Happy Friday, friends! Here are some nuggets (or nougat, if your taste buds swing that way), that I’ve happened upon during this week’s frolicks amidst the interwebs.
Cracked is one of those horribly wonderful sites that ropes you in with some random Facebook post (in this case 6 Great Old-Timey Comics for [Traumatizing] Kids) and then keep you sucked in by peppering each and every page with lists of stupidly innocuous things that for some reason you MUST find out about right this very second. I found 5 Creepiest when I navigated over to their Horror section, seems like it might actually be worth a read.
I love me some radiolab. Topics are usually pretty obscure but well researched, and the production is kind of campy and odd, so it makes for a fun and experiential listening experience. Perusing podcasts this week to facilitate my morning toilette (which, in French, means getting ready, and not anything gross or poop-related), I came across this short which piqued my interest ginormously. The subject is Robert Johnson, a 1920s Blues musician who, initially, was really, really bad. Until, that is, he sold his soul to the devil. He is still considered today to be one of the best Blues guitarists who’s ever lived.
And, heading back into the known world… I’m pretty sure pre- and post-race festivities (read pasta feed and beer gardens) are not nearly as fun for gluten-free runners they appear to be for the non-allergic counterparts. It’s been an interesting challenge to find advice suitable to my needs, to the extent that I basically stopped trying, and just rely on my Clif and Luna bars to get me through. This article (Are You Too Sensitive? The gluten-free movement isn’t just a fad. It could be the performance boost you’ve been missing.) popped up in an email and, while it’s a bummer that more and more peeps are becoming sensitive/allergic to gluten, it does make me happy that there’s more exposure and thereby more info available.
In case you’re wondering, I’m basing the quelle above on my belief that pain, in French, is douleur (and I’m totally not even bothering to look this up right hyeh), which would make PITA (aka pain-in-the-arse) feminine, necessitating an appropriate, um… ah, I don’t have any idea what form of speech or whatevs that would be. Rejoinder? Nope. It’s quantifying something. Again, not looking it up, yo.
Back to the original point: trying to figure out when and what to eat before runs makes me want to stab myself in the groin with an icepick. It really doesn’t, but it’s fun to think about, isn’t it? Yes, yes it is. Anyhoo, this is a good post to check out if you want some suggestions about how long in advance to eat stuff if you’re doing a long run, or a shorter run, or what-have-you. Basically, I think it all comes back to this: eat a Clif bar.
This is a real thing. It’s not just laziness. And yet… I simply DO NOT WANT to do it. It’s in my make up to double-space after the full stop! Yes! I did learn to type on a typewriter! It was in a dingy old classroom at Harding High — on green typewriters, I’m almost certain of it! Alas, I must move with the times.
And finally, in honor of 2 beautiful babies born to friends this week, a bit of Monty Python irreverence: