talked about it before on my own blog, because the town is the cutest place ever and my favoritest store in the state is there (Weasel & Fitz, a store that sells recycled art).

Anyway, to get to the point, Doug and I watched the movie and went to Madrid, and since then we have yelled "Wild hogs!" any time a motorcyclist passes us on the road. For some reason, it's still funny.

The irony has not escaped me that we have this joke about the Wild Hogs bikers and now we're living in a town that is obsessed with it's Razorbacks, the wild hog mascot of the football team. So as I was walking up and down Dickson Street during the festival, I kept laughing to myself about the Wild Hogs in the town wild for wild hogs. And now you, gentle readers, get to be in on the joke too. :)

Nature and irony

It was an exercise-tastic weekend for us here in Walmart Country. After our triumphant 5K on Saturday, we decided to spend Sunday afternoon walking around Lake Fayetteville. I've posted about it before; we had a small picnic one afternoon on the rocky shores of the lake. This time, we brought our Camelbaks and set out to walk the circumference of the lake.

See lake, see how pretty:



The start of the trail was nice, a wide path that crossed a cute little dam, and ended in a parking lot. From there we were a tad confused, but found a natural dirt + rocks trail that felt more like hiking than a leisurely stroll. About 2 miles in, we started down a different paved path that said "Lake Fayetteville Trail 4.5 miles." Considering I thought the entire circumference of the trail was 4.5 miles, this sign confused me mightily.

Then, the trail veered away from the lake into a field, and we both looked at each other with a "Oh...crap" sigh. It turns out the whole way around is much longer than 4.5 miles, and our legs were about ready to fall off when we got back to the car.

Don't get me wrong, there were some nice views:



But after all the running/walking on Saturday, this particular walk was a bit much. Plus, it was late in the afternoon and we were starving by the time we got home.

Wait, that's a lie. In reality, we were so starving that about two blocks from home we stopped at a nearby Thai place I've been wanting to try, because (a) I have been craving Thai food, and (b) it would have taken well over half an hour to prepare the meal we were planning and neither of us wanted to wait that long to eat.

Ah, irony. So by the time we got home, we were no longer starving, though we were annoyed. Look at this ridiculous timeline (*a semi-accurate reconstruction)

6:15pm We arrive at the restaurant
6:20pm Our sullen waitress brings our water and takes our order, which includes two dishes and an order of spring rolls
6:40pm I receive my meal
6:41pm We receive our spring rolls
6:42pm "Have you gotten your complimentary spring rolls yet?" and another plate of spring rolls appears at our table.
6:48pm Waitress explains that she brought me my food early even though it belonged to another table because "we had been waiting." As soon as she walks away, Doug and I look quizzically in her direction and make judgmental comments about the business model of the restaurant.
6:50pm Waitress tries to give us more spring rolls, we refuse them
7:55pm Doug gets his food.


I mean, in what universe does a curry dish take over 30 minutes to prepare? And why on earth would two people who came to eat dinner together, want to watch each other eat rather than eat at the same time?