A Foo-tastick finish for #3370

For most, Sunday mornings are languid; peaceful and lazy, as if the biggest decision you'll need to make all day is what flavor of tea to sip.

Not if you're Bob 

(aka: #3370/coffee-drinker).

Bob decided to make his second attempt at the 13.1 distance at the 11th Annual Silicon Valley Marathon/Half Marathon in San Jose, CA. Foo and her Mama were there to cheer him on. 

Gunning off the start in darkness, our hero jogged into the sunrise where cute but very expensive Willow Glen houses were the only spectators. Oddly absent of mile markers, Bob had no sense of pace until mile 3 which revealed he was ahead of schedule according to a conservative pre-race plan. By mile 5 he was comfortably ensconsed in sub-10s and by mile 8 he owned the Los Gatos Creek Trail. 

Buoyed by his adoring fans, Bob put the hammer down in the final half mile, passing runner after runner with great panache. "Who is that speed demon?" the crowd would murmur. "That's my Papa!" Foo exclaimed as she watched him sprint through the finish line, woozy with admiration.

Despite a somewhat unceremonious finish ("Don't forget your medal" the timing chip snip man would gesture, pointing to a box which held scads of finisher's medals still encased in their sad little plastic wrappings), Bob quickly realized he had made quick work of his half marathon, bettering his PR by over 16 minutes with a 2:10:03.

A deft piece of footwork indeed. 

Adventure is always more interesting in 3" heels

Being the primary caretaker of a girl named Foo can be onerous. She doesn't care that her mama is busy metaphorically spinning plates; trying her darnedest to maintain the illusion that she's got her act together. 

Oh no, no, no—Ms Foo just wants to know when the next adventure is. 

Next up: a trip to the Southwest to watch Auntie Kenno show off her tilapia-nourished, sugar-starved muscles at the 2008 NPC Max Muscle Western Regional Bodybuilding/Fitness Show in Chandler, AZ—all while wearing 3" stripper heels. 

Wiping the fudge stick smear from her cheek, Foo is already charging the digital camera in anticipation.

Oy! What a week.

When the world is falling apart (e.g. your company lays off 10% of its workforce; your nest egg dwindles to a doody because of economic turmoil), sometimes it's best to turn your attention to incredibly cute things. 

Bunnies, crossword puzzles and pugs make excellent diversions.

Things that make Bunny sad.

Getting knee-capped by the weedwacker

Don't let this happen to you. Always practice safe gardening.

Adventures on Lemon Street.

Bunny Foo Foo loves play dates—especially when it involves her furry felined friends Pancks, Peggotty and Tullia. With a kitchen full of gadgets and a belly full of kibble, they are apt to get into all sorts of trouble. 

And usually do.

Foo Foo for poo poo.

Leafing through the Palo Alto Daily Post yesterday, an ad heralding, "Panda Poo Poo Paper" caught Bunny's attention. Foo wondered what all the stink was about.

Apparently Jing Jing, Ke Bi, Ya Ya and the 40 or so other pandas living at the Chengdu breeding base & research center produce about 200 tonnes of excrement a year. Someone got the bright idea that perhaps the pandas should pay for their costly million dollar keep.

Since the panda's staple food is fiber-heavy bamboo, and because they only digest about 20% of their food, their dung can be turned into paper after a process that involves cleaning the poop, boiling it in a soda solution, bleaching it with chlorine and drying it under the sun. And no, the finished product doesn't smell bad at all—it even has a slight whiff of bamboo.

Foo says, "Doodle on dung today!"

<--(yay! elephants poop for profit too)