Running Out

Running out at one-thirty AM, to get a new vaporizer and to grab two cans of Coors Banquet Beer at the sale price of $3.50, I contemplated the repair of my bike tire(s) as I walked.

The "Windstream" bike that Jacob gave me about a year ago, has a layer of Kevlar  on it, which is a lavender color that becomes visible after the rubber over it wears off.

Theoretically, I could continue to ride on just the Kevlar part, which might take years to wear all the way through so that the tire doesn't hold air any more, but that might be pretty slick and probably dangerous to ride on.

I can't imagine the Kevlar getting much of a grip on asphalt.

But, the theme of the day seemed to be running out of things.

My allotted data through the "Obama" phone ran out earlier, and, while this was happening, my vaporizer's light began flashing, indicating that, it too, had run out.

The "fifteen minutes" that it might have taken for the data that I bought to appear in my account, I spent making the run to the store for the two unnecessary items.

I am starting to think that signing up for a plan trough Metro PC, using the smartphone that Bobby bought me about a year ago now, might be my smartest approach, since it seems like I am using just about a gigabyte a day of data, just to do my usual things.

 Last night, I wound up watching documentaries about gymnasts, to include grainy black and white images of Olga Korbet.

 

After the 1972 Games, she visited President Nixon in the White House. She then said, “He told me that my performance in Munich did more for reducing the political tension during the Cold War between our two countries than the embassies were able to do in five years.”

And, of course Nadia Comanechi, whom I had a crush on as a 12 year old; so much so that when the Time magazine pictured (I believe it came weekly) arrived in our mailbox and I unrolled it (both my parents were working at the time and us kids arrived home from school to find the mailbox stuffed) I remember blushing, as if it had been personally delivered to me by the Time people.

And then Kim Zmeskal who was the highlight of the summer of 1992, when I was in jail with a small black and white TV, that I rented from the commissary.

I had missed a lot of gymnastics in between then and now.

I hadn't heard about the ones that broke their necks and became paralyzed after their coaches had tried to accelerate their recoveries from broken bones, putting them on starvation diets to make them lose the weight that they had put on from sitting around in a cast, and then rushed them back out there in time for the competitions.

I ran out of data before anything about Doctor Larry Nassar came on.