This is the part of the year where I lose followers for posting the annual bird hunt pictures. I will say, however, that we clean and eat them ourselves. And that our missed birds subsidize the Kentucky quail repopulation project. Anyhow, a lovely two days stomping around in the snow with good friends. The dogs were a bit unruly but we still had a great time. Read my long post about bird hunting here.
The neat thing about the Olympics is its size. It’s so big its small. By encompassing everything from basketball to badminton, not to mention virtually every country in the world and a few non countries too, it is a massive spectacle. But, given that over 10,000 athletes compete in the games, it is so big, its net is cast so wide, that just about anyone can find a personal connection with the games. A reason to watch some prelim heat or something. In these moments the biggest show on earth becomes a rather small affair.
Tyson Gay has no idea who I am. He graduated from Lafayette High School in Lexington, KY in 2001. I graduated from West Jessamine High School in neighboring Nicholasville in 2004. He ran a 10.46 to set the state record in the 100m, I never set a record in anything. Nevertheless, he is my athlete. One day in March of 2001 we raced. It was the first meet of the year, basically a friendly, with no limit to how many people teams could place in each event. I was a gangly 9th grader who joined the track team to have something to do. Somehow our no. 1 sprinter was scratched at the last minute and coach stuck me in his place just to see what I could do as I had literally just joined the team.
The #1 sprinter in the state was in the lane beside me. Tyson Gay. He ran a 10.something. I ran a 13.something. Getting beat by 3 seconds in the 100m dash is an eternity (side note, I once lead a near Olympian in the 5k, unfortunately I lead the first 200m, he lead the last 4200 and beat me by 8 minutes- aka a long ass time in cross country). Anyhow, I was just one of the hundreds of people Tyson smoked on his way to greatness. And there is nothing more to the story than that. No, encouraging ‘nice try, kid’ that inspired me to greatness, but no snickering either. He just beat me, and everyone else, because that was what he did.
Over the last 11 years I have kept up with Tyson in press clippings and online stories. He has broken world records and battled an unfair amount of injuries. Each time he lines up though, I elbow my friends and tell them about the time he beat me. I was so crushed when injuries derailed his 2008 Olympic bid, and this year he has to contend with a rampant Jamaican side, but when I saw him in the Opening Ceremonies (alongside Anthony Davis- shout out to the state of Kentucky!), I became irrationally excited. For me, the Olympics boil down to Tyson’s running and a few swimming events involving a friend from Oxford. But, perhaps more than anything else, I get a kick out of saying I raced an Olympian. I lost, but that’s why he is an Olympian and I am a grad student.
One of these things is not like the other (Taken with Instagram)
The Boys at Wallace Station (Taken with Instagram)
‘It’s all my land’ the voice boomed over the water, ‘up the hill, down to the river, on each side!.’ And, apparently, Ian and Steve were not welcome on it. I was so glad to be down the hill minding the boat. Mainly because that tone of voice is only ever used when looking down the barrel of a gun. And I thought, how did we get here?
1 part guns, 1 part bike, 1 part woodworking, 1 part mess. Yep. That’s a shop. (Taken with Instagram)
Good morning tumblr…I’ve already done more work than you (Taken with Instagram)
Home on the range (Taken with Instagram)
Home on the river! (Taken with Instagram)
Afternoon at home (Taken with Instagram)
Taken with instagram
Morning at home
So, I got lazy-and wanted to subtly (or not so) brag on myself- so here is my sister’s review/post about our Stone sibling date to Shakespeare and Company in Lexington. Girls- Lyman and I are really the best brothers in the world. Perhaps even the Platonic ideal of ‘brother.’ Well, I guess we arn’t humble. Perfection would just be annoying, though.
For the Lexingtonians: tres bien. Brothers/Sister date there tonight and all very impressed. The Creme Brule was especially impressive. All palates were pleased, Hannah’s refined Parisian one, my Oxbridge snobbery, and Lyman’s Kentucky integrity. More anon. But you should go. And Harold is a very good waiter.
*very tired, need to go to bed, re: memorial day post below- I deserve it- hence my lack of bother over accent marks.
Boat therapy. With Winston. Summer time. I love Kentucky. Punting is cool and what not, but really, miles of glass at 45 mph is tough to beat. Albeit Nicholasville chics are not as charming as Home County lasses- BUT…outboard motor+pick up truck > out board poll.
Anonymous asked: You are the reason people have fantasies about librarians while spending inordinate amounts of time in the stacks.
If a person is stuck in the stacks fantasizing about librarians, I’m assuming it’s because they can’t find their book and need help real...
It takes an ocean not to break.
“Poetry must resemble prose, and both must accept the vocabulary of their time.”— William Butler Yeats on modern poetry in a rare 1936 BBC recording.