30 April 2008
29 April 2008
28 April 2008
The Rolling Stones Song of the Week
A certain someone pointed out the other day that my autobiography should be titled, It Seemed Like A Good Idea at the Time. I think that title should apply to Jagger's fashion choices for this video. Well, probably any video.
Sure it's cliche to start this feature off with Start Me Up. That's why I am dedicating this to all those agencies. You know who you are. Because if you start me up I'll never stop.
Sure it's cliche to start this feature off with Start Me Up. That's why I am dedicating this to all those agencies. You know who you are. Because if you start me up I'll never stop.
27 April 2008
Things you might not know about me
I've always loved planes. I'm fascinated by flying. The first thing I can remember wanting to be when I grew up was a fighter pilot.
The military, however, frowns on putting 6'5" guys who are almost legally blind in charge of $57 million aircraft. The bastards.
I've just watched about 4 hours of Carrier on PBS. Jesus Christ I don't know how these people (average age - 24) do this. 5,200 sailors and airmen on a floating city. Living under an airport and above a nuclear reactor.
Jesus. These folks are hardcore.
I mentioned the other day at work that I feel like I run a flightdeck. Yeah. No. Not even close. I didn't mean it. I mean ... I did. At the time, but Jesus Christ. These people are amazing.
The military, however, frowns on putting 6'5" guys who are almost legally blind in charge of $57 million aircraft. The bastards.
I've just watched about 4 hours of Carrier on PBS. Jesus Christ I don't know how these people (average age - 24) do this. 5,200 sailors and airmen on a floating city. Living under an airport and above a nuclear reactor.
Jesus. These folks are hardcore.
I mentioned the other day at work that I feel like I run a flightdeck. Yeah. No. Not even close. I didn't mean it. I mean ... I did. At the time, but Jesus Christ. These people are amazing.
25 April 2008
Sold my soul at the company store
Depending on which version of my resume you get, I've been in advertising for up to and including six years. In that time, I've done a lot of stupid shit to support our clients.
I've stopped using Visa. I've stopped littering. I've used only Pennzoil. I switched cell phone providers. I almost switched banks. I signed up for the Air Force.
But in all that time, I've never found a client's product I more whole heartedly endorse than Chick-Fil-A's new Coffee Caramel milkshake.
Handspun heaven. I just licked the lid clean.
I've stopped using Visa. I've stopped littering. I've used only Pennzoil. I switched cell phone providers. I almost switched banks. I signed up for the Air Force.
But in all that time, I've never found a client's product I more whole heartedly endorse than Chick-Fil-A's new Coffee Caramel milkshake.
Handspun heaven. I just licked the lid clean.
24 April 2008
I freaked my dog out last night
No, I didn't come home in a Joe Borowski mask.
I had that dream where the cobras are striking at your legs. I have that dream a few times a year. I'm not that afraid of snakes, and, before you start analyzing what it all means, I'll tell you what it all means.
I have the cobra dream when I get cramps in my legs in the middle of the night. I wake up flailing, thrashing my legs. I scream. (Sometimes, I even scream "Cobras!") I bite my pillow. I think maybe there is an alien probe in my leg. I contemplate killing myself to end the excruciating pain. I realize it's not that bad. I go back to sleep.
This time was different, though. Because this was the first such occasion since a certain someone decided Radley should start sleeping on the bed. The first flail of the legs went right under him, under the covers and vaulted him into the wall.
After I consoled the poor puppy, he went to sleep in the closet on my dirty clothes. As he walked off, he glanced over his shoulder at me as if to say, "Dad. I never wreck your world when I bark in my sleep."
Life's not fair, Rads.
I had that dream where the cobras are striking at your legs. I have that dream a few times a year. I'm not that afraid of snakes, and, before you start analyzing what it all means, I'll tell you what it all means.
I have the cobra dream when I get cramps in my legs in the middle of the night. I wake up flailing, thrashing my legs. I scream. (Sometimes, I even scream "Cobras!") I bite my pillow. I think maybe there is an alien probe in my leg. I contemplate killing myself to end the excruciating pain. I realize it's not that bad. I go back to sleep.
This time was different, though. Because this was the first such occasion since a certain someone decided Radley should start sleeping on the bed. The first flail of the legs went right under him, under the covers and vaulted him into the wall.
After I consoled the poor puppy, he went to sleep in the closet on my dirty clothes. As he walked off, he glanced over his shoulder at me as if to say, "Dad. I never wreck your world when I bark in my sleep."
Life's not fair, Rads.
23 April 2008
22 April 2008
My Ship(ping) has come in
We have got your resume and email address from one of boards (it was a public source, so no laws or rights were broken) [good to know.] and we are interested in your candidacy. [So am I.]
We would like to consider you for the position of Postal Service Manager for Services Company. [If you have seen my resume, you know this is right in my wheelhouse.] We are seeking Postal Service Managers to work at the convenience from their home, part-time (4-5 hours a week).[Can a Dalmatian do this?]
The Company offers a full range of services for the purchasing of goods abroad, [spidey sense: umm.] their transportation, [spidey sense: wait.] customs clearance, [spidey sense: woah.] and the delivery of goods to the warehouse. [spidey sense: Is that where the shootout happens?] The principal activities of Company include: [this will be good ...] air and international transportation, international purchases, export and import services, transportation of group age cargoes, dispatch services, cargo customs clearance - goods avowal and factoring. [Jebus.] Per the demand of its customer, Company can also select a foreign supplier for the products of which will meet the required cost and quality. Today, foreign suppliers of different products (such as China, the USA, and Europe) have successful work experience with Company International's customers. It is also the result of the fact that Company pays for imported goods using its own resources and pays on time and in full, via the financial specialists of the company as well as the possibility to grant its customers credits for purchase. [through African investors in the lottery?] At the present moment, Company is actively developing a group age cargoes transportation service. Customs clearance of foreign products is performed efficiently owing to the well organized cooperation of our specialists with customs authorities. [I can only imagine.]Customs clearance of cargoes is the most complicated stage of foreign economic activity in Russia due to the extensive control of customs authorities over the import flow into Russia. [uh huh. That's why.]
Vip Delta International guarantees unimpeded performance of these procedures and the provision of a complete package of documents that fully corresponds to the requirements of the Federal Customs Service. When the customs clearance of imported goods is performed Company is ready to deliver the cargo to any destination point promptly. [Why do you need my living room again?] Besides for goods import International Company actively assists Russian companies to export goods to countries worldwide. [Do brides count as goods in Russia?] The export of cargoes to the countries of the former Soviet Union exceeds the volumes of the import deliveries. The most common type of delivery by International Company is air transportation and the principle directions are to China, Europe, and the USA. [quick. name another direction out of Russia.]
There is the following position open currently at our international Services company: [what happened to the last guy?]
Postal Service Manager
- Participation in international activity of the company.
- Receiving and sending off correspondence and wrappers.
- Honesty, responsibility, punctuality.
- High education and foreign languages are welcomed.
- Employment: full-time (40 hours/week), part-time (under agreement).
Candidate must possess a magnetic personality and positive attitude.
[also, large steel briefcase full of money, set of handcuffs, Desert Eagle .50 caliber handcannon (not marked replica).]
Good computer skills and communication skills needed.
We will train the right candidate. [well, why didn't you say so?]
Please, e-mail: vip.dlt@XXXXXXXX.com
If you have any questions, please, do not hesitate and contact us. [how on earth could there be questions?]
Best Regards,
VIP DELTA INT.
We would like to consider you for the position of Postal Service Manager for Services Company. [If you have seen my resume, you know this is right in my wheelhouse.] We are seeking Postal Service Managers to work at the convenience from their home, part-time (4-5 hours a week).[Can a Dalmatian do this?]
The Company offers a full range of services for the purchasing of goods abroad, [spidey sense: umm.] their transportation, [spidey sense: wait.] customs clearance, [spidey sense: woah.] and the delivery of goods to the warehouse. [spidey sense: Is that where the shootout happens?] The principal activities of Company include: [this will be good ...] air and international transportation, international purchases, export and import services, transportation of group age cargoes, dispatch services, cargo customs clearance - goods avowal and factoring. [Jebus.] Per the demand of its customer, Company can also select a foreign supplier for the products of which will meet the required cost and quality. Today, foreign suppliers of different products (such as China, the USA, and Europe) have successful work experience with Company International's customers. It is also the result of the fact that Company pays for imported goods using its own resources and pays on time and in full, via the financial specialists of the company as well as the possibility to grant its customers credits for purchase. [through African investors in the lottery?] At the present moment, Company is actively developing a group age cargoes transportation service. Customs clearance of foreign products is performed efficiently owing to the well organized cooperation of our specialists with customs authorities. [I can only imagine.]Customs clearance of cargoes is the most complicated stage of foreign economic activity in Russia due to the extensive control of customs authorities over the import flow into Russia. [uh huh. That's why.]
Vip Delta International guarantees unimpeded performance of these procedures and the provision of a complete package of documents that fully corresponds to the requirements of the Federal Customs Service. When the customs clearance of imported goods is performed Company is ready to deliver the cargo to any destination point promptly. [Why do you need my living room again?] Besides for goods import International Company actively assists Russian companies to export goods to countries worldwide. [Do brides count as goods in Russia?] The export of cargoes to the countries of the former Soviet Union exceeds the volumes of the import deliveries. The most common type of delivery by International Company is air transportation and the principle directions are to China, Europe, and the USA. [quick. name another direction out of Russia.]
There is the following position open currently at our international Services company: [what happened to the last guy?]
Postal Service Manager
- Participation in international activity of the company.
- Receiving and sending off correspondence and wrappers.
- Honesty, responsibility, punctuality.
- High education and foreign languages are welcomed.
- Employment: full-time (40 hours/week), part-time (under agreement).
Candidate must possess a magnetic personality and positive attitude.
[also, large steel briefcase full of money, set of handcuffs, Desert Eagle .50 caliber handcannon (not marked replica).]
Good computer skills and communication skills needed.
We will train the right candidate. [well, why didn't you say so?]
Please, e-mail: vip.dlt@XXXXXXXX.com
If you have any questions, please, do not hesitate and contact us. [how on earth could there be questions?]
Best Regards,
VIP DELTA INT.
I'll Fly Away
Someday, I will slip the surly bonds of this earth. Shuffle off this mortal coil.
I'm telling you all now. You're playing this song at my funeral. And when Eddie says, "fuckers" you'll all smirk and think, "this actually is the perfect funeral song." And my parents will be mortified. Except they already can't hear it thunder.
I'm telling you all now. You're playing this song at my funeral. And when Eddie says, "fuckers" you'll all smirk and think, "this actually is the perfect funeral song." And my parents will be mortified. Except they already can't hear it thunder.
21 April 2008
Broken back to the ceiling
I don't remember much from High School. I certainly don't remember much I learned. Because I went to the cruddiest high school imaginable. That I can form complete sentences is nothing short of amazing. Tantamount to the monkeys in the opening scene from 2oo1 cranking out MacBeth on a typewriter.
Anyway, one of the very few things I do remember came from Mr. Perkins' senior physics class. We studied waves a lot. Probably because they were cheap. And I remember learning about wave amplification. As demonstrated so powerfully here:
This was all I could think about Saturday night. I was out with a bunch of friends. There was drinking. I remember looking around the room at one point. From one to another. To another. To another. And thinking about all the intertwined plotlines and drama and bullshit.
For the longest time, my friends had been the bright, shining spot of living in Austin. And, I was struck Saturday night with just a bunch of sadness at what it has all become. Lines sectioning off people. Barriers. Segregation.
Waves bouncing off of waves. Waves of conflict. Waves of drama. Waves of jealousy. Waves of selfishness. Waves of envy. Amplifying. Growing. Destroying.
And, so it's not everyone and it's not everything. And it was a bad night for everyone, I guess. Sure. But I'm done. I'm just done.
Broken back. Broken bridge. Broken desire to call this home any longer.
Anyway, one of the very few things I do remember came from Mr. Perkins' senior physics class. We studied waves a lot. Probably because they were cheap. And I remember learning about wave amplification. As demonstrated so powerfully here:
This was all I could think about Saturday night. I was out with a bunch of friends. There was drinking. I remember looking around the room at one point. From one to another. To another. To another. And thinking about all the intertwined plotlines and drama and bullshit.
For the longest time, my friends had been the bright, shining spot of living in Austin. And, I was struck Saturday night with just a bunch of sadness at what it has all become. Lines sectioning off people. Barriers. Segregation.
Waves bouncing off of waves. Waves of conflict. Waves of drama. Waves of jealousy. Waves of selfishness. Waves of envy. Amplifying. Growing. Destroying.
And, so it's not everyone and it's not everything. And it was a bad night for everyone, I guess. Sure. But I'm done. I'm just done.
Broken back. Broken bridge. Broken desire to call this home any longer.
20 April 2008
19 April 2008
Just wondering
If Joe Borowski has to do a rehab stint in the minors, how will the Indians know he's ready to return? He only blows every other save opportunity against the minor leaguers? He keeps his ERA in single digits? No one gets a free steak because one of their homers hits the bull?
18 April 2008
So, what do you know?
I mean, what do you really know? A friend told me the other night that before he goes to sleep every night, he writes down one thing he learned that day. Brilliant in its simplicity.
However, this post arose from a discussion among some folks that I was privileged to be a part of. I'm directly stealing my #1 from one of them. The rest are all mine.
#1: In your professional life, only you are going to take care of you. The sooner you recognize this and begin to act accordingly, the more successful you will ultimately become.
#2: Any product or service that requires the American public to be stupid or lazy will make a fortune for someone.
#2a: Any product or service that requires them to be both stupid and lazy will turn out better than printing money.
#2b: This seems to work for TV shows, movies and political candidates, too.
#3: Just assume that no good deed goes unpunished. Has that stopped me from doing good? No. I just figure it in as the "cost of doing good" and allow myself to be pleasantly surprised when things don't turn out horribly.
#4: The Rolling Stones wrote a song for every occasion in your life.
#5: Complete and total, utterly devastating, catastrophic failure is never as bad as you think it is going to be. In fact, it can be the greatest thing that ever happens to you.
#6: Three square meals, eight glasses of water and thirty minutes of exercise a day were more than just things you learned in health class. They can change your life.
#7: Looking for someone to stand next to you at a wedding is a good way to get divorced.
#8: Nothing is more expensive than regret. Have dreams. Do something each day to get you closer to those dreams.
#9: Preparing is better than planning.
#10: I should have the guts to trust my gut more.
#11: Being vulnerable isn't being weak.
However, this post arose from a discussion among some folks that I was privileged to be a part of. I'm directly stealing my #1 from one of them. The rest are all mine.
#1: In your professional life, only you are going to take care of you. The sooner you recognize this and begin to act accordingly, the more successful you will ultimately become.
#2: Any product or service that requires the American public to be stupid or lazy will make a fortune for someone.
#2a: Any product or service that requires them to be both stupid and lazy will turn out better than printing money.
#2b: This seems to work for TV shows, movies and political candidates, too.
#3: Just assume that no good deed goes unpunished. Has that stopped me from doing good? No. I just figure it in as the "cost of doing good" and allow myself to be pleasantly surprised when things don't turn out horribly.
#4: The Rolling Stones wrote a song for every occasion in your life.
#5: Complete and total, utterly devastating, catastrophic failure is never as bad as you think it is going to be. In fact, it can be the greatest thing that ever happens to you.
#6: Three square meals, eight glasses of water and thirty minutes of exercise a day were more than just things you learned in health class. They can change your life.
#7: Looking for someone to stand next to you at a wedding is a good way to get divorced.
#8: Nothing is more expensive than regret. Have dreams. Do something each day to get you closer to those dreams.
#9: Preparing is better than planning.
#10: I should have the guts to trust my gut more.
#11: Being vulnerable isn't being weak.
This is saying something
I think this might be the most bizarre week I've ever experienced.
Shredded components of my bike and it turned out to probably be the most fulfilling ride of my life.
I've apparently gone from "Favorite Soon to be Son" of Richmond to "Latest PNG." Happened so fast, my neck hurts.
Ran into my Doppelganger. Again. Randomly. Turns out his office is on the third floor here. Mine's on the fourth. Turns out I used to work with his mom. Turns out I'm just waiting to find out we dated the same girl once. Or something even weirder. Just wait. It's coming.
Ran into an ex girlfriend at the same corner as the Doppelganger encounter. At the same time the next day. (I've avoided the corner since. I can only imagine what else it has cooked up for me.)
Found out Weinerschnitzel opens for breakfast.
Met a drug runner Wednesday night who told me he puts out from "Nadia Comaneci."
Been meaning to e-mail my friend Julie all week and keep forgetting. Today, she adds me on Facebook.
Did I tell you I'm not making any of this shit up?
Shredded components of my bike and it turned out to probably be the most fulfilling ride of my life.
I've apparently gone from "Favorite Soon to be Son" of Richmond to "Latest PNG." Happened so fast, my neck hurts.
Ran into my Doppelganger. Again. Randomly. Turns out his office is on the third floor here. Mine's on the fourth. Turns out I used to work with his mom. Turns out I'm just waiting to find out we dated the same girl once. Or something even weirder. Just wait. It's coming.
Ran into an ex girlfriend at the same corner as the Doppelganger encounter. At the same time the next day. (I've avoided the corner since. I can only imagine what else it has cooked up for me.)
Found out Weinerschnitzel opens for breakfast.
Met a drug runner Wednesday night who told me he puts out from "Nadia Comaneci."
Been meaning to e-mail my friend Julie all week and keep forgetting. Today, she adds me on Facebook.
Did I tell you I'm not making any of this shit up?
17 April 2008
Deep thoughts posed by your computer when you first get to your desk
1. Umm, what will I be replacing "Normal" with, exactly, friend?
2. Wouldn't it be nice if things were that easy?
16 April 2008
15 April 2008
News of the Day
Indians' Borowski goes on DL with strained triceps
CLEVELAND (AP) — Indians closer Joe Borowski was placed on the 15-day disabled list Tuesday, a day after blowing a save and giving up a two-run homer in the ninth inning to Boston's Manny Ramirez in a 6-4 loss to the Red Sox.
The club said Borowski, who led the AL with 45 saves last season, has a strained triceps. He had been puzzled and frustrated by a significant loss in his velocity.
The club recalled right-hander Tom Mastny from Triple-A Buffalo.
With Borowski out, Indians manager Eric Wedge likely will turn to Rafael Betancourt as his new closer. Betancourt was one of baseball's top set-up men last season. He had three saves last season and has 12 career saves.
Strained triceps? I'm surprised he didn't strain his neck watching that ball leave the yard last night. Anything that travels that far ought to have a stewardess on it.
14 April 2008
My dog hates Joe Borowski
One of my old roommates used to have a dog they'd trained to bark whenever Barry Switzer was on the TV. I have a friend whose dog freaks out whenever someone says the word lesbian. No, thespian does not cause the same reaction.Radley goes to threat level orange when he sees the Indians are on TV. He hides in the study when Joe Borowski comes in to "save" the game.
My god Joe is the worst closer in baseball history. Not only did he blow a one run lead in the ninth to the Red Sox tonight, he gave up 3 earned runs while getting only two outs and getting yanked. And he came in to the game with a 13.50 ERA. No. I am not exaggerating.
That's an earned run every for every 1.5 outs he's getting. I could do better than that throwing underhanded.
Jesus Christ, Joe. At least try not to suck.
13 April 2008
Two riders were approaching, and the wind began to howl
Yeah. So I guess you got a hint as to how my MS 150 went this weekend. But, even with that hint. I'll regale you.
I reached lots of conclusions this weekend. That's probably to be expected. This is my fourth MS 150. I've ridden two with and been support crew for The Wheels of Love for two. And, I've always felt like this weekend is like taking your life into the darkroom. You think you have a good idea of what you have, but until you develop it and print it, you don't know shit.
This weekend has always done that for me. Regardless of my role with the team.
The first year I did it, (purely in support) the ride showed me that people would take care of me if I needed it. That someone always had my back. And that came at a time where I needed to feel covered.
The second year I did it, (purely as a rider) the ride showed me that I could contribute to that team. To that network that had taken care of me the year before.
Last year ... (signed on as a rider, blew my elbow out in a mortal struggle with bursitis, supported the team) ... shit, it taught me humility, I guess? That I had to earn my spot on the team? That wearing a fucking chicken suit - because I blew out my elbow and biffed it on a sponsor - is fucking hot? And that regardless of what got me in the chicken suit, people will forgive me? OK, so last year's lesson is kind of nebulous and ever-evolving.
This year ... clearly, lots going on in the noggin.
So, you ride. You know? I'm sure lots of the 13,000 riders have amazing, altruistic causes to ride for. Hell, I have one. And to be sure, I thought about DJ and his MS a lot of times during my weekend.
But, make no mistake about it. I ride for me. You have to. If you're not getting something out of it, why the hell are you out there doing it? To be sure, you can't do it if it sucks out of you. Something about it has to get your rocks off.
My first day of the MS 150 was really a day of two halves. But first of all, you have to understand something. It was windy. Now, I grew up in West Texas. Where my dad raised cattle. And I spent years helping him. And the wind was blowing every single second. Not every single second I was working cattle. Every single fucking second I lived in West Texas. For 18 years. Constantly. Wind blowing so hard you couldn't swallow. Wind blowing so hard the water in your toilet bowl has waves. I am not making either of those things up. I promise.
So, I know wind.
Saturday, coming out of Houston, the wind was b-l - o -- w --- ing. Constantly around 20 miles an hour. Gusting to 30. Also, it was a special wind. It came just about straight out of the north. Now, if you take a look at the map, you'll notice this puts the wind at anywhere from a straight headwind to about a 2 o'clock wind.
This is problematic for two reasons:
1. It sucks.
2. More than a few years ago, my friend and cycling teammate RR and I engaged in a conversation about wind and cycling. Surely, we both agreed we would rather climb all day than ride in the wind. However, we differed, in that I thought a headwind was the worst wind a rider could face. Randy asserted the worst wind was either out of 10 o'clock or 2 o'clock.
We were both wrong. The worst wind is most definitely out of your 2 o'clock.
You get all the drawbacks from a headwind. And, as there's more surface area on the side of a rider than the front, you get extra drawbacks. You're not only fighting to go forward, you're fighting to stay on the bike. You're not only fighting to go forward and fighting to stay on the bike, you're constantly fighting to go forward and constantly fighting to stay on the bike.
And, as I saw a couple of times, when you ride straight into a wind, you can actually draft within a paceline. You can actually beat the wind by riding on the wheel of the rider in front of you. And, in doing so, you use a ton less effort. Seriously. It makes a world of difference. I was completely wrong about the worst a rider can face. I am secure enough to admit that.
In spite of that. I spent the morning riding with some of the team's big dogs. I not only kept up with them. I was pulling the train at a couple junctures. This would have been unthinkable a couple years ago. And I won't lie. It felt really, really good.
Since my last MS 150 attempt, I've dropped about 30 pounds of fat and replaced it with about 20 pounds of muscle. Though I had ridden far less in preparation, (read: zero.) the fat loss/muscle gain made a lot of my "success" possible. Thank you, Pain Train.
So, after lunch, I had to make a stop to remove my long sleeves. The big dogs, rode on and I found myself on my own against the wind and the pack. The difference was night and day. There was no break from the wind. There was no camaraderie.
So, after hours and hours and miles and miles of fighting that terrible wind (Seriously. Again. From the bottom of my heart. Fuck you, wind. Eat shit and die.), I came to a couple conclusions:
1. As you know, I've been all about the team with this event. And, with good reason. It's hard not to love my team. But, out there by myself. Fighting every mile. Fighting every gust. Fighting every peddle stroke. I realized something. You know what? It's about me. It's up to me. I'm either going to do this. Or I am not going to do this. But not a single, solitary Wheel of Love is going to do this for me. They can't. I can. And I am going to ride every foot of this MS 150. Myself. For me. Bono, you pompous fuck. Sometimes, you can make it on your own. And I'm going to. Because I am a badass.
2. I really should upgrade my components on my bike. The front derailleur sucks. Shifting is terribly unpredictable and it hangs sometimes. And I think something is wrong with the crank. Under torque on a hill, it will slip in the lowest gear up front. Often. Which does a real number on your cadence. And, climbing is when you need a steady cadence the most. But the rear derailleur shifts like butter. But you'd expect that. Smaller gears are easier to shift. So we're starting in the front with these upgrades. Maybe Dura Ace. Maybe SRAM. Maybe Campy.
I swear to you, within a mile of these revelations, something miraculous happened. Doing about 17 ... 18 miles an hour, I shifted my back to a taller gear to maintain my acceleration. Immediately, something was wrong. Something was VERY wrong.
I sheared my rear derailleur hanger. It threw the deraileur into my back wheel, seizing it up IMMEDIATELY. I MASHED both my brake levers. I think I remember screaming "I'm going down!" I'm not sure that is proper cycling etiquette, but it did make everyone scatter. Which was really my point. My first thought was, I have to get both feet out of my clips and I have to do it now. Somehow, I did and pulled off the most amazing Flintstone stop ever. How all this happened without serious incident is really beyond me. I wish there was footage of it.
So, this all happened about two miles past Fayetteville. After standing on the side of the road for 45 minutes because every SAG wagon heading down the course was full, (thanks again, wind for mowing down all those riders.) The guy whose yard I was in asked if he could do anything for me. "I hate to impose, but can you give me a ride back into Fayetteville?"
"Would you like a Corona, too?"
It felt like the setup to one of those farmer's daughter jokes.
So, he takes me the two miles back to the rest stop I had just passed. The repair guy there had no rear derailleur hangers for a Felt. He had no new rear derailleurs. He told me I was done for the day. Bono, it seems, did have a point.
"Can you make it a fixie?"
"Yeah," Arn said. "But only if you're hardcore enough to ride it."
How do you back down from that?
An hour later, I'm back on the road. I make it past the last rest stop of the day. I am 8 miles from glory. I am going to pull this off and it is going to be the greatest story in the history of the Wheels of Love. A turning point in my life to show me that Bono, again, was wrong. Sometimes you can gut it up and make it on your own. Against the wind. Against all the odds. Against all the pain. I am a badass.
Who clearly doesn't know his own strength.
I feel and hear two screws come out of my crankset. Ruh-roh, Shaggy. Five hundred yards later, my sheer, raw, brute force bends my front gear into the frame. Yeah. We're seized up again. Mayday! Mayday! We're going down. Again.
I avoid disaster. Somehow. Again. Five miles from the end of day one. Five miles from eternal cycling badass status.
My bike is cooked. There's no amount of slapdickery that can fix this. At the very least, I'm looking a new front gear and new rear derailleur. I'm thinking it's going to be worse than that. The crankset was slipping before, so it might be a good time to swap it up anyway.
I had a conversation with someone Saturday night who sounded so sad at my day, which was strange to me. I decided that whether or not I actually finished the day, learning what I was supposed to learn was the most important thing. And I did. I learned that I am a badass. Just maybe not all that status is based on my cycling skills. Maybe even in ways I never thought I would actually get acknowledged for being a badass.
I think this reaction came from me generally being too hard on myself when things go wrong. I'm going to work on that. And make sure I learn what I am supposed to learn. I don't have to win every time, but I really should learn from things.
From a materiel sense, for the first time ever, I got out of the MS 150 with everything I stared with. And nothing more.
I declare victory.
Utter and complete victory.
I reached lots of conclusions this weekend. That's probably to be expected. This is my fourth MS 150. I've ridden two with and been support crew for The Wheels of Love for two. And, I've always felt like this weekend is like taking your life into the darkroom. You think you have a good idea of what you have, but until you develop it and print it, you don't know shit.
This weekend has always done that for me. Regardless of my role with the team.
The first year I did it, (purely in support) the ride showed me that people would take care of me if I needed it. That someone always had my back. And that came at a time where I needed to feel covered.
The second year I did it, (purely as a rider) the ride showed me that I could contribute to that team. To that network that had taken care of me the year before.
Last year ... (signed on as a rider, blew my elbow out in a mortal struggle with bursitis, supported the team) ... shit, it taught me humility, I guess? That I had to earn my spot on the team? That wearing a fucking chicken suit - because I blew out my elbow and biffed it on a sponsor - is fucking hot? And that regardless of what got me in the chicken suit, people will forgive me? OK, so last year's lesson is kind of nebulous and ever-evolving.
This year ... clearly, lots going on in the noggin.
So, you ride. You know? I'm sure lots of the 13,000 riders have amazing, altruistic causes to ride for. Hell, I have one. And to be sure, I thought about DJ and his MS a lot of times during my weekend.
But, make no mistake about it. I ride for me. You have to. If you're not getting something out of it, why the hell are you out there doing it? To be sure, you can't do it if it sucks out of you. Something about it has to get your rocks off.
My first day of the MS 150 was really a day of two halves. But first of all, you have to understand something. It was windy. Now, I grew up in West Texas. Where my dad raised cattle. And I spent years helping him. And the wind was blowing every single second. Not every single second I was working cattle. Every single fucking second I lived in West Texas. For 18 years. Constantly. Wind blowing so hard you couldn't swallow. Wind blowing so hard the water in your toilet bowl has waves. I am not making either of those things up. I promise.
So, I know wind.
Saturday, coming out of Houston, the wind was b-l - o -- w --- ing. Constantly around 20 miles an hour. Gusting to 30. Also, it was a special wind. It came just about straight out of the north. Now, if you take a look at the map, you'll notice this puts the wind at anywhere from a straight headwind to about a 2 o'clock wind.
This is problematic for two reasons:
1. It sucks.
2. More than a few years ago, my friend and cycling teammate RR and I engaged in a conversation about wind and cycling. Surely, we both agreed we would rather climb all day than ride in the wind. However, we differed, in that I thought a headwind was the worst wind a rider could face. Randy asserted the worst wind was either out of 10 o'clock or 2 o'clock.
We were both wrong. The worst wind is most definitely out of your 2 o'clock.
You get all the drawbacks from a headwind. And, as there's more surface area on the side of a rider than the front, you get extra drawbacks. You're not only fighting to go forward, you're fighting to stay on the bike. You're not only fighting to go forward and fighting to stay on the bike, you're constantly fighting to go forward and constantly fighting to stay on the bike.
And, as I saw a couple of times, when you ride straight into a wind, you can actually draft within a paceline. You can actually beat the wind by riding on the wheel of the rider in front of you. And, in doing so, you use a ton less effort. Seriously. It makes a world of difference. I was completely wrong about the worst a rider can face. I am secure enough to admit that.
In spite of that. I spent the morning riding with some of the team's big dogs. I not only kept up with them. I was pulling the train at a couple junctures. This would have been unthinkable a couple years ago. And I won't lie. It felt really, really good.
Since my last MS 150 attempt, I've dropped about 30 pounds of fat and replaced it with about 20 pounds of muscle. Though I had ridden far less in preparation, (read: zero.) the fat loss/muscle gain made a lot of my "success" possible. Thank you, Pain Train.
So, after lunch, I had to make a stop to remove my long sleeves. The big dogs, rode on and I found myself on my own against the wind and the pack. The difference was night and day. There was no break from the wind. There was no camaraderie.
So, after hours and hours and miles and miles of fighting that terrible wind (Seriously. Again. From the bottom of my heart. Fuck you, wind. Eat shit and die.), I came to a couple conclusions:
1. As you know, I've been all about the team with this event. And, with good reason. It's hard not to love my team. But, out there by myself. Fighting every mile. Fighting every gust. Fighting every peddle stroke. I realized something. You know what? It's about me. It's up to me. I'm either going to do this. Or I am not going to do this. But not a single, solitary Wheel of Love is going to do this for me. They can't. I can. And I am going to ride every foot of this MS 150. Myself. For me. Bono, you pompous fuck. Sometimes, you can make it on your own. And I'm going to. Because I am a badass.
2. I really should upgrade my components on my bike. The front derailleur sucks. Shifting is terribly unpredictable and it hangs sometimes. And I think something is wrong with the crank. Under torque on a hill, it will slip in the lowest gear up front. Often. Which does a real number on your cadence. And, climbing is when you need a steady cadence the most. But the rear derailleur shifts like butter. But you'd expect that. Smaller gears are easier to shift. So we're starting in the front with these upgrades. Maybe Dura Ace. Maybe SRAM. Maybe Campy.
I swear to you, within a mile of these revelations, something miraculous happened. Doing about 17 ... 18 miles an hour, I shifted my back to a taller gear to maintain my acceleration. Immediately, something was wrong. Something was VERY wrong.
I sheared my rear derailleur hanger. It threw the deraileur into my back wheel, seizing it up IMMEDIATELY. I MASHED both my brake levers. I think I remember screaming "I'm going down!" I'm not sure that is proper cycling etiquette, but it did make everyone scatter. Which was really my point. My first thought was, I have to get both feet out of my clips and I have to do it now. Somehow, I did and pulled off the most amazing Flintstone stop ever. How all this happened without serious incident is really beyond me. I wish there was footage of it.
So, this all happened about two miles past Fayetteville. After standing on the side of the road for 45 minutes because every SAG wagon heading down the course was full, (thanks again, wind for mowing down all those riders.) The guy whose yard I was in asked if he could do anything for me. "I hate to impose, but can you give me a ride back into Fayetteville?"
"Would you like a Corona, too?"
It felt like the setup to one of those farmer's daughter jokes.
So, he takes me the two miles back to the rest stop I had just passed. The repair guy there had no rear derailleur hangers for a Felt. He had no new rear derailleurs. He told me I was done for the day. Bono, it seems, did have a point.
"Can you make it a fixie?"
"Yeah," Arn said. "But only if you're hardcore enough to ride it."
How do you back down from that?
An hour later, I'm back on the road. I make it past the last rest stop of the day. I am 8 miles from glory. I am going to pull this off and it is going to be the greatest story in the history of the Wheels of Love. A turning point in my life to show me that Bono, again, was wrong. Sometimes you can gut it up and make it on your own. Against the wind. Against all the odds. Against all the pain. I am a badass.
Who clearly doesn't know his own strength.
I feel and hear two screws come out of my crankset. Ruh-roh, Shaggy. Five hundred yards later, my sheer, raw, brute force bends my front gear into the frame. Yeah. We're seized up again. Mayday! Mayday! We're going down. Again.
I avoid disaster. Somehow. Again. Five miles from the end of day one. Five miles from eternal cycling badass status.
My bike is cooked. There's no amount of slapdickery that can fix this. At the very least, I'm looking a new front gear and new rear derailleur. I'm thinking it's going to be worse than that. The crankset was slipping before, so it might be a good time to swap it up anyway.
I had a conversation with someone Saturday night who sounded so sad at my day, which was strange to me. I decided that whether or not I actually finished the day, learning what I was supposed to learn was the most important thing. And I did. I learned that I am a badass. Just maybe not all that status is based on my cycling skills. Maybe even in ways I never thought I would actually get acknowledged for being a badass.
I think this reaction came from me generally being too hard on myself when things go wrong. I'm going to work on that. And make sure I learn what I am supposed to learn. I don't have to win every time, but I really should learn from things.
From a materiel sense, for the first time ever, I got out of the MS 150 with everything I stared with. And nothing more.
I declare victory.
Utter and complete victory.
12 April 2008
11 April 2008
10 April 2008
My day represented as a superhero
Seriously. The next person that puts a job jacket or e-mail or Post-It on my desk with the word HOT!!! on it will draw back a bloody stump. The more exclamation points on it, the farther up the arm I go.
It's 10:21. One of my guys has already fielded two calls from his headhunter. I know this because he had the same look on his face that I have on mine when I field calls from my headhunter.
09 April 2008
wow! really?
Not only did I walk out of the house with a black belt and brown shoes on, it took me until 4:11 in the afternoon to notice.
Wow.
Wow.
I got id (and also ego and superego)
We got a long way to go and a short time to get there.
-- Jerry Reed
It's the MS 150 this weekend. Which is actually 182 miles in length. Go figure. Imagine my dismay the first time I road it, hit 150 miles on my bike computer and was still in the middle of fucking nowhere.
Heartbreaking.
Then, we hit the Austin city limits sign. Not only was I still not done. The worst fucking climb was still in front of me. You know who you are, you mountain on MLK.
Soul crushing.
No matter how you slice it, that's a long way. On a tiny bike saddle. With very, very little padding. Even in the lucky cycling shorts, which, unfortunately: 1. were under the suit in Richmond, and, therefore, might not be lucky anymore and 2. clash horribly with this year's spiffy Wheels of Love jerseys.
I used to take long road trips to get my head screwed on straight. I've figured out a lot of life between Austin and Hereford. I figured out way too much driving from Austin to Eugene, Oregon via San Francisco.
Then, I found road bikes. Then I found myself clipped on to 19 pounds of aluminum. Then I found myself on my first climb. Trying not to fall. Mashing the gear shifts.
And then.
It clicked.
The exact right gear at the right speed and time. Man and bike as one.
Being out on the road on my own makes me feel closer to God. Total enlightenment rolling down the road on 115 psi. And that's the way several rides I've done are. Solitary, lonely rides for long stretches. Forty five minutes without seeing a soul.
You can get a lot of shit worked out in your head that way.
But the MS 150 is different. A much more social ride when you put 17,000 cyclists on the road at the same time. It slows down the pace. You have to get along with each other. It's really a beautiful, organic thing. Like a flock of birds.
And, if you're fortunate enough to ride with a team, it brings you closer together. Whether it's your first ride together or your hundredth. You always pick up something. I've even started rides with teammates I didn't think I could stand. By the end, you're brothers and sisters. Without fail. Every time.
A couple months ago, someone asked me how I got into cycling. "How'd I get into the greatest sport ever?" I ask/plied. Only I understated it. It's more than that. It's sport and church and community and camping and beer.
You can get a lot of shit worked out in your head that way.
-- Jerry Reed
It's the MS 150 this weekend. Which is actually 182 miles in length. Go figure. Imagine my dismay the first time I road it, hit 150 miles on my bike computer and was still in the middle of fucking nowhere.
Heartbreaking.
Then, we hit the Austin city limits sign. Not only was I still not done. The worst fucking climb was still in front of me. You know who you are, you mountain on MLK.
Soul crushing.
No matter how you slice it, that's a long way. On a tiny bike saddle. With very, very little padding. Even in the lucky cycling shorts, which, unfortunately: 1. were under the suit in Richmond, and, therefore, might not be lucky anymore and 2. clash horribly with this year's spiffy Wheels of Love jerseys.
I used to take long road trips to get my head screwed on straight. I've figured out a lot of life between Austin and Hereford. I figured out way too much driving from Austin to Eugene, Oregon via San Francisco.
Then, I found road bikes. Then I found myself clipped on to 19 pounds of aluminum. Then I found myself on my first climb. Trying not to fall. Mashing the gear shifts.
And then.
It clicked.
The exact right gear at the right speed and time. Man and bike as one.
Being out on the road on my own makes me feel closer to God. Total enlightenment rolling down the road on 115 psi. And that's the way several rides I've done are. Solitary, lonely rides for long stretches. Forty five minutes without seeing a soul.
You can get a lot of shit worked out in your head that way.
But the MS 150 is different. A much more social ride when you put 17,000 cyclists on the road at the same time. It slows down the pace. You have to get along with each other. It's really a beautiful, organic thing. Like a flock of birds.
And, if you're fortunate enough to ride with a team, it brings you closer together. Whether it's your first ride together or your hundredth. You always pick up something. I've even started rides with teammates I didn't think I could stand. By the end, you're brothers and sisters. Without fail. Every time.
A couple months ago, someone asked me how I got into cycling. "How'd I get into the greatest sport ever?" I ask/plied. Only I understated it. It's more than that. It's sport and church and community and camping and beer.
You can get a lot of shit worked out in your head that way.
Is there anything worse
than your new "job" causing you to teach your mom the meaning of the word "slapdick"?
07 April 2008
Things I will actually miss about Austin
KVET. FM. Twelve PM. Exactly.
Voice of Ray Benson: it's high noon in Austin, Texas. On the gen-u-wine Austin original.
Cue the Star Spangled Banner. Start the goosebumps. Star Spangled Banner ends.
Multiple voices: HAAY-UP!
Start the eye moistening. Cue the drumroll. Start the lump in the throat. Longhorn Band begins The Eyes of Texas.
As soon as possible, this is followed with a black Z71 nosing up as the gas peddle goes to the ground and 327 cubic inches of American muscle spring to life.
Seriously. It gets me everytime and it probably always will.
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile
06 April 2008
05 April 2008
Say, aren't you in town from New York?
Why wouldn't you want to peruse the dollar section of Target?
04 April 2008
Horse straits
see also: where my life was the six months before that.
Nothing.
No wind in the sails for the longest time.
Dumping the horses overboard to preserve food. To lessen the weight.
Water.
Water, everywhere.
Not a drop to drink.
see also: where my life has not been the last six weeks.
Now? Gale force winds. Hatches? Battened down. A sword fight at the top of the masts with a half-human/half-squid Davy Jones.
Wow. That's some pacing, universe.
Nothing.
No wind in the sails for the longest time.
Dumping the horses overboard to preserve food. To lessen the weight.
Water.
Water, everywhere.
Not a drop to drink.
see also: where my life has not been the last six weeks.
Now? Gale force winds. Hatches? Battened down. A sword fight at the top of the masts with a half-human/half-squid Davy Jones.
Wow. That's some pacing, universe.
Right on, Bob FM
How did you know I was walking on sunshine?
Big things in the works. Big things.
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile
03 April 2008
Science geeks, please
Can you explain how room temperature coffee, sitting on my desk directly next to room temperature water is somehow 20 degrees colder?
Should I be concerned?
It seems the lid of my orange-orange (c+calcium) Glaceau Vitamin Water is discolored. The inside is ... well, orange.
Seriously. How do people drink this chemical crap? I think the market across the way from my office had a fridge meltdown last night. There was no juice of any kind this morning. Also, my orange-orange (c+calcium) Glaceau Vitamin Water is warm. These are all signs something is wrong.
Crap, I think I left a (R) out of orange-orange (c+calcium) Glaceau Vitamin Water (R). Get my lawyers on the phone. And on retainer.
I felt less healthy just picking up the bottle. But I had to have something to wash down the 4 cold medications I took this morning.
Seriously. How do people drink this chemical crap? I think the market across the way from my office had a fridge meltdown last night. There was no juice of any kind this morning. Also, my orange-orange (c+calcium) Glaceau Vitamin Water is warm. These are all signs something is wrong.
Crap, I think I left a (R) out of orange-orange (c+calcium) Glaceau Vitamin Water (R). Get my lawyers on the phone. And on retainer.
I felt less healthy just picking up the bottle. But I had to have something to wash down the 4 cold medications I took this morning.
Wow, universe
You're funny.
You Are The Sunshine of My Life. I haven't heard this in years. But did it really have to be today?
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile
02 April 2008
Can somebody tell me?
When did Chris Cornell start sucking?
Seriously. Badmotorfinger is one of the best albums ever. I daresay I have probably listened to it more start to finish than any other album ever. I think it can be argued effectively that Rusty Cage and Outshined are the best one-two tracks in the history of rock. You can follow that up with Room a Thousand Years Wide, Jesus Christ Pose and Searching With My Good Eye Closed.
I'm looking California and feeling Minnesota.
ME TOO, CHRIS!
Too tired to start a fire, I'm burning diesel.
Burning dinosaur bones.
Kick that imagery's ass, Chris.
And, now, certainly I live in a glass house here, but what the hell have you done the last seventeen years, Chris? And can you please stop it?
Audioslave? Oy. You actually proved that Zac de la Rocha was a good singer.
That soundtrack to Great Expectations? Well, it drew attention away from Ethan Hawke ... which was probably the goal of that shitacular endeavor.
Seriously. Badmotorfinger is one of the best albums ever. I daresay I have probably listened to it more start to finish than any other album ever. I think it can be argued effectively that Rusty Cage and Outshined are the best one-two tracks in the history of rock. You can follow that up with Room a Thousand Years Wide, Jesus Christ Pose and Searching With My Good Eye Closed.
I'm looking California and feeling Minnesota.
ME TOO, CHRIS!
Too tired to start a fire, I'm burning diesel.
Burning dinosaur bones.
Kick that imagery's ass, Chris.
And, now, certainly I live in a glass house here, but what the hell have you done the last seventeen years, Chris? And can you please stop it?
Audioslave? Oy. You actually proved that Zac de la Rocha was a good singer.
That soundtrack to Great Expectations? Well, it drew attention away from Ethan Hawke ... which was probably the goal of that shitacular endeavor.
01 April 2008
What's better ...
Than Tom Petty's Free Fallin' with the windows down and the volume up?
Oh yeah. Signing Koosh.
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile
It's like Casey fucking Kasem
The hits. They just keep on coming:
Hi Colby,
I wanted to touch base with you regarding the Account Manager position at [ad agency]. Unfortunately, at this point the hiring team has chosen to continue the process with another candidate, and they are no longer actively considering your application. However, we have your information on file. Should another position matching your skills become available, we'll be sure to let you know. In the meantime, I wish you the best of luck on your job search.
Best regards,
Person's Name
Hi Colby,
I wanted to touch base with you regarding the Account Manager position at [ad agency]. Unfortunately, at this point the hiring team has chosen to continue the process with another candidate, and they are no longer actively considering your application. However, we have your information on file. Should another position matching your skills become available, we'll be sure to let you know. In the meantime, I wish you the best of luck on your job search.
Best regards,
Person's Name
Hotel Austin
I checked out a long time ago. Clearly, I can never leave.
In fact, a year ago today, I ended a relationship with someone on the grounds that I was moving. The core reality was, I had to have a drastic life change. We both did. That relationship was bleeding both of us dry. I found myself in a terribly unfulfilling job and in a horrible relationship at a terrible time. And I could never overcome the feeling that I deserved better in my life. And deserved to be doing what I want with my life. Also, moving would have accomplished all those things. Which made it the perfect plan.
But, here it is. A year later. And I'm still in Austin. It's like effing groundhog day. Before, I felt like a slave to a life I didn't want. Now I feel like an indentured servant to it. No chains. Still can't go anywhere.
I've thrown hundreds of resumes all over the country. I've talked to dozens of headhunters. I've lied all over my resume. I've volunteered to start over at entry level positions. Anything to get me out of this town. I.HATE.THIS.FUCKING.TOWN. And nothing. Well, I got a magical plane ride that was supposed to somehow give me interactive experience. Apparently I fell asleep at the key parts.
If you asked the general population would you like to live forever and would you like to live in Austin, I bet the percentages would be pretty close for both questions.
But ask any vampire how cool it is to live forever. It's not. They'll happily tell you. They just want to die with dignity. I just want to get the hell out of here. I'm an Austin vampire. An Auspire. A Vampstin.
That sounds like a car. And a kid on a 5 year old soccer team.
Seriously, why can't I be traded to another city? I'm not happy with my playing time, coach. I'm not happy with this West Coast offense we're running now in this city, coach. Your mom, coach.
I'm holding out. I'm going to become a cancer in the locker room. I'm getting into a feud with a reporter who's been covering our team for years. I'm wearing a Yankees hat to an Indians playoff game. I'm reaching out and grabbing a foul ball. I'm laying on the scorer's table until someone throws a drink on me. Then I'm going in the stands. Spider monkey style.
No, I'm not. I'm just going to live forever. Yippee.
In fact, a year ago today, I ended a relationship with someone on the grounds that I was moving. The core reality was, I had to have a drastic life change. We both did. That relationship was bleeding both of us dry. I found myself in a terribly unfulfilling job and in a horrible relationship at a terrible time. And I could never overcome the feeling that I deserved better in my life. And deserved to be doing what I want with my life. Also, moving would have accomplished all those things. Which made it the perfect plan.
But, here it is. A year later. And I'm still in Austin. It's like effing groundhog day. Before, I felt like a slave to a life I didn't want. Now I feel like an indentured servant to it. No chains. Still can't go anywhere.
I've thrown hundreds of resumes all over the country. I've talked to dozens of headhunters. I've lied all over my resume. I've volunteered to start over at entry level positions. Anything to get me out of this town. I.HATE.THIS.FUCKING.TOWN. And nothing. Well, I got a magical plane ride that was supposed to somehow give me interactive experience. Apparently I fell asleep at the key parts.
If you asked the general population would you like to live forever and would you like to live in Austin, I bet the percentages would be pretty close for both questions.
But ask any vampire how cool it is to live forever. It's not. They'll happily tell you. They just want to die with dignity. I just want to get the hell out of here. I'm an Austin vampire. An Auspire. A Vampstin.
That sounds like a car. And a kid on a 5 year old soccer team.
Seriously, why can't I be traded to another city? I'm not happy with my playing time, coach. I'm not happy with this West Coast offense we're running now in this city, coach. Your mom, coach.
I'm holding out. I'm going to become a cancer in the locker room. I'm getting into a feud with a reporter who's been covering our team for years. I'm wearing a Yankees hat to an Indians playoff game. I'm reaching out and grabbing a foul ball. I'm laying on the scorer's table until someone throws a drink on me. Then I'm going in the stands. Spider monkey style.
No, I'm not. I'm just going to live forever. Yippee.
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