[Great song from my childhood. The Vanilla Ice lookalike in this video is played by Henry Rollins. I like at the end how they jump him and beat him. Pretty harsh, no? I mean you might not like his music and all, but physical assault? Also, it's sorta funny that a song about being original and not stealing people's ideas or going pop uses the same hook as Peter Gabriel's pop classic "Sledgehammer".]
I injured my hamstring Tuesday night, pretty severely. I'm pretty sure it's a grade two strain, although the specialist I saw didn't call it this. He didn't really call it anything, come to think of it, but he did tell me a little bit about the injury and what to do to rehab it. He also gave me some pain / anti-inflammatory medication -- prescription-strength Advil, essentially, nothing too strong.
I hurt it running from first to second in a softball game. There was a play at second, not even a particularly, close one, I was clearly going to be out, but I accelerated a bit at the end to try to beat the throw, and *POP* I felt my right hamstring go. I'm using the word "pop" to describe it because I don't have a better word, but it wasn't really a pop. It was a sudden, painful, unnatural event inside the back of my upper leg. It's a pretty common sports injury, and I instant knew what I'd done, and I thought to myself, "Well, there goes my season." It's a six to eight week recovery time, but I should make a full recovery, which is good.
It's kind of embarrassing to hurt myself in a beer-league softball game, but I was just running. It's not like I was taking the game too seriously -- diving for a ball in center or plowing into the catcher -- I was doing something that I've done hundreds of times before. Maybe I didn't warm up properly, but I tend to think it's just one of those fluke things that can happen, especially when you hit your mid-30s.
So now I'm laid up and it's an awful time to be laid up, because S is well into her seventh month of pregnancy, so she's basically laid up too. It's a chore for either of us to go up the stairs. Sleeping has also become a big issue; neither of us can get comfortable. I can't because my leg starts to throb, and S can't because she got a bowling ball for a tummy. We've started going the separate bed route, and thank God we can do that. This would be way worse if we still in a one bedroom apartment. I've heard it said that multiple TiVos and a bunch of square footage are the keys to a happy marriage. In our case it's multiple laptops, not TiVos, but the larger point is the same.
We're going to dinner and a movie tonight with some friends. Hopefully we can enjoy that and not be completely uncomfortable the entire time. We're seeing the Batman movie. It was our friend's choice. I mean, I don't having anything against it, but I'd be perfectly content to not see it as well. I've never been into comic books or anything like that, and I hate the fact that Hollywood has turned into a constant stream of sequels, retreads, and adaptations. Since the Jack Nicholson / Michael Keaton Batman came out in 1989, or whenever it was, there's been, what, five, six additional blockbuster Batmans? And I'm supposed to be excited about another one? It's like how Apple or whoever is always coming out with newer models of their products, and it's like, quit bothering me with all this new, new, new, when it's basically the same shit as before. When you get something genuinely new let me know.
[I never needed plastic molding to improve my physique... Pure West.]
Anyway, on very tangentially related subject, I've been reading a very good book, "Popular Crime", by Bill James. (The tangent is that the recent shooting in Colorado at the theater showing Batman reminded me of a crime the author would discuss in this book.) It's basically a history of the most popular crimes in America over the last 100 years or so. It's really terrific, though it's long, and it can be morbid. A book about rape and murder and kidnapping is morbid? Yes, hard to believe I know.
James's bit on the Kennedy Assassination I found particularly fascinating. His theory -- which isn't really his theory, per se, it came from some other fellow, James mostly just relays it and agrees with it -- is that the fatal bullet came not from Oswald, who was, in fact, the only premeditated gunman (and did hit Kennedy twice), but from secret service agent George Hickey, accidentally. It's not very plausible on it's face, but nothing is that plausible with the Kennedy assassination, there are things that don't add up (which is a big part of the reason for all the nutjob conspiracy theories). But when looking at the facts -- at least as they're relayed in "Popular Crime" -- you come to the conclusion that not only is Hickey accidentally shooting Kennedy the most plausible explanation, it's the only plausible explanation.
Well, that's all I got for this entry. Until next time...
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