Beat the System

Follow up to the last post, re: the money on the ground at the Blanton Museum.

Among the scenarios I considered were the prank/psychology experiment; that someone had accidentally dropped the cash; and that it was left as a random donation to the museum by a good citizen. It was Halloween morning, so this last possibility reminded me of the family who leaves the bowl of candy on the porch, with a note that reads, "Please just take one piece."

I liked the suggestion that I would pick up the money, and put it in a donation box (or I could have returned later to donate it). I wish that's what I would have done, but after 15 miles, that level of cognitive sophistication was beyond me.

The theory that I had to stop and pick it up in order to know for sure that it was only two dollars was a good one. But I did not stop; I only slowed a little, to confirm what I thought I'd seen. As I ran on, I thought about the slight possibility that some larger bills were hidden behind the ones, but I never checked.

What my "decision" about the money came down to was more about Karma than anything else. If the money was left by someone with the intention of it going to the museum, then I should leave it, hoping it would end up with the intended party. Two dollars makes no real difference in my life, so to pick it up and keep it would be a petty and selfish act. And as much as I try to foster an image of pettiness and selfishness, I did not reinforce that image in this instance. I decided to leave the money for "fate" to sort itself out. If it ended up as a donation to the museum, great. If someone who really, really needed it picked it up, that's okay, too. If someone who did not need it at all picked it up and kept it, well, that's between them and the universe. I'll never know, and I can live without knowing.

On Friday evening, I gave Carrie a kiss and headed down to the Erwin Center, to see if I could weasel my way into the AC/DC concert. The fun started when I parked the car between the arena and the Capitol. Older folks in patriotic outfits (think 4th of July meets Halloween) were leaving the capitol grounds. That's right, the Tea Party crowd was leaving their pep rally, and walking alongside people who were headed to the AC/DC concert. It was a perfectly peaceful mix, but there was no way to confuse the two groups, and I would bet that there weren't many who were actually attending both events.



I have spent enough money on big-time, big-money, big-arena concerts in my lifetime, and just being in the building for a major concert is not worth the money anymore. But sometimes the spectacle of a show draws me in, and I try to get a cheap ticket. I long ago got over the "loser" feeling that comes with going to a concert with only 16,000 of your closest friends. And getting a really discounted ticket depends on buying a single seat. Over the years, I have paid $10.00 to see the Dixie Chicks, $20.00 to see Bruce Springsteen, and on Friday I managed to get a $97.00 ticket in the lower level for AC/DC for $20.00.



Step 1. Wait to bargain until after the concert has started.

step 2. Set your price for upper or lower level seats (know the section #s), and be fully prepared to go home without seeing the concert. I've had guys meet my price only when I was walking back toward my car, keys in hand. And I was not bluffing.

Step 3. Find a scalper on the edge of the action, away from the other sellers. Peer pressure works against you, as these guys don't want their buddies to see them get worked.

Step4. Don't be an azzhole. Take advantage of simple supply and demand, but don't be insulting. Many of these guys would rather eat the ticket than sell it cheap to a jerk.

I saw this happen when I first arrived on Friday. The buyer was a young guy who did not follow Steps 1, 2, or 4. A direct quote from the seller: "I'd rather roll up this $100.00 ticket and smoke it, than sell it to some punk for $25.00."



Half the fun is getting in, but AC/DC is still getting it done, even if they are 25 years or more past their prime. They never slow it down for a "catch your breath" ballad, and the balding, horribly ugly Angus Young never stops, period. Just 5 guys with a signature sound, and a full house, feeding off the raw energy. Special effects included cannons, a giant bell, a replica train,
and an inflatable "Rosie." Oh, and some pyrotechnics that had me little worried. I wonder if the UT people knew about, and approved the fireballs. They played for at least two hours, and I left when the second encore, "For Those About to Rock," went a little long. I might have left before that, but I really wanted to see them shoot off the cannons. Good times.



Next month, I hope to blog about how I got myself into KGSR's Christmas Party. I've gotten in three times; once with a ticket, and twice through, uh, other means. I'll let you know.



Peace,



JS4

Post! (Mostly Running Stories)

Our story today begins with me saying that I have no real sense of the existence of the phenomenon known as the "Runner's High." The act of running never really feels effortless or easy to me, even when I'm enjoying it, as I have during the last few weeks of nearly perfect weather. I believe that I more often experience what I call "Runner's Dementia." This disorder has led to lost eyeglasses, lost keys, forgotten car locations, etc. During the worst of the heat of the summer, I was running with my mp3 player, returning to the house at the end of long-ish Saturday run. Saturday was our day to water the lawn, under drought restrictions imposed by the city. So before going inside for my post-run water and chocolate milk (yum), I took off the mp3 player to set the water sprinkler on the front yard. A few hours later, I realized that the mp3 player had never found its way inside the house. And when I looked for it, and I mean everywhere it could possibly be, it was nowhere to be found. "Runner's Dementia" strikes again.




I have bought another cheapo mp3 player, but haven't yet programmed it for operation. Still feels like scary new technology to me.









Some people get tired of running on the trail around Lady Bird Lake, otherwise known as Town Lake, or the Colorado River, not really a lake at all. I find myself drawn to it, especially for after work, evening runs, when I need a little natural beauty to get me going. It is often worth it to fight traffic through downtown, just so I can do 8 or 10 miles on the trail. Then I'll drive home, just after dark, to get my chocolate milk (yum), a shower, and a wonderful home-cooked, Carrie-cooked meal.









The trail is well loved by runners, cyclists, and walkers. I think there are fewer cyclists than there used to be, because with all the runners and walkers, the cyclists have to work to keep from smashing into the pedestrians, breaking their momentum. Sometimes the walkers get on my nerves, especially when they stroll three or four abreast, blocking the path that I want to take. Dog walkers can pose an even greater problem, especially those with dogs on retractable leashes, when they don't retract nearly enough.




Last week, I came upon a group of three women walking a very young dog, energetic, and on a not-retracted-enough retractable leash. This little dog was play/chasing a couple of bigger, more mature dogs close by. The hyper little guy ran right in front of me, and I had to stop on a dime in order to avoid tripping over the retractable leash. Then, he cut between my legs, wrapping the leash around my right leg twice, as he was flirting with, or pursuing the other dogs. The women were very apologetic as they helped untangle the dog from my leg. I somehow refrained from becoming verbally abusive, saying only, "Oh, this is great!" And, "Shorter leash next time." No blood, no foul, I guess.







Sometimes the human interaction on the trail takes an unexpected, and positive turn. On Thursday, I was four miles into an evening run, when I came across three guys in their 20's, throwing a football around. This was over by the youth baseball/softball fields by the mile 6 marker for the trail. The QB for the group was standing right next to the trail, and he heard me approaching from behind him. With the ball in his hand, he set into the "taking the snap" crouch, and timed a three-step drop perfectly with my approach. I was ready to take the hand-off, or sell the fake, whichever play he was running. It was a fake, and I smiled at the way he had set the thing up. Then I hear him say, "Run the fade." Are you kidding? I look back over my shoulder and he's looking right at me, his arm cocked to fire a pass my direction. I follow the trail, which was a perfect fade route, and make a "don't blow this" catch of his slightly under thrown ball. All three guys cheer as I flip the ball to the QB's friends, and I run on, with my arms stretched over my head, in the "touchdown" signal. Just like we drew that play up. And, hey, if I'd had my mp3 player, I doubt any of this would have happened.

On Saturday, I was running back home from the trail, through the UT campus. When I passed the entrance to the Blanton Museum, there were two slightly crumpled one dollar bills a few feet from the entrance doors. The museum was not yet open, so there was nobody in the immediate vicinity. It was so odd, and I spent the rest of the run thinking up scenarios for how the money had ended up there, and wondering if anyone had seen the money before I got there. Some scenarios were mundane and boring, others quite the opposite.

When you leave your "So glad to read a new blog post" comment, tell me if you think I picked up the money, or left it on the sidewalk.

Looks like the Yankees are going to win another World Series. If you see this as a bad thing, thank you for being a decent human being. If you are celebrating, know that this is the only situation wherein I wish my friends misery. If you are indifferent, WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?

Peace,

JS4