Waddling Through May: 201.96 Miles of Stumptown Concrete

Well, not quite. I logged about 4 miles in Wenatchee, Washington, 15 in Reno, Nevada, and 8 on Sauvie Island. Still, lots of red paths around town...

Dispatch from the War on LARD!: 2 Pails Left Behind

© Armour Star, no doubt
I strolled into Radio Room after a 12 mile urban waddle and settled into my usual stool. "Howzit, Jack?" "Good, Bar-Am, but I could use a little alone time, if you get my drift..." I couldn't miss the semi-hurt look on her kisser as she hopped down the bar with a pint of the good stuff. "Well, OK, I know where I'm..." I gave s shrug towards the good Professor's tap-cam. She gave me a wink and said, "You know, Agnes left one of her caps here and I need to hang it up where she can see it." Agnes is Aniela D'Ignacio--that's Angel of Fire in eye-talian, or eh-talian, as Dolly-girl would say--and she's one of the listen-to-what-she-says people around Radio Room. She's always got a nickel's worth of free advice (© Principal Strickland, Back to the Future, 1985) and it's good to listen to her. She's got her index digit on the pulse of Portlandia (© Raymond Kaskey, artist of the second-largest copper repoussé statue in the United States.) Bar-Am flipped the cap over a handle that was never pulled and gave me a nod. So that's where that cam is. "You know, Bar-Am..." She gave me the high sign so I shut my trap. She reached behind the bottle of Bulleit Bourbon Frontier Whiskey (©2009 Bulleit Distilling Company, Lawrenceburg, KY) and unplugged a hidden microphone. "OK, Jack. Good to go." "Roger, Bar-Am."


© Someone else as I copied it off Wikipedia
"I don't really need alone time, I just don't want to be talking to Professor Javier Boleyn today, of all days." "That 'cause of The Rapture, Jack 'cause I don't think it's gonna happen." "Naw, it's because today, after 293 days of the 2-Step Duh! Diet (© Boleyn Enterprises), I jumped on the scale and saw that I have lost 2 entire pails of LARD! Yep, 50 pounds of the stuff. Two-point-seven-three ounces per day for 293 days. I just want a day to not make a big deal of it and to not have him telling me 'It's not over Jackie-boy. You are still classified as 'overweight, just 0.6 BMI below OBESE'. You need to keep at it, Jackie-boy...' I just don't need that today. I don't need to be reminded that I still am a Sus scrofa domesticus over stocked with sub-cutaneous fat." "Jack, you got such a way with words. You mean you're still a fat hog!" I gave her a scowl. "More like 'still a LARD!-ass', Bar-Am."


© Someone else as I copied it off Wikipedia
"On it, Jack. You won't get it from me. Even though I am in league with Professor Boleyn, and of course, I have never had a weight problem myself as I most closely resemble a soda straw--a flex-straw, at that--I can appreciate that you just might want to sit here and have a beer..." "Or two..." "Or two--I could do that--and take a little pride in winning the War on LARD!




© Armour Star, no doubt
"Bar-Am, if it were only that easy. I've been fighting this battle for 45 years. The Battle of '67, the Skirmish of '79, the Conflict of '00, and now the War on LARD!--the mother of all Wars on LARD!" "What happened between '79 and '01 there Jack? Seems you skipped a beat." "Ah yes. You know, the usual, kids, tenure, divorce, hot, young girl friends. It all kept me fit. But, after I fell head-over-tea-cups for Fiora and accepted that she cottoned to me too, then it was down that slippery slope that is coated with the stuff--a different sorta Armour-all. Two-point-seven-three ounces per day goes on a lot easier and more pleasurably than it comes off." "I can imagine..." I knew she couldn't.




I hoisted the second beer just about the time my blower sparked. "That will be the Professor. Yallow. D'Mestiere Investigations." "Jackie-boy, is that you? The satellite cluster seems to be malfunctioning. Where are you?" "Radio Room, Professor. Having a second beer." "Is Bar-Am there?" "She gave her head a shake and I covered. "Nope. Substitute. She took the day off in case The Rapture was real." "Jack." His voice went to that deep place. "Jack, I've been trying to contact you all day to extend my congratulations. I was with another client this morning, but I reviewed the ScalE-mail (© Boleyn Enterprises) and see that you have reached a milestone. I offer my hearty, 'Well-done', but..." "Scratch, scritch...I think I'm losing you there, Professor.." "remember..." "...can't hear you...click. Lost him I guess. Damn Verizon." I flicked the blower to off. Bar-Am smiled and said, "This one's for you, Jack!"


Seriously, I do thank my talismans, Bill Clinton and Bill Nighy, my personal trainer, James Wimbish of Bo Weivel Lawn Maintenance, Bar-Am, Aniela D'Ignacio, and all the fun people at Radio Room who give me a place to walk to, Professor Javier Boleyn who, in real life, told me to eat less and move more, and Fiora D'Mestiere, the girl of my dreams.

4 Pounds from 2 Pails: A Stern Conversation with Professor Javier Boleyn

"How do you do, Bar-Am?" "Howzitz, Jack?" "Well, if Itz is my feet..." "Are my feet. No excuse for bad grammar, Jack." "...Are my feet, they are barking dogs. Fill 'er up and hop a cold one down the bar there, will you pal-o-mine?" "On it."

I gladly took the cold one Bar-Am set in front of me, took a sip, and reflected on the day. It didn't start well.





It was 8 bells on the morning watch when the blower sparked. I was in the shower when Fiora yelled in the door, "Jack, it's Professor Javier Boleyn on the blower. Get on out here 'cause I have to head on out to that writers' thing I have to be at today." She put the blower down on the sink and I dripped on over to it. I didn't even get a chance to speak before..."Jack. Jackie-boy. What, oh what, is going on?" I played dumb. "And don't play dumb with me. You know what I mean--the ScalE-mail (® Boleyn Enterprises) tells no lies. You are still 4 pounds short of the goal you set months ago. This is getting ridiculous and I want it over soon--I'll give you 2 weeks." "But Professor, it's, it's..." His voice softened. "I know, Jackie-boy, You're moving a lot more than you used to." Then back to stern. "But, you've morphed my patented 2-Step DUH! Diet into Move More, Eat More! Now get your LARD-ass out there and do some walking." "Wail! I know I've been eating too much, but when I walk so much, I get hungry." "And thirsty, by all accounts..."


I headed out. It doesn't help that when I'm out waddling I have to waddle by a bunch of great feedbags which just makes me hungrier. Take this one, for instance. Cocotte, a great little bistro like the ones me and Dolly-girl ran into over there in France back when I was carrying a pail more than I'm carrying now. So I waddle by, but stop to read the whaddayawant and I'm pretty sure I absorb LARD! just by doing that.


So, I scoped out a route that would take me by as few places to eat as possible. It was a nice day for riding shank's mare, and before long, I was watching the Alara K get filled to the brim with wheat. Probably to turn into buns for thick, juicy cheeseburgers someplace...




I waddled on over to Union Station and took a stroll through the National Train Day events, including the annual exhibition of the Daylight 4449. Couldn't absorb any LARD! there, could I?

I looked around because I knew that the Boleyn's-Eye-View (® Boleyn Enterprises) satellite surveillance system would have me center-frame. I didn't see any signs, but gave the burger stand a wide berth anyway.



I turned and headed back over the river to the part of town where me and Dolly-girl set our brake when I happened to remember that it was Derby Day. Hmmm, where in the world might be a place to sit down and watch some nags run on a Hi-Def TV? Where might I be warmed and dried by a fake birch log fire? After some thought, say about the time it takes an axon to fire, it came to me. Radio Room.



The pictures below were taken of the TV. I suspect there is some sort of law against doing that so I will duly note that I was watching NBC at the time.

The sound of the TV and of Bar-Am asking which silks were carrying my purse snapped me back to reality like Sister Mary Kathryn's ruler on my knuckles. "Jack, where were you? Off in the ozone?" "Oh, I was miles away Bar-Am--maybe 5 miles away at one point." I did notice that while I might have been gone figuratively, I must have been there literally because the pint Bar-Am had delivered at the beginning of the reflection as pretty much gone. Meanwhile, the pomp of the circumstance was starting.


Yep, they were out of the gate with my favorite, and a favorite of a lot of others, Dialed In in the 8th position. Last I saw of him. Finished his number and changed his name to Dialed Back.




Animal Kingdom came on at the end and Ran for the Roses. "Well, Bar-Am, I guess I'll have another one of those tall cold ones to wash down the sting of defeat." "Jackie-boy..." That was a tip-off. "...we got a cable from COMBEPAC this morning..." "COMBEPAC?" "...that's COMmander, Boleyn Enterprises, PACific. Word's being spread that you might try to go beyond the beer you've earned. Some sort of push on, it said. Something about only 4 to go so get tough and stay tough. I guess that cable was on the money, even though Dialed In wasn't..." "Wail!"



"The wire had instructions for us, Jack. Do the loop again, and then come back for another. Sorry."

"I know, Bar-Am. You're just the messenger. C'mon dogs, saddle up. We got concrete to pound..."