Tuesday, June 12, 2012

Ride for the Feast 2012 - My "Ride"

Hello again friends - miss me?  Yes, I am the world's WORST blogger!  Worst.  I own that.  I should be ashamed.  I am ashamed.  Nonetheless, I came out of hiding to reflect on Ride for the Feast - bittersweet for me this year, as it was my second year off the bike for health reasons.  This year's debacle is a herniated disk in my neck - it makes my right arm go all gimpy when I ride (and also sometimes when I don't), and would produce a major disaster if I crashed.  This means spine surgery some time in the fall, and no riding until then.  In lieu of riding, I served as Medical Director for the event, as well as unofficial official photographer - and I must say that I worked harder than I ever did riding!  It gave me a new perspective on the event, which I thought I'd share for those who may be interested. 

5:00AM:  Awake, goddamnit.

5:20AM:  Rage at the cosmic injustice of my being awake melts away when I step out onto my balcony and am blinded by the beauty of the sunrise.

5:24AM:  Sunrise admiration takes a back seat to panic when I remember that I broke my flip flop last night.  Why, you might ask, would a simple flip flop failure provoke full-on panic?  Because, for reasons that are unclear even to me, the only other shoes I brought along for the Ride were four-inch high bright red hooker heels.  Not standard uniform for a 14-hour long athletic event.  And how, you might ask, did I break my flip flop?  This occurred while jumping the concrete barrier that separated my hotel from the extremely illegal place where I was forced to park my car when I found my hotel parking lot entrance obstructed by a vintage Mustang.  Despite much honking and cursing, the Mustang stayed put – doesn’t it know that it’s cruiser weekend, which implies, you know, CRUISING???  As opposed to sitting in one place with the loud-ass engine on, blocking everyone else??  Apparently Mustang didn’t get this memo, so I was forced to take poor Pugsley around the corner where I wedged him onto the sidewalk between a bench and a fire hydrant, hoping like hell that the police have more important things to worry about, like maybe TOWING AWAY THE FREAKING MUSTANG!!!

5:40AM:  Have strapped on the hooker shoes and strutted my goods back to the car, which is mercifully still there.  I get another blast of sunrise, and find I’m having a hard time staying angry.  Me and my shoes scramble over the sand to photograph the blazing sky with dune grass silhouetted in front of it.  Life is good.

6:00AM:  Route 50 Starbucks!!  I am the best domestique ever.

6:08AM:  Attempt to deliver Becky’s venti quad-shot vanilla latte using a Tour de France style in-motion car-bike handoff maneuver.  Mercifully recognize disaster potential at the last moment, and opt for a stationary parking lot handoff.  Am nonetheless greeted with astonishment and gratitude, because what could be better than the latte unlooked-for?  Between the caffeine and the shoes, I’m pretty sure that I’m fabulous.  Plus Becky has just given me a stuffed seahorse.  Life is really good.

6:12AM:  Fabulousness confirmed!  In a sea of lycra and cycling cleats, four-inch red heels really stand out.  Plus they’re just the right shade to complement my Team Atomic T-shirt!  I receive gushing praise from riders and crew, and pledge to wear them all day, or perhaps forever.  Life is great!

6:34AM:  Oh hell.  Fuck.  Oh fucking hell.  Becky just gave Joe a harmonica.  Seriously.  A straight up harmonica – the kind that you stick in your mouth and it makes noise.  The kind through which you can inhale or exhale, meaning that you can operate the damned thing through your entire respiratory cycle, meaning you never need to stop playing it.  Ever.  For any reason.  Life is decidedly no longer good.

6:50AM:  Okay, enough with the damned shoes.  Lisa Harbin, angel of mercy, has lent me flip flops.  Able to walk normally again, I’m off to the start line for team photos.

7:05AM:  Somehow the team photo thing is running with military precision.  None of the usual cat herding – they’re lining up, they’re facing the right way, they’re looking awesome, then the next team comes.  The only problem is the occasional appearance of the beach Zamboni (Sandboni?).  All the teams are so shiny and beautiful that I want to cry, but the unicorns of BikeCurious are the ones that actually bring me to tears.

7:31AM:  And they’re off!!  200 cyclists with hearts of gold, each one riding to feed a fellow human.  Each one riding for someone who can’t.  In past years on the bike, all I feel at this point in the day is nervous about the miles ahead and relieved that the anticipation is ending.  Off the bike, I feel humbled and honored to be part of this incredible event, with these incredible people.  And yes, I’m crying again.

7:40AM:  Joe appears not to have lost the harmonica.  In fact, there is no indication that it has left his mouth at any point.  No, he will not let me play it, he is worried I may “lose” it.  I take a moment to mourn this tragic end of my lifelong friendship with Becky.  Goodbye Becky.

7:52AM:  Route 50 Starbucks!!  Déjà vu.

7:53AM:  First flat of the day.  Seriously?  A helpful fellow cyclist is trying to turn this into a teachable moment, patiently explaining the subtle art of the tube change process.  In recognition of the fact that we are at mile 2, with 103 more to go, Joe nips that shit in the bud.  Thank god -  it’s too damned early to be learning things.

8:12AM:  My on-road photography has gotten more daring, and I am now hanging my entire upper body out of the passenger window in search of the perfect action shot.  Soon I am just hanging my entire upper body out of the passenger window just because I can.  I totally get why dogs love this.  Hello, Ladies!

8:17AM:  I have filled a 4GB SD card.  Joe puts down the harmonica long enough to do the math on this, and concludes that I have taken a photo at least every 3.7 seconds since waking up at 5:00.  I can’t help it – the Ride is just so pretty this morning!  I attempt a photo of him, and get the paparazzi hand-in-the-lens treatment.  It will truly be a miracle if we both survive the day.

9:35AM:  First pit stop!!  Everyone looking so strong and happy, no medical needs more complex than a Band-Aid.  SAG Army has taken to the seas this year and begun dabbling in naval operations.  In the Navy…they can sail the seven seas!

10:40AM:  Countless flat repairs, another full SD card, but mercifully light on the medical front.  Riders are still all smiles, at least for the camera.  Life is good.

11:07AM:  Yellow Submarine harmonica sing-along!

11:18AM:  Well, we’ve figured out why Becky’s knee hurts.  Its because she appears to have actually completed a full Iron Man in her cycling cleats.  I mean the swimming and running parts too.  Either that, or they were mauled by a bear.  It’s hard to tell.  Fortunately I have a phone that’s smarter than me, so a couple of Google hits later, we’re off on a quest for a bike shop and new cleats.  I only hope that by solving the cleat problem, I can avoid performing a battlefield knee replacement.

11:42AM:  Unicorns on bikes spotted at drive-thru espresso stand in Salisbury!!  Joe!!  Turn around!!!  Photo op!!!!!  My valiant knight launches our steed in a hairpin turn across six lanes of traffic, yielding a moment of magic.  I found out later that not only were the unicorns prohibited from paying for their coffee, but the staff of the espresso stand now plans to form a team for next year.  One of us…one of us!! 

12:20PM:  Lunch.  Things are not uniformly rosy.  Sprinkled amongst the still-chipper are the exhausted, the nauseated, the overheated, and the chafed.  I work the room with the inexhaustibly fabulous Sara, handing out cold packs, chamois lube, Icy Hot, and approximately 14 pounds of ibuprofen.  Sara diverts a few of her postpartum Percocet to the seriously pained – don’t tell the DEA.  I provide a bit of massage here and there, though in this crowd, that gets way too dirty very quickly.  Lifeline is deployed for a Walgreen’s run, since we’re running low on everything that matters.  Not one of us eats, drinks, or pees.

12:34PM:  After stalking me for the past half hour, the Harbins have finally moved in for the kill.  Roland has pinned me to the side of the car while Penny smears sunblock on my very pink skin.  I squirm a bit at first, but ultimately realize how very badly I need a little parenting, and how lucky I am to get it.  Love you, mom and dad!

1:10PM:  On the road again.

1:17PM:  My first forced SAG of the day.  Yes, there is arguing, albeit halfhearted.  Sorry, Love - but pale, sweaty, and lightheaded is simply incompatible with riding 140 miles.  Trust me, I’m a doctor…

1:39PM:  I pour yet another bottle of water over somebody’s road rash.  I reflect briefly that I really should be drinking some, and not just using it all to irrigate wounds.  This may explain why I’m getting a bit pale, sweaty, and lightheaded.

2:06PM:  No way - a flat tire!

2:19PM:  I have grown accustomed to the harmonica, much as I imagine that in hell, one would grow accustomed to the heat.

2:41PM:  I’m still photographing, but the smiles are getting more strained, the fist pumps more feeble, the horns not quite as…horny?  Everyone is seriously tired, myself included, but this is the part of the day that I love.  This is the part where it gets hard, but people keep going anyway.  The part where people have to confront their demons, tell their legs to shut up, and just keep riding.  They do this – defying all rational explanation – for themselves, for people they love, for people they’ve lost, for a cause they believe in.  Fortunately, I am WAY too tired to cry.

3:19PM:  Medical is quiet for now, and an endless string of mechanical mishaps has pushed us back into the tail end of the pack, where I’ve photographed everyone seventeen times over.  This leaves me with little to do but watch Joe in action.  After a full day of fighting over the harmonica and listening to his heated rants about everything from gun control to EZ-Pass, I didn’t think there was much to learn from him at this point.  But I listen as he explains how gears work to a woman who has clearly never felt empowered to shift before, and it’s obvious that she gets it for the first time.  She rides off, head held high and finger on the trigger – I feel bad for her that it’s so flat here.  He manages to make big macho straight guys feel okay about having their tires changed by another man.  He hugs the dispirited, massages the sore, and flirts with women who feel fat in their spandex – the occasional man too, for that matter.  Nobody leaves Joe without a smile, and I remember why I wanted to spend today with him in the first place, why he’s my friend.  If only my bedside manner were that good.

3:52PM:  Eyedrop-a-palooza!  Chemical weapons attack, or just spring on the Eastern Shore?  Hard to tell, but in either case, there’s an epidemic of giant googly red eyes in need of treatment at the 80 mile pitstop.  There’s also strained backs, scraped knees, numb hands, and general exhaustion.  But there’s also beer, so I guess it all evens out in the end. 

3:59PM:  Becky was nauseous before, and I didn’t have any antiemetics in my bag-o-tricks.  Once again, technology saved the day – I Googled a local pharmacy on my phone, called in a prescription, and Wayne navigated to said pharmacy using his iPad.  We were feeling pretty smart about all this to start with (at least as smart as our smartphones), but when Wayne returned with a slightly loopy but less nauseated Becky, they clued me in to just how smart we were.  The cost of said prescription?  Exactly 26 cents.  Let the record show:  America’s healthcare spending crisis cannot be pinned on me!

4:16PM:  Name That Tune!  Hint:  it's Inna Gadda da Vida.

5:29PM:  Leaning against the car, staring at the pretty scrolling numbers on the gas pump as though I was high.  We’re almost back to Chesapeake College, and half of Team with a Purpose is waiting at the intersection, presumably ready to stage a triumphal team finish.  My glazed eyes are attracted to a yellow blur cresting the hill – the glorious reunion of TWAP is about to occur.  But one yellow blur veers away from the pack, heading into the gas station.  I wrench myself back into focus.  It’s Derek, and he’s airborne.  I watch in horrific slow motion as he sails into the air, over his handlebars, lands on his neck and shoulder, crumples to the ground.  The rest of TWAP is watching too, and I see Laveta – a gifted triathlete – sprinting toward him.  I’m back in full-on doctor mode, and am certain that Derek has broken his neck.  Laveta will not know this.  Laveta may move him.  I do not like the idea of a quadriplegic Derek, so it becomes imperative that I beat her to the scene.  I break into a sprint too – it’s like a rhino racing a cheetah.  But I charge on, head down, horn at the ready.  Apparently a really determined rhino can occasionally outrun a cheetah, so I arrive first, stabilizing Derek’s neck while Joe disentangles him from the bike.  The cheetah appears to consider eating the rhino, not yet having recognized it as me, but Pete intervenes, and I am allowed to live.  I examine Derek, steeled for the worst, flashbacks of his fall pulsing through my brain.  I remove his helmet, clear his neck, examine his shoulder and ribs, pour the last of our drinking water over his wounds, and find…nothing!  I officially pronounce Derek one lucky mofo, and promise to dress his scrapes and bruises after he showers.  I apologize to Laveta for rhino-charging her, and we agree that Derek is certainly worth chasing each other across the savannah for.  After giving his team (and the poor medical director) the scare of a lifetime, Derek is back upright for a strong finish.  I seriously need a beer.  Or at least some of that water that I just poured all over Derek.

5:44PM:  Chesapeake College – the Ride is over, AT LAST!!  YAY!!!  No – wait, the Ride is over for the RIDERS.  Except a whole mess of riders aren't even in yet.  And in either case, for me the fun is just beginning... 

6:32 PM:  Last rider in - I feel my anxiety level plummet.  Plus she looks awesome!!

6:51PM:  Look at these people.  Seriously, look!  Ride for the Feast is the most amazing event ever, and it's because of the people.  Our riders and volunteers alike are here because we care about Moveable Feast - more than any other charity event I know of, the Ride is about the cause.  Ride for the Feasters want to feed people, fight disease, and foster hope...for REAL.  Yes, there are some great athletes here, probably some for whom this is just another distance event.  But most of us are just regular people, fully prepared to have our asses summarily handed to us by riding 140 miles.  We're here because we want to feed someone for a year.  Or to make a small sacrifice in honor of someone we've loved and lost.  Or to show a disease that we've kicked its ass.  Or because we want to remember that our struggle to keep pedaling is nothing to the struggle to keep hope alive for someone who's sick, poor, and alone.  Which is what Moveable Feast does.  What WE do, every one of us who's part of the ride.

8:40PM:  All right, I may be awesome, but I'm ass-tired.  I’ve had anaphylaxis in the women’s locker room, GI bleeding on the lawn, a herniated lumbar disk propped up under a tree, and one unfortunate rider with ulnar palsy trying unsuccessfully to hold a fork at dinner.  Everyone’s bandages needed changing, icepacks were melting, eyes gone googly again.  I’ve busted out the bedside manner to explain to more than a few people why they can’t ride tomorrow, running the full gamut of the gentle to firm continuum.  I’m pretty sure the crickets are chirping, “when can I take more ibuprofen?”  I want a hot shower and a cold beer more than I’ve ever wanted anything.  The wounded have all been triaged, and the battlefield is clear.  I’m blessedly off to my hotel…

9:06PM:  WHERE IT TURNS OUT THAT I DO NOT ACTUALLY HAVE A ROOM!!!  My reservation was cancelled.  Why?  No idea, but there’s a cancellation code right here, so it must be legitimate.  And by the way, there are no vacant rooms, in my hotel or in any other hotel in Easton.  Or Cambridge.  Or Denton.  Fatigue forgotten, I become a viper, coiled and hissing, moments from sinking my razor-sharp fangs into the Econolodge guy.  Having witnessed the transformation, Wayne courageously invites the viper to share a room with him and Sarah.  Poor, foolish things.  Miraculously, despite my indiscriminate desire to sink my fangs into something or other, I manage to avoid biting either of my saviors.  Showered and beered, we somehow all survive the night.  And wake up bright and early for...DAY TWO!

Thursday, January 19, 2012

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Putting the Me in Ski

True confession: ever since I can remember, I always envied those skiing families. Shiny freaks with blindingly white teeth, veritably glowing with a smug mixture of fitness and affluence - I knew I should disdain them, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Needless to say, mine was not a skiing type of family. We did not glow.

My dad, who was both European and in possession of at least a theoretical appreciation of leisure pursuits, bought me skis at a yard sale. I had no idea how to ski, and he had no particular inclination to teach me. I did manage to go on a few ski trips in my youth, always with disastrous results. Pulverized and frostbitten (there was no waterproof clothing to go with those skis), I returned home over and over again with my tail between my legs. The actual experience of skiing went a long way towards helping me work up the disdain that I knew those shiny ski people so richly deserved.

Years went by. Snowboarding was invented, and those guys not only managed amazing triumphs over gravity - they also had awesome clothes. Needless to say, this was the snow sport for me. It had edge, attitude, style - and big pants! For my 27th birthday, my dear friend Scott bought me a learn to board package at Whitetail, and I was ecstatic! I blew off a day of med school, and we headed to the slopes. After getting geared up, we hit the snow and met up with the rest of our class - a flock of 11 year old boys who mocked us loudly and relentlessly. Why the hell weren't they in school, anyway? Of course, they had plenty to mock. Neither of us managed more than six consecutive seconds in an upright position, and the only air we caught was when we were tumbling down the mountain flailing helplessly. If there was ever an occasion for bailing, this was it.

My tail firmly back between my legs where apparently nature intended it to be, I stumped back to the lodge, ready to turn my back on the snow forever. Until Scott - the bastard - asked if I wanted to ski instead. Of COURSE I didn't want to ski - skiing is for stupid shiny people, and all my bones were already broken, thank you very much. But this is not what you say when your dear friend has bailed on his job, driven you two hours to Whitetail, and spent a load of money so you can have fun. Damn it, you have fun - even if it kills you.

This is the amazing part. Where dozens had failed before him, Scott somehow managed to succeed in getting me down the mountain upright and intact. Maybe I needed to kill the snowboarding neurons in my brain to make room for the skiing neurons to fully develop. Maybe I was just so grateful that no snotfaced tween was calling me a fat loser that I couldn't fail. All I know is that for the first time in my life, I was skiing!

When Scott moved to Maine a few years later, I lost my only real ski buddy. I had never gotten good enough to hang with real ski people (plus I still don't glow), and he was the only person who had ever made skiing fun for me - he was patient and kind no matter how slow and lame I proved to be, and never once betrayed the secret that he could ski circles around me blindfolded. So I stopped skiing, and honestly I didn't miss it.

But when the twins came along, my old awe for shiny ski families returned. Maybe we could BE a shiny ski family! I hauled poor Leslie - who it should be clear never once expressed even the vaguest interest in skiing - off to Roundtop for lessons, and he has truly been a stalwart soldier on the slopes. On Monday, J&Z made their ski debut, and contrary to any rational genetic prediction, they were AWESOME. And it turns out that despite more than ten years later, I still remember how to ski, and I was kind of awesome too - in a slow, plodding way.

So this one's dedicated to my burgeoning shiny ski family. And to Scott, who made it all possible.

Photos here.

Thursday, January 12, 2012

Pinned Up

Well, since the wayback machine seems stalled in 2010 anyway, let's rewind to that fateful day during the summer when I had brunch with several of the lovely ladies of Team Atomic. "You know what would be awesome?" I asked them. "If we took off our clothes, or most of them anyway, and did a sexy bike-themed pinup calendar to raise money for Moveable Feast!"

Now, your average group of women would have laughed this off and gone on about their business. They would have raised the standard objections - I know, because I thought of them all. I'm married! I'm a mom! I'm a doctor - I have my professional reputation to consider! I'm too fat, too self-conscious, too lame, too old! I'm over 40, for god's sake!!! Average women would have asked themselves the entirely reasonable question, "Who the hell would pay to look at me in my underwear?"

Fortunately, these are no average women. These are the women of Team Atomic: they are badassed athletes, they have ten times their fair share of attitude and style, they are drop-dead gorgeous, and they will do damned near anything to help their fellow man. So the remainder of the year turned into a frenzy of hunting for photographers, recruiting sponsors and retailers, researching classic pinup poses and fashion, and (best of all) maxing out our credit cards at Frederick's of Hollywood.

We recruited the amazingly talented Mike Lee to shoot our photos. Nikki Veredicchia (NV Salon Collective) gave us stunning hair, and Julia McCabe and Heather Henninger (Kiss-n-Makeup) used makeup to transport us back to the heyday of glamour. We sweet-talked MF staffers Damon and Mike, teammate Bryon, and longtime supporter Benn (Atomic Books) into posing with us, and all we had left to do was strap on our garter belts before we were off to the races!

The shoot took place at MF headquarters, in one aggressively organized yet somehow also aggressively madcap day. Afterwards we spent months selling the damned things, and raised over $5000 in the process. Final results: hundreds of people spent the year ogling us, Team Atomic captain Becky has sworn off all non-garter hosiery, and I am the proud owner of two corsets and five inch stiletto peeptoes. And oh - by the way - several Moveable Feast clients got three nutritious meals per day in 2011. I'd say it was a smashing success!

This is for all my fellow Atomic Bombshells - you are truly the greatest people in the world. You inspire and humble me, and I am honored to be your teammate and friend.

Check out our sassy selves here.

I Have a Dream

Happy MLK Day, friends!! Today is the day we celebrate the life of one of the greatest humanitarian leaders of all time, relish the victories he won for mankind, and solemnly reflect on the ideals for which he fought and died. Or we sleep late, go out for brunch, and spend the afternoon skiing. One or the other.

I actually am skiing today, but before I enjoy my day off, I wanted to take a few moments to remember why today is a holiday. I may share my ski lift today with someone from another race. Just 50 years ago, this would have been inconceivable - and what a miraculous victory for all of humanity that today it's perfectly normal!

Of course, from a statistical standpoint, it is unlikely that my lift buddy will actually be black or hispanic or otherwise nonwhite. We've made monumental strides towards legal equality for all, and stamped the red badge of shame on racial prejudice, even if we haven't eradicated it. But when it comes to economic equality - well, let's just say we needn't shout our victories from the mountaintop just yet.

I spend every day in the Emergency Department with my hands plunged (sometimes literally) up to the elbows in the fruits of economic injustice. In the world's richest nation, I routinely see elderly people who have to choose between food and medicine. I see able-bodied adults on welfare because of lack of education or job skills. And I see teenagers pumped full of bullets after running afoul of the drug trade - a career path they choose because they think it's their only ticket out of poverty. And after every shift, I come home to my beautiful house and hug my beautiful children, and think about how one day I will have to explain to them why the world is so profoundly unfair.

I can't fix the world, and you can't either. We can't all be Martin Luther King. But what we can all do is have a dream. We won't sound as good talking about our dreams as MLK did, but we can still envison a world that is kinder, safer, greener, or more just. And we can all do at least one thing to bring our dreams just a little bit closer to reality. It doesn't have to be today (did I mention that I'm going skiing?), and it doesn't have to be a grand sweeping gesture. Just One Small Thing that makes the world a better place - we all have that much within our power.

Anyone who's spent more than 37 consecutive seconds with me most likely knows what my One Small Thing is. 2012 will mark my seventh year as an organizer and participant in Ride for the Feast, a 140-mile charity bike ride to raise funds and awareness for Moveable Feast - an amazing organization in Baltimore that provides food assistance and social support for people in Maryland living with HIV/AIDS or breast cancer. Along with my incredible teammates on Team Atomic, I have pedaled thousands of miles, and done anything and everything to raise money, up to and including taking off my clothes. And it doesn't matter about how exhausted it all makes me, how sore and chafed I become, how far behind I am in my work, or how big the laundry pile gets. Because I know that someone who would otherwise go hungry will now be able to eat. And yes, you can help.

A few weeks ago, I had the immense honor of hearing Martin Luther King III speak at an award ceremony at Hopkins. He talked about his undergraduate education at Antioch College in Ohio, where there was a statue of Horace Mann inscribed with the words "Be ashamed to die until you have won a victory for humanity." MLK clearly won his victory for humanity, but we don't all have to be MLK. We don't have to abolish segregation or lead 250,000 people in a march on Washington. We just have to do our One Small Thing. And indeed, we should truly be ashamed if we don't.

What's yours?

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

How Will This Blow My Mind?

In rifling the photographic miscellany today, I came across this photo of the twins' first science experiment. It the first experiment from a science kit given to them last Christmas by a founding member of the Legion of Honorary Grandparents - Lisa's dad Roland. When he's not too busy being an all around awesome guy, Roland is a science teacher. Or was - he recently retired, to the great loss of future generations of students.

When Zoe opened the package, she asked me to read the writing on the box: Mind-Blowing Science! Naturally this prompted her to ask the timeless question pondered by generations of young investigators: "How with this blow my mind, Mama?"

Roland made me promise that we would actually do the experiments with the kids. True to our word, every night we gathered around the kitchen with our pipettes and test tubes, making things bubble and fizz, change colors, grow, shrink, and occasionally disappear. I'm not sure whether any minds were actually blown, but they were fascinated by the idea that stuff could be combined with other stuff to Make Things Happen. They challenged my allegedly scientific brain to explain concepts like osmosis, carbonation, and acid/base reactions in kid-friendly terms, and demonstrated a curiosity about the physical world that surprised and delighted me.

You know what? Science is awesome! Mad props to you, Roland.

Also, more miscellany - now we've moved on to a new set for 2011!

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

More to love

If I didn't give you enough reasons to love Baltimore yesterday, let me point out that it is a city where sometimes you drive down the street and see a whole herd of mall Santas.

Also, the aerial sharks!

More randomania here.