Earthmovers and Sandcastles

Summer, that is; it seems to have found our corner of Wisconsin. Now, I realize that we have very little room to complain; all things considered, there just aren’t that many days here per year that could be considered uncomfortably hot. Maryland was much warmer, and I recall suffering through far worse summers in West Virginia. It’s nearly August, and I don’t believe we’ve actually had any, or at most no more than a few, days where the temps have broken through the nineties.

But it’s my party blog, so I’ll whine if I want to. This weekend is supposed to embrace those ninety-degree temperatures, er, warmly. It hasn’t been what I’d call cool over the past few days, either; yesterday and today, we were supposed to see some cooling storms, but we’ve been denied them in the end. When I was running this morning, I ran back and forth under a sprinkler, trying desperately to lower my body temperature. One of Eric’s coworkers emailed him, saying that she saw me run by her place this morning; I told him to tell her that next time, a cup of water wouldn’t go amiss.

Anyway. I have a little problem, and I think I’ll arbitrarily blame it on Jodi, though it’s not entirely her fault. Over the past few weeks, I’ve felt an increasing urge to lay hands on a recording device and a portable microphone. I mean, she just makes it sound so easy and fun! Why couldn’t I be a running podcaster, too?

Well, because effective gadgetry costs money, that’s why. Sure, I could apparently go the cheap route and wind up with very noisy, crappy-quality recordings that drain my iPod’s battery within half an hour of pushing “record.” The inexpensive options also look sort of large, and I have trouble running with a small flask on my back, let alone anything to which I’d have to pay attention - while talking. So I push the idea to the back of my mind again, until the next time I, say, listen to Nigel and catch myself nodding and saying, “Me, too?”

Maybe it’ll be one of those things where if I’m still feeling the compulsion three to six months from now, I’ll bite the bullet and figure out how to do it. Many of my urges pass if I give them enough time in the deliberation zone; it’s forcing myself to do that that gives me the most trouble.

Until then, I’ll stick to my other compulsive habits. (Anybody know how to turn housecleaning into one of those?)

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