Running My Mouth

This morning I'm listening to 100.3 The Peak, an Albuquerque radio station, because I'm having a fit of nostalgia. I chose this station because, other than University of New Mexico's KUNM, this is the only place on the dial that won't play classic rock (Have we discussed this? I'm sure we have, but for those just joining, I'll explain that my stint in Albuquerque has perhaps forever cured me of anything like lust for classic rock. Classic rock and I are OVER).

The downside is that The Peak plays Katy Perry, whose voice is nice but whose music is about as lowest-common-denominator as they come. “California Girls” was cute, but I really would rather she keep her Peacock-cock-cock musings to herself. The missus bought the CD and after one listen gave it to me to foist onto some other unsuspecting soul (Sorry, Juli!). I thank the radio godz for KINK FM, which is probably the bane of hormonal tweeners everywhere and that's just the way I like it, even if I have to hear those two damned Spearhead songs five times per day each.

Now Jackie, Tony, and Donnie (the drive-time crew at The Peak) are discussing a recent incident wherein some miscreant at Sunshine Market offered an unsuspecting woman a yogurt sample containing his own special ingredient. Lovely. SO glad I tuned in this morning.

Speaking of breakfast, we were recently stunned to find that Hatch green chiles are hella expensive to ship to the Northwest. This is disappointing, because the missus made quiche muffins with green chiles while we were living in ABQ, and THEY ROCK EXPONENTIALLY. Now she's forced to use jalapeños. They're delicious in their own right, but just not the same. Bummer. I would have thought you could find them in the dusty “ethnic” aisles of our supermarkets here, but nope.

Breakfast for me so far this morning is coffee. I tend to fall completely off the breakfast wagon on non-work days, which is terrible. Since we're shortly to embark on errands this morning, perhaps we'll stop into Spring Creek Coffee House for a scone or two and MORE coffee, that is unless the missus is inspired to go to Five Guys. I'll try to dissuade her (I love 'em too, I just don't want to LIVE there), but I don't often win this battle. Plus I'm not really what you would call a role model in les occupations gustatives. This is not a good thing at all because...

...I am so going to suck at this Shamrock Run thingy if I don't start seriously training for it. Between schedule conflicts and not paying proper attention to what I stuff down my neck AND this weird fatigue I've had for most of the week (not feeling sick at all other than feeling like I weigh two thousand pounds and could fall asleep standing up; hope I didn't run afoul of a deer tick or something!), I haven't walked a step, let alone run one. If I want to make it across the finish line before crickets chirp, I have to get busy. I haven't run a mile in many years, and I've signed up for the 5K (idiot). As evidenced by the course map...

http://www.shamrockrunportland.com/map5k.htm

...a considerable portion of this trot is up Broadway, and I've been told it's a bastard with a generous dollop of bitch thrown in for flava. Well, great. I hope that my Albuquerque lungs haven't completely deflated by the time this dubious adventure starts.

So train I will, starting this week. The proper way, it seems, is to walk at a brisk clip, then run a short distance, then put head down near knees and cuss, then repeat until one's leg tendons feel like a harp thrown down a flight of stairs. The anticipation is palpable up in here.

Beer and chowder will be offered at the finish line; maybe I'll just stay out of sight for an hour and then dump a bucket of water over my head and jog by. Nah. I'd get caught. I always get caught.

Seize the day.