Rhythm and Gravy

My sister is a jock. Last weekend, she took second place in the Whiskey Dick triathlon in a time of three hours, twenty minutes.

All of my photos are on Flickr.

After almost two months of apartment hunting, I finally landed a nice place to call home. Seattle turned out to be pretty competitive when it comes to finding good apartments — at least when compared to Pittsburgh. It came down to keeping a close eye on Craigslist and trying to get an application in as soon as possible. I was beaten out of two nice places before this one.

The Sir Lancelot Apartments are in Seattle’s Capitol Hill district. It’s an older building, and came with a free informational brochure on the dangers of lead-based paint. The apartment is a large studio with a separate bedroom, hardwood floors, and just enough character to make me feel like a real human being. Most importantly, it’s just right up the hill from downtown, so I can sleep in another half hour in the morning.

I should be all moved in by the first. Want to help?

Laura’s got me playing blog tag. Seems the game involves posting eight random facts about yourself and then tag eight other bloggers to do the same. I’m cultivating an image of a grouchy cur, so I’m not going to be tagging anyone (the real reason being that Laura is my only blog tag-worthy friend), but if you want to feel tagged, I won’t grump on your fun. In any event, eight wacky facts about myself:

1. The middle finger of my left hand (but not the right) is shorter than the index finger. You know what that means…
2. I sold peanuts at the Ellensburg Rodeo when I was a kid. I had shitkickers and a denim vest.
3. I once completely rebuilt the engine of a 1979 Datsun 510 pickup truck.
4. I’m a sucker for Prince, MJ, and Fountains of Wayne.
5. I shaved my head eighteen months ago and now I’m scared to grow it back.
6. I have jumped out of an airplane 460 times.
7. My favorite fruit is the Jonathan apple.
8. My least favorite form of foliage is the Juniper bush.

I figure that the average person, were she to actually read the above, would have spent upwards of sixty seconds, and for that I apologize and blame Laura, whom I love dearly.

I love Drew Brees. He’s my hero. I worship him so much, I decided that instead of wearing his jersey like your average lame-o fanboy, I’d make a real sacrifice. So I decided to get his shoulder injury!

Sadly, while the shoulder injury is for real, I couldn’t care less about Mr. Brees. I’m sure he’s a great guy, but having a torn labrum is the suck.

Your labrum is a ring of cartilage which rings your shoulder socket and helps keep the ball of your upper arm bone (humerus) in its socket. If the ball pops out, you’ve dislocated your shoulder. I’ve dislocated my right shoulder upwards of thirty times between a frisbee toss gone awry in college and the latest: attempting a throw during a jujutsu practice. I’ve even dislocated it by rolling over on it in my sleep. One of those times, the labrum got separated from the socket bone. The MRI results I saw last week showed about 1.5cm of tear. This last time, I’d popped it out slightly a week earlier, and it was still weak; I should’ve been taking it easy. But that would be contrary to my never-ending quest to wreck myself in stupid ways.

At least this time I’ll have a nice, visible scar to show the ladies (y’all like that sort of thing, right?), unlike my herniated disc or the tailbone injury I got while skiing, where all I got was a pair of purple buttcheeks.

It’ll be outpatient surgery, but I’ll have to go under for it, which I’m not thrilled about. I completely trust Dr. Holland but I just don’t like the general idea of being asleep while I’m being cut on. Recovery will take upwards of six months. Then all you punks better watch it ’cause I’m a-gonna kick your asses. You know what you did.

In the meantime, it sucks not being able to swim and practice jujutsu, which were my major ways of not getting fat before all of this. Now, I’ve pretty much got biking left. I did pick up a nice Italian road rig off of Craigslist a month back. I’m sure I’ll find a dumb way to wreck myself on that, too.

Technically, this belongs as part of the “End of June monster post rally,” but hey, I’m a slacker-blogger. I guess you could say I’m a “slogger.”

I started work on the 27th of June at Synapse Product Development, LLC as a software engineer (a title I’ve had to defend from being changed to Guru, Gizmologist, Code Machine, or some other such nonsense). I had another offer from a very big, well known company, and at another time in my life I’d have taken it, but I consider myself young enough to take a chance on a small company. The decision wasn’t easy — I was surprised to find myself pretty stressed out about the choice, and I’m usually one who has no problem making major life choices on a whim (I chose my undergraduate school based on how much good skiing I’d get in; I chose the company I worked for after undergraduate because there was beer during the interview). I guess I’ve found that the things that make a choice work out or not are usually unforeseen.

In any case, I chose Synapse because I got a good feeling from them. My bosses (the founders) are ex-mechanical engineers from Cannondale (and the biking culture is pervasive at work). They are extremely open and honest with their employees about their choices and goals for the company. They initiate or encourage things like our entry in the Red Bull Soap Box Derby and the building of a skateboard and scooter-friendly office layout. They are committed to being successful badass engineers and having a great time at it. That’s been my impression, anyway. I dearly hope I’m right — but I’m done stressing about the choice.

The projects I’ve been working on have been super-cool. Working in downtown Seattle has been extra cool. My coworkers, to a man (and woman), are ridiculously cool people, and I’m amped to get to spend all week hanging out with them. That may be ultimately why Synapse won out, because the people there are like me, or like I’d like to be.