I like the Portland

In advance of next week's big industry trade show, a small away team from the Marketing Mothership made a trip up to Portland, Ore. to check out our just-completed new booth.

"Booth" is a funny thing to call it if you ask me...when I think of booths, I think greasy spoon restaraunts, or hard-to-close glass boxes with telephones in them, or the place where you confess your sins to the good father, or that seedy little shithole in San Francisco where Chuck took me to see the girls spank each other--a booth whose walls you dare not touch and whose floor makes you consider burning your shoes. No, a booth it is not.

Neither is it a "stand" as the english like to call it. A stand is a little kiosk where you buy flowers or newspapers or hotdogs. Though I like the lot of those things, we sell none--we sell helmets. And who ever heard of a helmet stand? So a stand won't stand either.

Truth to tell this new canvass of marketing our wares is kind of stadium-looking, though that would be overstating it. And besides there's no grandstands, which I would think is a prerequisite, so stadium won't do either. I think I'll just go kinda Children's Museum on it and call it a "Helmetorium." And it is so.

All that aside, the gist of this rant is that it was a good day with a good vibe in a nice place with nice people. Which is to say it was an exceptional work day.

An early rise and on the first flight we were on the way to Portland. It was actually only my third time to PDX, the first being oh 10-12 years ago when my best friend Dan lived there. I went on New Year's holiday and it was rainy and grey but I remember doing a nice hike and a run in the mountains and watching Beavis and Butthead until we were numb.

The next time Dan was getting married and that was fun and we ate a restaraunt under a bridge called Montage where they made funny animals out of the tin foil they wrapped our leftovers in. The servers were somehow surly but nice and unpretentious...and they served Rainer beer as if it were Dom Perignon.

So this time was for work, but the folks who built our helmetarium feel like friends more than vendors and I like that, so it fells less like work work. They're laid-back and treat us as nicely as they do Sony, their biggest client, who last time I went to E3 had a $50 million booth just for Playstation 2 (see Captain Mullet above).

In any case, the ride from the airport to suburban Hillsboro reminded me how beautiful Portland is. For some reason everything I saw was exciting and intriguing--bikes everywhere, people paddling kayaks everywhere, bridges sprawling majestically everywhere... even the used office furniture stores that were everywhere held some inordinate allure. I so wanted to check out this funky optical shop that looked like they had some awesome frames...to top it off, their bike rack that was shaped like a giant pair of horn rimmed glasses! And did I mention the bungalows? It was just one of those days.

Arriving at the office we were not surprised that our helmetorium looks amazing. Though some $49.99 million less than the Playstation booth, I still think it looks like a million bucks. Or it will. It was partially assembled to give us the look-and-feel and to iron out a few last details. It needs to be in Vegas on Saturday, so they were literally taking sections apart and packing them minutes after we examined them.

Late in the afternoon we whisked back to the airport only find out that our flight had been delayed. After catching up on emails and phone calls, we wandered a bit and found this awesome Lego display and went forth quickly to creating a Cubist interpretation of Portland's bridges (again, photos above).

I think the children in the airport were frightened by our determined and frenzied pace as they dare not approach the playspace--though, truthfully, we would not have dissuaded them. We were all just kids for a while and duly dissapointed when our flight was finally called.

Fishing for Vespas: A Lunker Bass Story

So it’s been a long time since I actually put pen to paper here, or pixel to plasma as the case may be, but life has been busy…good but busy. So without further apology, I continue…

I posted the photos of the Vespa without much explanation, but there is a bit of backstory and it’s kinda fun and potentially wordy. What can I say? It's feast or famine with me sometimes.

I think my first or second post ever to this here blogosphere was an admission of lust for a scooter…the Genuine Stella to be exact, an updated knock-off of the vaunted classic Vespa P-Series, made at a former Vespa plant in India. Reasons of practicality put my scooter dream on the way back burner for a time and in the interim Genuine stopped production of the Stella in the midst of a labor dispute that saw the factory shut down.

Random re-ignition
Fast-forward a few dozen months and a random series of events started the boulder named scooter on down the mountain again. And while my nostalgic side really wanted to go the vintage route, I ultimately targeted on a so-called ‘modern Vespa’—a late model, if you will, as my scoot of choice.

Without the time for a restoration project, not to mention my general lack of combustion engine aptitude, the modern bikes really serve my purposes much better, even if they lack a bit of romance. I know me, and I’m happier with the emphasis on riding rather than wrenching…not that the notion of beautiful plumes of blue smoke and visions of I, standing gallantly roadside, the wind ruffling my checkerboard scarf while I deftly clean the points of a fouled spark plug don’t truly hold a certain appeal. It’s just that without whole bunches of modifications I’m not equipped to do, the performance and reliability of the vintage bikes doesn't match the demands of modern traffic...not to mention my hamfistedness. Eventually I want to make riding the thing to work a viable option—the idea being to replace some car miles with bike miles—so modern it is.

Divining the bike
Was it obsessive to engage in marathon ModernVespa.com sessions that repeatedly lasted to the wee hours? Perhaps. But it seems to me that some amount of immersion is often needed as a litmus test to verify whether something is a true desire or just a passing fancy. It was also a great and necessary education…a way of figuring out what matters in a bike philosophically, mechanically and spiritually.

First I eliminated the ET-series bikes—now discontinued, they seem a bit underpowered and are styled a bit too modern for me…kind of a funky cross between a spaceship and a ladybug. Cool in their own way, but not in the classic sense that I favor.

Vespa's more classic-looking LX, GT and GTS-bikes fit my aesthetic sensibilities better, but it was a tough choice between these—I like the size and general scooterness of their smaller LX-series. But the performance of the 200cc plus GT and GTS bikes—given my desire to eventually commute over the big hill to work—made them a more practical, and in some ways safer, choice. And the styling was just as good as the LX, just a bit supersized. As a bonus, the GT/GTS makes my ass look smaller.

So, OK, I’m now good with getting either a GT or GTS…200cc carburetted vs. 250cc fuel-injected with near equal horsepower and top-end, really not all that much of a difference. Same body size and style with a few more chrome bits on the GTS. I could go either way. Out of frugality, I decided to go the used route and regularly scour eBay and Craigslist as well as a few scooter sites for “the deal.”

The waiting game
With not much coming up locally and my conclusion that eBay is dicey at best for this kind of purchase—it costs about $500 to ship a scooter cross country and there is no chance to test ride or inspect—I focus on Craigslist, but open my search a bit and bookmark my CL Vespa search for some slightly more distant in-state locales—Monterey, Sacramento, LA and Orange County—just for shits and giggles.

It was at this point that I remember thinking the whole process was a lot like fishing.

Time to cut the line
The next morning--BAM!--an unbelievable listing pops up somewhat locally:
2005 Vespa GT200 - Santa Rosa - $1950...2,000 miles and minor scratches. Holy shit! The photos look OK but don't show much detail.

I call immediately and talk to the seller:
Yeah it runs great. Really nice scoot. You’ll really like it.
Fuck yeah I will.
Oh, but I don’t have a key for it and it will cost $650 at a dealer to get the thing re-keyed. Oh and it’s a salvaged title.
Thinking--What the fuck does 'salvaged title' actually mean?
Oh and it’s got a couple dents and scratches and I think it might have leaked some batter acid.
Hmmm. Uh...wait...how do you know it "runs great” if you don’t have a key to start it?
Oh well, I got it at an auction and I test rode it before the auction in the parking lot…and when I picked it up they had lost the key, but it was such a great deal, I just accepted it as-is…and that’s why I lowered my price.
Hmmm. So what auction did you get the bike at?
At an auction.
Yeah you told me that WHAT auction?
Oh, the one in...uh...Fremont.
Which one?
The one in Fremont.
Oh yeah, THAT one…maybe I’ll call you back.
-click-
Maybe not, Sketchmo.

Landing the marlin
A week later, trolling the ads one evening. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Then there it is—in my head the bobber dives deep:
Orange County Craigslist. 2004 Vespa GT200, 1718 miles, runs great, in very good shape, a few scratches, $2500. Good pictures, the scratches are minimal. No phone number, only email.

Hmmm, sounds a little, well, fishy, but what the hell:
---------
FROM: Don P - 7:00PM
TO: CL Anonymous
Hi - VERY interested in your scooter. Does it have a clean title? What condition is it in? Does it run well? Where in Orange County are you?
----------
FROM: Randy K - 7:20PM
TO: Don P
Wow, quick response. Anyway, clean title, it got knocked over once and has a few scratches on the cowl and trim (see attached pic), it runs excellent and I just replaced the battery with a sealed one.
– Randy K---., Aliso Viejo
----------
GOOGLE SEARCH: Randy K---, Aliso Viejo

RESULTS: Elementary school teacher. Scuba instructor.
----------
FROM: Don P - 7:45PM
TO: Randy K
Randy- I’m really interested. Really, really interested and I have the cash in hand. Only issue is that I live in San Jose. Can we talk on the phone about this? I can probably be there on Wednesday afternoon (it's Monday night).
Don
----------
I'll spare you another phone call transcript...after speaking with Randy for five minutes I had a good vibe and felt the guy was on the up-and-up. His dad bought the bike to carry around on his motor home and use at the RV parks he visited. Dad liked it but admitted it was a little too big to load and unload by himself all the time, so he gave it to Randy's wife who rode it three times and decided she liked air conditioning, her cell phone and the radio better than the wind in her hair. Randy has a Triumph and not much interest in scooters.

As I was first to inquire, he gave me the first shot and was true to his word—no less than 12 people ended up emailing him about it. My only fear was that someone would show up cash-in-hand before I could borrow a pickup and get down there.

But clearly it was meant to be. Fourteen hours of driving later, highly caffeinated and a bit lighter in the wallet, I rolled the Vespa off the ramp and down my driveway. Exhausted and happy, I dubbed him Prosciutto in honor of my favorite Italian cold cut. The name was partially inspired—rhymatically so—by Phil Rizzuto, the diminutive Yankee shortstop who passed during my journey south. Though small in stature Rizzuto was known for good defense, clutch hitting and great speed on the bases. His nickname—"The Scooter."

Kiwis kill it in new HBO series 'Conchords'

I really like Flight of the Conchords on HBO. Funny as funk. And even if you don’t have HBO you can watch it on YouTube…at least for now (each episode has been uploaded in three parts).

Rhymenocerous vs. Hiphopopotomus is prolly my favorite thus far:

Ode to Ben Jacques-Maynes

My favorite local mountain bike spot is Soquel Demonstration Forest, a gem of a forest about half way between Santa Cruz and the Santa Clara Valley. To get there one travels southeast from the Highway 17 summit along a snakey, crumbling barely two lane road called Highland Way. It’s prone to slides and washouts, has more than its share of potholes and, while paved, drives more like a Jeep road than a freeway.

About half way out, the undulating route tilts slightly downhill towards Demo and it is here that I came upon local bike racing luminary Ben Jacques-Maynes on a training ride a few weeks ago. After catching up to him at this point—in my car mind you—I soon realized that, because of the down slope, it would be dangerous if not impossible to pass him for the next couple miles…which was actually just fine with me.

It’s not that I’m into men’s backsides or anything—I’m hopelessly hetero—but watching Ben was a beautiful thing. The stillness of his upper body and the effortless flow of his bike—into turns, over bumps, around rocks and holes—at close to 30mph—was just remarkable. I think there’s an unconscious efficiency that comes from riding a bike as much as he does…and it shows. I found myself hoping my form looks half as good.

At one point, a speeding pickup truck came barreling around a blind corner in the opposite direction and Ben dodged it with the ease and nonchalance of dodging a pebble.

Amidst all the doping hooha of the last couple Tours de France, it was a reminder that on whatever level, cycling is just a simple, beautiful sport.

Bad taste dooms Hillary

In political news, Hillary Clinton has been categorically eliminated from receiving my vote for the 2008 Democratic Primary based solely on her selection of a Celine Dion song as her campaign theme.

Now I’m willing to look past the little Whitewater thing at the end of her husband’s presidency, the whole grandstanding “I make cookies too” thing way back when, and her apparently well-earned reputation as being a biotch. The latter may, in fact, be an asset, and the other two things are irrelevant and immaterial to me. God knows, they pale in the face of the true crimes and atrocities of the current administration.

I’d go so far as to say that I LIKE the woman (and her husband and daughter on the whole), agree with much of her thinking and find her infinitely more appealing than a bushel of Bushes. But in selecting Celine’s “You and I,” Hillary has committed a high crime of bad taste—one I cannot be associated with—and, no, it has nothing to do with Ms. Dion’s Caniadianess. For the record, I tend to like Canucks.

So unless she makes it to the big dance, I’m sticking with the junior senator from Illinois.

Downieville Redux: Why not go for two?

For the second consecutive weekend, I punched out on Thursday and headed for the hills--the Sierras to be exact...destination Downieville.

Once a bustling mining town on the cusp of the Mother Lode, Downieville is now a quaint little berg at the confluence of the Downie and Yuba Rivers. It's one of California's most popular mountain biking destinations and with famed trails that plunge downhill in the neighborhood of 5,000 feet in 15 challenging miles or so, it's no wonder.

Along the way, the trails change in character several times, from the "baby head"rock-riddled Pauley Creek trail to the flowy swoops of Third Divide. The splash-and run-Butcher Ranch trail literally has you riding downstream in rocky riverbeds before it gives way to shaley switchbacks and rock hops. The Second Divide option is an exposed up-and-down challenger that goes through old (ans ometimes still operative) mining claims and has you riding on exposed narrow ledges high above the river. Big Boulder has a grunt of a climb to start that gives way to a super fast and steep brake burner on a trailbed that's frequently no more than three or four tires wide.

For all the Downieville pics, click here.

And while a recent survey determined that mountain biking brings in 80 percent of the town's revenue, it's more than a one trick pony. During the spring there's great rafting here and for most of the year there's superb fishing, hiking, dirt biking and general outdoorsyness. I also find it a great place to just relax--winters here must be sublime and beautiful.

Aside from the riding, recreation and relaxing, there's the towns themselves--Downieville, of course, and Sierra City and Bassetts up the road a piece. Though surely not as glamorous as a TV show, I imagine life in these places like an episode out of Northern Exposure. For the most part, people are friendly, welcoming and outgoing and not without a bit of quirk, which makes them all the more endearing.

This weekend (6/23-24) was Downieville's annual Gold Rush celebration which brought out the costumes and demonstrations of old time machinery and ways. Mock gunfights in the streets, a mining camp set up in the town park and the awsomely brilliant anvil launch.

For this demonstration, a local 'historian' (i.e. a guy from the town bar) places an anvil on the ground with a hole drilled in it. He puts gunpowder in the hole along with a wick and covers it with a couple of playing cards. On top of this, he puts another anvil--one that weighs 70 lbs. and is solid. He lights the wick, walks away and the anvil is launched 60-80 feet straight up and lands only a few feet from where it left the earth. Behold:

Before the launch, people buy steel washers and write their names on them. If the anvil lands on their washer, they win half the pot. I didn't win the money, but I felt like a winner none-the-less.

Mr. Toad's and the fire
Capping our weekend was a jaunt on Sunday to the town of Meyers near South Lake Tahoe for one final bike ride. Descending down from the Tahoe Rim Trail above Meyers is the Saxon Creek Trail, more commonly referred to as Mr. Toad's Wild Ride.

Like the namesake Disneyland ride, Mr. Toad's trail is one of California's most thrilling and challenging downhill runs. After an hour-long, altitudinous, 4.5 mile grunt of a climb on the TRT, the fun begins. About five miles in length, Toad's begins with some super technical rock descents, smooths out and hops a bit, hits a 50 yard waterbar staircase about half way down, rocks some more, and ends up with a pump-track-like toboggan chute of jumps, berms and general mountain bike goodness.

After cleaning most of it, my ride partner Phil and I had perma-grins on our faces as we rolled into the parking lot. "The perfect end to a great weekend," I thought to myself...

...until I looked up and saw the acrid skies and plumes of smoke.

As we had ascended the Rim Trail, we came across a group of hikers who pointed out a small forest fire across the valley. It looked like cotton balls and seemed concerning in a small way, but innocuous in the big scheme of things. It was dry and actually quite windy, we observed. Hmmm.

After an energy bar and a drink, we could see that the fire was growing rapidly, but still it was relatively small. Uanable to render assistance or call for help from our distant and remote location, we rode on, confident that others would see and respond to the fire.

By the time we had finished our descent--maybe 40 minutes later--it was obvious that this was more than a brush fire. Smoke billowed hundreds of feet into the air, a bizarre orangey pall shone through the trees and every few minutes we'd hear loud booms (we would later learn that these were residential propane tanks exploding).

After packing up we joined the roads which had a vague sense of bedlam to them. Traffic was heavy, roads were closing and emergency vehicles came to and fro in every direction.

As we drove south on Highway 50 heading home, I would say at least 50 or 60 fire trucks and emergency vehicles were on their way up to fight the blaze. Here's hoping they stay safe and can help those folks out.

A Weekend in Downieville

Vid Clip of the Week: Creature Comforts

From the creator of Wallace and Grommit.

Good Riddance Rocks Out

Seminal Santa Cruz punksters Good Riddance bid the rock world goodbye with an aptly incendiary final show at the Catalyst in Santa Cruz on May 27, 2007. Chuck, Luke, Sean and Russ--Thank You.

Slideshow: Bike to Work Day

Slideshow: SOFA SJ First Friday - May 2007

Photos from San Jose's First Fridays open studios, featuring "Lowrider Arcade," an exhibit of custom-made lowrider bikes by Matthew Rodriguez & Samuel Rodriguez at Gallery AD and some amazing emo kid band from Phoenix called French Quarter at Works/San Jose.

Hot and Not #1

For today's post I decided to do my own newspaper-style 'Hot and Not' list to encapsulate the week, so here goes:

HOT
Los Tiburones
My neighbor JT scored some sweet Sharks tickets for Monday’s playoff game against Detroit. Though I've always been conflicted about cheering for a team from a climate zone where there is no naturally occurring skateable ice—not to mention one that wears teal sweaters—it was awesome to see a playoff game in person. And since the Blackhawks look destine to never make a return to the playoffs, it was great to see Detroit—an Original Six team—grinding it out in what I'm hoping will be a seven game, to-the-bone series. Also great: seeing Chris Chelios, age 45, still playing like he's 25. The company was great too. Muchos gracias JT!


Rain Reign

We've had some short bursts of rain here in what normally is the dry season. Given the stingy precip over the winter, it seems refreshing and recharging...and it will extend the super sweet and tacky trail season just a bit longer. In the Midwest, rain is a depression that lasts for weeks. The way it's been here the last few weeks, rain is short bursts of pure joy.

Rocking the SCTT
I did the Swanton Time Trial yesterday with Ryan P. And while my time clocked in a bit slower than last month, I managed to have fun while putting the screws to myself. Ryan did too. On the way home we rocked out to Styx Greatest Hits. Our version of 'Renegade' puts Wayne and Garth to shame.

The Warriors

I'm not much of an NBA fan, but I like what the Warriors are doing. I like the way they run and steal and scrap. I like their fans, the almost collegiate atmosphere of their arena, and the fact that the players really seem to want it. I'm glad they made short work of the NBA's best team, especially since the Mavs a) are from Texas, and b) have a loudmouth, jackass, rich guy owner.

I hope they play Houston next, defeat another team from Texas and run circles around Yao Ming (though I have nothing against the Mingster).

Confession here—I had no idea the Golden State Warriors played in Oakland until, like, last year. Why can't they be the Oakland Warriors? With the bum rap that town gets, they should be allowed a geographically precise source of pride.

Props also to the Bulls, who swept defending champion Miami in round one.

NOT HOT
The Two-Week Itch

I hate the oak. It's kinda my fault that New Sean, Kevin and myself are all suffering now. I say "kinda" because I hadn't ridden that little connector trail in a while, but figured the poison oak was still kinda small and kinda avoidable. Kinda not. Thankfully, Kevin has this calamine/Bactine spray that is soothing and gives you a stylish polka dot look. I hate the oak...no kinda about that.

Freeway on Fire

Tanker truck overturns on I-580 connector, explodes and destroys freeway. I guess literally speaking this should go on the VERY hot list, but who woulda thunk you could burn down a concrete and steel span of freeway? If there's a silver lining, hopefully it will encourage a few more people to use public transportation or bike...that and the fact that nobody died.

A Little Too Chipper
Somehow I acquired yet another chip in my windshield. At this rate, me and Santa Cruz Glass are gonna be on a first name basis.

Stiff Revengance

So yeah, maybe Kevin was a bit over-the-top with the sample Wheaties boxes in Tom's office...and in his mail and on the back of the door and in his drawer. But Tom perhaps overstepped when he exacted his revenge by plastering Kevin's FJ with the same. Not that I didn't laugh my ass off...it was funny as hell, and stylishly executed. But in my book, messin' with someone's car (or bike) is akin to horse theivin'. And that would get you shot in the Old West.

Spamtastic

I get shitloads of spam. Everyday. Most of it automatically goes to my spam folder where, once a day, I give it a quick scan before permanently deleting the majority.

Since I know someone named Jim Hess, I gave this particular missive a once-over only to realize it ain't from my Jim Hess. Fortunately, it has that most unlikely humorous quality to it only realized in bad to-English translations. Have a read and I think you'll agree. Clicking on the image will enlarge--dare I say enhance--the text.

Me? I'm off to Payless to get a size 13 loafer for my Johnson.

Atop Mt. Hamilton 4/26

A cherry 1986 Fiero...and I thought Lotuses were cool.

Spider Dave is my F-ing Hero

What can I say? I'm one with the freaks.

Dave's Web Site

Creature From The Desk #9

Today’s Creature from the Desk is a packet of Easton Friction Paste. It looks suspiciously like a packet of Sriracha (Asian hot sauce) and I nearly put it on my Charlie Hong Kong rice bowl the other day. Though I’ve never tasted friction paste, I’m thinking it’s pretty nasty…and that would have forced me to use hot sauce on bike parts, which can't be right either.

Anyway, friction paste is a grease of sorts except that it’s not meant to lubricate. It has some magical grains of synthetic grit that help insure both corrosion resistance and impressive resistance—paradoxically preventing both the slippage and the seizing of clamped bicycle components (i.e. seatposts, bars and stem, etc.) at the same time.

I’ve heard it works really well, but haven’t gotten around to putting it on my bikes yet. I should though—I’ve always been a little wary about how tight I’ve cinched the carbon seatpost in my carbon frame…and this stuff is supposed to let you get away with 30 percent less torque on the fixing bolts.

So it sounds really good for my bike…but not so much for my lunch.

Heartbreak Sweet Heartbreak

When I think of the word heartbreak, it generally conjures up memories of getting dumped, images of a Cinderella basketball team losing by a point to the heavy favorite, or songs by Tom Petty and Elvis. Check that, Elvis first, then Tom Petty.

And while I wouldn't be as dramatic as to say my heart has been broken lately, it's definitely been rattled a couple times. And in a most unusual way.

Just over a year ago my co-worker and friend Bill Corliss was killed in a bike/car accident near his home in Utah. It was very difficult for all of us at work and, yes, truly heartbreaking to comprehend, especially when considering the unfathomable loss suffered by Bill's family, particularly his wife Deb and his newly adopted 12-year-old son Jordan.

A couple weeks ago Bill's brother Greg, who lives locally, called and told me his parents and Jordan would be spending spring break in Santa Cruz. He wondered if I might be able to give them a tour of our facilities so they could see the place Bill was always raving about. There was no hesitation in granting their request.

After introductions and pleasantries, I took the family around the building and showed them what we do and how we do it with an emphasis on the many projects Bill had a hand in. During the tour I was reminded of how utterly cool the people I work with are--everyone I introduced them to dropped whatever they were working on and gave our guests their complete attention and accommodation.

One of our designers took them to the shape shop, the House of the Holy of our company, where outside eyes rarely gaze and even inside eyes are very limited. From there it was all the way through R&D and sports marketing and graphics and to the test lab.

It was there, the test lab, where we intentionally break things that the first shot to my heart struck.

Bill's dad was in deep conversation with our lab technician about impact standards--one that illustrated the shared DNA of Bill and his dad--when I engaged Jordan in a side conversation as he gazed up at a poster of a mountain biker catching huge air.

ME: "Insane photo huh?"

JORDAN: "It's totally cool. I have a lot of freeride DVDs at home with stuff like that."

ME: "Sweet! A lot of those riders wear our helmets. Who's your favorite rider?"

JORDAN: "My favorite rider?" Pause. His voice between matter-of-fact and cheery. "My dad is my favorite rider."

According to government standards a bicycle helmet must limit the impact to less than 300 Gs in our lab tests in order to pass. I'm pretty sure my heart registered well above 10,000 Gs at that moment. How I did not cry, I cannot explain. The only thing I can figure is that Jordan projected some of his immense emotional strength upon me. For even now, it brings a tear to my eye to recall that conversation.
- - -
By the time the family left the building we had loaded them up with t-shirts and stickers and posters and as many choc skis as we could find. After some prodding, Jordan admitted that he'd had his eye on a couple of mountain bike helmets, which I offered to send him.

Last week, I got this thank you card from him:

That was the second shot.

And just for the record, you can break my heart with sweetness any time.

Gwen on Cloud Nine

Gwen--my mom--at the Stanford Sculpture Garden in 2003. She may have funny mollusks on her jacket, but her doctor says she's cancer free.

Sent: Thursday, April 12, 2007 10:25 AM
Subject: Oncology

To say I'm am floating on "cloud nine" would almost be an understatement. I was at the University of Chicago Hospitals last week for my annual CT and back today to see the Oncologist. He said "it is 5 years since your chemo, you do not have to come back". I still have to report once a year to the Urologist, but maybe that will cease too.

Peace, and thank all of you for all of your prayers,
Gwen

So it goes.

Author Kurt Vonnegut left us today. His death the result of a head injury sustained last week in a household accident.

So it goes.

Thank you for everything.

Creature from the Desk #8

This week’s Creature from the Desk is a photograph I bought at Architectural Artifacts, a building salvage operation that I think obtained the picture from a discarded exhibit at the Chicago Historical Society. Written in grease pencil on the back of the photo is “Social Security Building & Gerald Lee.” The photo is signed artist-style by Ron Gordon and dated 1982. And while I think it’s a fairly thought-provoking photo for the casual viewer, it has a cascading effect on me.

The subject of the photo is an apparently homeless man—whom I assume to be the Gerald Lee from the inscription—in an empty lot on the outskirts of the Chicago Loop. Gerald, with a scruffy salt-and-pepper beard is looking up from a book he’s reading, his eyes barely a sliver either trying to adjust to the difference of light intensity or from some ailment or exhaustion or all of the above. It’s a bright day, but probably cold, given all the layers he’s wearing. He has a half-pound bag of Lay’s potato chips at his feet and is wearing a ‘Mack Trucks’ knit cap.

In the background you can see the Social Security Administration Building, a glistening post-modernist glass-and-steel box amongst old and crumbling brick buildings. On the right hand side of the photo there is a sign on a lamp post that reads “End Blasting”—something I always found interesting given the bombed-out landscape.

Just behind the man is a sign for the Polk Brothers outlet store. Polk Brothers was fairly large regional appliance and electronics chain that folded in the early ‘90’s. I witnessed the symbolic end to Polk Brothers in 1987 when their headquarters, warehouse and largest retail store burned to the ground in a spectacular fire just across the street from the community college I attended.

In front of the Social Security Building is a giant baseball bat—a 100-foot-tall sculpture that was installed in the late ‘70’s with great fanfare. I remember arguing with a friend that it was a White Sox bat, not a Cubs bat.

In the early ‘80’s a guy who went by the name of Spider Dan scaled the bat wearing a Spider Man costume. He went on to scale the Sears Tower and the John Hancock Building—respectively the world’s tallest and second-tallest buildings at the time—then went to New York and climbed the World Trade Center, and on to Toronto to climb the CN Tower. He was a bit of a nutter and attention seeker, to be sure, but he had his reasons and they were noble.

So you see there’s all this going on in this photograph for me, but it’s simple too. It’s the look in Gerald’s eye, his right eye, the good one. On one hand sad, but somehow content—I think…or hope, anyway.

PS - If you click on the photo the pop-up is larger than usual, to see the detail.

Opening Day

Now THAT'S bad.

Pop Music, Advertising, and the Saving Grace of Irony

I don't know what it is that so abrades me about companies repurposing popular music into their advertising. When a commercial with a song I like comes on, I can literally feel my blood pressure rise as I hurl profanities at the TV in dialogue generally reserved for bad umpires. To my chagrin the TV is indefatigably stoic, refusing to even acknowledge, let alone engage me in emotional banter. Let me tell you friend, that Hitachi is one cold blooded mother fucker.


Brown goes Postal in the latest run of UPS ads.

I suppose I feel that, at a minimum, using pop songs—good pop songs—in commercials debases the art. Which is to say that I could give a shit if they use a Carrie Underwood song to sell tampons or rechargeable drills or Crystal Lite drink mix—have at it. That’s not art, it’s Pop Rocks.

But when they use the Ramones or Johnny Cash or Modern English even, well, that there is straight-up aggression on my personal aesthetic sensibilities. Especially when it catches me by surprise.

I was at a somewhat bland party a couple years ago and I earnestly mentioned to the host that the music they had on was good. And when I say good, I mean OK/good—definitely not great or even above average/good—I was expecting Celine Dion and was pretty happy when I didn’t have to throw myself off their balcony at the sounds of her shrill saccharine. Anyway, the host was quite proud that I’d noticed the music and even more proud to let me know that all the songs came from a mix he’d found on iTunes called “Songs from Commercials.” Suffice it to say that I had a new reason to not venture to the second floor for the rest of the night.

I should interject here that I know and acknowledge that there are lots of people out there who actually LIKE hearing their favorite songs in commercials.

Who actually LIKE hearing the soundtrack of their deflowering being played while they contemplate, oh, I dunno, the number of cup holders in that new SUV they’ve been eyeing.

People who actually LIKE being manipulated and having their emotional connection to a time, place, people and song switched and co-opted into objectified consumerist impulses.

All I can say is that these people are very wrong. And disturbed. And wrong.

The only thing that keeps me sane on this whole thing is what I believe to be the unintentional irony of many of these spots. Secretly, I hope there’s some clever subversive working at each ad agency who insures that holier-than-thou music snobs like myself will be able to poke holes in this shit.

I have to say I was fairly sickened by the American Association of Retired Persons' recent misappropriation of the Buzzcocks' “Everybody’s Happy Nowadays” for their latest spot. While the commercial tries to convey a hip and happy take on aging and retirement, the song itself is really a sarcastic and quite UNhappy commentary, the fullness of which is evident when you actually listen to the lyrics and best summed up in the line “life’s an illusion, love is a dream.”

Or perhaps it’s not ironic at all. Most old people I know seem preoccupied with healthcare costs and incontinence and memory loss and hearing loss. What? HEARING LOSS! So perhaps the unhappy original intent of “Everybody’s Happy Nowadays” is relevant to the real, unglamorized, arthritis-riddled, rank-and-file AARP member, and not so much for the fountain-of-youthers in their commercials.

I saw another commercial last night that was ironic in a different sort of way. UPS has launched a series of spots themed “Whiteboard” that feature a trying-to-hard-to-be-hipster-business-guy doodling all this shit on the wall about shipping logistics. The spot culminates with him connecting the doodles to make the UPS logo (pictured above). So very clever.

The music playing in the background? A song called “Such Great Heights.”

The band? The Postal Service.

Creature from the Desk #7

Today’s Creature from the Desk is again, technically speaking, from above my desk. It’s a plastic insert map of the Green Line from the Chicago Transit Authority’s rapid transit system. It actually snaps into a curved, backlit marquee above the door of each car and is a reference for the riders as to which stop is next, where to transfer, etc.

I’d like to say I was cool enough to have stolen it from an actual train, but I’m not—I would surely have gotten caught. Overriding that, however, was my preordained guilt over the poor woman who, in a panic, gets off the train at the wrong stop in the bad part of town—erroneous in her judgment because she has no map to reference—and is beset upon by railroad marauders who steal her purse and throw her from the platform to her death. Unable to bear such a thing, I bought the sign from the CTA online store a few years back, the $10 cost being far less a burden than my conscience.

When I look at it, I recall fondly walking to the Harlem/Lake stop from my house in Oak Park. I’d make up imaginary stories about the people on the train until I got to Clinton where I got off and hoofed it—or trudged or splashed, as the weather dictated—to the office where I worked; Magnani & Associates Advertising in the old cold storage building at 345 N. Canal—across the river from the bridge that’s always up.

Somedays I'm just a loquacious ramble.

Shitfire Lucky Charms Agent Orange-O-Rama

It's funny what goes through your head when you're stumbling home solo from a rock show while shoveling the Lucky Charms you bought at 7-11 into your mouth. I went to see Agent Orange at the Blank Club...a band I've never been nuts about or anything but I saw them back in the day and thought they did it right. I guess it's telling that though I went to the show, I bailed before they even played a note. They were supposed to be on at midnight and I got a 25 minute walk home from there....and shitfire I'm getting old! That's what I was thinking when I was walking home. Shitfire better get me some Lucky Charms. Shitfire I'm tired. Shitfire I gotta take a shitfire (I know TMI).

I mean I did ride for like five hours today and climbed 6000 feet on the new bike, so that will expend some energy...and I haven't slept worth a crap for the last week, but dammit if I didn't used to be a trooper when it came to shows. Not tonight though.

I justified my early departure by really liking the middle band--The Razorburns (pictured above)--they had these two crazy chicks on guitar and vocals that just railed it. And the openers, a band called Bad Samaritans, seemed pretty good too, though I didn't see much of their set. Both bands just seemed to be having a ton of fun on stage and that counts for alot in my book. I like the fun.

Anyway, about the Lucky Charms...I'm not backing the magic crystal ball marshmallows. I'm a traditionalist.

Creature from the Desk #6

Today's Creature from the Desk is this Dwight Schrute bobblehead. He is on temporary loan from Stacy, so if you want to see him shake his brain thang, you better come by soon because he is likely to disappear without notice. Dwight has his own web log, which is substantially more entertaining than this one.

Rock Lobstah!

Sean and I played hookey for a half hour after lunch and went to Rock Lobster, a two-man shop where they handmake bikes in Santa Cruz. Paul was affixing water bottle bosses to a road frame and Simon was applying decals to a deep root beer-colored mountain bike frame. Sean and I scratched our asses. Our own asses, to be clear.

Creature from the Desk #5

This week's CFD is a special, temporary desk item. Given that I wasn't able to infiltrate Barack Obama's office to shoot what was on his desk when I was in DC last week, I thought I would go big...what you see before you is the BMC SLC01-Pro Machine frameset. It will only be on my desk (file cabinet actually) today as I will be taking it home to build up this evening.

.

While it lacks the romanticism and Italianess of my beloved (now broken) Pinarello, it is resplendent in high tech construction and Swiss/German engineering. And it weighs 2 pounds. Seriously light unidirectional carbon fiber nanotubular dreaminess.

1993 Buick Estate Wagon Taxi

408,000 miles and seats that melt into the floor. Sweet.

Lil Faith

Lil baby Faith.

Museum of Native American Art 1 of 2

Floating guns...

(Not sure how they qualify as Native American Art, unless the tools of exterminating indigenous peoples are considered artful).

Museum of Native American Art 2/2

Floating bibles. Displayed on the wall opposite of the floating guns. Guns. God. Extermination. A coincidence or just a reflection of the current administration?

Artchitecture in DC

Smithsonian Museum of Native American Art

DO NOT ENTER

Even all dressed up and they still won't let me in.

The White House white squirrel

And I thought they were only in Olney.

Runnin' the Train

Navy Yard subway stop, Washington, DC.

So just as the doors closed on this train, three girls ran into my car. And when I say ran, I mean seriously running ran. Like technical shorts and tops and Asics and Nikes and Reeboks and even a heart rate monitor. They were sweating profusely and lauging hysterically...and not so bad to look at, actually.

Anywho, when they sensed my "what the fuck are you three doing" look, one of them kindly explained that they were 'Running the Trains.' Every Tuesday they take the subway to three different stops, get off at each stop and run a loop of approximately 5k. The train rides between each loop is a de facto rest interval. When they're done they run to an ice cream place by their house and chow down.

I told them that is one of the best ideas I have ever heard. And I meant it. And I love the train.

The Capitol Skyline

This luxury palace is my home for the next three days. I'm not really complaining...it'll do fine. But when a place is subtitled "Capitol Skyline" and it's in Washington, DC, to me, that signifies a view of sorts. And technically you can see bits of the Capitol, but you gotta look hard...and through some smoke stacks and housing projects to glimpse it.

There's an Expedia commercial about this, me thinks.

70 Degrees in DC right now

Flying saucers in DC.

I'm about to take the Metro to dinner. I love the train!

Randomly Good

It was a good drive in with the iPod on shuffle today:

American Analog Set - JR
Karaoke Hits - Just Like Heaven (Cure)
John Vanderslice - Mansion
Echo & The Bunnymen - Bring on the Dancing Horses
The Ramones - Sheena is a Punk Rocker
Liz Phair - Stratford-On-Guy
The Lemonheads - I Don't Wanna
Johnny Cash - When the Man Comes Around
Chad VanGalen - Echo Train
Death Cab for Cutie - Lightness (Live KEXP Bootleg)
Pixies - Here Comes Your Man (Live)
A Tribe Called Quest - I Left My Wallet in El Segundo
The Wedding Present - No

Creature from the Desk #4

This week's CFD is my shaker of Redmond RealSalt. Though I bought this particular jar at New Leaf in Santa Cruz, I discovered real salt in Utah on vacation this year. The natural sea salt is extracted from an ancient, dry salt lake in south central Utah and contains all kinds of crazy nutrients and minerals. The salt is bespeckled with brown and not-quite white grains and is--strange as this may sound--a very tasty salt. I keep it on my desk for fresh produce--celery, cucumbers and tomatoes. And yes, I ocassionally freebase it, taking a shake or two directly on my tounge. I know it's not good for the blood pressure, but if my helmet straps are any indication, I burn off more salt than the average bear on an average day.

Note: Next week's CFD will be from somone else's desk. I'm off to Washington, DC to lobby on Capitol Hill and my aim is to find something interesting in the House or Senate to include. I may sneak in with the Illinois contingent and see what's on Barack Obama's desk. Stay tuned.

M Dot Strange at Cinequest

I shot the clip above at the South First Friday art event that coincided with the Cinequest Film Festival in San Jose last Friday. Animator M Dot Strange (aka Micheal Belmont) was the featured artist at Gallery Anno Domini, and the props, sets and apparati from his film We Are The Strange--which was playing at Cinequest as it had at Sundance earlier-- were on display along with the works of a few other artists. M Dot also had his PowerBook hooked up to a video camera and projector and encouraged people to make claymation shorts which all rolled up into the clip above. Using a $40 program called iStop Motion, M Dot would have the volunteer animators pose their creations and then digitized each movement frame-by-frame into the computer. It was quite fun to watch--especially the tipsy people.

I went to the Apple Store on Sunday and picked up iStop Motion. As if I needed another way to waste time!

Creature from the Desk # 3

This is a picture of my corkboard, which is attached to my desk and therefore eligible for inclusion in this feature. On the left is an art tile of two boys in a boat that I bought five or six years ago in Mexico by the whimsical artist Manuel Lepe. On the right is an old photo of my brother (right) and I in the bathtub. I thought it would be fun to get the photo mounted onto a tile of the same size and give them both to my mom. I haven’t quite gotten around to it yet.

Also, some great stuff happening in Downtown San Jose this weekend:

- South First Fridays - Tonight 3/2/07

Open galleries featuring the opening reception for "We Are The Strange" featuring M dot Strange with artwork by Sean Boyles, David Choe, Mitsy Ovalles and DeeJae Paeste at Anno Domini.

.

- Cinequest Film Festival through March 11th.

Cool flicks and shorts from all over the word, plus Minnie Driver (Herself! Live! In-person!). Screenings at various venues all over downtown.

- North American Handmade Bicycle Show, March 2-4.

Gorgeous handmade bike porn and a bunch of guys in glasses debating optimal head tube angles.

Dogma Done Died

I knew there was something wrong as soon as I landed. And when I say landed, it’s not like I hucked a gap or anything, I’m talking a bunny hop of maybe four inches of vertical. I was smooth too—definitely less impact than hitting a speed bump at 20 mph, which is basically the other option.

But as soon as I touched down there was a funny rubbing noise. Naturally, I thought I knocked a wheel out of true, though even that would be strange considering the lightness of impact and the fact that I landed arrow straight.

Stopping to check it out, there was nothing wrong when I spun the wheel…but every time I started to ride again the rubbing noise would start up…and then that disconcerting wobble kicked in.

Then I noticed the crack. After two years and I’m not sure how many miles, my precious Pinarello Dogma is done. And it makes me sad. My best bike ever…well, road bike anyway.

At least I didn't crash and wasn’t hurt. And at least I could milk it back to the office.

I think it should be covered under warranty. I hope so anyway.