She seemed so unapproachable. A beautiful woman wearing headphones passing by us on the Mount Vernon Trail as John and I ran our weekend 10K, she ignored our salutary comments and slightly outdistanced us.
She was run/walking so we passed her back on the wicked uphill switchback leading to the hilly Custis Trail near where the Key Bridge connects Arlington to Georgetown. John urged her on as we went by, and she broke out of her desultory walk to join our trotting run up the steep incline.
Noticing my Garmin, she asked how fast we were running to which I answered, "9:40s." She seemed stunned and, one earbud out, evinced that she had been hoping that she had been running at a 5:30 pace.
It turned out that she was Canadian and had taken my pace retort to mean minutes per kilometer instead of minutes per mile. Apparently 9:40s would be just-shoot-me slow north of the border.
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Fighting Prophet
Hmm, I'll have to think about Anonymous' comment in my last post.
Meanwhile, a friend related to me that she was reading a rollicking good book that repeatedly made her laugh out loud. I thought that sounded nice, to read a passage that made you burst out laughing.
I had such a moment today. I am reading Sherman: Fighting Prophet by Lloyd Lewis, copyright 1932. It's a fascinating book about a complex military man, an American hero (sorry Southerners).
Lewis describes General William Tecumseh Sherman when he was in his nervous, distracted phase early in the Civil War as he frenetically worked out his plans for command, when some people seriously considered him to be insane. Here's what made me laugh out loud on the subway when I read it:
Sherman was now entering upon that phase of his life when people would call him "queer." Absent-minded, [Kentucky legislator] Rousseau thought him as they stood at the railroad station near Maldraugh's Hill. Sherman, who was smoking incessantly, found that his cigar was no longer burning and asked a sergeant for a light. The soldier, who had just lit a fresh cigar, handed it to the general, who used it to kindle his own cheroot, then threw it into the dirt. Rousseau broke out laughing but Sherman remained preoccupied.
Isn't that a hoot? Isn't that gorgeous writing?
Or how about this passage:
Excoriating a reporter who had written that the general's manners were like those of a Pawnee Indian, Sherman was angered still further, a few days later, to read that the correspondent had apologized not to him, but to the Pawnee Indians.
Good stuff.
Meanwhile, a friend related to me that she was reading a rollicking good book that repeatedly made her laugh out loud. I thought that sounded nice, to read a passage that made you burst out laughing.
I had such a moment today. I am reading Sherman: Fighting Prophet by Lloyd Lewis, copyright 1932. It's a fascinating book about a complex military man, an American hero (sorry Southerners).
Lewis describes General William Tecumseh Sherman when he was in his nervous, distracted phase early in the Civil War as he frenetically worked out his plans for command, when some people seriously considered him to be insane. Here's what made me laugh out loud on the subway when I read it:
Sherman was now entering upon that phase of his life when people would call him "queer." Absent-minded, [Kentucky legislator] Rousseau thought him as they stood at the railroad station near Maldraugh's Hill. Sherman, who was smoking incessantly, found that his cigar was no longer burning and asked a sergeant for a light. The soldier, who had just lit a fresh cigar, handed it to the general, who used it to kindle his own cheroot, then threw it into the dirt. Rousseau broke out laughing but Sherman remained preoccupied.
Isn't that a hoot? Isn't that gorgeous writing?
Or how about this passage:
Excoriating a reporter who had written that the general's manners were like those of a Pawnee Indian, Sherman was angered still further, a few days later, to read that the correspondent had apologized not to him, but to the Pawnee Indians.
Good stuff.
Friday, July 4, 2008
You bet your life
Last month twenty-eight clients started an eight-day motorized boat trip covering 240 miles down the Grand Canyon. Eighteen finished it.
Twelve were in my group, all college roommates or friends of them, most of whom I hadn't seen in decades. Also coming were another group of eight, being three oilmen and their wives and family members, a police dispatcher, two school administrators traveling together, a Canadian, a married couple from the midwest and two business partners. One woman in the oilmen's group died the fourth day, of apparent heart failure. There were four boatmen and two rafts.
(Right: Boatmen Lindsay, Travis and Julie.) We literally entrusted our lives to the boatmen. In charge was Travis, a twenty-something professional boatman who grew up on the river and who goes on hikes and climbs mountains in the extreme wilderness of Alaska when he needs a break from the harsh rigors of crewing boats down the raging Colorado. He was in the lead boat, with Kelly as his crew.
Kelly is the boss's daughter. She wore skirts a lot, and I heard her father later describe her as a city girl, but she grew up around the boats and went on her first river trip at age eleven. She knew what she was doing.
(Right: Julie and Lindsay joined Barry, far left, and Andy, right, in songs on the second night.) Lindsay guided the second boat, with Julie as her crew. Lindsay is from Ohio and has a biology degree. She was a swimmer in school and has powerful shoulders and arms. She knows a lot about the river. Coolly capable, she was apparently tireless.
Julie hopes to captain her own boat next season. She's a darkly beautiful, capable woman, a force to be reckoned with. I never saw her back off from any task.
The last day, Barry and I tried to help Lindsay and Julie place the four detached and deflated outrigger pontoons onto the boats for their final travel into Lake Mead. There is some reason these oversized pontoons, which weigh over 100 pounds each, can't be sailed into the lake. We'd watched the two women hoist the first two pontoons up onto the first boat and wrestle them into place when we solicitously came to their assistance. The four of us made light work of heaving the third pontoon up onto the second boat. Leaving Lindsay and Julie to lock it down, Barry and I went to retrieve the last pontoon. We both lifted, grunted, and dropped the heavy object back onto the
beach. "We better wait for the girls to help us," I told Barry.
(Left: Julie and Lindsay kept order in the second boat.) Everybody in my group immediately fell in love with Lindsay and Julie, and took over boat two. I think the initial riders on boat one, who were even older than us, occasionally looked down their noses a little at the rowdy, boisterous passengers on boat two. I often went over to the first boat to balance things out. I liked the way Travis ran things.
Travis told good stories. Here are some examples.
A pirate encountered a shipmate he hadn't seen for awhile in a bar and saw that his friend was now sporting a pegleg, a hook, and an eyepatch. "What happened?" the first pirate cried.
"Arrgh. I be whaling in the Bering Sea when a killer whale jumped out of the ocean and into me boat and bit me leg off!"
"What happened to your hand?"
"Arrgh. I was in the Caribbean stealing coconuts from the natives when they caught me and cut off me hand for it!"
"And how did you lose your eye?"
"Arrgh. I was walking down the dock checking the position of the sun when a seagull flew over and shat in me eye!"
"And that put your eye out?"
"W
ell, it be the day after they replaced me missing hand with a hook."
Ha ha. Maybe you hadda be there. (Left: Travis reads a boatman's prayer before we shove off one morning.)
Travis told us about his recent ten-day solo backpacking trip in the Yukon. He ran into a grizzly and shinnied up a tree real fast to the top. The bear eyed him for awhile, then started shaking the base of the skinny pine tree for all she was worth. Back and forth the tree rocked while Travis hung on for dear life, being slung around like a slingshot. But the tree held and the bear ambled away.
Only to return presently with her cub. Now the two of them pushed and battered at the tree trunk, whipping Travis around ever more dangerously. But again the tree held and the grizzly and her cub ambled away.
Only to return a third time, this time with a beaver in tow.
Travis swears the story is true, except for the beaver part. (Above: My trip down the Grand Canyon was in many ways a cleansing experience for me.)
The Arizona-based outfit our group used had a friendly rivalry going with its main competitor, a Utah company. Hence we heard an occasional Mormon joke. We never thought of raiding the competitor's camp or trying to trade with them because they obviously wouldn't have had anything we wanted. They are tee-totalers, see?
Anyway, some Mormons are, or used to be, polygamists. Travis once uncorked a funny line when he said, "Brigham Young, more than just a funny name." Only he pronounced it, Bring 'em you
ng.
It's a joke, folks. (Left: Kelly flashes her winning smile.)
Seriously though, despite his small wiry frame and wisp of hair under his lip and high voice and showy tattoos, no matter what the situation, Travis has you covered. You could bet your life on it.
Twelve were in my group, all college roommates or friends of them, most of whom I hadn't seen in decades. Also coming were another group of eight, being three oilmen and their wives and family members, a police dispatcher, two school administrators traveling together, a Canadian, a married couple from the midwest and two business partners. One woman in the oilmen's group died the fourth day, of apparent heart failure. There were four boatmen and two rafts.
(Right: Boatmen Lindsay, Travis and Julie.) We literally entrusted our lives to the boatmen. In charge was Travis, a twenty-something professional boatman who grew up on the river and who goes on hikes and climbs mountains in the extreme wilderness of Alaska when he needs a break from the harsh rigors of crewing boats down the raging Colorado. He was in the lead boat, with Kelly as his crew.
Kelly is the boss's daughter. She wore skirts a lot, and I heard her father later describe her as a city girl, but she grew up around the boats and went on her first river trip at age eleven. She knew what she was doing.
(Right: Julie and Lindsay joined Barry, far left, and Andy, right, in songs on the second night.) Lindsay guided the second boat, with Julie as her crew. Lindsay is from Ohio and has a biology degree. She was a swimmer in school and has powerful shoulders and arms. She knows a lot about the river. Coolly capable, she was apparently tireless.
Julie hopes to captain her own boat next season. She's a darkly beautiful, capable woman, a force to be reckoned with. I never saw her back off from any task.
The last day, Barry and I tried to help Lindsay and Julie place the four detached and deflated outrigger pontoons onto the boats for their final travel into Lake Mead. There is some reason these oversized pontoons, which weigh over 100 pounds each, can't be sailed into the lake. We'd watched the two women hoist the first two pontoons up onto the first boat and wrestle them into place when we solicitously came to their assistance. The four of us made light work of heaving the third pontoon up onto the second boat. Leaving Lindsay and Julie to lock it down, Barry and I went to retrieve the last pontoon. We both lifted, grunted, and dropped the heavy object back onto the
beach. "We better wait for the girls to help us," I told Barry.(Left: Julie and Lindsay kept order in the second boat.) Everybody in my group immediately fell in love with Lindsay and Julie, and took over boat two. I think the initial riders on boat one, who were even older than us, occasionally looked down their noses a little at the rowdy, boisterous passengers on boat two. I often went over to the first boat to balance things out. I liked the way Travis ran things.
Travis told good stories. Here are some examples.
A pirate encountered a shipmate he hadn't seen for awhile in a bar and saw that his friend was now sporting a pegleg, a hook, and an eyepatch. "What happened?" the first pirate cried.
"Arrgh. I be whaling in the Bering Sea when a killer whale jumped out of the ocean and into me boat and bit me leg off!"
"What happened to your hand?"
"Arrgh. I was in the Caribbean stealing coconuts from the natives when they caught me and cut off me hand for it!"
"And how did you lose your eye?"
"Arrgh. I was walking down the dock checking the position of the sun when a seagull flew over and shat in me eye!"
"And that put your eye out?"
"W
ell, it be the day after they replaced me missing hand with a hook."Ha ha. Maybe you hadda be there. (Left: Travis reads a boatman's prayer before we shove off one morning.)
Travis told us about his recent ten-day solo backpacking trip in the Yukon. He ran into a grizzly and shinnied up a tree real fast to the top. The bear eyed him for awhile, then started shaking the base of the skinny pine tree for all she was worth. Back and forth the tree rocked while Travis hung on for dear life, being slung around like a slingshot. But the tree held and the bear ambled away.
Only to return presently with her cub. Now the two of them pushed and battered at the tree trunk, whipping Travis around ever more dangerously. But again the tree held and the grizzly and her cub ambled away.
Only to return a third time, this time with a beaver in tow.
Travis swears the story is true, except for the beaver part. (Above: My trip down the Grand Canyon was in many ways a cleansing experience for me.)
The Arizona-based outfit our group used had a friendly rivalry going with its main competitor, a Utah company. Hence we heard an occasional Mormon joke. We never thought of raiding the competitor's camp or trying to trade with them because they obviously wouldn't have had anything we wanted. They are tee-totalers, see?
Anyway, some Mormons are, or used to be, polygamists. Travis once uncorked a funny line when he said, "Brigham Young, more than just a funny name." Only he pronounced it, Bring 'em you
ng.It's a joke, folks. (Left: Kelly flashes her winning smile.)
Seriously though, despite his small wiry frame and wisp of hair under his lip and high voice and showy tattoos, no matter what the situation, Travis has you covered. You could bet your life on it.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
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