Feeling cocky and full of ourselves, Keith and I decided to take on "The Red Tail Trail' in Conway, New Hampster on our mountain bikes. Hell, we knew what hill climbing was all about. Nothing they had could be that much more extreme than our rides in the hills of southern Maine.
I was full of piss and vinegar and over confident. We parked and rode. 5 1/2 miles of climbing later we secured the top of Black Cap Mountain. The piss and vinegar was gone and I was certainly not over confident anymore. My cockiness replaced with a bit of a gut knot at the thought of getting down from here.
Our friend who had ridden here before had turned around and returned from whence he came. A wimpy 2 hour outing. A brief discussion with some gnarly dude riding an Ellsworth turned us onto a trail back that would give us a true loop. We probably should have turned around and limped back. But Keith and I pressed on. Dumb and dumber.
Instead of down, or at least a trail approaching level, we climbed some more. Wondering if I would ever get out of Granny gear, the trail finally decided to head down. It did not screw around. It went from up to down like a see saw. Hold on to your jock and keep your big butt back bud, we were in for some serious downhill action. My legs and arms were frozen hard to the bike and a big grin plastered on my face. Or was it a silent scream not able to make it out of my mouth. Serious pucker factor anyway.
A couple of miles or so into this intense downstroke I decided to stop and take stock. My body was one big knotted muscle. Riding a hardtail on this stuff made me vow to build up that new Slayer dual suspension ASAP. Shut up Keith. Yeah, yeah. I ain't the tough guy I pretend to be.
Proving that I was more than one card shy of being coherent or having a clue, I decided to check out the heat index of my disc rotors. Because I had full finger DR gloves on, I touched the edge of the rear rotor to my wrist. A word of advice. Don't do this. I now sport a 3 inch blister on my arm. Like I said earlier. Dumb and dumber. If there was any question as which one of us was dumber, it was cleared up for sure now. I will say it looks kinda cool. My wife was not impressed though. And I thought chicks dug scars. Go figure.
I need to come up with some riding lie to cover up this one.
"Dude, I was slammin her hard for a couple of miles and catching air every 20 feet. All of sudden I stacked it. The bike and I swapped ends a few times. Ended up in the pucker after mowing down a pine or two. And all I got was this burn from the rear rotor when the bike ran over me."
That one might work. Yeah right.
So I sit here after a 4 1/2 hour body bashing mind blowing ride in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. This Fat Flatlander from Maine has been put in his place. I can't wait to go back.
Blatant Self Indulgence
Sunday, July 09, 2006
Friday, July 07, 2006
The Phases of My Moon
Recently I have had the opportunity to watch the moon as it passed through several of it's phases. We have been blessed with some regularly spaced clear nights. I first noticed it as it presented itself as "the fingernail moon". A name I gave the crescent phase when I was a small fry. Then some days later I looked up one evening while walking with Stub on her late night constitutional and noticed it in 1/2 phase. Tonight it hung up there close but not quite in full phase. 3/4 I guess.
And tonight I also replayed the last 3 weeks and damn if I did not come up with a kind of correlation to my mood swings or bio-rhythms of the last few weeks. I tend to fall into funks. Some would call them depressions, but I have not been able to completely accept or admit to being saddled with that particular problem. I guess if some shrink were to assess my outlook and approach to Life, they would check off the box next to depressive tendencies. But I don't think so. I just get down more than some folks. Denial is such a wonderful tool to use to disown the obvious. I love it.
Anyway, I also considered the popular belief that people tend to get manic when the Moon is full. There are all sorts of references that pop up throughout our culture. I weighed the phases against my most recent energy flows and noticed that during the early birth of the new Moon I was somewhat ambivalent, go with the flow, put one foot in front of the other and not think too deeply about anything. And then just as the moon presented half a face, I fell into a funk and stayed there until yesterday. I did what I had to. I worked at my bike shop, I rode my bike. Null and Void, I went through the motions. My riding was below average. My attention span at the shop was detached at best and I felt like being a nasty tempered jerk. I resisted that urge and I think I came through without putting too many people off.
Today I hit the bike shop ready for another day of low expectations fueled by a lack of enthusiasm. But the day would not allow me this pleasure. I had not the time to work on that low self-esteem thing I get into on a regular basis. From the time I set foot into the shop until 9:30 PM, I was balls to the wall. I multitasked, holding hands, twisting wrenches, selling product and talking on the phone. There were not too many minutes when I was not attempting to cater to 3 or 4 consumers at one time. The day became a juggling act. Many balls in the air at one time. I became Manic Man. Pumped, stoked and energized.
When I got home and stepped out of the truck at 11:30, I looked up and there was the old man in the Moon hanging out and dialing in his full frontal exposure. I wonder if that myth or old wives tale about the full moon and people getting wacky might not have some merit. I should be wasted and ready to fall comatose in bed. Yet, I am here punching these keys wide eyed and bushy tailed. I am a tad concerned about how I will feel and act when the Moon goes full tilt boogie. It will be interesting to pay attention as we move towards the Full Moon. If the mania increases, I will have more respect for some of the old truisms passed down through the ages.
But then I could just be a manic depressive and the whole moon thing is coincidental. Naw. It has to be the Moon. Remember, denial needs supporting information and facts in order to work it's magic. And I need to find them wherever I can.
And tonight I also replayed the last 3 weeks and damn if I did not come up with a kind of correlation to my mood swings or bio-rhythms of the last few weeks. I tend to fall into funks. Some would call them depressions, but I have not been able to completely accept or admit to being saddled with that particular problem. I guess if some shrink were to assess my outlook and approach to Life, they would check off the box next to depressive tendencies. But I don't think so. I just get down more than some folks. Denial is such a wonderful tool to use to disown the obvious. I love it.
Anyway, I also considered the popular belief that people tend to get manic when the Moon is full. There are all sorts of references that pop up throughout our culture. I weighed the phases against my most recent energy flows and noticed that during the early birth of the new Moon I was somewhat ambivalent, go with the flow, put one foot in front of the other and not think too deeply about anything. And then just as the moon presented half a face, I fell into a funk and stayed there until yesterday. I did what I had to. I worked at my bike shop, I rode my bike. Null and Void, I went through the motions. My riding was below average. My attention span at the shop was detached at best and I felt like being a nasty tempered jerk. I resisted that urge and I think I came through without putting too many people off.
Today I hit the bike shop ready for another day of low expectations fueled by a lack of enthusiasm. But the day would not allow me this pleasure. I had not the time to work on that low self-esteem thing I get into on a regular basis. From the time I set foot into the shop until 9:30 PM, I was balls to the wall. I multitasked, holding hands, twisting wrenches, selling product and talking on the phone. There were not too many minutes when I was not attempting to cater to 3 or 4 consumers at one time. The day became a juggling act. Many balls in the air at one time. I became Manic Man. Pumped, stoked and energized.
When I got home and stepped out of the truck at 11:30, I looked up and there was the old man in the Moon hanging out and dialing in his full frontal exposure. I wonder if that myth or old wives tale about the full moon and people getting wacky might not have some merit. I should be wasted and ready to fall comatose in bed. Yet, I am here punching these keys wide eyed and bushy tailed. I am a tad concerned about how I will feel and act when the Moon goes full tilt boogie. It will be interesting to pay attention as we move towards the Full Moon. If the mania increases, I will have more respect for some of the old truisms passed down through the ages.
But then I could just be a manic depressive and the whole moon thing is coincidental. Naw. It has to be the Moon. Remember, denial needs supporting information and facts in order to work it's magic. And I need to find them wherever I can.
Saturday, June 10, 2006
176
Because I had nothing better to do, or because I was avoiding anything that would have been better to do, I just counted up the posts in my blog. This post is number 176. Not necessarily an important marker, nor does it indicate a remarkable dedication to blogging for 1 1/2 years. But in the scheme of my helter skelter jump from one thing to the next type personality, it does show that I am capable of sticking with something for the long term. I have posted in every month since December 2004. For this I feel a small sense of pride.
I know in the world of blogging, I am a lightweight. Certainly in quantity and most likely in quality also. But as the gnarly dude next to me at the starting line of a mountain bike race back in the 80's said to me when I confided my feelings of inferiority at racing, "Dude, there will always be someone faster and there will always be someone slower. Just enjoy the ride."
I know in the world of blogging, I am a lightweight. Certainly in quantity and most likely in quality also. But as the gnarly dude next to me at the starting line of a mountain bike race back in the 80's said to me when I confided my feelings of inferiority at racing, "Dude, there will always be someone faster and there will always be someone slower. Just enjoy the ride."
Women
For some reason I have been thinking of women lately. The classic women as objects of desire type thoughts is not what I am talking about. I have been considering women, men, and the world they have created for each other. Why two sexes? Wouldn't it have been a saner approach to have made us hermaphrodites. A lot of conflict and discontent could have been avoided if we just split in two once in awhile. No muss, no fuss. One sex, one direction. No erections or dysfunctions. Life would sure be damn sight easier to figure out without another sex to screw up the program.
Of course we are what we are. Two alien species forced to cohabitate, fornicate, struggling to relate. Sexual tension, Sugar and spice, vive la difference. Without the women, men would be SOL. But something tells me, without men, women would be able to function just fine. They only keep us around to do the heavy lifting.
I like women. I find their presence to be generally a positive thing. That is as long as I am not in their cross hairs. I would rather face a mob intent on lynching me than face the evil eye of my wife after being caught stupid. And even though after 25 plus years of marriage I should know better, I continue to compromise my safety on a regular basis. There is always some new stupid trick I have to pull. Ever watchful and on guard, my darling snookums is waiting with bated breath to pounce and lay me open.
I could rightfully protest that I am not always the bonehead. That oftentimes she is too quick to pull the trigger over events and circumstances that are not my doing. Shit happens. But unfortunately, my track record is so dismal, she refuses to give me the benefit of the doubt anymore. That honeymoon was over 20 years ago.
So I am resigned now to the fact that everything is my fault. Even the stupidity of my brethren. The War in Iraq, the recent mine explosions, and all the toilet seats left up in all the homes in all of the World. I have decided that there are two sexes for a very good reason. One sex gets the blame and one sex fixes blame. A match made in heaven. Without men, women would have no one to blame. Without women, men would have no one to piss off.
Of course we are what we are. Two alien species forced to cohabitate, fornicate, struggling to relate. Sexual tension, Sugar and spice, vive la difference. Without the women, men would be SOL. But something tells me, without men, women would be able to function just fine. They only keep us around to do the heavy lifting.
I like women. I find their presence to be generally a positive thing. That is as long as I am not in their cross hairs. I would rather face a mob intent on lynching me than face the evil eye of my wife after being caught stupid. And even though after 25 plus years of marriage I should know better, I continue to compromise my safety on a regular basis. There is always some new stupid trick I have to pull. Ever watchful and on guard, my darling snookums is waiting with bated breath to pounce and lay me open.
I could rightfully protest that I am not always the bonehead. That oftentimes she is too quick to pull the trigger over events and circumstances that are not my doing. Shit happens. But unfortunately, my track record is so dismal, she refuses to give me the benefit of the doubt anymore. That honeymoon was over 20 years ago.
So I am resigned now to the fact that everything is my fault. Even the stupidity of my brethren. The War in Iraq, the recent mine explosions, and all the toilet seats left up in all the homes in all of the World. I have decided that there are two sexes for a very good reason. One sex gets the blame and one sex fixes blame. A match made in heaven. Without men, women would have no one to blame. Without women, men would have no one to piss off.
Friday, June 09, 2006
Random Scraps
Lunatics rule, the rest of us drool
Lunatics run amok. Scattering the quiet and calm in every direction. They stand up and scream for the sake of the noise made. They attack our senses and rattle our souls. Hammering nonsense into directives and rules. They focus on the ridiculous and bend our wills to stupid endeavors. And all the while we are distracted by their manic gyrations, the real threats loom. Growing silently patiently waiting for their turn at the front.
Okie Overdrive
Dropping down out of the mountains, I shift into okie overdrive. 70,000 pounds of 18 wheeled momentum gathers steam and I grin as the speedometer creeps up to 90. I hold the wheel loosely, letting the truck find it's own way down the three lane wide super slab. The scenery picks up the pace as it zips by my window. But wait. Oh shit! Some curves ahead. Hugging the inside of the first turn, my hands tighten on the wheel as the truck begins an 18 wheel drift to the outside. A foot of space and a puny guardraill is all that pretends to protect me from a 200 hundred foot bummer of a plunge. Just as I begin to think it is about time to revisit my past and make peace with my maker, the road curves back and I jam hard into it and ride it out. Easing on the brakes, I pass the bail outs at 80 still out of control. One more curve and another drift toward the abyss. Cannot brake now. Cannot engage the tranny, I hang on and hope those new radials live up to their rep. I try the trailer brake. All I see in my mirror is smoke and I have to let up. The road straightens up and I try to find high gear. Grind the gears, double clutch, touch the brake, grind the ...finally the shifter hooks up. Whew!, I ease her down, shift down, and as the engine screams in pain I slow down. The road flattens into the valley floor. Shaking, I pull over to the shoulder and stop. I check my britches. I also check off that stupid trick from my list of fun things to try.
No rose colored glasses here. I almost paid the highest price for being stupid on that night run from Vegas to LA back in 1977.
The Blue Jay
I wanted to kill that fucking Blue Jay. It pounced on that poor sparrow and began pecking it to death. I rushed to the rescue but pulled up short. My emotional knee jerk reaction turned to resignation at the brutality of the natural world. I chased the Jay away and peered down at that poor young sparrow. One wing obviously mangled and useless, it gazed at me from a bloodied eye socket. The eye now in the Jays stomach I guessed. Nothing I could do. Let nature run its course. I turned and walked away. Looking back, I watched a crow that must have been hanging around swoop in and take it. With a small taste of satisfaction I grinned crookedly and thought, "Well, at least that damn Blue Jay didn't get it."
The rest of the day, the violent end of the sparrow popped into my thoughts. I was not sure why it affected me so. But the lesson of that food chain moment had made a point. A rerun of sorts on how the World really works. Life is never secure or truly safe. Hazards exist and predators lurk.
Lunatics run amok. Scattering the quiet and calm in every direction. They stand up and scream for the sake of the noise made. They attack our senses and rattle our souls. Hammering nonsense into directives and rules. They focus on the ridiculous and bend our wills to stupid endeavors. And all the while we are distracted by their manic gyrations, the real threats loom. Growing silently patiently waiting for their turn at the front.
Okie Overdrive
Dropping down out of the mountains, I shift into okie overdrive. 70,000 pounds of 18 wheeled momentum gathers steam and I grin as the speedometer creeps up to 90. I hold the wheel loosely, letting the truck find it's own way down the three lane wide super slab. The scenery picks up the pace as it zips by my window. But wait. Oh shit! Some curves ahead. Hugging the inside of the first turn, my hands tighten on the wheel as the truck begins an 18 wheel drift to the outside. A foot of space and a puny guardraill is all that pretends to protect me from a 200 hundred foot bummer of a plunge. Just as I begin to think it is about time to revisit my past and make peace with my maker, the road curves back and I jam hard into it and ride it out. Easing on the brakes, I pass the bail outs at 80 still out of control. One more curve and another drift toward the abyss. Cannot brake now. Cannot engage the tranny, I hang on and hope those new radials live up to their rep. I try the trailer brake. All I see in my mirror is smoke and I have to let up. The road straightens up and I try to find high gear. Grind the gears, double clutch, touch the brake, grind the ...finally the shifter hooks up. Whew!, I ease her down, shift down, and as the engine screams in pain I slow down. The road flattens into the valley floor. Shaking, I pull over to the shoulder and stop. I check my britches. I also check off that stupid trick from my list of fun things to try.
No rose colored glasses here. I almost paid the highest price for being stupid on that night run from Vegas to LA back in 1977.
The Blue Jay
I wanted to kill that fucking Blue Jay. It pounced on that poor sparrow and began pecking it to death. I rushed to the rescue but pulled up short. My emotional knee jerk reaction turned to resignation at the brutality of the natural world. I chased the Jay away and peered down at that poor young sparrow. One wing obviously mangled and useless, it gazed at me from a bloodied eye socket. The eye now in the Jays stomach I guessed. Nothing I could do. Let nature run its course. I turned and walked away. Looking back, I watched a crow that must have been hanging around swoop in and take it. With a small taste of satisfaction I grinned crookedly and thought, "Well, at least that damn Blue Jay didn't get it."
The rest of the day, the violent end of the sparrow popped into my thoughts. I was not sure why it affected me so. But the lesson of that food chain moment had made a point. A rerun of sorts on how the World really works. Life is never secure or truly safe. Hazards exist and predators lurk.
Saturday, June 03, 2006
The Future is a Chain reaction
Our response to the recent spike in energy prices has me chuckling at the irony of it all. What a bunch of morons our population is when it comes to facing the reality they should have known was coming 40 years ago. Everyone is in a panic to find a way out of a future that seems inevitable. As is our tendency, once again we seem to only look to short term solutions rather than taking the time to think long term. I don't deny that quick fix alternatives and answers are needed, but more planning and thought needs to be done for the long haul. It always is needed but rarely do we show that kind of wisdom.
Regardless, recent events and future ones will force Americans to change their lifestyles. Our conspicuous consumption will be replaced by a more conservation minded mentality. As the price of energy skyrockets, so will the price of even the cheap crap we love to buy. I have seen it in the bike business already. Anyone who buys metal of any kind knows what I am talking about. These higher prices affect everyone, even the manufacturers of cheap junk in Asia.
I predict Americans will begin to spend less on impulse items and be more discerning about what they do buy. Pricing will still remain competitive, but quality will begin to make a comeback. The days of the throwaway lawn mower are numbered. Once we have dropped our consuming for consuming sake lifestyle, the effect on the World economy will be dramatic. The economic spike in China will cool somewhat and everyone will back it off a notch. The World cannot continue to consume on such huge scales. Or we can, and our descendants will be cursing us 100 years from now.
I will admit that it is hard to get fired up about what might be 100 years from now. My future plans get real fuzzy beyond the immediate future of my daughter and what she might have to deal with. But the future is a chain reaction. What we do today has a direct relation to what happens every day beyond this one. Instead of playing lip service to the future we hope for our children, we should put words to action now to ensure it.
Regardless, recent events and future ones will force Americans to change their lifestyles. Our conspicuous consumption will be replaced by a more conservation minded mentality. As the price of energy skyrockets, so will the price of even the cheap crap we love to buy. I have seen it in the bike business already. Anyone who buys metal of any kind knows what I am talking about. These higher prices affect everyone, even the manufacturers of cheap junk in Asia.
I predict Americans will begin to spend less on impulse items and be more discerning about what they do buy. Pricing will still remain competitive, but quality will begin to make a comeback. The days of the throwaway lawn mower are numbered. Once we have dropped our consuming for consuming sake lifestyle, the effect on the World economy will be dramatic. The economic spike in China will cool somewhat and everyone will back it off a notch. The World cannot continue to consume on such huge scales. Or we can, and our descendants will be cursing us 100 years from now.
I will admit that it is hard to get fired up about what might be 100 years from now. My future plans get real fuzzy beyond the immediate future of my daughter and what she might have to deal with. But the future is a chain reaction. What we do today has a direct relation to what happens every day beyond this one. Instead of playing lip service to the future we hope for our children, we should put words to action now to ensure it.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Finding New Music, a follow up
That recent trip to my local music store netted me some top shelf tunes. I went in without a clue about what to buy other than wanting something old, something new, something Jazz, something Rock, and of course something Blues. Pearl Jam and The Chili Peppers took care of something new. Pink Floyd and Neil Young nailed the something old category. And Just because I had heard one good tune on a Jazz hour one Sunday, I picked up Wes Montgomery's "Smokin at the Half Note". Whoah Dude! The man rocks. A live recording at some smoky honky tonk in NYC back in 1965. The first tune set those fine hairs on end. Wes can really strum. And the boys backing him up are no slouches. Wes on guitar. Wynton on piano. Paul on Standup Bass. And Jimmy Cobb - drums. Quality stuff.
As a young lad pumping gas at Clark's "Tank n Tummy" on 109 in Sanbornville, NH in the 60's, I discovered the joy of musical discovery. That is, I learned to take chances on music just because the title sounded good, the band sounded cool, or even the album cover looked spiffy. We sold 8 tracks in a rack in the office along side the Tom's snack display. The music van would stop by every week to re-stock the rack. Besides 8 tracks, the music guy also had thousands of albums overflowing inside that magical van. He would sell me any album I wanted for $1.50. Besides the predictable We Five, The Hollies, Beatles, Stones,Paul Revere and the Raiders, I also discovered The Grateful Dead, Buffalo Springfield, Frank Zappa, Genesis, John Mayall, The Yardbirds, and many other bands that didn't make it into the top 40. Probably my three most eye opening albums found were the first Led Zepplin album, Tull's "This Was" and Cream's "Disraeli Gears". And I got them all for a buck fifty a pop. I was in pig heaven. Didn't save much money those two summers.
Anyway, I learned to take chances on music. My rule was if I liked one song on the album, it was worth a buck fifty. And If I didn't, oh well. I was only out a buck fifty. And though it sometimes drives my wife crazy, I carry this rule of picking music with me to this day. Even with prices for CD's in the $15 dollar range, I don't care. You can't find new music if you don't look.
As a young lad pumping gas at Clark's "Tank n Tummy" on 109 in Sanbornville, NH in the 60's, I discovered the joy of musical discovery. That is, I learned to take chances on music just because the title sounded good, the band sounded cool, or even the album cover looked spiffy. We sold 8 tracks in a rack in the office along side the Tom's snack display. The music van would stop by every week to re-stock the rack. Besides 8 tracks, the music guy also had thousands of albums overflowing inside that magical van. He would sell me any album I wanted for $1.50. Besides the predictable We Five, The Hollies, Beatles, Stones,Paul Revere and the Raiders, I also discovered The Grateful Dead, Buffalo Springfield, Frank Zappa, Genesis, John Mayall, The Yardbirds, and many other bands that didn't make it into the top 40. Probably my three most eye opening albums found were the first Led Zepplin album, Tull's "This Was" and Cream's "Disraeli Gears". And I got them all for a buck fifty a pop. I was in pig heaven. Didn't save much money those two summers.
Anyway, I learned to take chances on music. My rule was if I liked one song on the album, it was worth a buck fifty. And If I didn't, oh well. I was only out a buck fifty. And though it sometimes drives my wife crazy, I carry this rule of picking music with me to this day. Even with prices for CD's in the $15 dollar range, I don't care. You can't find new music if you don't look.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Fresh Music
I had two $25 gift certificates to a local chain of music stores. I had been saving them maybe a year or so. I had to develope an itch that only new music could scratch. The last time I sought something different from the CD collection, I came away unfulfilled. Same old choices, same old sounds. Nothing new and fresh had been acquired in a couple of years. The fiftieth time Tom Petty or Zepplin blasted through the head phones should have been the clue. But it was the second run through of Clannad that told me I was getting desperate for new tunes.
So I grabbed my kid, scooped up Stub the 3 legged wonder dog, and drove the pick up to South Sanford for some serious CD shopping. I shot that 2 gift wad in about 5 minutes. $50 worth was not satisfying my itch. So I laid into the Jazz and Blues section. Didn't think too hard on what to try, I just sorta pointed and grabbed. And on the way out, I snatched an EP by Neil Young. I love picking out music I have no clue about. I have discovered some excellent and memorable music that way. On a whim once when vinyl ruled, I bought Delibes, "Maria", an Italian ballet. The overture was and still is just about the most beautiful piece of music I have ever had the joy to listen to.
Tasting my new tunes had to wait for the routine of my day to transpire. It left me exhausted but with all obligations and duties fulfilled or put off for another day. I sat down at the computer, punched in Pink Floyd's "Dark side of the Moon", and began to groove. In five minutes, my head bounced off the keyboard as I passed out from my full day's labors.
Damn! All this brand new music and I had to wait until I was more alert and awake. Like tonight for instance. Yeah right. Pearl Jam's new album is barely keeping my eyes open. Popping words out on this computer is all that is keeping my eyes open. Well, open most of the time anyway. Burning the candle at both ends is definitely beginning to make an impression.
So I grabbed my kid, scooped up Stub the 3 legged wonder dog, and drove the pick up to South Sanford for some serious CD shopping. I shot that 2 gift wad in about 5 minutes. $50 worth was not satisfying my itch. So I laid into the Jazz and Blues section. Didn't think too hard on what to try, I just sorta pointed and grabbed. And on the way out, I snatched an EP by Neil Young. I love picking out music I have no clue about. I have discovered some excellent and memorable music that way. On a whim once when vinyl ruled, I bought Delibes, "Maria", an Italian ballet. The overture was and still is just about the most beautiful piece of music I have ever had the joy to listen to.
Tasting my new tunes had to wait for the routine of my day to transpire. It left me exhausted but with all obligations and duties fulfilled or put off for another day. I sat down at the computer, punched in Pink Floyd's "Dark side of the Moon", and began to groove. In five minutes, my head bounced off the keyboard as I passed out from my full day's labors.
Damn! All this brand new music and I had to wait until I was more alert and awake. Like tonight for instance. Yeah right. Pearl Jam's new album is barely keeping my eyes open. Popping words out on this computer is all that is keeping my eyes open. Well, open most of the time anyway. Burning the candle at both ends is definitely beginning to make an impression.
Friday, May 12, 2006
The World Revolves Around Me
I am a terrible blogger. I am sporadic rather than predictable and regular. I have no focus. My posts are often nothing but ego centric ramblings. And that is fine with me. I am what I am.
It is not as if anyone notices anyway. I am fairly sure that my blog sits in some internet closet in the basement of the electronic ether. Locked and the key is missing. My wit and insightful musings out of the mainstream view. And that is fine with me. I write for me first. Anyone who might happen by is okay, but not important. Afterall, this is all about me. Right? I am my number one fan.
It was odd to write that. It felt odd to publicly admit my fascination with myself. I often wonder if my self centered ways are over the top or about normal. I know I am nowhere as keen on myself as some other folks are. I have a friend who calls me regularly from Idaho. He is the stereotype "the world revolves around me" kinda guy. Last week he called and spent 20 minutes filling me in on his latest love problems. He wants to date a new woman but has to break up with the one he has been knocking heels with first. Blah, blah, blah. Anyway fast forward to yesterday. I answer the phone and instead of "Hey, it's Rob. How's it going?"; he starts in with, "I figured out how to deal with it." Since I had my hands full with a bike repair and several customers on the floor, I failed to recognize his voice and asked, "Deal with what and who is this?"
"It's Rob. You know, my lady troubles." Well, the world was revolving around me right then so I cut him off and said, " Great", and hung up.
It is not as if anyone notices anyway. I am fairly sure that my blog sits in some internet closet in the basement of the electronic ether. Locked and the key is missing. My wit and insightful musings out of the mainstream view. And that is fine with me. I write for me first. Anyone who might happen by is okay, but not important. Afterall, this is all about me. Right? I am my number one fan.
It was odd to write that. It felt odd to publicly admit my fascination with myself. I often wonder if my self centered ways are over the top or about normal. I know I am nowhere as keen on myself as some other folks are. I have a friend who calls me regularly from Idaho. He is the stereotype "the world revolves around me" kinda guy. Last week he called and spent 20 minutes filling me in on his latest love problems. He wants to date a new woman but has to break up with the one he has been knocking heels with first. Blah, blah, blah. Anyway fast forward to yesterday. I answer the phone and instead of "Hey, it's Rob. How's it going?"; he starts in with, "I figured out how to deal with it." Since I had my hands full with a bike repair and several customers on the floor, I failed to recognize his voice and asked, "Deal with what and who is this?"
"It's Rob. You know, my lady troubles." Well, the world was revolving around me right then so I cut him off and said, " Great", and hung up.
Saturday, April 29, 2006
Have a Nice Day
Another day in the life. I woke up after 5 hours. I endured another late night repair marathon at the shop. Pulled in the drive at 1:30 AM, staggered into the house, sat on the couch and passed out. At 6:30 AM my my black girlfriend, Stubby, woke me licking my face and batting those beautiful brown eyes at me. No concern over my late night, she was ready to play. Damn dog!
Well, I am now up and almost clear eyed after that 3rd cup of coffee. I had the urge to share some poignant and startling revelations that crossed my mind yesterday. I am sure they would be of interest, but dammit, once again, retreival seems beyond my reach. So what we have here is just another meaningless and pointless waste of internet band width. But since I sat down to write I am writing. Have a nice day. I know I will. Going for a night ride tonight.
Well, I am now up and almost clear eyed after that 3rd cup of coffee. I had the urge to share some poignant and startling revelations that crossed my mind yesterday. I am sure they would be of interest, but dammit, once again, retreival seems beyond my reach. So what we have here is just another meaningless and pointless waste of internet band width. But since I sat down to write I am writing. Have a nice day. I know I will. Going for a night ride tonight.
Monday, April 17, 2006
A Couple of Tidbits in the News
A Golden Parachute for him, a Golden Shower for the rest of us
I did not catch the whole report, but it seems the retiring CEO of Exxon is going to bank about $686 million dollars as a retirement package. I'm guessing they were impressed with his performance. The news guy broke it down in this way.
~ $144 thousand something / day
~ $100.00/minute - asleep or awake
Now that's some serious jingle. Serious even at half the amount. And there are some folks who believe the oil companies are not involved in price gouging? Then what do we call the obscene profits posted over the last 2 years? An uptick in productivity and efficiency? No, they are making it the ole fashioned way, they are robbing us blind.
Sex Offenders Murdered
An odd story just unfolded in my home state the other day. It seems a man was shot to death in his home. This is not remarkable in and of itself, but a short while later not 25 miles from the first murder, another man was gunned down when he answered a knock on his door. Two murders in Maine on one day in close proximity is a big deal up here. The story became more bizarre as the day turned into night and the cops began sniffing around. Both men were convicted sex offenders. And the same colored pick up was seen at both locations. About 4 hours later a pickup was found abandoned near Bangor, Maine. It belonged to a man whose nephew, cousin or somehow related young man from Canada had borrowed it. And he was missing.
Fast forward a few hours. The Maine State Police put out an all points bulletin to New Hampshire and Massachusetts that this guy was "A person of interest in an ongoing investigation" and that he should be detained if he was located. Two cops got on a Greyhound bus in Boston and spotted him. Before they could even reach him, he killed himself.
This tragedy has all the earmarkings of a future A&E "City Confidential" written all over it. Real Life drama no TV wrter could have done a better job with. Real Life mystery Ellery Queen would be envious of. The first question is did he do it? And if so, why come down from Canada just to off a couple of convicted pedophiles in the US? Does not Canada have it's share also? Odd goings on.
I did not catch the whole report, but it seems the retiring CEO of Exxon is going to bank about $686 million dollars as a retirement package. I'm guessing they were impressed with his performance. The news guy broke it down in this way.
~ $144 thousand something / day
~ $100.00/minute - asleep or awake
Now that's some serious jingle. Serious even at half the amount. And there are some folks who believe the oil companies are not involved in price gouging? Then what do we call the obscene profits posted over the last 2 years? An uptick in productivity and efficiency? No, they are making it the ole fashioned way, they are robbing us blind.
Sex Offenders Murdered
An odd story just unfolded in my home state the other day. It seems a man was shot to death in his home. This is not remarkable in and of itself, but a short while later not 25 miles from the first murder, another man was gunned down when he answered a knock on his door. Two murders in Maine on one day in close proximity is a big deal up here. The story became more bizarre as the day turned into night and the cops began sniffing around. Both men were convicted sex offenders. And the same colored pick up was seen at both locations. About 4 hours later a pickup was found abandoned near Bangor, Maine. It belonged to a man whose nephew, cousin or somehow related young man from Canada had borrowed it. And he was missing.
Fast forward a few hours. The Maine State Police put out an all points bulletin to New Hampshire and Massachusetts that this guy was "A person of interest in an ongoing investigation" and that he should be detained if he was located. Two cops got on a Greyhound bus in Boston and spotted him. Before they could even reach him, he killed himself.
This tragedy has all the earmarkings of a future A&E "City Confidential" written all over it. Real Life drama no TV wrter could have done a better job with. Real Life mystery Ellery Queen would be envious of. The first question is did he do it? And if so, why come down from Canada just to off a couple of convicted pedophiles in the US? Does not Canada have it's share also? Odd goings on.
Saturday, April 15, 2006
Dear Bonehead
This is a letter I added to one my wife wrote to a young relative suffering the indignities and pain of detoxing from opiate addiction.
Dear Bonehead ( Name changed to protect the stupid)
I won't get up on my high horse, my pulpit to preach about the evils of substance abuse. For I have walked in your shoes myself. You did the drugs and now you pay the price. Been there, done that. If you are smart you will only put yourself through this one time. But if your previous lifestyle is any indication, the odds are against you. They were certainly stacked against me when I was young and dumb like you. I eventually prevailed and walked away from that loser lifestyle I was trapped in back in my teens and 20s. You will too. Or you won't. It is up to you and you alone.
When I decided to quit, at first I was all hung up about hurting and disappointing the friends and family who were concerned about me. I would anguish about letting them down. I would beat myself up. Then I felt so bad, I'd go get high to forget it. I was trapped into thinking I was a loser, Life sucked, Life was unfair, blah blah, blah. I hit rock bottom and I knew it. I finally decided that proving my worth to someone else was stupid if I couldn't prove it to myself first. So I did. I quit for myself. And for the next 30 years I have been relatively calm and stable. Of course your Aunt , my wife, might have a different opinion on the calm part. Maybe the stable part also.
What you are going through sucks. I would not wish it on anyone. But it is self inflicted stupidity. The solution needs to be self inflicted also. Good luck. But you don't need luck. You need a stronger backbone. It appears you are well on the road to finding one.
Keep it 'tween the ditches,
Uncle Mike
Dear Bonehead ( Name changed to protect the stupid)
I won't get up on my high horse, my pulpit to preach about the evils of substance abuse. For I have walked in your shoes myself. You did the drugs and now you pay the price. Been there, done that. If you are smart you will only put yourself through this one time. But if your previous lifestyle is any indication, the odds are against you. They were certainly stacked against me when I was young and dumb like you. I eventually prevailed and walked away from that loser lifestyle I was trapped in back in my teens and 20s. You will too. Or you won't. It is up to you and you alone.
When I decided to quit, at first I was all hung up about hurting and disappointing the friends and family who were concerned about me. I would anguish about letting them down. I would beat myself up. Then I felt so bad, I'd go get high to forget it. I was trapped into thinking I was a loser, Life sucked, Life was unfair, blah blah, blah. I hit rock bottom and I knew it. I finally decided that proving my worth to someone else was stupid if I couldn't prove it to myself first. So I did. I quit for myself. And for the next 30 years I have been relatively calm and stable. Of course your Aunt , my wife, might have a different opinion on the calm part. Maybe the stable part also.
What you are going through sucks. I would not wish it on anyone. But it is self inflicted stupidity. The solution needs to be self inflicted also. Good luck. But you don't need luck. You need a stronger backbone. It appears you are well on the road to finding one.
Keep it 'tween the ditches,
Uncle Mike
Friday, April 14, 2006
Instead of Sleeping
Well it's 2:30 AM. Here I sit in front of the 'puter after a particularily grueling 18 hour day at the bike shop. The spanking I am getting from the business this Spring and the first tick of Spring I just pulled off my leg is a sure sign this Spring is going better than last year. And that's cool. The steady cha ching of the register these past few weeks is awful reassuring.
Last year Spring was an eight week wet fest. Cold and dreary outside, I watched full shelves gather dust. Another one like that and I would probably throw in the towel.
And even though I will pay for this consistent midnight to dark-thirty clock punching, I am enjoying this business again. I'm pumped, stoked, jazzed and out of control. Anyway, not sure why I decided to share, but I did. Life is good at the moment.
Last year Spring was an eight week wet fest. Cold and dreary outside, I watched full shelves gather dust. Another one like that and I would probably throw in the towel.
And even though I will pay for this consistent midnight to dark-thirty clock punching, I am enjoying this business again. I'm pumped, stoked, jazzed and out of control. Anyway, not sure why I decided to share, but I did. Life is good at the moment.
Thursday, April 06, 2006
The Page Cannot be Displayed
"The page cannot be displayed." Five words that will drive any net addict out of their mind. Especially after that 5th attempt to refresh. If a page doesn't come up in 5 seconds, they can get right pissy. If the download drags more than a second or two, many will lose their cool. A favorite site crashed will cause the bile to rise, the muscles tense and eyes bug out.
And to think a scant 15 years ago, the net was what geeks did instead of going to bars and pickin up women. Now your grandma is the queen of Ebay. Your Aunt Betty is gettin ready to retire to Vera Cruz after selling her 1 millionth cabbage patch knock off out of the garage next to her double wide.
It sure didn't take us long to take the Internet for granted. Instant information on an infinite number of places,people and things. The einsteins have made it almost idiot proof. I say almost because the great struggle to defeat stupidity is a never ending crusade. For every fool proof computer innovation some idiot will find a way to circumnavigate it and lock his computer up so bad, the hard drive is fried. There is a reason for those error messages bonehead.
And to think a scant 15 years ago, the net was what geeks did instead of going to bars and pickin up women. Now your grandma is the queen of Ebay. Your Aunt Betty is gettin ready to retire to Vera Cruz after selling her 1 millionth cabbage patch knock off out of the garage next to her double wide.
It sure didn't take us long to take the Internet for granted. Instant information on an infinite number of places,people and things. The einsteins have made it almost idiot proof. I say almost because the great struggle to defeat stupidity is a never ending crusade. For every fool proof computer innovation some idiot will find a way to circumnavigate it and lock his computer up so bad, the hard drive is fried. There is a reason for those error messages bonehead.
Huffing Diesel Fumes
A driver delivered some bikes to my shop this past week. He blindsided his 45 foot freight trailer off Main St in about 10 seconds and stopped right at my door. While we off loaded the boxed bikes, I let him know how I thought every tractor trailer driver should learn their trade in the East. He looked at me and I could tell he was trying to figure out what I meant. I went on to say that I had driven for many years and how I was always grateful that I learned to drive on the tight twisty streets of the Eastern seaboard. I said I would guess not many drivers from west of the Mississippi would have been able or willing to back in on the blind side from a main drag. He just smiled. He knew. And so did I.
I signed the bill and he left. As I inventoried the drop, our conversation lingered in my mind. I began to reminisce about the life I lead as a long haul trucker. The countless days, countless miles and countless truckstops. Nostalgic feelings swept in and I missed that life for a moment. All the good memories of a time when I was footloose and full of piss and vinegar. When I thought nothing of pounding out 1000 miles without more than a fuel stop or two. I dwelled on the successful trips when I ran criminally overweight snaking my way around scales and cops. The beauty of driving East into the dawn on a clear Spring morning. The satisfaction from nailing a tough back in. The comedy of trying to keep two or more sets of logs running like they made sense. My rose colored glasses were fully engaged.
Nothing good lasts. About 5 minutes into my trip down memory lane, the reasons I left that life came flooding back. The 24/7 aspect of it all. The cops and rules. The grifters and sleazy brokers ripping me off. But mostly the loneliness finally got to me. I proved after many years on the road, I was not the loner I thought I was. It took a million plus miles of sleep deprived existence to wake me up to the fact that my life was more than getting from here to there and back.
It has been over 15 years since I sat behind the wheel of a tractor trailer. When I stepped down, I was sad. I was sure I would never find anything to replace it. Now I wonder why I suffered that life for so long. It had it's moments, but they passed. Trucking is a tough and thankless existence. But I am grateful have no regrets. We were a good fit for 17 years. Everytime I smell diesel fuel I am reminded of this.
I signed the bill and he left. As I inventoried the drop, our conversation lingered in my mind. I began to reminisce about the life I lead as a long haul trucker. The countless days, countless miles and countless truckstops. Nostalgic feelings swept in and I missed that life for a moment. All the good memories of a time when I was footloose and full of piss and vinegar. When I thought nothing of pounding out 1000 miles without more than a fuel stop or two. I dwelled on the successful trips when I ran criminally overweight snaking my way around scales and cops. The beauty of driving East into the dawn on a clear Spring morning. The satisfaction from nailing a tough back in. The comedy of trying to keep two or more sets of logs running like they made sense. My rose colored glasses were fully engaged.
Nothing good lasts. About 5 minutes into my trip down memory lane, the reasons I left that life came flooding back. The 24/7 aspect of it all. The cops and rules. The grifters and sleazy brokers ripping me off. But mostly the loneliness finally got to me. I proved after many years on the road, I was not the loner I thought I was. It took a million plus miles of sleep deprived existence to wake me up to the fact that my life was more than getting from here to there and back.
It has been over 15 years since I sat behind the wheel of a tractor trailer. When I stepped down, I was sad. I was sure I would never find anything to replace it. Now I wonder why I suffered that life for so long. It had it's moments, but they passed. Trucking is a tough and thankless existence. But I am grateful have no regrets. We were a good fit for 17 years. Everytime I smell diesel fuel I am reminded of this.
What's up with That?
The crux of the matter is I am over tired and unable to string enough words together in coherent unison so a clear point can be made. Yet I insist on sitting here, banging away at these keys. I am sure that if can just keep my eyes open long enough and my fingers dancing around the keyboard, some special nugget I thought of earlier today will magically appear and make my day.
I am on a fool's errand. I am out of cerebral gas. The cranial void is not just empty, a cold wind is bouncing off the walls. Driven by the vacuum created from a tough day of labor. Exhaustion of body and mind.
It is odd. I enjoy the feeling of being drained. I savor the moments I am completely wasted. Especially if my depleted state was the result of fruitful endeavors. Today was such a day. I am content I gave today my best effort.
Yes, as I sit here peering through slitted eyes and numb brain, I am savoring and replaying the productive little bunny I was today. I did this. I did that. I caught up on old business and created new. 16 plus hours chock full of unbridled energy. And now I can relax. Instead I sit here and continue to rack my brain. What's up with that?
I am on a fool's errand. I am out of cerebral gas. The cranial void is not just empty, a cold wind is bouncing off the walls. Driven by the vacuum created from a tough day of labor. Exhaustion of body and mind.
It is odd. I enjoy the feeling of being drained. I savor the moments I am completely wasted. Especially if my depleted state was the result of fruitful endeavors. Today was such a day. I am content I gave today my best effort.
Yes, as I sit here peering through slitted eyes and numb brain, I am savoring and replaying the productive little bunny I was today. I did this. I did that. I caught up on old business and created new. 16 plus hours chock full of unbridled energy. And now I can relax. Instead I sit here and continue to rack my brain. What's up with that?
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Mexicans
My mom's family hail from California. They have been there so long (since the 1840s, pre Gold Rush) they are downright snobbish about their California-ness. Anyway, I grew up with a very skewed and prejudiced view of anything Mexican. I do not deny it. I have since successfully relegated Mexicans and their situation to nothing more than anyone else's situation. The blanket of prejudice has been discarded. I don't look at Mexicans now and think "wetback" or worse. They are just people trying to get by the best way they can. And because they have the freedom to make choices, many choose to enter this country without going through the proper channels. Good for them. I tend to admire scoflaw attitudes. But that's just me.
But if they get caught and are shipped back - oh well. They knew the risks going in. At least we don't shoot them. Yet, anyway.
What bothers me the most is the hypocritical and arbitrary policies of the power structure in this country. We turn a blind eye to their presence for years and years. And now in a knee jerk response tied to our paranoid over the top reaction to 9/11, Mexicans are all of a sudden a problem. The problem has existed for a long time and any solution tied to fence building, physical or otherwise, is an exercise in futility. The tide will not be turned back through legislation and harsh treatment. As long as we seem to offer something better they will find a way in.
I admit something needs to be done. But instead of concentrating on keeping them out, we should be concentrating on helping them to not even want to come. Why we cannot figure out a way to work with Mexico to better their situation in Mexico is beyond me.
The only answer I can come up with is the head honcho business and government types in this country have no real interest in keeping them out. They really want the cheap pool of labor that flys under the legal radar. Illegals are good for the bottom line. So all we get is periodic lipservice and a token uptick in enforcement and then it is back to business as usual. No one in control on either side of the border is interested in lifting these folks out of the poverty they have experienced for generations.
But if they get caught and are shipped back - oh well. They knew the risks going in. At least we don't shoot them. Yet, anyway.
What bothers me the most is the hypocritical and arbitrary policies of the power structure in this country. We turn a blind eye to their presence for years and years. And now in a knee jerk response tied to our paranoid over the top reaction to 9/11, Mexicans are all of a sudden a problem. The problem has existed for a long time and any solution tied to fence building, physical or otherwise, is an exercise in futility. The tide will not be turned back through legislation and harsh treatment. As long as we seem to offer something better they will find a way in.
I admit something needs to be done. But instead of concentrating on keeping them out, we should be concentrating on helping them to not even want to come. Why we cannot figure out a way to work with Mexico to better their situation in Mexico is beyond me.
The only answer I can come up with is the head honcho business and government types in this country have no real interest in keeping them out. They really want the cheap pool of labor that flys under the legal radar. Illegals are good for the bottom line. So all we get is periodic lipservice and a token uptick in enforcement and then it is back to business as usual. No one in control on either side of the border is interested in lifting these folks out of the poverty they have experienced for generations.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Tools
I am a tool fiend. I love tools. All tools. Implements made by Man to fix, build, or tear down the objects of Man. I am not an anthropoligist, and most likely do not fully appreciate tool usage as one of those important dividers between us and the rest of the animal kingdom. But I do recognize that I can use them and my dog can't. All my dog can do is chew on them and make them all slobbery.
My infatuation with tools has created a sizable collection. I just love a project that means I have to buy or make a new tool. I have definitely graduated from the ordinary tool box. I now seek single purpose tools with obscure and odd intents. The special sheet metal cutter I bought many years ago to cut sheet metal in curves and leave the edges clean was used for one project. It now sits in a box in almost brand new condition. I should sell it. It would probably bring a good chunk of jingle, but I cannot. A tool bought by me, remains bought. I only rid myself of them once they are worn out. And even then I agonize. A major pile of dead and decrepit tools lie around waiting for me to rob the handles or think of a new use for their worn out condition.
I would say that this tool fetish is a man thing, but I cannot. My wife has the same sort of interest. Her collection differs from mine, but is nevertheless as complete as mine is. Her sewing machine is top of the line and is supported by a huge drawer of tools, bobbins, specialty needles, and countless doodads I have no idea what they are for. Her basket making toolkit includes tools I drool over but know I cannot have. I can borrow them when needed, but that is not the same as ownership.
To counter my love of tools, I hate cheap tools. Or tools that do not deliver as promised. My daughter was headed out camping with some other kids her age. Up to that point, she had always relied on one of my knives to see to her knife needs when we camped together. My wife, woefully ignorant of what a good pocket knife is, came home with one of those last minute pick it up impulse knives that sit on the counter of the hardware store. A cheap knock off of a better, well known knife. I almost tossed it. A child's first pocket knife is a big deal. Their first knife needs to be well made and simple. Forget the gee gaws and extra spoon for eating.
I went right back to the hardware store and plopped that poor excuse of a knife on the counter and gave my hardware guy Hell. He had not sold the knife to my wife, but he agreed with me. A child's first knife should not have been that one. It was way too big and had entirely too much going on. We both went back to the glass enclosed boutique knife section and spent 20 minutes coming up with just the right one. Not too big, but with at least 2 blades. Afterall she wasn't looking for a means of self defense or skinning a moose, she just needed something to whittle with and maybe cut a twinkie in two.
My daughter still has that knife 10 years later. Having been raised by both parents to appreciate a good tool, she keeps it sharp and clean. And she uses it when the situation warrants a sharp knife. Unlike me, she will most likely have it forever. But like me, she appreciates it's simplicity and dependability.
My infatuation with tools has created a sizable collection. I just love a project that means I have to buy or make a new tool. I have definitely graduated from the ordinary tool box. I now seek single purpose tools with obscure and odd intents. The special sheet metal cutter I bought many years ago to cut sheet metal in curves and leave the edges clean was used for one project. It now sits in a box in almost brand new condition. I should sell it. It would probably bring a good chunk of jingle, but I cannot. A tool bought by me, remains bought. I only rid myself of them once they are worn out. And even then I agonize. A major pile of dead and decrepit tools lie around waiting for me to rob the handles or think of a new use for their worn out condition.
I would say that this tool fetish is a man thing, but I cannot. My wife has the same sort of interest. Her collection differs from mine, but is nevertheless as complete as mine is. Her sewing machine is top of the line and is supported by a huge drawer of tools, bobbins, specialty needles, and countless doodads I have no idea what they are for. Her basket making toolkit includes tools I drool over but know I cannot have. I can borrow them when needed, but that is not the same as ownership.
To counter my love of tools, I hate cheap tools. Or tools that do not deliver as promised. My daughter was headed out camping with some other kids her age. Up to that point, she had always relied on one of my knives to see to her knife needs when we camped together. My wife, woefully ignorant of what a good pocket knife is, came home with one of those last minute pick it up impulse knives that sit on the counter of the hardware store. A cheap knock off of a better, well known knife. I almost tossed it. A child's first pocket knife is a big deal. Their first knife needs to be well made and simple. Forget the gee gaws and extra spoon for eating.
I went right back to the hardware store and plopped that poor excuse of a knife on the counter and gave my hardware guy Hell. He had not sold the knife to my wife, but he agreed with me. A child's first knife should not have been that one. It was way too big and had entirely too much going on. We both went back to the glass enclosed boutique knife section and spent 20 minutes coming up with just the right one. Not too big, but with at least 2 blades. Afterall she wasn't looking for a means of self defense or skinning a moose, she just needed something to whittle with and maybe cut a twinkie in two.
My daughter still has that knife 10 years later. Having been raised by both parents to appreciate a good tool, she keeps it sharp and clean. And she uses it when the situation warrants a sharp knife. Unlike me, she will most likely have it forever. But like me, she appreciates it's simplicity and dependability.
Friday, March 31, 2006
The Land Whale Awakes
The only thing that keeps me going on these early season ole fat guy coming off winter bike rides is the knowledge that if I can just suffer through the next 3 or 4 weeks, I will actually start having a blast again on a bike. But right now, every pedal stroke is pain and discomfort as I haul around the 25 extra pounds I gained over the winter.
I am enjoying the rides. The wheezing and atrophied lard laced muscular torture does have a damping effect. I am a slug right now trying to evolve into a butterfly. Well, a faster slug anyway. I have turned a corner. I rode most of the upstrokes. I didn't puke. I guess there is a cyclist in here somewhere afterall. Hmm. Cyclist might be assuming a grander image than the reality. I am just a guy who rides a bike. In three weeks I will be a thinner guy who rides a bike. Still a slug, the group sweep.
I was in my late 30's or early 40's when I started to notice a bit more of me in the Spring than there was in the Fall. That faster high octane metabolism had been replaced by a slower and more sedate energy consumption. I still had the appetite of that young and numb calorie burner. The Big Macs stopped passing through and began to settle in for the long run. I had supersized me.
The first few Springs of supersized Mike bothered me. I agonized about the lard and the tight jeans. I toyed with creating the "Fat" wardrobe to go with the "Skinny" wardrobe. But then I remembered I really have never concerned myself about how I looked. Why start now? So I didn't. I used the torture of squeezing myself into pants too tight as an incentive to lose the winter belly roll. The only problem is each year the feasibility of actually pouring myself into that summer wardrobe began to fade. The time it took to lose the weight stretched from March and April into June and beyond. One summer, I only lost a total of 5 pounds the whole summer. I was miserable. I spent the summer hovering around 180. Now 10 years later, 180 seems like the impossible dream. I'd be happy to make it down to a svelte 190.
So another rite of Spring has begun. Like the birds flying north, the crocus poking up through the leaves, another land whale begins to shake off his hibernating barco lounging sad self.
I am enjoying the rides. The wheezing and atrophied lard laced muscular torture does have a damping effect. I am a slug right now trying to evolve into a butterfly. Well, a faster slug anyway. I have turned a corner. I rode most of the upstrokes. I didn't puke. I guess there is a cyclist in here somewhere afterall. Hmm. Cyclist might be assuming a grander image than the reality. I am just a guy who rides a bike. In three weeks I will be a thinner guy who rides a bike. Still a slug, the group sweep.
I was in my late 30's or early 40's when I started to notice a bit more of me in the Spring than there was in the Fall. That faster high octane metabolism had been replaced by a slower and more sedate energy consumption. I still had the appetite of that young and numb calorie burner. The Big Macs stopped passing through and began to settle in for the long run. I had supersized me.
The first few Springs of supersized Mike bothered me. I agonized about the lard and the tight jeans. I toyed with creating the "Fat" wardrobe to go with the "Skinny" wardrobe. But then I remembered I really have never concerned myself about how I looked. Why start now? So I didn't. I used the torture of squeezing myself into pants too tight as an incentive to lose the winter belly roll. The only problem is each year the feasibility of actually pouring myself into that summer wardrobe began to fade. The time it took to lose the weight stretched from March and April into June and beyond. One summer, I only lost a total of 5 pounds the whole summer. I was miserable. I spent the summer hovering around 180. Now 10 years later, 180 seems like the impossible dream. I'd be happy to make it down to a svelte 190.
So another rite of Spring has begun. Like the birds flying north, the crocus poking up through the leaves, another land whale begins to shake off his hibernating barco lounging sad self.
Big Boy
When I got home tonight, a letter addressed to me from Victoria's Secret sat on the kitchen table. "It's your birthday Big Boy. Treat yourself" in large bold type jumped out at me. It looked suspiciously compromised. Like someone other than the addresse had peaked inside. I guess my darling wife could not contain her curiosity. Neither could I. So I looked at the card inside. A $10 gift card indicated that I could save a bundle off my next purchase of dainty and sexy under things. Damn! Just last week I spotted this lacy ensemble at Kohl's for half price and they had it in Queen size and it was so pink it hurt my eyes. I had to have it. So I shot my deviant budget for the month. And then what happens? Victoria sends me a coupon and I can't take advantage of it.
Actually, this silly scenario ran through my mind as I tried to figure out why Victoria's Secret would think I would want some of their wares. Especially since they were using my birthday as an excuse to reach out and touch me. A gift card from LL Bean would make sense. I could save a bit off my next big outdoor purchase. Save $10 on that $500 kayak. But split crotch undies and strapless bras?
This attempted connection made me roll back my recent memory tape. What sites had I visited recently that, well, you know, show naked people and stuff. I could not retrieve any recent visit from the dustbin of my mind. I was not much of a porn site surfer. There's only so many ways they can exhibit the nasty bits in action before it all just gets redundant and boring.
So the Secret has me on their radar now. Great. More junk mail to toss. I will say though, I did puff up a tad when they called me "Big Boy".
Actually, this silly scenario ran through my mind as I tried to figure out why Victoria's Secret would think I would want some of their wares. Especially since they were using my birthday as an excuse to reach out and touch me. A gift card from LL Bean would make sense. I could save a bit off my next big outdoor purchase. Save $10 on that $500 kayak. But split crotch undies and strapless bras?
This attempted connection made me roll back my recent memory tape. What sites had I visited recently that, well, you know, show naked people and stuff. I could not retrieve any recent visit from the dustbin of my mind. I was not much of a porn site surfer. There's only so many ways they can exhibit the nasty bits in action before it all just gets redundant and boring.
So the Secret has me on their radar now. Great. More junk mail to toss. I will say though, I did puff up a tad when they called me "Big Boy".
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