Actual conversation:
“What are you listening to?”
“Of Montreal”
“I’ve never heard of them.”
“That’s too bad. They’re really good.”
“You listen to weird music.”
And that is where the conversation turned from bad to worse. I listen to weird music? Why, because you haven’t heard of the band? That doesn’t make sense. If I only listened to music that other people already knew then I’d be, well, you. I don’t want to be you.
Here’s the thing, cupcake. Good music isn’t always what’s popular. For every Beethoven there’s a Paganini. So, quit pretending you’re special because you follow the norm. You aren’t. Nor am I special because I don’t. I don’t make fun of you because you listen to Fall Out Boy and U2. I should, mind you, because they are boring and suck. But I don’t tell you that because I respect your right to enjoy your music.
So stop making fun of mine. Especially considering the fact that you’ve never listened to it. Next time you do I will tell you about how you look like a dipshit in that shirt and that your hair is ugly and your kids are probably going to end up with serious social problems because their parents are dipshits with bad shirts and ugly hair. Though your kids have gorgeous hair. That’s true. Too bad you are a dickhead.
Anyway, that’s my story. Of course, Of Montreal is kind of weird. But you wouldn’t know that, would you dipshit? Yeah, I didn’t think so.
P.S. Suck it.
Thank you for your time.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Get Over It
This weekend Gert and I took our friend Mike to the bike shop to pick up his bike. Long story, not very interesting.
Gert loves the bike shop. It's filled with expensive things she's not allowed to touch, plus a small section of kids' bikes. The guys at the shop love her too because she is completely fearless about her bike riding.
However, she has gotten in trouble in the past with an old manager at the shop for touching and sitting on the kids bikes. So, I sat down with her to have a chat about it.
"Gert, since you're coming to the bike shop with you have to understand you can't touch the bikes when--"
"Dad. I'm so over that. I'm five now."
And she didn't. She did drool over a pink bike that she desperately wanted. But, like dad, she merely stroked and and sighed, just like I did with the light as a feather racing bike.
Then the guys at the shop started prodding her with the future. "Gert, you're a good bike rider, right? Well, you should get a Stinky. They're pink and they are really cool!"
And so it began. Gert now desperately wants a $4000 mountain bike and I think she's dreaming of singletrack. Thanks Zack for bringing that up. I'm so screwed.
Gert loves the bike shop. It's filled with expensive things she's not allowed to touch, plus a small section of kids' bikes. The guys at the shop love her too because she is completely fearless about her bike riding.
However, she has gotten in trouble in the past with an old manager at the shop for touching and sitting on the kids bikes. So, I sat down with her to have a chat about it.
"Gert, since you're coming to the bike shop with you have to understand you can't touch the bikes when--"
"Dad. I'm so over that. I'm five now."
And she didn't. She did drool over a pink bike that she desperately wanted. But, like dad, she merely stroked and and sighed, just like I did with the light as a feather racing bike.
Then the guys at the shop started prodding her with the future. "Gert, you're a good bike rider, right? Well, you should get a Stinky. They're pink and they are really cool!"
And so it began. Gert now desperately wants a $4000 mountain bike and I think she's dreaming of singletrack. Thanks Zack for bringing that up. I'm so screwed.
Friday, January 26, 2007
Re-make/Re-model
Inspired by my wife's recent Extreme Makeover: Blog Edition, I want to kick up some dust around here. I've been staring at this design for years. I'm tired of it. Aren't you? Yeah, I thought so because you keep sticking your gum in the tables.
But I have a problem. Several actually. 1. I can't design my way out of Michael Graves' bathroom and 2. I'm color blind.
So, here's my proposal. If you happen to have design abilities make me a website. I need it to be able to accommodate more than just a blog, because I have a whole bunch of stuff on the site and, supposedly, I'm supposed to be adding to it frequently. It should also be somewhat geeky/sciencey/odd.
Here's the catch: I cannot pay you in American money. In fact, I cannot pay you in legal tender. However, if you do give me a design I will reciprocate in one mix CD per every 30 minutes you spend on the design. Including talking to me! That's right, one five minute conversation with me translates in to 1.75 songs! At 80 minutes per CD you're getting twenty minutes for FREE!
Side note on cylcing. It hit 56 degrees today, so I went for a quick ride. It was my first ride on the road in over a month. Indoor training is nice, but it's nothing like sailing down a hill, going the speed limit and having a van in front of you and a Geo Metro behind you while you're signaling that you're going to turn left and you realize that, outside of cyclists, no one knows what the hell hand signals mean.
More importantly I recently put some new Contis on the bike that were a different size than the cyclocross slicks I had been running, so I was dying to see what the difference in rolling resistance really was.
Verdict: A lot. I was flying. I was smiling.
Issue: Wind. It was really windy today. Worse, the wind was blowing DOWN all the hills. Great for descending, terrible for climbing.
Second Issue: Though it was 56 today, there was a chill in the air that bit at my lungs. Halfway through the ride I could have used a few doses of salbutamol because I couldn't breathe. I had to stop to catch my breath at the top of my favorite hill. Shortly thereafter I was going down said hill following the van. That felt good. However, my wife is not allowed to find out how fast I was going because I'll get in trouble.
But man it was fun . . .
But I have a problem. Several actually. 1. I can't design my way out of Michael Graves' bathroom and 2. I'm color blind.
So, here's my proposal. If you happen to have design abilities make me a website. I need it to be able to accommodate more than just a blog, because I have a whole bunch of stuff on the site and, supposedly, I'm supposed to be adding to it frequently. It should also be somewhat geeky/sciencey/odd.
Here's the catch: I cannot pay you in American money. In fact, I cannot pay you in legal tender. However, if you do give me a design I will reciprocate in one mix CD per every 30 minutes you spend on the design. Including talking to me! That's right, one five minute conversation with me translates in to 1.75 songs! At 80 minutes per CD you're getting twenty minutes for FREE!
Side note on cylcing. It hit 56 degrees today, so I went for a quick ride. It was my first ride on the road in over a month. Indoor training is nice, but it's nothing like sailing down a hill, going the speed limit and having a van in front of you and a Geo Metro behind you while you're signaling that you're going to turn left and you realize that, outside of cyclists, no one knows what the hell hand signals mean.
More importantly I recently put some new Contis on the bike that were a different size than the cyclocross slicks I had been running, so I was dying to see what the difference in rolling resistance really was.
Verdict: A lot. I was flying. I was smiling.
Issue: Wind. It was really windy today. Worse, the wind was blowing DOWN all the hills. Great for descending, terrible for climbing.
Second Issue: Though it was 56 today, there was a chill in the air that bit at my lungs. Halfway through the ride I could have used a few doses of salbutamol because I couldn't breathe. I had to stop to catch my breath at the top of my favorite hill. Shortly thereafter I was going down said hill following the van. That felt good. However, my wife is not allowed to find out how fast I was going because I'll get in trouble.
But man it was fun . . .
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Dear New Jersey
While I have no doubt it is dangerous to talk on a cell phone while riding a bike, I have to be honest . . . you're wasting time and money on a useless endeavor.
First, I spent several hundred hours on a bike last ear and only once did I see someone talking on the phone while they ride. He also had no helmet, his bike was rusty and, oddly, I don't think he was all too bright.
So, here are some suggestions to spend your time and money on:
1. Bike paths, trails and lanes. Encourage people to ride to work by creating a safe buffer zone for them from cars.
2. Driver and cyclist education. Drivers need to be aware of cyclists and cyclists need to be aware of drivers.
3. Recognize that there are hundreds of different types of cyclists and vow to protect them all. Kids, racers, triathletes, commuters, old people, young people, morons, recumbents, doctors, lawyers, touring riders. They will all have different skill levels, and intelligence levels.
4. I'm going to get heat for this but . . . ticket cyclists. I get pissed every time I see some idiot in his Discovery kit, on his Trek Madone fly through a four-way stop. If we as cyclists want the respect we deserve on the road we must follow traffic laws. I know it's difficult to get back up to speed after a stoplight, but it's a hell of a lot harder to get up to speed after you get t-boned by a bus. So, yeah, ticket us. I always stop and I don't cheat my way through lights either. If I could do a track stand without looking drunk, I'd do that. But I can't.
Now if we can only do something about those damn extender leashes for dogs on trails. How many times have I nearly died because someone has their dog running on the opposite side of the trail I can't see him, or the leash?
First, I spent several hundred hours on a bike last ear and only once did I see someone talking on the phone while they ride. He also had no helmet, his bike was rusty and, oddly, I don't think he was all too bright.
So, here are some suggestions to spend your time and money on:
1. Bike paths, trails and lanes. Encourage people to ride to work by creating a safe buffer zone for them from cars.
2. Driver and cyclist education. Drivers need to be aware of cyclists and cyclists need to be aware of drivers.
3. Recognize that there are hundreds of different types of cyclists and vow to protect them all. Kids, racers, triathletes, commuters, old people, young people, morons, recumbents, doctors, lawyers, touring riders. They will all have different skill levels, and intelligence levels.
4. I'm going to get heat for this but . . . ticket cyclists. I get pissed every time I see some idiot in his Discovery kit, on his Trek Madone fly through a four-way stop. If we as cyclists want the respect we deserve on the road we must follow traffic laws. I know it's difficult to get back up to speed after a stoplight, but it's a hell of a lot harder to get up to speed after you get t-boned by a bus. So, yeah, ticket us. I always stop and I don't cheat my way through lights either. If I could do a track stand without looking drunk, I'd do that. But I can't.
Now if we can only do something about those damn extender leashes for dogs on trails. How many times have I nearly died because someone has their dog running on the opposite side of the trail I can't see him, or the leash?
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Misc. Cycling Notes
A big thanks to David at The Fredcast for the shout out on his podcast this week. David gave the Tour de Stooges a quick nod in his upcoming rides section. I should note that in his email in response to my suggestion (which I managed to delete along with all of my email that was still on the server yesterday afternoon, so if I didn't respond it's because I'm a bit of an idiot) David mentioned that a Monty Python themed ride would be equally fun, as well as equally confounding to wives. I'm happy to say that my wife, however, would welcome it. She can sing "I'm a Lumberjack" in its entirety.
Spouses aside, I think David actually has a great idea. It could be set up much the same as the Tour de Stooges. However, here's the big difference: At some point while you were at a stop refilling your water bottle, three guys dressed in cycling kits would come running by, pretending to pedal their imaginary bikes while two guys behind them made clicking noises that sound like the whirring of a chain over gears.
David is living proof of what Podcasting can accomplish. He produces, week in and week out, the best cycling podcast out there. The one guy, squeezing podcasting between working, training and family life, puts out a consistently better show than some of the pros out there. And, if that's not enough, he produces a bi-weekly cycling round table called The Spokesmen, with some of the best voices in the cycling business (including one of the wittiest, Carlton Reid). Both are frequently the highlights in the week of this bored freelancer.
On to doping. Of course.
My buddy Patrick Lefevre is being accused of being knee deep in doping. He denies it, of course, because he couldn't possibly be involved with anything so wrong and terrible. Of course not. Lefevre is the guy, after all, who pushed to ban Discover from the League of Honest Cycling Teams for their signing of Ivan Basso. And, if I'm not mistaken, as soon as Floyd Landis' A sample came back I believe he suggested that Landis should be stripped of his title, banned from cycling, denied a passport, banned from Europe, have his head shaved, be forced to listen to Barry Manilow, eat fried worms, kept out of the baseball hall of fame, have his Internet access shut off, taken outside and beaten, sleep with the fishes and be repeatedly kicked in the groin while being asked, "How's your T/E ratio now bitch?"
My point being, and always has been, that Lefevre has been talking out of both sides of his mouth for years. He condemns people left and right, acts like the Minister of Right Living and then gives a pass to his pet cyclist Johan Museeuw. Case in point? Museeuw has been under doping suspicion for years. Fair enough. Without evidence, he shouldn't be shuffled out of the sport, right? Except that, the Belgian cycling federation banned Museeuw for two years for being implicated in a doping scandal. He's banned from working in cycling.
According to Lefevre's rules, Museeuw should be treated the same as Landis. He certainly wouldn't hire a guy who is implicated in a doping scandal to work on his team, even if it's not as a racer. Right? Not really. Patrick claims that the suspension is "symbolic" so Museeuw continues to work for Quick-Step in a PR capacity. I doubt that will change now that Museeuw has admitted to doping late in his career. You see, there's nothing the cycling likes more than an "honest" doper.
Both sides of the mouth, Patrick. Both sides. Keep up your posturing and it'll be clear you're speaking out of another orifice.
My point? Nothing, really. Except that I'm #2 in the google search for Patrick Lefevre Doping.
I hope I'm not one of the guys he sues over these new stories. I've never said he gives people drugs. I'm just saying he can't go around condemning one doper and giving another happy slaps in the team hotel.
Spouses aside, I think David actually has a great idea. It could be set up much the same as the Tour de Stooges. However, here's the big difference: At some point while you were at a stop refilling your water bottle, three guys dressed in cycling kits would come running by, pretending to pedal their imaginary bikes while two guys behind them made clicking noises that sound like the whirring of a chain over gears.
David is living proof of what Podcasting can accomplish. He produces, week in and week out, the best cycling podcast out there. The one guy, squeezing podcasting between working, training and family life, puts out a consistently better show than some of the pros out there. And, if that's not enough, he produces a bi-weekly cycling round table called The Spokesmen, with some of the best voices in the cycling business (including one of the wittiest, Carlton Reid). Both are frequently the highlights in the week of this bored freelancer.
On to doping. Of course.
My buddy Patrick Lefevre is being accused of being knee deep in doping. He denies it, of course, because he couldn't possibly be involved with anything so wrong and terrible. Of course not. Lefevre is the guy, after all, who pushed to ban Discover from the League of Honest Cycling Teams for their signing of Ivan Basso. And, if I'm not mistaken, as soon as Floyd Landis' A sample came back I believe he suggested that Landis should be stripped of his title, banned from cycling, denied a passport, banned from Europe, have his head shaved, be forced to listen to Barry Manilow, eat fried worms, kept out of the baseball hall of fame, have his Internet access shut off, taken outside and beaten, sleep with the fishes and be repeatedly kicked in the groin while being asked, "How's your T/E ratio now bitch?"
My point being, and always has been, that Lefevre has been talking out of both sides of his mouth for years. He condemns people left and right, acts like the Minister of Right Living and then gives a pass to his pet cyclist Johan Museeuw. Case in point? Museeuw has been under doping suspicion for years. Fair enough. Without evidence, he shouldn't be shuffled out of the sport, right? Except that, the Belgian cycling federation banned Museeuw for two years for being implicated in a doping scandal. He's banned from working in cycling.
According to Lefevre's rules, Museeuw should be treated the same as Landis. He certainly wouldn't hire a guy who is implicated in a doping scandal to work on his team, even if it's not as a racer. Right? Not really. Patrick claims that the suspension is "symbolic" so Museeuw continues to work for Quick-Step in a PR capacity. I doubt that will change now that Museeuw has admitted to doping late in his career. You see, there's nothing the cycling likes more than an "honest" doper.
Both sides of the mouth, Patrick. Both sides. Keep up your posturing and it'll be clear you're speaking out of another orifice.
My point? Nothing, really. Except that I'm #2 in the google search for Patrick Lefevre Doping.
I hope I'm not one of the guys he sues over these new stories. I've never said he gives people drugs. I'm just saying he can't go around condemning one doper and giving another happy slaps in the team hotel.
Saturday, January 20, 2007
Special Powers?
So, I have my bike back and after 9 days with nothing to ride, I was eager to ride again. I was setting up the trainer and testing the contact between the wheel and the fly wheel thing (I have no idea what it's called).
I noticed Gert standing behind me, looking a little like Damien from the Omen. "Hello Father," she cooed in a sinister tone. "How do you start pedaling on the trainer?"
"Oh, just like normal sweetie," I responded. "I put it in a light resistance and start pedaling. It's a little different than starting on the street, but not too much."
"I see," she said, her expression unchanging. "And, exactly how fast can you go on the trainer? How do you get going that fast?"
"It's a combination of the resistance and the gear I'm in honey. Believe it or not, if the resistance is a little higher than it is now I can do a sprint that gets that wheel really spinning."
"Will you show me Father?"
"Sure!" Loving the attention and getting to talk about cycling with my progeny, I jacked up the resistance and worked my way into a sprint. I wasn't warmed up, so it was only a half-hearted sprint, but surely impressive to a five-year-old girl who rides a sixteen inch bike.
Gert clapped, but not in a childish way. It was more mocking. "Excelent Father," she said. "However, while your skills on the bicycle are admirable, you would not be able to match my riding abilities on my bike. I can go fast, you see. Faster than you. Quick as a wink! And it is not because I need to train, dear Father."
"Uh, okay honey."
"No, Father. Training is not a need for me. Because of my special powers, I will always win. So go ahead and train your heart out. Cough your lungs up onto the tarmac Father, because you will never be able to vanquish me and my special powers! HAHAHAHAHAHA!"
And she was gone. Shaken, I went on with my training. However, I was left with a cold feeling in my stomach that something important and life-altering had just happened. Upon getting off my bike and cleaning up I realized what I had to do. It is clear to me now.
I will lie about Gert's age, get her a junior road bike and start entering her into boys' juniors races. Because, with her attitude and special powers she will eat them alive on the road.
Oneofusoneofusoneofus.
I noticed Gert standing behind me, looking a little like Damien from the Omen. "Hello Father," she cooed in a sinister tone. "How do you start pedaling on the trainer?"
"Oh, just like normal sweetie," I responded. "I put it in a light resistance and start pedaling. It's a little different than starting on the street, but not too much."
"I see," she said, her expression unchanging. "And, exactly how fast can you go on the trainer? How do you get going that fast?"
"It's a combination of the resistance and the gear I'm in honey. Believe it or not, if the resistance is a little higher than it is now I can do a sprint that gets that wheel really spinning."
"Will you show me Father?"
"Sure!" Loving the attention and getting to talk about cycling with my progeny, I jacked up the resistance and worked my way into a sprint. I wasn't warmed up, so it was only a half-hearted sprint, but surely impressive to a five-year-old girl who rides a sixteen inch bike.
Gert clapped, but not in a childish way. It was more mocking. "Excelent Father," she said. "However, while your skills on the bicycle are admirable, you would not be able to match my riding abilities on my bike. I can go fast, you see. Faster than you. Quick as a wink! And it is not because I need to train, dear Father."
"Uh, okay honey."
"No, Father. Training is not a need for me. Because of my special powers, I will always win. So go ahead and train your heart out. Cough your lungs up onto the tarmac Father, because you will never be able to vanquish me and my special powers! HAHAHAHAHAHA!"
And she was gone. Shaken, I went on with my training. However, I was left with a cold feeling in my stomach that something important and life-altering had just happened. Upon getting off my bike and cleaning up I realized what I had to do. It is clear to me now.
I will lie about Gert's age, get her a junior road bike and start entering her into boys' juniors races. Because, with her attitude and special powers she will eat them alive on the road.
Oneofusoneofusoneofus.
Friday, January 19, 2007
Rust Never Sleeps
My bike is ready. They took it apart and inspected every cable, thread, tube, connection and lubed the crap out of it.
The bad news? The cup on the left side of the bottom bracket was cracked in two places. They've been replaced. Apparently I was a ride or two away from failure. Not surprising.
Worse? BB was also rusty. So was the inside of the steerer tube. Now, the BB I understand because it's an open system and I ride in the rain, though not in a downpour. If I were a good boy I would take it apart and lube after rainy rides. I'm not a good boy. I wipe down the bike thought.
The steerer is a different matter. That's not open, but it's not closed either. I'll have to look and see where the entry point for enough moisture to get rusty would be so I can be more diligent about it. Hmm. I'm sure there is one, but I'm not picturing it. It's not like I leave it outside in the rain.
Stupid bike. I should just buy a new one. This one just isn't worth it. I need a new one. I really expensive, fast one. Something sleek and sexy.
Oh, it's not like I'd get rid of the cross bike. Why would I do that? I'd slap some 32s back on it and when I want to get dirty, then it's waiting for me. When I need to have an early midlife crisis, I'll take out the sleek and sexy bike.
Right? You're with me. Right? I need more than one bike. I need at least five. If you agree with me, and I know you do, visit my wife's website and leave supportive comments about how her husband needs a whole fleet of bikes. I mean, she just got a new saddle! Surely that calls for a brand new bike for me, right?
Also, feel free to drop links to good bikes for me. Straight to the bike, not the company. For example, Cervelo came up today. I'd say the Soloist Team would be the top for me. The rest after that would be just out of the realm of reality and impossible. But they are are pretty damn Vroomen.
Also, I'm a biggish guy. 6 feet, hoping to hit 185 at best. So, I'm not sure of the whole carbon thing. Plus, with my luck, I'd crash and then question the integrity of the frame from there after.
Debate, damn it. Give me things to dream about while I pretend that a good pot of Haitian Bleu is a PED and that Dick Pound is banging on my door demanding that I give back the cheap red and blue jersey that I wear frequently while Oscar Pereiro swears he's the rightful winner of that sprint that I claim that I "won" against "myself" last "August."
The bad news? The cup on the left side of the bottom bracket was cracked in two places. They've been replaced. Apparently I was a ride or two away from failure. Not surprising.
Worse? BB was also rusty. So was the inside of the steerer tube. Now, the BB I understand because it's an open system and I ride in the rain, though not in a downpour. If I were a good boy I would take it apart and lube after rainy rides. I'm not a good boy. I wipe down the bike thought.
The steerer is a different matter. That's not open, but it's not closed either. I'll have to look and see where the entry point for enough moisture to get rusty would be so I can be more diligent about it. Hmm. I'm sure there is one, but I'm not picturing it. It's not like I leave it outside in the rain.
Stupid bike. I should just buy a new one. This one just isn't worth it. I need a new one. I really expensive, fast one. Something sleek and sexy.
Oh, it's not like I'd get rid of the cross bike. Why would I do that? I'd slap some 32s back on it and when I want to get dirty, then it's waiting for me. When I need to have an early midlife crisis, I'll take out the sleek and sexy bike.
Right? You're with me. Right? I need more than one bike. I need at least five. If you agree with me, and I know you do, visit my wife's website and leave supportive comments about how her husband needs a whole fleet of bikes. I mean, she just got a new saddle! Surely that calls for a brand new bike for me, right?
Also, feel free to drop links to good bikes for me. Straight to the bike, not the company. For example, Cervelo came up today. I'd say the Soloist Team would be the top for me. The rest after that would be just out of the realm of reality and impossible. But they are are pretty damn Vroomen.
Also, I'm a biggish guy. 6 feet, hoping to hit 185 at best. So, I'm not sure of the whole carbon thing. Plus, with my luck, I'd crash and then question the integrity of the frame from there after.
Debate, damn it. Give me things to dream about while I pretend that a good pot of Haitian Bleu is a PED and that Dick Pound is banging on my door demanding that I give back the cheap red and blue jersey that I wear frequently while Oscar Pereiro swears he's the rightful winner of that sprint that I claim that I "won" against "myself" last "August."
Note To Advertisers
"Ginormous" is not a word. It is especially not a word used to describe the magnitude of the Cranberries song "Linger".
You may also not use the following to describe things:
Scintillating
Sexy
Odoriferous
Awesome
Likable
Suckable
Buxom
Tinkly
Fat-bottomed
Mucousy
Four out of five doctors agree that anal insertion is not recommended.
Okay, maybe you should say that last one.
You may also not use the following to describe things:
Scintillating
Sexy
Odoriferous
Awesome
Likable
Suckable
Buxom
Tinkly
Fat-bottomed
Mucousy
Four out of five doctors agree that anal insertion is not recommended.
Okay, maybe you should say that last one.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Go Carlos!
Turns out that the French are now debating whether Oscar Pereiro's therapeutic use exemption (TUE) is valid. Apparently they are questioning whether or not he has Asthma. He was taking a salbutamol cocktail.
Excellent. First Operacion Puerto, then Floyd Landis, now Oscar. All they have to do now is discover the on-board rocket I installed on Kloden's bike for the final TT and the yellow jersey is Carlos Sastre's!
I love it when a plan comes together.
Next year I'm going to get Ronny Scholz on the podium through allegations that will disqualify 90% of the field. That will be true awesomeness.
Excellent. First Operacion Puerto, then Floyd Landis, now Oscar. All they have to do now is discover the on-board rocket I installed on Kloden's bike for the final TT and the yellow jersey is Carlos Sastre's!
I love it when a plan comes together.
Next year I'm going to get Ronny Scholz on the podium through allegations that will disqualify 90% of the field. That will be true awesomeness.
P.S.
I miss my bike. It's been in the shop undergoing a comprehensive rebuild trying to chase down the mess ups the originating bike shop incorporated during the initial build. Let's just say that the shop I bought it from did a rather sloppy job on building the bike in the first place. I finally decided to have it rebuilt so I could stop bringing the bike into the shop to repack my bottom bracket or chase down other weird things that shouldn't be happening.
I miss it. Not that I could ride right now without the ability to breathe without coughing. Or, really, without being able to breathe through my nose at all.
It would be nice, however, if my wife didn't walk around the house pushing her bike all day long. She eats with it, does the dishes with it . . . It's just rude. She even took it out to dinner last night.
I miss it. Not that I could ride right now without the ability to breathe without coughing. Or, really, without being able to breathe through my nose at all.
It would be nice, however, if my wife didn't walk around the house pushing her bike all day long. She eats with it, does the dishes with it . . . It's just rude. She even took it out to dinner last night.
Let Me Describe to You What's Going On in My Sinuses Right Now
Not really. However, I can tell you that it feels like I snorted up two flaming tennis balls and they refuse to move.
It hurts. Am considering blasting caps.
It hurts. Am considering blasting caps.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
My Little Princess
Gert likes me. I mean, seriously likes me. I don't know what I've done to deserve it. Yes, I'm her dad and she has a natural affection for me. Of course.
She makes me feel like a good dad. No, strike that. She makes me feel like Super Dad. That, in her eyes, I can do no wrong. Even when I'm an idiot and I do something wrong, she pats me on my cheek and says, "That's okay Daddy. You did your best."
Last night she went shoe shopping with her mom. Apparently it was a strictly fabulous experience. Shoes were tried on and now she no longer looks like David Banner transforming into the Hulk. Aside from her trepidation that this is yet another sign that she is growing up, which is something she defiantly does NOT want to do, she had fun.
They stopped at the local grocery store (now with lower prices) to pick up something. After they were checking out, they paused by a bench. It's the same bench where Gert and I have waited for mom while she checked out. It's difficult to tell to the naked eye, but this particular bench is not actually in the grocery store. It lays at the bottom of the ocean and when you sit down, you have to swim and avoid the fish and dolphins. It's a very special bench.
Gert stopped at the bench and said, "This is my special bench with Daddy! I need to sit here to remember my Daddy." So she sat down with a pensive look on her face, while the rest of the shoppers assumed that her father was dead and not sitting at home listening to Neil Young. She sat for a moment, reminiscing about the good times we've had swimming on that bench next to the machine that dispenses lottery tickets, hopped off and they came home.
Later in the evening I was tucking her into bed after reading a few pages from her book (more on that later). She hugged me. "Daddy, I'm never going to get married."
"Why not? Not that I'm complaining."
"I'm going to live here forever with you." Then she put her arms around my neck, hugging me cheek to cheek.
There are a few moments in life that can be described as perfect. And, frequently, those that are deemed perfect rarely pass muster upon reflection. This moment, with my child's cheek against mine and her small hands laced around my neck I experienced a perfect moment. One that I have folded neatly and filed away for another time.
About the book . . . she's recently become obsessed with the movie A Little Princess. Not the Shirley Temple version, but the superior Alfonso Cuaron version from 1995. I say superior in a completely superlative manner. Cuaron crafted and shot the most perfect children's movie ever made simply by realizing that kids aren't stupid and have the capacity to appreciate beauty and magic.
My daughter certainly does. She loves that movie with all her heart and has recently begun reading the book with her mom. Gert's five, yet she follows the narrative clearly and is engrossed in the written story of Sara Crewe. She even recognizes parts that were not filmed and subtle changes to the story.
I believe her connection to the story is twofold. One, it's very much about magic. Not the kind of magic that actually alters the world around you, but the kind that you believe in from inside of you. The kind of magic that transforms the person that you are inside, that allows you to see beauty in all manner of things. Gert has that kind of magic, and a staunch belief in it.
Second, is the root of the story. Yes, it's about a child suffering in an adult world. Children love that sort of story. But, at its heart, it's a love story. Not a romantic love, but familial love. Sara and her father are separated and torn apart by horrific means. But they fight, against all logic, against all odds, against the very forces of time, distance and even death, to be together as a family.
Gert makes me feel like Captain Crewe and she's my Sara, my Little Princess.
There's a scene in the movie that I can no longer physically bear to watch because of Gert (and she's noted the difference between the film and book version as well). They sit in Sara's room at her school, trying to say goodbye as her father leaves for war (unique in the film). Cuaron masterfully and gently cuts from a master shot to a series of medium shots and eventually to a closeup of the father and daughter. Sara traces her father's face.
"What are you doing," he asks. "Memorizing me by heart?"
"No," Sara replies. "I already know you by heart."
Tears me up every time because, by the time it gets to that point, that final close up, I no longer see two actors. I see the face of my own daughter looking at me.
So, for my little Gert I give you her favorite song from the movie. It's called Kindle My Heart. The very fact that she has the song, and the circumstances under which I was able to provide it to her, may only lead her to believe I really can do anything.
But, my little Gert, as Captain Crewe said, you can be anything you want to be, my love, as long as you believe. And I believe that you are, and always will be, my little princess.
Even if you do grow up and get married. Even with big feet.
She makes me feel like a good dad. No, strike that. She makes me feel like Super Dad. That, in her eyes, I can do no wrong. Even when I'm an idiot and I do something wrong, she pats me on my cheek and says, "That's okay Daddy. You did your best."
Last night she went shoe shopping with her mom. Apparently it was a strictly fabulous experience. Shoes were tried on and now she no longer looks like David Banner transforming into the Hulk. Aside from her trepidation that this is yet another sign that she is growing up, which is something she defiantly does NOT want to do, she had fun.
They stopped at the local grocery store (now with lower prices) to pick up something. After they were checking out, they paused by a bench. It's the same bench where Gert and I have waited for mom while she checked out. It's difficult to tell to the naked eye, but this particular bench is not actually in the grocery store. It lays at the bottom of the ocean and when you sit down, you have to swim and avoid the fish and dolphins. It's a very special bench.
Gert stopped at the bench and said, "This is my special bench with Daddy! I need to sit here to remember my Daddy." So she sat down with a pensive look on her face, while the rest of the shoppers assumed that her father was dead and not sitting at home listening to Neil Young. She sat for a moment, reminiscing about the good times we've had swimming on that bench next to the machine that dispenses lottery tickets, hopped off and they came home.
Later in the evening I was tucking her into bed after reading a few pages from her book (more on that later). She hugged me. "Daddy, I'm never going to get married."
"Why not? Not that I'm complaining."
"I'm going to live here forever with you." Then she put her arms around my neck, hugging me cheek to cheek.
There are a few moments in life that can be described as perfect. And, frequently, those that are deemed perfect rarely pass muster upon reflection. This moment, with my child's cheek against mine and her small hands laced around my neck I experienced a perfect moment. One that I have folded neatly and filed away for another time.
About the book . . . she's recently become obsessed with the movie A Little Princess. Not the Shirley Temple version, but the superior Alfonso Cuaron version from 1995. I say superior in a completely superlative manner. Cuaron crafted and shot the most perfect children's movie ever made simply by realizing that kids aren't stupid and have the capacity to appreciate beauty and magic.
My daughter certainly does. She loves that movie with all her heart and has recently begun reading the book with her mom. Gert's five, yet she follows the narrative clearly and is engrossed in the written story of Sara Crewe. She even recognizes parts that were not filmed and subtle changes to the story.
I believe her connection to the story is twofold. One, it's very much about magic. Not the kind of magic that actually alters the world around you, but the kind that you believe in from inside of you. The kind of magic that transforms the person that you are inside, that allows you to see beauty in all manner of things. Gert has that kind of magic, and a staunch belief in it.
Second, is the root of the story. Yes, it's about a child suffering in an adult world. Children love that sort of story. But, at its heart, it's a love story. Not a romantic love, but familial love. Sara and her father are separated and torn apart by horrific means. But they fight, against all logic, against all odds, against the very forces of time, distance and even death, to be together as a family.
Gert makes me feel like Captain Crewe and she's my Sara, my Little Princess.
There's a scene in the movie that I can no longer physically bear to watch because of Gert (and she's noted the difference between the film and book version as well). They sit in Sara's room at her school, trying to say goodbye as her father leaves for war (unique in the film). Cuaron masterfully and gently cuts from a master shot to a series of medium shots and eventually to a closeup of the father and daughter. Sara traces her father's face.
"What are you doing," he asks. "Memorizing me by heart?"
"No," Sara replies. "I already know you by heart."
Tears me up every time because, by the time it gets to that point, that final close up, I no longer see two actors. I see the face of my own daughter looking at me.
So, for my little Gert I give you her favorite song from the movie. It's called Kindle My Heart. The very fact that she has the song, and the circumstances under which I was able to provide it to her, may only lead her to believe I really can do anything.
But, my little Gert, as Captain Crewe said, you can be anything you want to be, my love, as long as you believe. And I believe that you are, and always will be, my little princess.
Even if you do grow up and get married. Even with big feet.
Friday, January 12, 2007
An Open Question
Okay, I have an open question. I've been doing some soul searching and I need opinions because, frankly, it freaks me out a little.
I've been diabetic for 25 years (!). Since I was 8, when a violent stomach flu ruined my last opportunity to enjoy Halloween properly. I've had ups and downs, sure, but I've been under fantastic (fabulous!) control for the last 9 years or so. I met my wife 9 years ago too, so you do the math.
Now, with all the cycling and what not, I've reached a point where I need more flexibility with my treatment. I've reached a crossroads.
Should I switch to an insulin pump? In some respects, it would be freeing. And in others, it freaks me out. It would always be on me. When I sleep, swim, shower, ride, wrestle with dog . . . all the time. Always. But it would change my life. I could change my eating habits totally, have more control over when I get insulin, how I get insulin, how long and far I can ride.
I know it all sounds like positives, but I'd have a machine attached to me 24 hours a day. So, what do you guys think? Wait! Before you comment, look at what I would get (obviously, the geekiest version possible) and give me your thoughts. And please, comment on the stuff I'm freaking out about, not just "you will be healthier, blah blah blah blah blah)":
Super Duper Insulin Pump
I've been diabetic for 25 years (!). Since I was 8, when a violent stomach flu ruined my last opportunity to enjoy Halloween properly. I've had ups and downs, sure, but I've been under fantastic (fabulous!) control for the last 9 years or so. I met my wife 9 years ago too, so you do the math.
Now, with all the cycling and what not, I've reached a point where I need more flexibility with my treatment. I've reached a crossroads.
Should I switch to an insulin pump? In some respects, it would be freeing. And in others, it freaks me out. It would always be on me. When I sleep, swim, shower, ride, wrestle with dog . . . all the time. Always. But it would change my life. I could change my eating habits totally, have more control over when I get insulin, how I get insulin, how long and far I can ride.
I know it all sounds like positives, but I'd have a machine attached to me 24 hours a day. So, what do you guys think? Wait! Before you comment, look at what I would get (obviously, the geekiest version possible) and give me your thoughts. And please, comment on the stuff I'm freaking out about, not just "you will be healthier, blah blah blah blah blah)":
Super Duper Insulin Pump
You Oughtta Know
I'm addicted to this band. I can't help it.
Click on the "play" button on the radio and then listen. Pretty simple. If you want a good introdcution, if it doesn't load this song automatically, choose "How it Ends."
And, yes, if you saw Little Miss Sunshine they did the music for it. "How it Ends" was played when they were pushing the minibus out of the hotel parking lot at the end of the film.
Also, eMusic subscribers, the album How it Ends is available for download.
Click on the "play" button on the radio and then listen. Pretty simple. If you want a good introdcution, if it doesn't load this song automatically, choose "How it Ends."
And, yes, if you saw Little Miss Sunshine they did the music for it. "How it Ends" was played when they were pushing the minibus out of the hotel parking lot at the end of the film.
Also, eMusic subscribers, the album How it Ends is available for download.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Hee Hee
Dense gas is cool.
Oh, national nerd day was this week so I guess this qualifies. Or not. It's just cool.
Oh, national nerd day was this week so I guess this qualifies. Or not. It's just cool.
Ladies and Gentlemen We are Floating in Space
As my recently Black Cherry colored wife mentioned on her blog, our family is planning a vacation blow out to end all vacation blow outs (she also neglected to mention her new shoes and pedals that are now fully installed and adjusted to her needs so that she can learn to spin in a perfect circle).
Literally. We're taking the girls to Walt Disney World before Gert starts kindergarten. After that, no more theme park based trips. If we travel, it will be somewhere we've never been and will be interesting. I have a list of destinations and attractions that I'd like to visit in my lifetime and they aren't in Florida. For example, I want to tour the entire of the Smithsonian. I know I'm alone in that goal, the girls can go to a spa that week, but I want to wander that sucker for as long as it takes.
Not that there's anything wrong with Disney. I like Disney World. I think it's pretty well documented. That being said, the US is a huge country, with a ton of things to see. I'd love to explore it. The deserts, the mountains, the plains, the coasts (and think of all the places my wife and I could ride our bikes!).
So, in the process of planning the blowout we're looking to take the price down as low as possible. It helps having a place like Magical Journeys to help. They are fantastic. They will not only book your vacation, they will monitor package prices and get you the better deal as time goes on. Just today they emailed me to let me know they revised my price due to a new package released by Disney and they saved me $408. That's $102 per family member. Awesome.
Recently, after using a new-fangled technique we discovered in Popular Pneumonix called "Arithmetic" ("Arithmetoc" according to Tom Waits) we figured out that driving, even with adding two days and an extra night in the kennel for Finnegan, would save us $780. Don't weep for Finnegan. His kennel has a pool and he gets to play all day with a bunch of other dogs. He likes it better than home.
Because we revised with driving, the girls are now moaning with the following complaints:
1. Two days each way? OMG! That's terrible. 11 hours the first day? Ugh. This sucks. Why can't we fly?
Answer: Raise $780 and you can fly. Also, I'm planning the stops in central to southern Georgia on the way down and Tennessee on the way back so that there will be an indoor pool and kid stuff. Plus, more money for souvenirs.
2. In our SATURN? Oh, it's so small!
Answer: You underestimate your Grandfather's need to pamper his girls. Just wait, if he doesn't offer the van he'll offer to drive us down in the RV himself, book massages for each of the girls on the way down and hire butlers to wait on them hand an foot. It is his life's mission to make sure his little girls are happy and nothing will stop him. And, also, I once drove to Texas with my mom and brother in a car about the same size as the Saturn and we lived. And, also, my brother farts. A lot.
3. We will not get to fly through a cloud.
Answer: Dad is crushed. Gert's biggest dream was to fly through a cloud. Dad is a horrible person who has crushed the hopes and dreams of a sweet, loving five-year-old who just this morning told him that he does the best job of putting the barrettes in her hair so that it doesn't fall in her eyes and it looks best when he does it. The same girl who, a mere hour before, had told him that she was glad that he and mommy got married because she wouldn't want any other mom and dad because we are the best. And that stupid daddy had to go and ruin it.
All this following on the heels that while we were in Tennessee I could not find her the actual Wabash Cannonball. And, believe me, I spent more time trying that I really should have.
But $780 can buy a hell of a lot of bribes to heal that wound. Not to mention that we can always fly to Chicago for a fun weekend and still fly through a cloud for a much cheaper price.
Ultimately, Gert seems to have forgiven me. The indoor pools helped. However, when I explained that driving would give us more mobility, including driving out to the Cape to visit Kennedy Space Center.
"What's that," she asked.
"That's where they launch the space shuttle."
"THE SPACE SHUTTLE!" Her eyes were wide and I described the rocket garden and getting to see assembly rooms and things that have actually gone to space. She was rapt, excited, dreamy even.
She is so our daughter. A little geek at heart.
"Yeah, but dad," she said in closing, "you know they won't let you go in a rocket. You aren't allowed."
"I know, Gert. I know. That's what it says on the court order."
Literally. We're taking the girls to Walt Disney World before Gert starts kindergarten. After that, no more theme park based trips. If we travel, it will be somewhere we've never been and will be interesting. I have a list of destinations and attractions that I'd like to visit in my lifetime and they aren't in Florida. For example, I want to tour the entire of the Smithsonian. I know I'm alone in that goal, the girls can go to a spa that week, but I want to wander that sucker for as long as it takes.
Not that there's anything wrong with Disney. I like Disney World. I think it's pretty well documented. That being said, the US is a huge country, with a ton of things to see. I'd love to explore it. The deserts, the mountains, the plains, the coasts (and think of all the places my wife and I could ride our bikes!).
So, in the process of planning the blowout we're looking to take the price down as low as possible. It helps having a place like Magical Journeys to help. They are fantastic. They will not only book your vacation, they will monitor package prices and get you the better deal as time goes on. Just today they emailed me to let me know they revised my price due to a new package released by Disney and they saved me $408. That's $102 per family member. Awesome.
Recently, after using a new-fangled technique we discovered in Popular Pneumonix called "Arithmetic" ("Arithmetoc" according to Tom Waits) we figured out that driving, even with adding two days and an extra night in the kennel for Finnegan, would save us $780. Don't weep for Finnegan. His kennel has a pool and he gets to play all day with a bunch of other dogs. He likes it better than home.
Because we revised with driving, the girls are now moaning with the following complaints:
1. Two days each way? OMG! That's terrible. 11 hours the first day? Ugh. This sucks. Why can't we fly?
Answer: Raise $780 and you can fly. Also, I'm planning the stops in central to southern Georgia on the way down and Tennessee on the way back so that there will be an indoor pool and kid stuff. Plus, more money for souvenirs.
2. In our SATURN? Oh, it's so small!
Answer: You underestimate your Grandfather's need to pamper his girls. Just wait, if he doesn't offer the van he'll offer to drive us down in the RV himself, book massages for each of the girls on the way down and hire butlers to wait on them hand an foot. It is his life's mission to make sure his little girls are happy and nothing will stop him. And, also, I once drove to Texas with my mom and brother in a car about the same size as the Saturn and we lived. And, also, my brother farts. A lot.
3. We will not get to fly through a cloud.
Answer: Dad is crushed. Gert's biggest dream was to fly through a cloud. Dad is a horrible person who has crushed the hopes and dreams of a sweet, loving five-year-old who just this morning told him that he does the best job of putting the barrettes in her hair so that it doesn't fall in her eyes and it looks best when he does it. The same girl who, a mere hour before, had told him that she was glad that he and mommy got married because she wouldn't want any other mom and dad because we are the best. And that stupid daddy had to go and ruin it.
All this following on the heels that while we were in Tennessee I could not find her the actual Wabash Cannonball. And, believe me, I spent more time trying that I really should have.
But $780 can buy a hell of a lot of bribes to heal that wound. Not to mention that we can always fly to Chicago for a fun weekend and still fly through a cloud for a much cheaper price.
Ultimately, Gert seems to have forgiven me. The indoor pools helped. However, when I explained that driving would give us more mobility, including driving out to the Cape to visit Kennedy Space Center.
"What's that," she asked.
"That's where they launch the space shuttle."
"THE SPACE SHUTTLE!" Her eyes were wide and I described the rocket garden and getting to see assembly rooms and things that have actually gone to space. She was rapt, excited, dreamy even.
She is so our daughter. A little geek at heart.
"Yeah, but dad," she said in closing, "you know they won't let you go in a rocket. You aren't allowed."
"I know, Gert. I know. That's what it says on the court order."
Monday, January 08, 2007
The Emperor Has No Clothes
Ah, little Dickie Pound. He's slicker than a greased pig. But Dan at Rant Your Head Off has taken the time to shine a light on Mr. Pound using this weekend's New York Times article and finds that advancing his name as the arbitrator of clean living and sport doesn't actually use facts to prove his point. If the facts don't support his stance, he'll just make them up.
Again, I have to ask, what price must be paid for clean sport? Are we subscribing to the old adage of "You can't make an omelete without breaking a few eggs?"
The problem for me is that the man who the media uses as the authority on anti-doping because he is the head of WADA. But, in this case, it's like using Charles Foster Kane as a luminary for journalistic integrity because he owned a few papers (that he's fictional isn't really something we should consider).
Once again, where does the truth lay in these doping cases? And how does history end up viewing dopers.
Turns out, according to some cycling fans, if you die on Mount Ventoux while doped to the gills on speed, you can still be a hero (and get a monument, for that matter). If you are Eddy Merckx, it doesn't matter if you tested positive twice in your career. You're still the king. And Jaques Antequil? Well, hell, he liked to say you can't win the Tour de France on mineral water alone. Richard Virenque? Still a national hero. Johan Museeuw? Actually banned from working in cycling because of doping. Yet, somehow he still gets to work for Patrick Lefevre and is still vaunted for his brilliant rides in the classics. Patrick Lefevre? Well, he can employ his old pet and still get to argue about the ethics of hiring Ivan Basso. Go figure.
These guys all are considered giants in cycling. No one questions their results in other races and, in some cases, their past infractions are swept under the rug. But Floyd Landis? He comes up with a strange Testosterone ratio and cycling whipes his record clean, drums him out and destroys his career. Paris-Nice? Of course, he had to dope there. In fact, when he rode in his first mountain bike race as a kid, wearing sweatpants, you know he couldn't do that on Tang and Flintstones vitamins alone. Right? He's a cheat. Dick Pound says so.
What is it cycling? Is doping a problem the plagues the sport? If so, aren't all dopers doing harm to the sport? Event the legends?
Doping is a problem in sport. It has been for some time now. And the guilty should be punished accordingly and the innocent should have a fair chance. Tests should not be considered infallable and the accused deserve a fair chance to defend themselves.
One would hope that the man who punishes the guilty would have a closer relationship to the truth than Mr. Pound.
Again, I have to ask, what price must be paid for clean sport? Are we subscribing to the old adage of "You can't make an omelete without breaking a few eggs?"
The problem for me is that the man who the media uses as the authority on anti-doping because he is the head of WADA. But, in this case, it's like using Charles Foster Kane as a luminary for journalistic integrity because he owned a few papers (that he's fictional isn't really something we should consider).
Once again, where does the truth lay in these doping cases? And how does history end up viewing dopers.
Turns out, according to some cycling fans, if you die on Mount Ventoux while doped to the gills on speed, you can still be a hero (and get a monument, for that matter). If you are Eddy Merckx, it doesn't matter if you tested positive twice in your career. You're still the king. And Jaques Antequil? Well, hell, he liked to say you can't win the Tour de France on mineral water alone. Richard Virenque? Still a national hero. Johan Museeuw? Actually banned from working in cycling because of doping. Yet, somehow he still gets to work for Patrick Lefevre and is still vaunted for his brilliant rides in the classics. Patrick Lefevre? Well, he can employ his old pet and still get to argue about the ethics of hiring Ivan Basso. Go figure.
These guys all are considered giants in cycling. No one questions their results in other races and, in some cases, their past infractions are swept under the rug. But Floyd Landis? He comes up with a strange Testosterone ratio and cycling whipes his record clean, drums him out and destroys his career. Paris-Nice? Of course, he had to dope there. In fact, when he rode in his first mountain bike race as a kid, wearing sweatpants, you know he couldn't do that on Tang and Flintstones vitamins alone. Right? He's a cheat. Dick Pound says so.
What is it cycling? Is doping a problem the plagues the sport? If so, aren't all dopers doing harm to the sport? Event the legends?
Doping is a problem in sport. It has been for some time now. And the guilty should be punished accordingly and the innocent should have a fair chance. Tests should not be considered infallable and the accused deserve a fair chance to defend themselves.
One would hope that the man who punishes the guilty would have a closer relationship to the truth than Mr. Pound.
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Five Things You Didn't Know About Me
I was recently, if you call several weeks ago, tagged to write “five things you didn’t know about me”. Well, since you actually read this blog (poor bastard); there’s not much you don’t know or couldn’t figure out. But, in the spirit of the meme, I’ll give it a shot.
1. I drink three pots of coffee a day. There is a distinct possibility that I died three years ago and the only thing keeping my synapses firing is the caffeine. Sweet caffeiney goodness. That being said, I drink the best coffee available in St. Louis. Nope, not those hacks at Kaldi’s. VJ Coffee & Teas in Chesterfield. Fantastic. Joe is the man to talk to about coffee in this town. It’s too bad he doesn’t get the love and respect he deserves. A cup of Haitian Bleu will change your life, my friends.
2. I never learned how to ride a bike. When I was five, my neighbor’s dad was trying to teach her to ride a bike. She kept falling and crying. Frustrated, he looked over at me—I was probably watching or doing something stupid at the time—and said, “I bet Gary can ride a bike.” The fact that I had never tried did not stop me. I hopped on, he gave me a shove and off I went. It was great. Shortly thereafter I got my first bike. Ironically, on that day, even though I could ride like the wind, I had no idea how to stop. My best idea was to ride at a breakneck speed into a neighbor’s garage door. It worked. Not the smartest idea I’ve ever come up with, but also not the worst.
3. On a related note, I honestly believe that every human being can instinctually ride a bike. The problem lays in the fear of falling. If you fall, you get hurt. Therefore, your natural fear instinct sets in and you freak out. Get over that simple fear and your brain will naturally figure out how to balance. Case in point, the fact that I could ride with no problem. Another case in point, my daughter was riding a two-wheeler (in the grass) when she was three—on the road at four.
4. I was once handcuffed in the backseat of a car and brought to the Creve Coeur police station. We were not doing anything specifically illegal, but I was underage, out past curfew and parked in a suspicious spot. Ironically, I was in that suspicious spot because I was afraid of getting busted for a curfew violation. Well . . . my great plan backfired. Brilliant! Oddly enough, urine was involved in some of the things we were “suspected” of doing.
5. Speaking of urine, and keeping a theme of those who tasked me with this project . . . prior to the 2006 Tour de France, I was not a Floyd Landis fan. I rooted for Levi in the Tour of California. Didn’t root too hard for anyone during Paris-Nice and was pulling for Levi again during the Tour. Of course, I rooted like hell on the stage into Morzine. And I was happy when he one. But, honestly, I wasn’t a fan. I was appreciative of his efforts and pleased with the American win, but that was about it. Oh, sure, I waxed poetic about his epic win, but I didn’t care much about him.
Then his A sample came back with a wonky testosterone ratio. It didn’t seem right to me. Yes, his ride was superhuman; yes he looked angry when he crossed the line. But cheating? I didn’t quite buy it. Lots of BS from an enormous tool at WADA and chest thumping from every corner of the sports world still didn’t convince me. Which is odd. Generally I’m ready to convict. I even questioned the Godfather of American cycling at times (I can’t say his name, lest I sleep with the fishes). But I had a hard time buying it with Floyd.
Now, of course, I’m an unabashed Floyd supporter. Go figure. I also have a distinct irritation with the cycling community—teams riders and fans—as a whole and their hypocritical, often two-faced reaction to doping and those either suspected or convicted thereof. But that’s another blog filled with anger, spite and vitriol.
That’s all I have.
1. I drink three pots of coffee a day. There is a distinct possibility that I died three years ago and the only thing keeping my synapses firing is the caffeine. Sweet caffeiney goodness. That being said, I drink the best coffee available in St. Louis. Nope, not those hacks at Kaldi’s. VJ Coffee & Teas in Chesterfield. Fantastic. Joe is the man to talk to about coffee in this town. It’s too bad he doesn’t get the love and respect he deserves. A cup of Haitian Bleu will change your life, my friends.
2. I never learned how to ride a bike. When I was five, my neighbor’s dad was trying to teach her to ride a bike. She kept falling and crying. Frustrated, he looked over at me—I was probably watching or doing something stupid at the time—and said, “I bet Gary can ride a bike.” The fact that I had never tried did not stop me. I hopped on, he gave me a shove and off I went. It was great. Shortly thereafter I got my first bike. Ironically, on that day, even though I could ride like the wind, I had no idea how to stop. My best idea was to ride at a breakneck speed into a neighbor’s garage door. It worked. Not the smartest idea I’ve ever come up with, but also not the worst.
3. On a related note, I honestly believe that every human being can instinctually ride a bike. The problem lays in the fear of falling. If you fall, you get hurt. Therefore, your natural fear instinct sets in and you freak out. Get over that simple fear and your brain will naturally figure out how to balance. Case in point, the fact that I could ride with no problem. Another case in point, my daughter was riding a two-wheeler (in the grass) when she was three—on the road at four.
4. I was once handcuffed in the backseat of a car and brought to the Creve Coeur police station. We were not doing anything specifically illegal, but I was underage, out past curfew and parked in a suspicious spot. Ironically, I was in that suspicious spot because I was afraid of getting busted for a curfew violation. Well . . . my great plan backfired. Brilliant! Oddly enough, urine was involved in some of the things we were “suspected” of doing.
5. Speaking of urine, and keeping a theme of those who tasked me with this project . . . prior to the 2006 Tour de France, I was not a Floyd Landis fan. I rooted for Levi in the Tour of California. Didn’t root too hard for anyone during Paris-Nice and was pulling for Levi again during the Tour. Of course, I rooted like hell on the stage into Morzine. And I was happy when he one. But, honestly, I wasn’t a fan. I was appreciative of his efforts and pleased with the American win, but that was about it. Oh, sure, I waxed poetic about his epic win, but I didn’t care much about him.
Then his A sample came back with a wonky testosterone ratio. It didn’t seem right to me. Yes, his ride was superhuman; yes he looked angry when he crossed the line. But cheating? I didn’t quite buy it. Lots of BS from an enormous tool at WADA and chest thumping from every corner of the sports world still didn’t convince me. Which is odd. Generally I’m ready to convict. I even questioned the Godfather of American cycling at times (I can’t say his name, lest I sleep with the fishes). But I had a hard time buying it with Floyd.
Now, of course, I’m an unabashed Floyd supporter. Go figure. I also have a distinct irritation with the cycling community—teams riders and fans—as a whole and their hypocritical, often two-faced reaction to doping and those either suspected or convicted thereof. But that’s another blog filled with anger, spite and vitriol.
That’s all I have.
Friday, January 05, 2007
Things, Stuff and Other Things
I'm still getting caught up. But I'm failing. I've had a headache all week and, yesterday, it caused stomach distress that actually made me hop off the bike after half an hour and declare, "Screw this! I feel like I swallowed a rock." Oddly enough, I do not think I'm sick. Technology has been routinely breaking around me and I feel like I'm spending most of my waking time either installing software, fixing things or reprogramming stuff to make it work like it did before. When I'm not doing that, I'm trying to figure out what is going wrong so I can either reinstall software, fix something or reprogram it so that it works like it did before.
Add to that the fact that DirecTV sent bad program guide data to all of its TIVOs that caused all of the season passes to decide not to record this week and, well, I'm bitchy. With head pain.
Anyway, I've decided to start researching drugs' effects on animals, starting with spiders. Please enjoy this Canadian documentary about spiders and drugs. I think you will find it informative and illuminating. And, also, possibly funny. But not as funny as the book I'm going to write about pirates some day.
Add to that the fact that DirecTV sent bad program guide data to all of its TIVOs that caused all of the season passes to decide not to record this week and, well, I'm bitchy. With head pain.
Anyway, I've decided to start researching drugs' effects on animals, starting with spiders. Please enjoy this Canadian documentary about spiders and drugs. I think you will find it informative and illuminating. And, also, possibly funny. But not as funny as the book I'm going to write about pirates some day.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
My Bold Cycling Prediction of the Year
So, 2007 is upon us and the next cycling season starts in a few short months, if you can believe it. That being said, I'm not sure if the season will be as exciting as the Floyd Landis Chronicles have made the off-season.
But that's beside the point. No doping talk here instead . . . Big riders are starting to toss out their plans for 2007 and what races they will target. So, I'll take today's big announcement and pick it apart.
Goal: Iban Mayo is targeting the Giro.
Prediction: He'll tank in the mountains and abandon. He will then chalk it up as simply "training" for the Tour because he isn't trying to do a double.
Fair enough. But I think Mayo is done. It's sad, because I really like the guy as a rider. That being said, he's not the same man he once was. Talent? Yes. Grit? No.
Yes, I know, he kicked ass up La Toussuire at the Dauphine last year. But, have you ever seen an athlete that doesn't have the fight in his eyes? I just don't see him as being hungry. Honestly. He seems flat and boring now.
I hope I'm wrong and I hope he does well in the Giro and then comes out attacking in the Tour. But, I just see Mayo these days and think "Crash and Burn".
That being said, I don't know who my favorite will be going into the Tour this season, for obvious reasons. I want to support Levi, but who knows what he'll be doing. I just like the guy, I admit. I don't think he'll ever add a Tour win to his Palmares, but I'd like to see him in yellow for a day. And now that Basso (however you fell about that) is riding for Disco, well . . . I guess there's not a huge chance for Levi to get some glory.
But that's beside the point. No doping talk here instead . . . Big riders are starting to toss out their plans for 2007 and what races they will target. So, I'll take today's big announcement and pick it apart.
Goal: Iban Mayo is targeting the Giro.
Prediction: He'll tank in the mountains and abandon. He will then chalk it up as simply "training" for the Tour because he isn't trying to do a double.
Fair enough. But I think Mayo is done. It's sad, because I really like the guy as a rider. That being said, he's not the same man he once was. Talent? Yes. Grit? No.
Yes, I know, he kicked ass up La Toussuire at the Dauphine last year. But, have you ever seen an athlete that doesn't have the fight in his eyes? I just don't see him as being hungry. Honestly. He seems flat and boring now.
I hope I'm wrong and I hope he does well in the Giro and then comes out attacking in the Tour. But, I just see Mayo these days and think "Crash and Burn".
That being said, I don't know who my favorite will be going into the Tour this season, for obvious reasons. I want to support Levi, but who knows what he'll be doing. I just like the guy, I admit. I don't think he'll ever add a Tour win to his Palmares, but I'd like to see him in yellow for a day. And now that Basso (however you fell about that) is riding for Disco, well . . . I guess there's not a huge chance for Levi to get some glory.
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