Because she kicked my ass in Fantasy Football, and because she’s all, like, famous and stuff, and because there are eight days in a week, I’m going to complete this meme that Black Belt Mama tagged me with.
But I’m going to do it the same way that Johnny Cash built his Cadillac–one piece at a time–which is why it’s good that there are eight days in a week, because there are eight pieces of this meme.
If you want to see what we’re doing, check out Sister #1’s blog. She’s got pictures of us and everything, because she’s good like that. She’s also good like picking us up at the airport after going grocery shopping for us, so the house was fully stocked when we arrived.
Eight Things I am Passionate About (in no particular order):
- Cycling. Love it. Just like those guys who run out onto the street at halftime to play a quick three-on-three, I identify with the pros when I’m pedaling up a mountain, or carving down the backside of it, or stretching out on a six-hour ride. There’s something about the freedom and the adventure of cycling myself, and the mystique of cycling races over mythical cols.
- Bullies. Hate ’em. This probably has to do with getting my ass kicked by them in elementary school for no reason except my proximity to them.
- The Western U.S. Love it. I love the minutiae of the vast deserts, the emptiness of the massive mountains, and the solitude of the big, dark-timber woods. I love the spirit of adventure, innovation, and the sense of being on a journey that inhabits most denizens of the West.
- Cancer. Hate it. It killed Dad when I was 16, and I’ve never forgiven it.
- 3B. Love him. Do I need to explain?
- Sloth. Hate it. Hm. Perhaps hate is too strong a word here. I just don’t understand it. At least, not now that I’m no longer a teenager. But, even then, when I finally woke up, I was pretty busy. I don’t know about idle hands being the devil’s playground, perhaps because my hands never seem to be idle for long enough for me to find out, which is a blessing and a curse.
- Politics. Love it. Love watching the give and take, the debates, and getting into the argy-bargy myself. However, as I age, I can see more and more subtle shades of gray; I’ve become less dogmatic, although I don’t always let that show.
- Music. Love it. I can’t sing, and I can’t dance, so I’m forever grateful to those who can and do, expressing for me what I would love to, but can’t. When I’m scraping up the dog food from the kitchen floor, humming Johnny Cash, I’m thankful. And when James Taylor, or Van Halen, or the Postal Service make my son smile and dance with joy, I’m thankful.