To the passenger in 23C,

Airplanes in flight are mostly closed systems. The air that you breathe has been circulated, and theoretically scrubbed or filtered in some way, but not really. Unfortunately, that scrubbing of the air doesn't happen until the air has actually been pulled into the filtration system.

So, when you fart, then proceed to wave around the papers in your hand, the air isn't actually filtered for a while. The smells emanating from your ass will actually disperse more quickly with your paper waving. Perhaps you don't like those particular smells from your butt, but I assure you, we in the row behind you like them even less.

Next time you fart, try to hold it in, keep the smell close to you. Save us all the unpleasant moment of realization that, yes, you let one rip just under the noise threshold of the jet engines.

Thanks much!

"I don't have a gaydar."

"No, you don't. That's why you have me!"

"But, you just assume everybody's gay."

"Yeah, well, I'm right 10% of the time."

Well, bound to happen.

Better sooner than later.

As I reached with a double fisted claw catch for a disc thrown by Will, the wind jerked he disc just over my outstretched hands, and pushed it down after passing over my arms.

CRACK!

I stood still for a moment before I realized the sound I had just heard was about to be followed by the sound of my wailing. The disc had landed squarely on the bridge of my nose, and it hurt. A LOT.

I sat down, as Will rushed over. "Are you okay? Are you okay? Did that just hit you in the face?" he asked.

"I don't know. Let's see," I responded, clearly still in surprise. I took a deep breath and exhaled forcefully out my nose, my hands blocking my face.

The handful of blood immeduately showed me that, no, I was not okay.

I sat out during the first drill and waited until the blood stopped running from my nose. I was able to run a little bit, but not much, which was probably good, as my legs ached a bit from yesterday's workout.

I'm thinking now, sure, I should have pancaked that catch. It was windy, and I was standing directly in the path of the disc (a habit I've been trying to develop, actually). But this isn't the first time a disc has hit me in the face, where other people can go an entire career without any discs in the face.

I guess if I'm going to have injuries this season, better to get them out of the way early in the season, rather than late in the season.

The last step in the UPA's Coaching Certification program is to take an online test. I (finally) took the test today. An advantage of taking the test online is that it's scored immediately. After taking the test, I knew both that I had passed (yay!), but had received a score of only 93% (boo!). 93%! Sure, it's an A. However, it's not an A+. Where have my priorities gone when I'm not happy with an A?

Out the window, apparently.

I missed the question which asked, "Which of these is an advantage of Spirit of the Game and self-officiating?" both concepts being central to the sport of ultimate. The answer choices were:


a. They force the players to know the rules
b. They provide opportunities to learn conflict resolution
c. The joy of playing over the obsession of winning
d. a and b
e. a, b, and c


Now, this is the only question I had to think about, and think about for a long time (where "long time" is defined in this case as all of 10 minutes). I looked in the handbook for help, without success. Sure, I had 24 hours to complete this test, and sure, the obvious answer from the standpoint of the free-loving hippies of the sport is e, but I'm not sure the "joy of playing over the obsession of winning" (or however it was phrased on the test) is an advantage of SotG and self-officiating. Sure, it's a nice by-product, but is it an advantage?

I chose d. The correct answer was, indeed, e.

So, I have my A, instead of my A+.

And the joy of being a UPA Certified Coach.

Too bad my team is all gone for the summer.

Mom turned old this week. Honestly, she keeps turning old every year, only to redefine what old is and push it back a year. When I look at her, spend time with her, I know what's in store for me in 20, 25, 30 years. I know what I'm going to look like, how I'll walk, how wise I'll be, and, though it's normal to want to be young forever, seeing her makes the years seem almost easy.

I'm loathe these days to purchase gifts for most people, my parents in particular. I know Mom is in a declutter, reduce, simplify phase, much as I am, much as most people are. Overcoming my packrat mentality is not an easy task, so I'm hesitant to contribute to others' piles of stuff.

Since I missed purchasing Mom a Mother's Day, we talked and agreed we would head off to some designer garden store near her when I visited (this was last week), and get her a gift she truly wanted. There were a few pots she'd been eyeing as of late, and giving someone something she wants but wouldn't purchase for herself is giving the perfect gift.

We never made it to the store.

Two or three times in conversation in the first few days I was visiting, Mom or Eric mentioned the vacuum cleaner. In particular, how old and ineffective it had become. They had been looking at new vacuums, but neither was willing to buy a new one, at full retail or sale price. Bunch o' cheapskates (I say in the most loving of terms).

So, breaking from the don't-buy-household-cleaning-items-as-gifts rule, I listened to what Mom and Eric said, found the vacuum cleaner she wanted, and pulled the trigger. Instead of a Mother's Day present, it's now a Mother's Day, birthday, wedding and Christmas present all in one.

Because I'm as cheap as they are.

Mom used it after I had left, and graciously sent me a note after she used it. Her note?

"It sucks!"