The Diplodocus

Over the course of the last month I’ve been assiduously chronicling my running efforts and, occassionally, posting route maps onto my flickr account to create the most boring photo batch ever.   I’ve also taken to keeping a paper journal of my workouts with relative consistency, an equally boring task.  Well, boring to you, maybe.   For some reason this is a habit I’ve really come to enjoy.  As a journaling-type project, keeping these maps and logs provides a clarity of purpose that keeping a blog simply doesn’t.  There’s no pressure to be creative or to entertain.  It’s simple: this is how far I went, how long it took, how much I lifted, how many times I did it.  Maybe some commentary on how it felt, and the occasional self-deprecating “bad strategy!” or “weak sauce.”

The downside to the clarity of purpose is that there are times when I’ve been hit with inspiration while writing something fitness related in my paper journal (this is clearly not a result of one of those times).  I’ve thus far largely kept my fitness journal free of flights-of-fancy, blog type writing, to keep it focused on what it is.  Which brings up the conundrum of whether or not I start to keep a proper journal as well.  That would mean, most likely, a two-week long string of keeping my ideas on paper, followed by intermittent bursts a few weeks to months later, followed by nothing.

When it comes to my body, or the corporeal in general, I’m good at patience, consistency, and the long view.  Sadly, the contradiction between that aspect and my inner life is evident; it’s impossible to take the same care with my mind.  Dogged persistence when it comes to thought has not, typically, been my strong suit.  Clearly, this is something that needs improving.      

The last few weeks have been spent working 60+ hours a week.  On your passports, American Traveling Public.  And outside of that, on wedding things, packing things, cleaning things… basically, I have been unable to blog substantially for a while.  That is not to say that there haven’t been blog-worthy things going on.  But when you spend most of the day on your feet answering the question “Is this acceptable?” (document being waved in your face) and short evenings trying to catch up on correspondence, blogging goes to the backburner.

I hope to change this soon, perhaps very soon.  Sunday, I leave for Seattle.  To see my sweetie for the first time in 3 months, and then marry her.  (oh, and to work on your passports more.  You’re very welcome, America.)

Completely unrelated: I managed sirsasana with zero wall assistance (as in no kickoffs, no wall support, straight from sitting on my heels to inversion) for the first time Tuesday.   It was awesome.

Perhaps it was the consumption of National Geographics my parents received, or the first pages of the volumes in my old Tolkein boxed set, or international travel at an early age.  Put me in front of a map — real or fictional — and I’ll spend copious amounts of time staring, tracing my finger, imagining far-off lands and unseen places.  Unfortunately, true maps of the Earth are by their nature limited by “geography” and “reality” (see Borges, On the Exactidude of Science).  With satellites giving us “exact” depictions of the Earth, it takes a novel way of looking at the world (or political hubris) to make cartography more  interesting than just arranging artifacts as they are.  Which is why Strange Maps and The Map Room are such great sites.  If you’re in the mood for content on how the world could look — or how others might imagine it looks now — I highly recommend them. 

(image of the tetrahedral Earth via Strange Maps, and a whole lot of bad science from the early 20th century)

Though responsible for your current eponym, I have to say: unless you get with the cold hearted murderin’, Ms. Mathis, you are definitely behind the curve on being the cruelest Sommer.

Argh.  Thanks a lot, Spencer.  Now I have to come out of semi-hiatus to answer the ever popular meme “Five Things You May Not Know About Me.”  Like Catherine, this is difficult for me.  Partially because I have to wonder what people don’t know, seeing as I’m pretty open and forthcoming.  But there are a few things, I suppose.

1. I was once a very, very picky eater.  So picky that at times Mom would make two different meals just to not deal with my whining.  A saint, that woman.  What wouldn’t I eat?  Raw tomatoes.  Mustard.  Salami.  Bengali style fried fish (still struggling with that one).  Rye bread.  Cauliflower.  Cabbage.  And, get this, spicy food.  Seriously.  I think things started to change right around high school, when I started to work in food service and got real fat.  Now I’ll eat almost anything (or at least try it once) with the notable exceptions of dog, cat, canned tuna, and horse.  I’m still on the fence about the last one.

2. Despite living in D.C. and using the Metro for years, I still can’t commit the Red line to memory.  I always have to look at a map to figure out if I need to go towards Glenmont or Shady Grove.  Which one goes to Silver Spring?  Which one goes to Cleveland Park?  I’m still blanking, and I had a regular tutoring gig in Cleveland Park at one point in time.

3. Keeping on the theme of direction, I suspect I’m slightly dyslexic.  Left and right still baffle me.  The cardinal directions are easy, but unless I concentrate really hard or hold my hands up to do the “L” thing, I struggle with directions.  The weirder thing is that I can always remember them in French, Bangla, and Urdu/Hindi.   But English is hard.

4. Once, a long time ago, I was a math whiz.  I actually started college as a math major, with dreams of being a professor in my head.  The odd geometric proof or calculus problem still excites me, and I’m fairly good with numbers.  But if you went back in time and told 16-year-old me that I was going to major in English and Philosophy, I would have laughed.

5. If sufficiently isolated, either alone or with close friends, I’ll totally cry during movies.  There are specific types of films that make me cry more than others, but in general I can be a bit more sentimental than I care to admit.  “Road to Perdition” had me practically bawling, for example.

Here’s a bonus for the hell of it: I’m a horrible, horrible communicator.  I stink at keeping in touch with people, though I’m actively trying to change that.  Too often I find myself living in the moment and forgetting.  That is pretty dangerous when adversity rears its ugly head (now, for example).

I guess I have to tag five previously untagged people, huh?  Obviously, Marisa (do you still read this blog, babe?).    And to get some more Foreign Service people in on this, Laura.  And Furnish.  And Phil.  And has Tommy been tagged?  I’m not sure.

Going dark for a bit out of some personal necessity.  Sorry for the lack of specifics.  All I can say: 2006 has been a very hard year (and there are 2 months left).

Enjoy the silence.

Thanks to MC’s internet, I’ve uploaded a whole ton of photos to my flickr account. A preview:

I’ll try to write up some of the stories behind the photos when I can.  Any requests?

A general restlessness has me doing some routine housekeeping on the old blog. Nothing major, but in addition to the new header graphic, I’ve changed the sidebar and added some links. If I’ve missed your blog (especially if you’re an FSO) leave a comment and I’ll add you to the blogroll.

Unrelated: the new Trader Joe’s in the West End is great, though I was a little disappointed by the fruit selection today. Tandoori papadum chips? Can’t go wrong with that.

Dear reader, again, I must apologize.  I know you’re chomping at the bit for substantive posts from a wide-eyed traveler back in the US after some time in the third world.  So: The roads are so clean!  The sky is so big!  Things are expensive!  Draft beer is delicious!  Girls look good in skirts!

Phew.  Now that that’s over with, a smaller but in my mind more amusing topic.  It seems that I’ve returned to FSI a known quantity, as evidenced by this brief exchange I had at lunch today.

FSO 1: A, this is Diplodocus.

FSO 2: I know, I read your blog. 

Though there were times where lines of people would form around me while waiting in Islamabad’s departure lounge, I was much more amused by the fact that I was recognized back at FSI via this site.  Not that I even try to maintain anonymity, but still, hilarious, no?  Maybe I should try to organize an FSI blogger happy hour.  Or better yet, maybe you FSOs in various trainings should come out to the happy hour my former cohorts are throwing.   Or, at the very least, leave a comment so I know who you are.  Come on, quit being shy!

Things are going to be really quiet here for a bit.  There are changes afoot and I need to dedicate a significant amount of time to them.  Sorry.  Updates to come once things are a little more settled.