<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615517181503925807</id><updated>2011-07-08T01:50:17.464-07:00</updated><title type='text'>scotonoia</title><subtitle type='html'>Roughly translated, scotonoia means "dark mind". This pretty much sums up the way I view the world. I believe that the world (and everyone in it) are pretty messed up and we are all in desperate need of help. Some of the stuff I write on here might not always sound that "dark" but don't be fooled--I'm a total pessimist.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scotonoia.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4615517181503925807/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scotonoia.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Phil</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08339908451615394291</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='14' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bD1oXlf6SJw/Smp-20FuKSI/AAAAAAAAABk/z6H1dlSPQ5U/S220/P1000184.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>13</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615517181503925807.post-4659169414789453712</id><published>2009-12-09T21:21:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-09T21:48:20.097-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Advent</title><content type='html'>Advent. Over-simplified, it means, "coming". Some people use this time leading up to December 25th to consider and contemplate a time in History when the world didn't know the name, Jesus. Before the "Nativity Scene". But right now, I'm not thinking about a young pregnant girl on a donkey with no place to stay--I'm thinking about a young pregnant girl in the ICU with possible liver failure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish I had a really cool reason to compare these two girls, but I don't. When Jesus came into this world, it was broken. The thing that makes my heart ache is that this world is still very broken. These two girls make me think of both the brokenness and the redemption that was and is and is to come.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe that's just me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4615517181503925807-4659169414789453712?l=scotonoia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scotonoia.blogspot.com/feeds/4659169414789453712/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4615517181503925807&amp;postID=4659169414789453712' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4615517181503925807/posts/default/4659169414789453712'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4615517181503925807/posts/default/4659169414789453712'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scotonoia.blogspot.com/2009/12/advent.html' title='Advent'/><author><name>Phil</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08339908451615394291</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='14' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bD1oXlf6SJw/Smp-20FuKSI/AAAAAAAAABk/z6H1dlSPQ5U/S220/P1000184.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615517181503925807.post-6044437523884097534</id><published>2008-11-04T10:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-04T10:46:19.640-08:00</updated><title type='text'>To My Consevative Christian Friends</title><content type='html'>Yesterday, I saw someone holding a sign that read, "Keep marriage sacred! Vote Yes on Prop 8". At first, I couldn't identify why this sign bugged me so much. But then today I saw on the Travel Channel, a show called, "10 Most Extreme Halloween Destinations". It was destination number 9 that triggered my anger on the whole "yes on 8" thing. Apparently in Vegas, you can get married by a guy dressed like the grim reaper. So on this show, we had the honor of witnessing a couple taking part in this "one man, one woman" ceremony - only the woman had fangs and blood painted on the side of her mouth and the man was wearing this ridiculous demon, pagan goat mask. We had the privilege of hearing them both say, "I do." Her, through her fangs and him, through his muffled foam rubber mask. That's when it really hit me: why are conservative Christians saying, "Marriage is sacred, and only for a man and a woman" when we have the aforementioned absurdities taking place. If conservatives want to preserve marriage, why not focus attention on the idiots that are literally mocking the word “marriage”? If everything I saw on the Travel Channel is true, don't you think the sanctity of the word marriage was lost a long time ago? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's another angle. Conservative Christians don't own the word, "marriage". Before you get too mad at me, just think about it for a second. It's a word - you have your definition and other people have theirs.  If you're still angry, then think about these words. Prayer. Meditation. Fasting. These words have a very particular meaning in Christian circles but can take on substantially different definitions in non-Christian circles. Most people who use these words accept the fact that their shared meaning of the word is just that-their shared meaning. We can all acknowledge that other circles use these same words but don’t share the specifics of the meaning. Most conservative Christians would agree that “prayer” is communicating with the One God that created the universe. If someone from another religion uses the word, “prayer”, no one would say, “Hey! Don’t use that word! It’s ours!” It’s just accepted that lots of people use the word differently. Also, with the word “meditation” in common use in Hinduism, Buddhism, Christianity, Islam, Jainism, Judaism, New Age, Sikhism, Taoism, and the Baha i Faith we find a wide scope of meaning. When Christians use this word, it describes a state of intense focus things spiritual. But for many other religions, it’s a state of almost removing one’s mind from the body to an elevated consciousness. Again, with this word, we accept that it has multiple definitions from circle to circle. “Fasting” is a word used in religious and secular circles alike. In fact, it’s a word that has become so watered-down that it’s almost synonymous with dieting. When the word, fasting is used in the Bible, it’s an action for the specific reason of drawing nearer to God – either with a request or repentance. Is anyone angry that the word fasting has lost this definition?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This post is much longer than I originally intended and for that I am sorry. I’m also sorry that today is Election Day so most Californians reading this have already voted (or not voted). My intent in writing this is not to sway voters but to express some of my thoughts on the issue. Hopefully as a conservative Christian, you consider the Christian part of that title more important than the conservative part (if you don’t, than I’m not talking to you).  What made Jesus happy? What made Jesus angry? What did Jesus say was most important?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would love to hear what you think about all this.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4615517181503925807-6044437523884097534?l=scotonoia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scotonoia.blogspot.com/feeds/6044437523884097534/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4615517181503925807&amp;postID=6044437523884097534' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4615517181503925807/posts/default/6044437523884097534'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4615517181503925807/posts/default/6044437523884097534'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scotonoia.blogspot.com/2008/11/to-my-consevative-christian-friends.html' title='To My Consevative Christian Friends'/><author><name>Phil</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08339908451615394291</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='14' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bD1oXlf6SJw/Smp-20FuKSI/AAAAAAAAABk/z6H1dlSPQ5U/S220/P1000184.JPG'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615517181503925807.post-3270657335112019512</id><published>2008-10-15T10:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-15T10:46:53.698-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Craigslist, Sick Speakers , and the Folsom Ghetto</title><content type='html'>&lt;p style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt;"&gt;I’ve been really busy so I didn’t have a chance to write this earlier, but I had to get this down because the whole experience was so amusing. Anyway, a few weeks ago, I bought some speakers off I guy on Craigslist. The speakers are nothing short of awesome. Each box stands 3 or 4 feet tall and the subs are each 15 inchers. I needed these speakers so badly because my father-in-law, Paul had an extra stereo receiver that I’m guessing is older than I am and he gave it to me. I hooked it up at my work bench and knew I needed something really fantastic to facilitate all the power this beast would put out. Hence, the 15 inchers. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;      &lt;p style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt;"&gt;So this guy in Folsom had these speakers and wanted to sell them for 50 bucks. Kathy really likes Folsom so we both got in the car on a Saturday morning and hit the road. For those of you reading this in So. Cal. or any of the random places in the world that isn’t the Sacramento area, Folsom is a nice area. It received a bunch of awards for most popular suburb or something like that. The reason I feel it necessary to bring this up is neither of us were expecting to find Folsom had a “ghetto”. But there we were, pulling into a massive, less-than-adequate apartment complex, parking lot. I called the guy (Michael) and told him I’m there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt;"&gt;He said, “Turn to your left. I’m waving my hand at the other end of the parking lot.” This guy is a piece of work. Dirty blonde hair, kind of moppy, but it’s stuck out in every direction. I’d think he did it on purpose, except for the sleep in his eyes. The phone in one hand, a cigarette in the other. A grungy t-shirt, sweats , and those plastic sandals with the single fat strap that covers the top of the foot but leaves your toes exposed. He said, “Come on in and check ‘em out.” His apartment kind of resembled Quentin Tarantino&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;'s house in Pulp Fiction.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;"Wasn't he a drug dealer in that movie?!" I thought to myself. I couldn't get us out of there fast enough-not really because I was afraid for our safty, but more because I was afraid we might catch something if we touched anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt;"&gt;As Kathy and I are gingerly placing the speakers in the backseat of our car, he’s telling us, “I don’t have room in &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;my &lt;/span&gt;trunk either. The other day I got pulled over in the middle of the night. The cops are pretty suspicious of any 1986, Cadillac DeVille in Folsom. Anyway, the cop asked to see my trunk but I didn’t want to show him because it was full of dirty laundry!” Then he laughs a little too hard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt;"&gt;Kathy and I shot each other a look. I couldn’t help but think that maybe there was something &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;else &lt;/span&gt;in Michael’s trunk that he didn’t want the cops to find. But instead of mentioning it, I laugh politely with him and hand him over the 50 bucks. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4615517181503925807-3270657335112019512?l=scotonoia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scotonoia.blogspot.com/feeds/3270657335112019512/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4615517181503925807&amp;postID=3270657335112019512' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4615517181503925807/posts/default/3270657335112019512'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4615517181503925807/posts/default/3270657335112019512'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scotonoia.blogspot.com/2008/10/craigslist-sick-speakers-and-folsom.html' title='Craigslist, Sick Speakers , and the Folsom Ghetto'/><author><name>Phil</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08339908451615394291</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='14' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bD1oXlf6SJw/Smp-20FuKSI/AAAAAAAAABk/z6H1dlSPQ5U/S220/P1000184.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615517181503925807.post-2880164880099358055</id><published>2008-09-07T15:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-08T08:47:02.032-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Trying a Mini Triathlon</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bD1oXlf6SJw/SMRW9p8v7KI/AAAAAAAAAAg/N8GMwJOT3lc/s1600-h/Mini+Tri+training+program+pic.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243411483398761634" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: pointer; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bD1oXlf6SJw/SMRW9p8v7KI/AAAAAAAAAAg/N8GMwJOT3lc/s400/Mini+Tri+training+program+pic.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; In five weeks, I will swim/cycle/run my first sprint triathlon. This particular race is a half-mile swim, fifteen-mile bike ride and a three-mile run.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kathy once told me about a cool little program on runnersworld.com that allows you to type in information about yourself and the race you’re planning to run and it spits out a customized training program for you. I hoped to find something like that for triathlons but at first, couldn’t find anything that suited my needs. Finally, I found this training schedule. It’s pretty basic but it works well for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I modified it slightly to fit my timeline but it’s essentially the same thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kathy and I are five weeks in with five weeks to go and it’s been pretty awesome.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The race is on October 12th and I do plan on “documenting” it like I did with the half marathon which I’m pretty excited about-I’m designing/MacGuyvering a camera mount for my bike! I haven’t figured out how to film the swimming part. I will probably end up filming before and after that leg of the race but it would be so rad if I could film during the swim. I’ll work on that.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4615517181503925807-2880164880099358055?l=scotonoia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scotonoia.blogspot.com/feeds/2880164880099358055/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4615517181503925807&amp;postID=2880164880099358055' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4615517181503925807/posts/default/2880164880099358055'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4615517181503925807/posts/default/2880164880099358055'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scotonoia.blogspot.com/2008/09/trying-mini-triathlon.html' title='Trying a Mini Triathlon'/><author><name>Phil</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08339908451615394291</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='14' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bD1oXlf6SJw/Smp-20FuKSI/AAAAAAAAABk/z6H1dlSPQ5U/S220/P1000184.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bD1oXlf6SJw/SMRW9p8v7KI/AAAAAAAAAAg/N8GMwJOT3lc/s72-c/Mini+Tri+training+program+pic.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615517181503925807.post-468280392203753954</id><published>2008-06-19T13:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-19T13:14:08.815-07:00</updated><title type='text'>From London</title><content type='html'>So this has to stay brief because this is costing me a pond an hour to type this. I am currently typing while siting next to a window that overlooks a busy London street. We've been here a few days now and it has been truly amazing. There is so much more I have to say but it will have to wait until I get home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will also add some photos when we get home--some of them are hilarious!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4615517181503925807-468280392203753954?l=scotonoia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scotonoia.blogspot.com/feeds/468280392203753954/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4615517181503925807&amp;postID=468280392203753954' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4615517181503925807/posts/default/468280392203753954'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4615517181503925807/posts/default/468280392203753954'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scotonoia.blogspot.com/2008/06/from-london.html' title='From London'/><author><name>Phil</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08339908451615394291</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='14' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bD1oXlf6SJw/Smp-20FuKSI/AAAAAAAAABk/z6H1dlSPQ5U/S220/P1000184.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615517181503925807.post-5744465546610157103</id><published>2008-02-06T20:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-06T20:55:29.546-08:00</updated><title type='text'>In my "twenties"</title><content type='html'>At least for tonight anyway...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4615517181503925807-5744465546610157103?l=scotonoia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scotonoia.blogspot.com/feeds/5744465546610157103/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4615517181503925807&amp;postID=5744465546610157103' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4615517181503925807/posts/default/5744465546610157103'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4615517181503925807/posts/default/5744465546610157103'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scotonoia.blogspot.com/2008/02/in-my-twenties.html' title='In my &quot;twenties&quot;'/><author><name>Phil</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14480053156720179823</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='17' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_aUUFwDHYzaw/SFBeQjlMscI/AAAAAAAAAAM/iJfapcygoMg/S220/P1000014.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615517181503925807.post-2615626507786762990</id><published>2007-11-01T21:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-01T22:57:19.826-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My First (official) Half Marathon</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;I run through the woods&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; The distant cars sing to me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; I am so tired&lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;      &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's been a long time coming, but last Sunday I ran my first &lt;i&gt;official &lt;/i&gt;half marathon. This blog entry is here to tell (and show) you all about it. Here's what I did; I took a ghetto digital camera with me and filmed various moments throughout my run. Consider it a series of "video vignettes" depict&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;ing my 13.1-mile epic saga&lt;/span&gt;. I call it an epic saga because my jogging pace was that of an old man's and the video sequence documents pieces of my three hour experience. I came up with the idea to film my run the night before we drove up to &lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:placename st="on"&gt;Humboldt&lt;/st1:PlaceName&gt;  &lt;st1:placetype st="on"&gt;County&lt;/st1:PlaceType&gt;&lt;/st1:place&gt; (where the run took place). I quickly MacGuyvered a camera mount ala Survivorman and off we went to the race!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These first three videos took place in the car about an hour before the start of the race. It was a&lt;object width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/fnxVg6TMk7g&amp;amp;rel=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/fnxVg6TMk7g&amp;amp;rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;bout 45 or 50 degrees outside so we where trying to stay warm.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;Me talking about my gear...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/BtZWHc5yngU&amp;amp;rel=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/BtZWHc5yngU&amp;amp;rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;object height="355" width="425"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/b6P5_7vnuKg&amp;amp;rel=1"&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;object height="355" width="425"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/b6P5_7vnuKg&amp;amp;rel=1"&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/object&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;Some pre-race Q and A, conducted by my beautiful wife.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/b6P5_7vnuKg&amp;amp;rel=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/b6P5_7vnuKg&amp;amp;rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/p&gt;The start of the race!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/mlPz7OZNPKM&amp;amp;rel=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/mlPz7OZNPKM&amp;amp;rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This one is very short. It mainly shows the crowd running in front of me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/r3iBYmSqUzE&amp;amp;rel=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/r3iBYmSqUzE&amp;amp;rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;Here is the first video shot on the infamous "camera mount". I don't say anything in it because I was running next to some lady and I was a little tentative about talking to my camera in front of her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ioMKhCYv3-o&amp;amp;rel=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ioMKhCYv3-o&amp;amp;rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;I'm already rambling at the beginning of mile 2.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Ll0Q4c4KCPc&amp;amp;rel=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Ll0Q4c4KCPc&amp;amp;rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--&gt; &lt;!--[endif]--&gt;  &lt;object height="355" width="425"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Ll0Q4c4KCPc&amp;amp;rel=1"&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/object&gt;At this point in the run I was feeling a little bit overwhelmed. It passed, eventually.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/mzSEsOLC4Gs&amp;amp;rel=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/mzSEsOLC4Gs&amp;amp;rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;object height="355" width="425"&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This video starts with me trying my first "Double Latte flavored Shot". I don't want to give away my reaction. Also, you can't hear it &lt;i&gt;too &lt;/i&gt;well, but I wanted to capture the insanity of half a dozen people yelling, "WATER!" at me. As I passed the "aid stations" I had run by one already and thought it was hilarious that the people were so insistent--also that they all felt the need to each yell it when I had turned the first, second, third, fourth, and fifth ones down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Oh, one more thing -- a six-year old little girl copiously blew her whistle as I passed her at the aid station. I could hear her high-pitched squeal for half a mile before I reached this station and half a mile after.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/1vE5btsJQW4&amp;amp;rel=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/1vE5btsJQW4&amp;amp;rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;This (in my opinion) is where the story starts getting good. Every great story has a protagonist and some kind of antagonist. In the story of &lt;/span&gt;&lt;i style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;My first Half Marathon &lt;/i&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;the antagonist is The Woman in the Blue Sports Bra. I don't know it yet but this woman eventually becomes my bitter rival.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/OZyfYSd_N74&amp;amp;rel=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/OZyfYSd_N74&amp;amp;rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: georgia;"&gt;We should file this video under "Thought it was a funny idea at the time, but turns out, I just made an ass of myself". I should have known that not everyone likes to hear people singing randomly--especially when they're running at imed race.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Wof8LfhXCVo&amp;amp;rel=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Wof8LfhXCVo&amp;amp;rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: georgia;"&gt;So, at this aid station they offered both water and Gatorade. I think that there might have been a little animosity between the &lt;i&gt;waters &lt;/i&gt;and the &lt;i&gt;Gatorades &lt;/i&gt;because the &lt;i&gt;Gatorades &lt;/i&gt;sounded angry.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Ob_UX-5XMOY&amp;amp;rel=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Ob_UX-5XMOY&amp;amp;rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;It is mile 8 and I am rambling. I don't really have much to say about it except that it makes me laugh when I mention The Woman in the Blue Sports Bra again. I'm obviously still hanging on to the fact that I passed her at mile 5 even though I hadn't seen her since then.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/lmLyz0t96bY&amp;amp;rel=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/lmLyz0t96bY&amp;amp;rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;I'm screwing around--what can I say.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/rSNAYWOaqDs&amp;amp;rel=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/rSNAYWOaqDs&amp;amp;rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;This one is interesting to me because at this point I tried to remember the words to &lt;/span&gt;&lt;i style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Eye of the Tiger&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; but couldn't. My mind was drawing a blank. My depleted energy level prevented me from multi-tasking.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/k9oI5WWgh70&amp;amp;rel=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/k9oI5WWgh70&amp;amp;rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;After a couple of minutes practicing off camera, I remembered how the song goes... sort of.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/uAtInlSPgHE&amp;amp;rel=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/uAtInlSPgHE&amp;amp;rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;object height="355" width="425"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/k9oI5WWgh70&amp;amp;rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="355" width="425"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Here, I am commenting on the way I feel at mile 11.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/wMvxQcQcqFQ&amp;amp;rel=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/wMvxQcQcqFQ&amp;amp;rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;At an attempt to keep my mind on something other than how long I'd been running without stopping, I decided to write a haiku. It only took me a minute or two to compose it but it took me like ten minutes to will myself to say it correctly with the camera on.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/47p5jOrWSi0&amp;amp;rel=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/47p5jOrWSi0&amp;amp;rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;This is the last video--me, crossing the finish line!   &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: georgia;"&gt;I was pretty much hobbling through miles 11 and 12. Then I noticed my foe (The Woman in the Blue Sports Bra from mile &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: georgia;"&gt;5&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: georgia;"&gt;) just caught up with me from out of nowhere! She tried to pass me in mile 13 so I really started bookin'.You can see her struggling to pass the guy with the PVC camera mount dangling from his body. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; If you watch my face closely, you can also see the moment that I saw my wife waiting for me at the finish line.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/DdjeshaWyys&amp;amp;rel=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/DdjeshaWyys&amp;amp;rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;object height="355" width="425"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/DdjeshaWyys&amp;amp;rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="355" width="425"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;;"&gt; &lt;!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;object height="355" width="425"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/47p5jOrWSi0&amp;amp;rel=1"&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/47p5jOrWSi0&amp;amp;rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="355" width="425"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;;"&gt; &lt;!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;object height="355" width="425"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Wof8LfhXCVo&amp;amp;rel=1"&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Wof8LfhXCVo&amp;amp;rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="355" width="425"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4615517181503925807-2615626507786762990?l=scotonoia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scotonoia.blogspot.com/feeds/2615626507786762990/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4615517181503925807&amp;postID=2615626507786762990' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4615517181503925807/posts/default/2615626507786762990'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4615517181503925807/posts/default/2615626507786762990'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scotonoia.blogspot.com/2007/11/my-first-official-half-marathon.html' title='My First (official) Half Marathon'/><author><name>Phil</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14480053156720179823</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='17' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_aUUFwDHYzaw/SFBeQjlMscI/AAAAAAAAAAM/iJfapcygoMg/S220/P1000014.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615517181503925807.post-1379839360737063380</id><published>2007-09-05T20:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-05T20:10:18.266-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Special Ed Blues</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;So I’m feeling a little discouraged about work right now. I love my job, I really do, it’s just that we started the school year one month ago and three of our nineteen kids have been up for expulsion already. I didn’t realize that this was the case (because things have been so crazy and I haven’t had time to think) until today, when I received a forwarded email from the school counselor originally from an assistant principle, who works a lot with our kids. The email said that he thought it would be a good idea to come down to our classroom and meet with our kids in person to discuss what can and can’t get you expelled. The email also mentioned bringing the campus police officer and the guy at the district office whose only job is to deal with kids that are getting expelled. Here’s the part that made me sad when I thought about it later: I read the email and thought, “That’s a great idea. These kids &lt;i style=""&gt;do&lt;/i&gt; need to be reminded of this stuff—they do need to understand that there are consequences for their actions. And those actions—if severe enough—may cost them years of their lives.” I really like the kids I work with, but realizing that this is what is occupying my thoughts just bummed the hell out of me. Why did this bum me out so much? Because I came to the conclusion that I can’t “save” any of them. I can only help them with their exponents and five-paragraph essays. I can only walk them to the door of their classrooms to make sure they don’t ditch class and smoke behind the bleachers. I can only sit with them at lunch to make sure they don’t get out of hand and start throwing crap and cussing at each other. But no, I can’t save them. It just got to me today, that’s all.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4615517181503925807-1379839360737063380?l=scotonoia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scotonoia.blogspot.com/feeds/1379839360737063380/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4615517181503925807&amp;postID=1379839360737063380' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4615517181503925807/posts/default/1379839360737063380'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4615517181503925807/posts/default/1379839360737063380'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scotonoia.blogspot.com/2007/09/special-ed-blues.html' title='The Special Ed Blues'/><author><name>Phil</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14480053156720179823</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='17' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_aUUFwDHYzaw/SFBeQjlMscI/AAAAAAAAAAM/iJfapcygoMg/S220/P1000014.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615517181503925807.post-5492438808938824685</id><published>2007-07-31T22:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-31T22:31:25.384-07:00</updated><title type='text'>13.1!</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;So just in case anyone was wondering, yes I was planning on running a half marathon yesterday but I was lame and waited till the last minute to sign up for it and it was full. So in lure of an “official” race I decided I’d use my car odometer to find a 13.1 course in my neighborhood and I ran it Saturday morning. &lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;So the bad news is I won’t be running an official half marathon until late October (there’s one in Humboldt through all the redwoods) but the good news is I placed first in the “Phil’s Neighborhood Half Marathon”.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4615517181503925807-5492438808938824685?l=scotonoia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scotonoia.blogspot.com/feeds/5492438808938824685/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4615517181503925807&amp;postID=5492438808938824685' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4615517181503925807/posts/default/5492438808938824685'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4615517181503925807/posts/default/5492438808938824685'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scotonoia.blogspot.com/2007/07/131.html' title='13.1!'/><author><name>Phil</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14480053156720179823</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='17' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_aUUFwDHYzaw/SFBeQjlMscI/AAAAAAAAAAM/iJfapcygoMg/S220/P1000014.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615517181503925807.post-2455625894270116645</id><published>2007-04-14T22:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-07T15:49:32.843-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Three "Firsts" in One Day</title><content type='html'>Last Monday (April 9th) I ran six miles without stopping, I gorged myself at an all-you-can-eat sushi buffet, and I shot 20 gauge slugs at stuffed animals. It was a good day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4615517181503925807-2455625894270116645?l=scotonoia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scotonoia.blogspot.com/feeds/2455625894270116645/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4615517181503925807&amp;postID=2455625894270116645' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4615517181503925807/posts/default/2455625894270116645'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4615517181503925807/posts/default/2455625894270116645'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scotonoia.blogspot.com/2007/04/last-monday-april-9th-i-experienced.html' title='Three &quot;Firsts&quot; in One Day'/><author><name>Phil</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14480053156720179823</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='17' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_aUUFwDHYzaw/SFBeQjlMscI/AAAAAAAAAAM/iJfapcygoMg/S220/P1000014.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615517181503925807.post-702998598289065669</id><published>2007-01-21T22:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-21T23:13:45.118-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I have a confession to make</title><content type='html'>I am a horrible person.  This is the panic that just lightninged through my mind about an hour ago – tomorrow night (Monday, the 22nd) I have too many shows to watch.  Oh sure, I have TiVo, but it took me till just a little bit ago to realize that I have four and a half hours or programming of which I am addicted that all falls into Monday prime time.  I know it looks bad now, but it gets worse.  Because of my schedule, I get up early (3:30 am) so I really have to get to bed by ten at the latest.  Now this is where it gets worse.  I’m taking a Statistics class Tuesday and Thursday nights so I can’t spend all of Tuesday reveling in all my glorious audio visual entertainment.  So here’s the bottom line.  If we were trying really hard, I think we could watch The Hills at 7:00, then I might be able to watch Prison Break (8:00), so we could then catch Heroes at 9:00.  But even after all that, there’s still two hours left of 24 and Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I know what you’re thinking.  You’re thinking Phil is crazy.  Well listen, I don’t blame you for thinking I’m crazy.  It blows my mind that I have fallen this far.  I can remember a time not too long ago, when almost everyone I knew started saying, “Is that your final answer?” and I didn’t know what the hell they were talking about – I’m not kidding about that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here’s the really horrible part – the way I feel right now about it, I think the only one I would be ok with letting go of is Studio 60.  Giving up the four other shows?  That would kill me.  Yeah I’m sure I could muster the will power to cut out watching them, but I would try to watch vicariously through people I know who are also addicts of the shows.  “What happened last night?!  Has Hiro gotten to use his sword yet?!  How many larynxes did Jack crush in one hour?!  Lauren didn’t get back together with Jason, did she?!  Has Michael kissed Sarah?!”  This is what I would be harassing people with if I quick these shows cold turkey.  And even if I was too ashamed to ask these questions, the questions would just float around my mind, festering, driving me mad.  All this to say, I think I could give them up physically, but emotionally I don’t think I could do it in a faquillion years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As these words move from my conscious mind, down to my fingers, and then onto this blog page, I am realizing that I’m worse off than I thought.  There is no excuse – I watch too much television.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can’t think of what else to say so this is it for now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4615517181503925807-702998598289065669?l=scotonoia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scotonoia.blogspot.com/feeds/702998598289065669/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4615517181503925807&amp;postID=702998598289065669' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4615517181503925807/posts/default/702998598289065669'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4615517181503925807/posts/default/702998598289065669'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scotonoia.blogspot.com/2007/01/i-have-confession-to-make.html' title='I have a confession to make'/><author><name>Phil</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14480053156720179823</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='17' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_aUUFwDHYzaw/SFBeQjlMscI/AAAAAAAAAAM/iJfapcygoMg/S220/P1000014.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615517181503925807.post-778928815209617082</id><published>2007-01-09T18:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-30T17:48:11.511-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Things I Hate</title><content type='html'>(I got the idea to do this from a 9 year old with autism. I find it very freeing and I encourage you all to have your own "hate list")&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- When people clap at the end of a movie -&lt;br /&gt;- When people say, "excuse you" -&lt;br /&gt;- Small drinks at fast food places –&lt;br /&gt;- Chain restaurant –&lt;br /&gt;- Chain emails –&lt;br /&gt;- People driving slow in the left lane -&lt;br /&gt;- Jason from Laguna Beach -&lt;br /&gt;- Jessica from Laguna Beach -&lt;br /&gt;- This season of alias -&lt;br /&gt;- Emo haircuts -&lt;br /&gt;- Elmo -&lt;br /&gt;- People on Myspace who want to have like, a million friends -&lt;br /&gt;- Lettuce wraps -&lt;br /&gt;- Kids with too much school spirit -&lt;br /&gt;- Crimes against humanity -&lt;br /&gt;- Subway -&lt;br /&gt;- Girls that love that notebook movie -&lt;br /&gt;- Movie theaters that don't take student IDs -&lt;br /&gt;- Parking at the AMC 20 theater -&lt;br /&gt;- People who use the phrase "snail mail" -&lt;br /&gt;- Danny Bonoduce's addiction -&lt;br /&gt;- Fabian Basabe -&lt;br /&gt;- People who use the term "hypocrite" more than once a month -&lt;br /&gt;- People who use the term "ironic" more than once a month -&lt;br /&gt;- People who make "quote signs" in the air when they talk more than once a week -&lt;br /&gt;- The term "freedom fries" -&lt;br /&gt;- People who use the word "literally" when they mean figuratively -&lt;br /&gt;- Any story that says candy canes have anything to do with Jesus -&lt;br /&gt;- The blurred line between burritos and wraps -&lt;br /&gt;- People with zero sense of humor -&lt;br /&gt;- Tom Cruise -&lt;br /&gt;- Kim Kattrall -&lt;br /&gt;- Tye Pennington -&lt;br /&gt;- Paul Walker -&lt;br /&gt;- Kirsten Dunst -&lt;br /&gt;- When people say, "exspecially" or "liberry" or "drawlings" or "punkin" -&lt;br /&gt;- Inexperienced sandwich artists -&lt;br /&gt;- Ayla Brown -&lt;br /&gt;- Dust ruffles -&lt;br /&gt;- "Shams" -&lt;br /&gt;- When people say, "We just need to love ON that guy" -&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4615517181503925807-778928815209617082?l=scotonoia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scotonoia.blogspot.com/feeds/778928815209617082/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4615517181503925807&amp;postID=778928815209617082' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4615517181503925807/posts/default/778928815209617082'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4615517181503925807/posts/default/778928815209617082'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scotonoia.blogspot.com/2007/01/things-i-hate.html' title='Things I Hate'/><author><name>Phil</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14480053156720179823</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='17' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_aUUFwDHYzaw/SFBeQjlMscI/AAAAAAAAAAM/iJfapcygoMg/S220/P1000014.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615517181503925807.post-4827766897463315336</id><published>2007-01-09T05:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-09T05:45:23.718-08:00</updated><title type='text'>On Going to Egypt</title><content type='html'>In August of 2001, I lead a two-week mission to Egypt with nine high school and college students. I still have really mixed feelings about the trip. On one hand, I was really hoping to “do” a whole bunch of stuff for God and His Kingdom – I wanted to be able to come home saying how we had given testimonies and prayed for hundreds of people and people cried, fell down, and gave their lives to Christ (we didn’t see these things didn’t happen). On the other hand, now I see that God doesn’t always let us see what he’s doing even though he is always working and moving.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So with these things in mind, I go back and forth on whether or not the mission was a “success”. I really don’t like the idea of God using me to “do his thing” and not letting me see the fruit that comes from it. …Holy crap, that sounded insanely horrible. Like I said, I go back and forth. As lame as this sounds, it’s hard for me to believe that (even though I know He’s sovereign) God is working and moving when I can’t see Him doing it. This is really the big thing God taught me from this experience. It was extremely humbling to learn (really in front of my entire church) that God is the one in control (not me) and that He &lt;em&gt;sometimes blesses&lt;/em&gt; us with getting to see the fruit. I guess taking God’s character and sovereignty into consideration, the whole thing was a success. God used us to do what he wanted to do. What if we would have said, “No” and not gone to Egypt or if we got mad and started saying, “That’s it God! We’re not making another move until we see some results!” God would have accomplished what he wanted to accomplish, he would have just done it without us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This fact is what made the experience so humbling. I &lt;em&gt;think&lt;/em&gt; I am so awesome but I’m wrong. God isn’t lucky to have me working for Him – I’m lucky to be included in what God is doing. The good news is that he includes us just simply because he loves us and he wants to be with us.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4615517181503925807-4827766897463315336?l=scotonoia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scotonoia.blogspot.com/feeds/4827766897463315336/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4615517181503925807&amp;postID=4827766897463315336' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4615517181503925807/posts/default/4827766897463315336'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4615517181503925807/posts/default/4827766897463315336'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scotonoia.blogspot.com/2007/01/on-going-to-egypt.html' title='On Going to Egypt'/><author><name>Phil</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14480053156720179823</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='17' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_aUUFwDHYzaw/SFBeQjlMscI/AAAAAAAAAAM/iJfapcygoMg/S220/P1000014.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
