Lunar Obverse

The results are in for the 2005 Shamrock Run and… well… I knew I wasn’t exactly a speed demon. I did, however, better my time from last year, so it’s all good.

My friends did well, also — those who ran, at any rate. Even the sick ones. But not all who were there, ran. And not all who were expected to show up… showed up. Hmmm.

I’ve become obsessed with the non-food content of my food.

It started when I decided, earlier this week, to keep track of the protein, fat, and carbohydrates in my diet. The very first thing I looked at was my delicious Cliff Bars. See? It says right there that they are Certified Organic and therefore horribly healthy.

OK, so one serving is one bar; 68 grams. (I’m looking at the Crunchy Peanut Butter bar; others are similar). Total protein = 12 grams. Total fat = 6 grams. Total carbs = 40 grams.

That only adds up to 58 grams.

So what is the remaining 10 grams? It’s non-food. Vitamins and minerals? There can’t be ten fucking grams of vitamins and minerals; I don’t care how healthy those Cliff Bars are.

I guess the “sodium” and potassium account for just under another half-gram. Part of it could be water, I guess, although water isn’t listed as an ingredient, and if it accounted for almost 15% of the weight of the bar you’d think it would be listed. So just what is it, anyway?

…do I really want to know?

What’s funny to me is that the supposedly-healthy-and-organic Cliff Bar has waaaaaaay more of the non-food stuff than does, say, a serving of Doritos or a Hershey’s Special Dark bar (only about 1-2 grams unaccounted for on both of those).

Food is scary. I’m going to stop looking so close now.

It physically hurt me when I heard a Radiohead song (“There, there” from “Hail To The Thief”) playing over the loudspeakers at Rite-Aid — as Muzak!

Ow.

Make it stop.

Make it stop!

Denise is a) a coworker who is both b) hot, and c) married. I would add d) is licensed for concealed carry (as a consequence of her job), if my sense of ethics hadn’t already stopped at a) (principle of don’t shit where you eat) and c) (principle of never rub another man’s rhubarb), but, whatever. It’s still fun to flirt now and then.

A week or two ago I had been working on her computer and spotted a Luna CD on top of her stack (that sounds dirty but you know what I meant). The Bestest Radio Station In The World, KEXP, had been playing Luna that day, and I vaguely recalled that they had had a show at the Aladdin Theater recently. I asked her about it, we got to talking about music, and she offered to let me borrow it. She said it was mellow but good. I’m OK with mellow sometimes.

I dropped it off again after the weekend, having ripped it. We chatted some more about music, and she told me about missing the Luna show recently, but reminisced about past bands she’d liked. Because I was also wearing my shirt from the Shamrock Run, I found out she’s a runner, too. We laughed about the butt rockers at the race.

It was cool to share music, and I know I’ve got some eclectic, indie-pop tastes. I figured I’d share some of my music with her, try to figure out from what she listens to what else she’d like. I didn’t want to be a taker; I wanted to be a giver, too. Well, and I wanted to show how cool I was by my musical tastes…

Today, she grabbed me and asked me to stop by. Some question about something or other. Then she apologized for not bringing in another Luna CD. I told her that was OK, and then we started talking about music again. She told me that if I liked Luna, I’d like Catherine Wheel (warning! Flash site with music on main page!), too. She dove into her stack of CDs and handed me one. Looked interesting. Naked people on the cover is a good sign.

I was digging in my brain, trying to think of some odd or unusual music that I had. I took a guess: “Hey, do you like Radiohead?”

Silly me. All girls of a certain age like Radiohead. And if they don’t, well, then I’m not interested. But about Denise, I needn’t have worried.

She literally gasped and clutched her chest (interesting reaction, that) and laughed. “Are you kidding me? They’re my top favorite band! Well…” she stopped to consider, did a mental check, “…definitely in the top three.”

I started to tell her I had some imports that were kind of rare in the US, when she twisted and tore through her stack of CDs again. She pulled out a jewel case with homemade, plain black text on white paper, homemade labels.

The cover read:

Radiohead
06.23.01
The Gorge
George, Washington

A bootleg.

I was topped again. Sure, I had some bootleg Radiohead, from Coachella last year. Also Pixies and Beck from that same festival. But, dammit, it would be a “me, too” moment. Curse you, Denise, I silently cursed in her general direction, you win again. I shook my tiny mental fist at her, even as I exulted in obtaining even more esoteric Radiohead recordings. I now yearned to rush home, rip the CD and listen to it several times over. The plain white label screamed at me; the jewel case burned in my hands. I turned it over in my hands and read the set list. Only one song on there that I hadn’t heard before but of course I would listen to it over and over again anyway.

Meanwhile, Denise was telling me the story of her and her then-boyfriend borrowing someone’s VW van to drive up to George, Washington to see this very concert. Blah, blah, the van broke down, yadda, yadda, he had to go off to get some parts to fix it, whatever, yeah, yeah. The only funny part is how, when telling me that her boyfriend figured that they’d never make the concert in time and suggested that they bag it and go home, Denise’s eyes burned when re-creating the intensity with which she had told her boyfriend in terms that implied no uncertainty, that, yes, in fact, they were going to get to that concert and they would be on time. I laughed at her silly then-boyfriend, for even bringing that up. I groked. Oh, yeah. I groked.

I love new music. I also ripped the Catherine Wheel CD she gave me, and on my lunch break, earlier, I had picked up LCD Soundsystem and The Wedding Present’s newest. But I already know the Radiohead bootleg is going to be in constant rotation for at least two days.

I was at work, and trying to track down a user, Diana, who had reported a problem a couple of days ago. Another tech had been working on the user’s computer problem and had tried to call and email the user (no, the problem wasn’t related to email) and Diana had not called back. So the other tech had asked me to check on Diana, since I was in the building anyway.

A walk around the office on the floor where Diana worked showed that all the cubicles were empty. Everyone was gone. Which would normally only happen if they were in a meeting.

I walked back to their meeting area just to check, and sure enough, walked right into the middle of their meeting. All eyes, including their supervisors, turned to me. I hadn’t ever met their supervisor, Lori, before, but everyone else recognized me for fixing their computers and seeing me around the building.

“Hi, I’m Brian, from Computer Support?” I offered, in my normal-but-quiet voice. “I’m here to talk to Diana?” I felt a bit embarrassed for interrupting. Diana stood up and separated herself from the group, walked over to me.

“Are you still having a problem?” I asked, quietly but still loud enough for the everyone else to hear, unfortunately. I briefly wondered if I should step outside the room, but a computer problem didn’t seem like a big deal.

They had stayed quiet after I came in. As I spoke, Lori’s face registered extreme shock; she acted like she hadn’t believed what she had just heard. I was surprised enough that I barely caught Diana’s response, that the problem had resolved itself.

I looked back at Lori, who now looked embarrassed herself. The rest of the group was laughing, that uncomfortable laugh of not-quite-getting-the-joke.

Everyone was waiting for me to say something, again. Diana looked confused. I started out, again, “I’m with Computer Support. Diana had called in a problem…”

“Oh!” Lori showed relief. “Do you know, I thought I’d heard you say,

I’m from Peer Support, do you have a problem?”

The room erupted in laughter. I blushed, realizing that the uncomfortable laughter had been at me. I mumbled something about how I tend to mumble, and hurriedly left the room.

Once outside, I laughed so hard I couldn’t breathe.