HE'S GOING THE DISTANCE, HE'S GOING FOR SPEED

I got my mom a purple Ipod Shuffle for Mother's Day. I liked it so much I bought a green one for myself a week later. I already had a 30-gig Ipod, but the shuffle can be attached to your shirt, belt loop or your ear for a fashion statement. I thought that the shuffle would be perfect for when I start running again, which was my New Year's resolution.

I ran once in January and once with the shuffle right after I got it. It has been sitting on a table in my room since. Until Tuesday that is when I woke up and  

gave the signal down to the bullpen. I stretched out the old muscles (as you can see at right) and went for a jog. I'm not going to lie to you, it wasn't a smooth run. In the 2.5 mile stretch I covered, I probably walked half of it. If you would have seen me on the levee today, you would never guess I once was able to run a mile in under six minutes (my top time is 5:41). Slow and steady wins the getting-in-shape race, right?

Hopefully, I start running more consistently. I can't do much worse than twice in eight months. During my soccer playing days, I ran almost everyday, usually 2.5 miles. When I belonged to Elmwood during my junior of high school, I ran a mile a day and then played a few racquetball matches. Not that I haven't been doing any exercise as of late. I do twenty push-ups a day and a few sit-ups.

I was wiped when I returned home. I get a Gatorade bottle out the fridge and take a swig, leading to this convo with mom:

Mom: Is that Gatorade still good?

Me: Um, let me check. Nope. It expired April 28, 2008.

Mom: It's probably been in there over a fucking year.

As you can tell from the picture, the expiration didn't stop me. I needed fluid badly. I downed the rest of the bottle quicker than Jerry Seinfeld could get rid of a slightly flawed girlfriend. Don't worry. I'm not drinking the rest of the pack.

Then, to show my mom just how fucking lazy I can be, I got back up and went outside and cut the grass in the back and in the front. Of course, I didn't move for the rest of the day, save typing this fucking blog entry.

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

Mom is watching one of those soap operas on CBS. "Lilly's gone too. After all those fucking years."

We are talking during lunch. She interrupts my story, and I get upset. "You have a story every fucking five minutes."

Mom went to Wal-Mart this morning. "I fucking hate that store. You can't find shit. They're either out of it or don't have it. It's fucking ridiculous."

I get a call from a Terminix lady. I give the phone to mom and tell her it's Terminix. As she takes the phone, she mumbles: "Assholes." (They're coming out next week.)

Mom chimed in on a few news stories in today's paper. On the boat crash that killed five LaPlace teens: "That's a shame. Five fucking families." On the lawsuit against Aaron Broussard: "The fucking asshole sent everyone home."

I tell her that I got an e-mail saying that I'll be staying at the Hyatt Regency in Houston come April. "That's one of the hotels that was in the paper for not cleaning their fucking rooms."

The next few are about the conditions outside.

"I went to Wal-Mart, and I was fucking soaking wet."

"We need to get out in the yard. I know as soon as we get out there, it's gonna start fucking raining."

"I need to put the fucking cover on the pool. The shit is everywhere."

"Time to go outside and fucking sweat. Let's go."

Mom: Did it rain at work last night?

Me: I'm not sure.

Mom: It fucking stormed here.

Mom isn't too fond of our neighbor across the street. He doesn't shut up. (Hey, at least I'm somewhat entertaining.) Almost everything he says is bragging about himself or his kids. Plus, he says Tina every seven or eight words. Mom and him had an encounter this morning. Enjoy.

"He starts telling me about his kids getting into magnet school because they are so smart. I'm like, 'What the fuck?' Thirty minutes of that. It's so annoying."

"Then I had to leave and go to Wal-Mart. I was like, 'I'm fucked. Fuck me.' "

"I felt like telling him, 'You and the people next door need to move to the fucking country.' "

I GOT AROUND ... IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN

I might be in what you would call a girl drought at the moment. And I don't travel much. I've been to Detroit, Chicago (twice), Houston, Atlanta (twice), Orlando (twice) and Panama City (about six family vacations). Yet somehow, my state count is at eight. State count? Oh, that's the number of states in which I've made out with a girl born there. Here's the list: Alabama, California, Colorado, Mississippi (checked that one twice), New Jersey, Tennessee, Texas and - um, thinking, thinking, oh yah - Louisiana. Pretty impressive, eh? Note: My state count number assumes all the rest were born in the Pelican State. 

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WHO KNEW SWIMMING WAS SO FUN?

The performance by Michael Phelps in Beijing has been most impressive. He's treating the other swimmers like the original Dream Team treated Angola. But that's not why I must watch every time he puts on his little Gene Pool goggles and swims. That honor goes to his family.

When Phelps won his first gold of 08, NBC gave us a replay of the race from his mom's perspective. Her son is crushing the world record in the race, and she's all kinds of nervous up there in the stands. I know, typical mother. But she kicks it into another gear. Holding her face. Shielding her eyes. Jumping up and down. Doing a little hand-and-hips dance. Screaming: Go, Michael. Go, Michael. Go. Go. Go. Yes. 

I don't want this to end when the Olympics are over. I want Deborah Phelps to follow me around for a day or two and cheer as I do basic tasks. "Go, Gene. Go. Brush those teeth. Don't forget to reach to the back. Yes. That's it. Go, Gene." Or: "Type. Type. Type. Write that joke. Yes. Yes. Go, Gene." Maybe they should give that away as a grand prize in a contest for donating to the Phelps' favorite charity. Or NBC could make a reality series just following her around. I'll watch her get excited every Wednesday this fall at 9/8 central.

NBC is blowing it, though. They need a split screen live with momma Phelps cheering and Michael swimming. On Monday night, Phelps won his third gold, and those morons didn't even show his mother. Don't they know she's magic? The gold rush isn't getting old for her, either. At the end of Mike's first race Tuesday night, she was just as excited as she was for the first one. Not to be outdone, did you see Mike's sister jump at the end of Tuesday's first race? That dress came up awfully high.

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PARTING SHOT

Giants linebacker Antonio Pierce was on PTI today on the five-good minutes segment. Of note, he was against the Shockey trade. He wishes our tight end was still in New York. He says the Favre trade was good for the Jets.

"They really needed that, you know. They've been struggling the last couple of years with their record over there."

(Um, Antonio, the J-E-T-S were 10-6 in 2006 and made the playoffs.)

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THE DAILY TOP LIST

This week's guest top list. Derry presents a David Letterman like list. (Want to be a guest top lister? E-mail me your list, and your words can appear right here on The Gene Pool.)

The Top 10 things Tina might say if she finds out her son is letting the world know she says the F word more than Andrew "Dice" Clay.

10) People think this fucking shit is funny?

9) Are you fucking kidding me? Fucking great. Now every one of your fucking friends know about my fucking life.

8) Who in their right fucking mind would give a fuck what I say?

7) Well, at least I know now that you weren't taking fucking notes on a fucking baseball game on TV. Thank fucking God. (Not that Gene wouldn't do that.)

6) They fucking pay you at work to do this shit?

5) It's fucking true, though. Major Video's parking lot IS fucking hard to get out of.

4) I can't fucking get your lazy ass to help me in the garden, but you can fucking waste time writing down what the fuck I say.

3) What the fuck is this poodle shit about?

2) I am going to fucking kill you.

1) Motherfuck. 

THE GENE POOL SAYS: Thanks for the contribution. Knowing mom, I think the response would be a combination of 8, 6, 2 and 1. Plus, something about getting in trouble with the FBI.