[img: a cctv cover that I have been wanting to shoot for months]
I’m one of those people who get’s extremely thrown off by things like Columbus Day. I’m still getting my bearings from starting the work week on Tuesday. As a result, I just want to warn everyone that this is going to be a pretty scatterbrained post.
I want to start out this post by writing a bit more about my recent experience in Chicago. I arrived kind of late by Chicago time, last Friday night. My friends Mike and Jeni picked me up at the airport and took me to their newish suburban mansion, where we promptly launched their little boat into their backyard lake. We drifted around catching up on the last 5 years of our lives until about 4 or so in the morning. I woke up to the sound of leaf blowers on Saturday morning. I don’t think that has happened since I lived in LI. I took the train into the city ctr, where I met up with my friends Carl and Bec at the race expo. We hung out for the rest of the day, and luckily I was able to sneak in a nap at one point (despite the louder than bombs “occupy” garbage going on across the street from the hotel).
I didn’t sleep very well the night before the race. In fact, it was one of those nights where I was having nightmare stacked on nightmare. The most relevant/poignant was the one where I found myself in the race corral in flip-flops, having forgotten my shoes. In my dream I decided that I was going to toss the flip-flops and see how long the bare feet would hold up. I ran several miles in bare feet, as the leader of the race (haha, dreamzzzz), until my uncle (so random) met me at like mile 9, with my shoes.
Fast forward a few hours– my alarm went off. Our hotel room was like a little beehive. Everyone doing their own pre-race ritual– suiting up, mentally preparing, etc.. The no-shoes dream was still fresh on the brain, so (don’t laugh) the first thing that I did was pull my shoes out of my bag and put the D-tag in the laces. I then set them atop my shorts and jersey for when I got out of the shower. Even though I knew it would logically be impossible for me to forget my shoes, dreams can really eff with you sometimes.
We were a little bit behind schedule getting out of the door, which wasn’t a big deal, since the starting area was in the park right across Michigan Ave. from our hotel. After pushing our way through the mob, and finally entering the “runner-only” area, I was horror struck by the realization that I had forgotten…. not my shoes, but my pace watch. Carl, being the good man that he is, agreed to check my bag for me as I sprinted back to the hotel to get my watch. I’m going to skip a lot of details here, but it was not an easy feat. After locating the watch, I blitzed back to the park. It was like cattle. Super lazy cattle, who didn’t have seeded bibs. I had to climb two chain-link fences to even get to where my group was starting. They were those crappy temporary fences that almost collapse as you are leaping over them. Have you ever jumped from 8 feet at 7:15 in the morning? The landing is not pleasant when you are an old man like myself.
To wrap up this chapter, I started the race with my shoes on (and my watch). I chased my pace group for the first 5 miles, only to fall away from them somewhere around mile 16. Life is a funny ol’ thing.
Chapter 2 of this Wednesday’s post: Speaking of the race… I had some mystery cheer leaders along the route. How random/awesome is that? Christina was at mile 10. I heard the “Go Jake” and was a bit startled, but stoked nonetheless. Then right around mile 18, I heard someone shouting my first and last name. This was one of the more sparse cheer areas of the race, so I was able to see who it was– an adorable looking mom with her baby strapped to her chest. Christina read on Reagan’s page that I was going to be running, I can only assume that mystery mom at mile 18 did as well. So, thank you-thank you, ladies. Very appreciative of the support.
Chapter 3: While we are talking about people who read Reagan’s page– the fruit fly situation has been making me absolutely insane. Andahhhh, Reagan flippantly posted about it for the second time, last night. The post resulted in mad stacks of advice, including links to diagrams, etc.. To these commenters, I say thank you. I built a little hybrid contraption based on the feedback.
And the kicker? We already caught one of the little bastardos. Check out the detail below. That is 100% more flies than were caught in previous attempts.
Chapter 4: I have inadvertently started a journal. I received a little orange booklet as a takeaway at some fashion preview that I shot earlier this fall. When my magazines for the month have all been read, I initially resorted to making lists in my little orange book during my commute. This eventually morphed into writing poetry (arguably not poetry at all, there is no iambic or any of that stuff). Lately is has digressed into a full blown diary! Since when did I become a teenage HS girl? Anyway, there is that confession.
Chapter 5: One ring to rule them all, hahahaha. Don’t sue me Tolkien. For real though, this is the longest post evaaaarrrrrr. Give yourself a high five if you are (probably stuck in a waiting room somewhere) still reading this. The Aussie stuff that R and I shot for Hairdresser is now public. Well, that is to say that one of the videos is now public. We didn’t have as much creative control as we had hoped, but I guess it isn’t that big of a deal, since everyone we worked with was so cool. Also, the audio ended up being rough. I tried to find someone to come hold the boom for me, but Mondays are tough. I ended up putting a shotgun mic on a stand. Let’s just say that it wasn’t ideal. But the important part is that hair ninja Reagan krushed it. Check the vid over here if you are curious.
Finale: Thanks for reading this tripe. I know that Jakesmag has been relatively dull at best, lately. I guess I’m in a bit of a rut. So, thanks for having the faith that I’ll get back in my groove soon.