How many of you are joggers? I'm sure quite a few. Running has always been my favorite form of exercise. Not because it's fun. The activity itself can be pretty dull. What makes it appealing to me is the outdoors, the fresh air, the one-with-nature feeling of literally pounding the pavement. Carrying an iPod loaded with killer tunes heightens the appeal.
Be aware that I never run long distances. Just 2-3 miles at a time. But I do it three times a week religiously, and apparently it's working wonders. My cardiologist (boy, that makes me sound old) tells me I'm in excellent heart health. Just keep doing whatever you're doing, he says. And you can bet I will.
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"You're a nincompoop," my 3-year-old daughter told me not long ago. Which says more about how she views her dad than how impressive her vocabulary has grown. When she rises from bed in the morning, I usually try for a hug or just a passing smile. But she issues a sharp "mama!" and makes a beeline for my wife. I'll acknowledge up front that writing about sod is totally lame. You'd think a blogger with a cool name like Guitar Dad would enjoy far more thrilling endeavors. And I usually do. Really. Only I'm particularly focused at this moment on the new grass in my backyard. Few photographers have captured the attitude, emotion and spirit of my musical heroes like Jim Marshall has. His legendary images grace countless album covers and magazine spreads. Among my favorite Marshall shots are these three: the Grateful Dead in 1968, jazzman John Coltrane in 1960, and Keith Richards and Mick Jagger in 1972. See more of Marshall's self-described "decisive moments" here. My son is one laser-focused little dude. As a toddler, he cared only about Matchbox cars. Seriously, just cars. Then came other obsessions: Power Rangers, Transformers, Bakugans and now Webkinz. A spacecraft just blasted off from Cape Canaveral on quite an intriguing mission. I watched it slice through the night sky from my front yard, a mere 60 miles from the launch pad. As an admirer of Hunter S. Thompson most of my life, I was severely delighted recently to discover that he'd written a Fear and Loathing-style book about the Hawaiian Islands. The Curse of Lono is no love letter to Hawaii, mind you. Early in the book Thompson sets the tone by calling the islands "this harsh little maze of volcanic zits out here in the middle of the Pacific Ocean." |
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