Anthropologia Deux

I am questioning my choice of field work in a small suburban law firm. Tonight, I am at an urban coffee shop--again working on the cases that dominate my work--and across from me is a semi-circle of white females knitting scarves, baby hats, and other functional items. While I am familiar with the knitting circles of early twentieth century southeastern Iowa, having studied it intensely during my undergraduate years, this circle resembles nothing of the early American "craft progenitors." (Robbinson, Gayle, 1987). First, the knitters are young, apparently "hip" as that term is used in early millenial America, and appear to smile and laugh often, quite a different scenario than the women I studied, who were often pictured as enmeshed in a collective brown study. These women here are also, it seems, involved in some sort of conspiracy involving the making of various household and other items--mosaics, tile work, glued felt and, oddly, robots.

I must go. I may have been discovered, so I will pretend only to speak Armenian.

Anthropologia

Yeesh. Ugly Juice reminded me I had not updated the ol' biketown blog for two weeks. I've been busy doing my field work for my dissertation. You see, I'm a budding anthropologist, stationed in Edina, Minnesota, doing anthropological field work on the heirarchical dynamics of a white male dominated law firm. I fit in somewhat roughly in the heirarchical structure but differ greatly in many respects.

I'm a white male, which is the predominant tribal affiliation in this region. I differ from the other white male attorneys in significant ways. For instance, I don't have any particular allegiance to an odd and somewhate secretive civic-oriented group of individuals known as Rotarians. I do not know yet if it is an offshoot of Romanians, Rosarians, or perhaps Rastafarians. More study is needed, but I am told that the Rotarians adhere to reciting the American Pledge of Allegiance at all Rotary meetings. I also do not readily understand or participate in a quasi-social and role-playing combat exercise where individuals track a small white bomb known as a "fore" and simultaneously compete in carrying long bags that transport their select weaponry known as clubs. Those are the primary traits of the male attorney workers I am observing. In order to do authentic observations from as an objective perspective as possible, I am participating in some aspects of this suburban milieu. I meet with the individuals known as "clients" and have become adept at offering coffee, talking about the phenomena of time value of money (I believe I have that term right), and chit-chatting 'small talk' with secretarial staff, all of whom follow a traditional suburban trait of being white and female. There are some interesting tribal issues at play here, I am sure, but I have yet to break into the inner circle of these workers to determine just who maintains tribal affiliations and loyalties and how those affiliations are formed.

More later as I continue my studies.

3:53:40

I finished, but not with a flourish. It was a struggle for the last five miles or so and, despite visioning my trash-talking the Kenyans in Swahili as I won the marathon, I didn't come close to my personal best. Oh, well. I ran with my friend Stacy for the first ten miles, then we got separated when I stopped to hug and kiss Max and to show off. He gave me some Gu. I thought I was then ahead of Stacy (she also stopped to use the Porta-Potty). When I finished, I waited around for her to finish as well, never seeing her. Turns out she kicked my butt by almost 8 minutes, a personal best for her.

Ugly Juice ran with me for about 200 yards or so at mile 14, when I still looked good and fresh. She was waiting for Tonya--we were the threesome that did the insane 4:30 a.m. run a while back.

My legs are typical for post-marathon soreness and, despite my struggle, I'm itching to do another one.

Yes, Mom, Those Are My Nipples Bleeding

If you know me, you know that I'm running the Twin Cities Marathon tomorrow. I'm in full prep mode, having secured the computer chip to my running shoe, purchased a new sleeveless Adidas running shirt, fixed my shorts, tried it all on, and gone through all the goodies in the goody bag you get from the marathon folks. To wit, there's Udderly Smooth Hand & Body Lotion, some berry flavored liquid vitamin supplement called 5-hour Energy, a sample of Tide with Febreze, Earth's Promise green thingy that I can't even figure out (some sort of greenish supplement), Thai Kitchen Garlic & Vegetable Instant Noodles, Listerine Pocket Paks, chapstick, a foot magnet, and a beer cooler advertising the Fargo Marathon ("26.2 miles . . . Uff Da!").

I'm set. Except I nearly had a conniption when I couldn't find the little round Band-Aids that I need to, err, cover my nipples. Yes, I am a bloody nipple guy. If I run more than 12 miles or so without a Band-Aid cover, I advertise my chafed pilor erectia with a trail of blood down my shirt. So, I was a bit freaky when I couldn't find the Band-Aids. I guess I could buy NipGuards, whose somewhat nonsensical slogan is "For the Pain You Don't Have to Run Through." But I don't have the time to order and receive the $8.95 ten-pack. I was impressed with its website and dedication to the cause, including a very handy instructions page with photos on just how to peel off the adhesive backing and "clear away hair and attach NipGuard directly on to nipple." And, if you so desire and love the product so much and want to go beyond providing a testimonial for the website, the NipGuards logo t-shirt is now in stock and ready to order! Seriously.

I found the band-aids. Wish me luck.