Saturday, March 01, 2008

An open letter to Barack Obama

Dear Senator Obama-

I would like to congratulate you on your strong showing in the Democratic primaries thus far. Your charismatic and positive campaign has energized the country, awakened an apathetic sleeping giant and elevated the democratic process within the national consciousness. It’s heartening to see interest in this country’s political future overshadowing our obsession with celebrity culture. Well, maybe the two are merging a bit, but motivations aside, I credit you—what with your obvious intelligence, amazing gift for communication and that winning smile—for creating a whole new generation of political activism. Bravo…and I mean that sincerely.


The use of this photo to discredit Obama is reprehensible. His response has been underwhelming.

I should tell you that I did vote for you and while you did not win my state (California), you did garner a sizeable share of the state’s delegates, and should you win the nomination, you can count on my vote—and hopefully a Democratic majority from California—in the general election.

Something, however, has been bothering me and I’m hoping you can do something about it. It has to do with all the BS and misinformation that’s been going around about you. I believe it was the great American fictional mob character Tony Soprano who uttered the phrase “fucking internet” upon learning that his children had found out he was not in “waste management” as they had come to believe, but a criminal.

I imagine that you had a “fucking internet” moment of your own—in a reverse way—when all this crap about you began to circulate on the net. Who could blame you—they’re all lies orchestrated to misrepresent you as something you’re not…and that sucks. What sucks even more is that some people really do believe it, which is why you—wisely—have systematically denied and corrected these rumors.

The one thing that has really bummed me out is that in your denial of being a Muslim, you have not taken the opportunity to point out that there is absolutely nothing wrong with being a Muslim. That, in fact, there are millions of Muslims around the world who themselves denounce the fundamentalist factions that give Islam a bad name. I mean, I was raised Catholic (though I’m out of practice, so-to-speak) and I have as much to do with Oklahoma City bomber Timothy McVeigh (also Catholic) as most Muslims have to do with Al-Qaeda.

The fact is that the Muslims are good people—at least as good as Jews and Catholics and Mormons and atheists and Protestants and Baptists and the good folks from your Church of Christ—who want nothing more than to live good lives and exercise the right to express their faith as they see fit.

I’ve noticed that you talk about change quite a bit. I agree that this country needs it badly. Here is an opportunity to walk the walk, sir. An opportunity to show that you are accepting and open minded and accommodating—unlike, say, the current administration. An opportunity to show that you are willing to do what’s right, despite political risk. An opportunity to defuse the prejudice and persecution Muslims have been increasingly subjected to since that fateful day in September 2001.

Please, Senator Obama, take this opportunity to lead by example and help start the healing.

Sincerely,

Don P
San Jose, CA

Thursday, February 14, 2008

Inattention and the Adrenaline Save

Is it weird that some part of me was kinda stoked to get in a car accident last night?

I should say that it was a very, very minor accident with nobody hurt and no apparent damage. I rear-ended someone ever-so-slightly. I wouldn’t even call it a fender bender—it was a bumper flexer at most. Completely my fault…I let my attention wander from driving to looking at what appeared to be another accident only to have to stand on the brakes in a vain attempt to avoid the car in front of me who had stopped to make a left hand turn. Too late—the anti-lock brakes pulsed a few times and “bam” I was into the rear end. Not too hard, mind you, the jolt only a smidge more abrupt than the anti-lock pulses, but I definitely hit him.

We pulled over—I was apologetic and the guy was pretty cool about things. We exchanged information, but I really don’t expect to hear from him—it was that benign. And if my people instincts are correct, he neither seemed like the type to pull a Brady Bunch injury on me.

So other than the fact that everything is OK, why would I be happy about nearly wadding it all up? Well, there’s something kinda cool about how instinct takes over in that panic split-second—the instant when I went from spectator of one accident to participant in another. I did not think or process or deliberate, I just acted. Or reacted.

I guess it’s comforting to know I still have the ability to snap "make a save" in a fraction of a second. It was not unlike my stint as goalie for my high school water polo team. Through coaching, training and conditioning I learned how to tend goal based on positioning and cutting off angles and doing things that lessened the likelihood of the ball going into the net. This text book stuff was undoubtedly tried-and-true for a reason, but for me it was always the completely instinctual things that were most satisfying. That intangible something that made you shift your shoulder just left enough at the last second, or the implausible way you might have guessed wrong on a penalty shot, but blocked it because the reactionary self covered a shot going the other way. The incomprehensible things you couldn’t do again if you tried, but none-the-less kept a goal off the scoreboard.

My initial thought when I recognized the stopped car was something along the lines of “Holy shit I am totally gonna plow this guy,” but the combination of my reaction and good mechanics/physics was more like, “Whew, dodged a big one there…it shouldn’t be too bad.” And it wasn't.

I’m always a little upset with myself when things like this happen at all—as a cyclist I’m a particularly harsh critic of distracted drivers and that’s exactly what I let myself become. Not cool. But the fact that, despite a little contact, I still made the save—I’m pretty happy about that.

Tuesday, February 05, 2008

Bad MBV Cover Video of the Week


The My Bloody Valentine reunion appears to be for real. There's an album in the can and live dates on the calendar in Europe. I've taken up prayer just so I can pray for them to come here. And while I've pretty much seen every live band/musician I've ever loved--provided they weren't dead when I was born or something--My Bloody Valentine's narrow window of exposure has been exclusive. So, in honor of Valentine's Day and February...and in vigil to MBV I will post horrible YouTube covers of their songs until they come. Or February ends. Whichever comes first.

Addendum: I thought I'd add the link to my initial MBV blog gush from a couple years ago.

Monday, February 04, 2008

The Extra Ordinary Passing of Sheldon Brown

It is with a heavy heart that I post news of the passing of a US cycling luminary--bicycle mechanic Sheldon Brown has died of a heart attack at the age of 63. A longtime technical guru for the Harris Cyclery in Massachusetts, Brown was an early adopter of the internet who transferred his considerable body of accumulated knowledge to the web for the benefit of all. Need to know how to adjust a cone? Curious what Helicomatic hub looks like? Wondering if a Helicomatic hub has adjustable cones? Wondering what the hell a Helicomatic hub even is?! Brown’s site (http://www.sheldonbrown.com/) can tell you this and much more. From how to ride a bike to how to fix it. New, old. Arcane, mundane. It’s all there. Not too pretty, but it gets the job done...and well.

Though I only met Sheldon only once in person--and very briefly at that--I felt I knew him through his writings and photographs. He was one of those crazy-to-the-core bike nuts-- what with his Lincoln’s beard and plastic bird bedazzled helmet--that made you raise an eyebrow and chuckle only to be bowled over by his encyclopedic bike knowledge. Scholarly and academic but approachable and down-to-earth, I could easily see him as a college professor that even after a couple of decades in the classroom would return year after year with infectious optimism.

I can’t even count the number of times--mid-repair and up to my elbows in grease--that I checked my work against his site only to have Sheldon let me know that, no, I in fact installed everything 100% backwards and needed to start over. You’d think I would have learned to check with him first but I’m slow like that sometimes. I was actually just on his site last week researching my old bikes...and wouldn’t you know it, Sheldon had a link to the info on my old Raleigh Grand Prix that Google didn’t even pick up.

As an industry, a sport, and a culture we are drawn to the glitz and the glamor--for bicycling it’s more-often-than-not the races and the racers. But Sheldon is a reminder of what the bicycle truly is--a simple pleasure with amazing versatility and a bottomless soul. It is truly extra-ordinary. Just. Like. Him.

Tuesday, January 29, 2008

Coming up for air

It’s been a while since I’ve made the time to post words or pictures here, but that’s life. Lots of long work days lately what with a major product dog and pony show here at the office and then a trade show coming in mid-February. It got so hectic for a while there that I opted out of a European work trip…to do more other work. I ain’t complaining…it beats the alternative...and life is good.

Anyway, here are some Cliffs Notes of varying length of things I may or may not post more about:

Bikes! Fast ones! Coming to a town near me!
-Tour of California, Stage 3 – Modesto to San Jose - Feb. 20, 2008
- While San Jose’s own Sierra Road was a painfully sharp stick in the eye at the end of a long day during the ’06 and ’07 Tours of California, the 2008 edition will undoubtedly be the most painful ascent of the slab yet. That’s because before they even get to Sierra, the riders will alreday have 80 miles and some 6,000 feet of climbing in their legs—including the gnarly steeps of Mount Hamilton’s back side. This hors categorie (so hard it’s not classified) grunt comes after a steady diet of uphill rollers that begins in the town of Patterson and does not relent. The descent should see some interesting tactics too, as the front side of Hamilton is 22 miles long and much more gradual than the back. It should lend itself to some powerful (and exhausting) chases, not to mention sketchy cornering.

The profile of Stage 3 looks painful with 7000 feet of climbing over 103 miles.

From the bottom of Hammy, it’s out to the Category 1 ascent of Sierra—3.5 miles of 10 plus percent grade fun. Having ridden Sierra a couple weeks ago, I can attest that it is still one tough bitch that feels even worse early in the season. I’m not anywhere vaguely near pro caliber, but this climb even made last year’s stage winner Jens Voigt hurt, and there’s not a harder man in the pro peloton.

Stage winner Jens Voigt launches the key attack up Sierra Road at the '07 TOC.

After cresting and covering a couple rollers over the top, it’s a breakneck charge to downtown San Jose and the finish line at eMocha/Broken Door Coffee, which serves the best coffee in the world and is across from some building...oh yeah, City Hall. I expect it will take the shattered field some time to all finish and that the pool of overall contenders will be quite select at this point.

One other factor that could add to the drama is weather. Aside from a little light rain on a stage or two of the first two editions, this has been an unseasonably balmy race, even by California standards. Should our current soggy weather patterns extend to race week, this could be an epic, epic stage.

Shoot me an email or call me if you’re gonna be in town or wanna come watch. If it’s nice, we’ll do a ride from Casa Palermini to somewhere on the route. If it’s crappy out, we’ll just go to Broken Door and pretend to be European. If I were a betting man, I’d tell you to brush up on an accent.

OFFICIAL STAGE DETAILS

…Speaking of Downtown San Jose and City Hall
- Parking Tickets
– I actually usually walk or ride my bike to downtown San Jose, but when I drive, it seems like I get a ticket about 40% of the time, usually due to nebulous and unclear makings and signage...even though I check two or three times. And really, I'm not that dumb. Using the Freedom of Information Act I'd like to get the spot-by-spot statistics on which spots garner the most violations. I'm confident the highest earners (for the city) are these cloudy ones...I'd bet the city knows it too. Believe me, I'm willing to admit when I'm wrong, but this is BS and the last thing the struggling downtown business core needs is to chase people away and leave a bad taste in their mouth. But alas, it's like talking to the taxman about poetry...and I'll probably just pay the $35 and be done with it. Apathetically pathetic, I know.

…and speaking of bikes (again)
- History of My Bikes – This one I will get done. I’m going to put together a personal, online, bike-by-bike history, starting with my current bikes and going back as far as I can remember. I also hope to jog free some of the notable associated stories as well as find some classic photos. A nostalgic indulgence perhaps, but it'll be fun.

…and speaking of water falling from the sky
- Showering – I really am trying to be less resource intensive in general, but one area I fail miserably in is both lessening the length and frequency of my showers. Maybe it's not as good a topic as I thought.

…and speaking of falling…well crashing, actually
- Shannan’s Skiing Accident – Thankfully, my dear and schralptastic friend is expected to make a full recovery from the facial fracture that pushed her eye out of place and generally messed her up a bit. Typically, she downplayed her time in the ER saying, “There were guys with full on broken femurs and spinal injuries coming in left and right. All I had was a skull fracture.”

..and speaking of bikes (and again)
- Hmmm...

…oh and music
-Naked Raygun – So the NR show in San Jose was great and all, but it left me feeling sorta sad. There’s something wrong with frontman Jeff Pezzati…an affliction of some sort, I gather. And while he’s still the consummate showman, in that non-flashy, confident, Chicago kind of way...and the voice is still strong and good, you can sense the sadness in him. I'm sure part of it is whatever's wrong but maybe more. Poo.

…and what I’m not doing when I’m not doing work and should be reading something
- Tomb Raider: Anniversary
– I’ve returned to great adventure with my friend Lara Croft and am probably two-thirds of the way through the latest installment of the storied Tomb Raider series. I got stuck a couple days ago and had to look up a cheat and still had trouble. Stupid Centaur. Took me forever to get its shield.

…oh and music (again)
- CD – I’ve been working on my annual CD from 2007. I haven’t gotten far. But I’ll send you it sometime. Promise.

That’s it for now. I’ll try to be more Metamusil in the future.

PS - Oh yes! I changed the name of the blog...recognize the reference?

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

The Burrito That Saved My Life!

Okay the burrito didn't really save my life, but after a nice, brisk bike ride up Empire Grade to Smith Grade to Bonny Doon Road, down the big hill and back on Highway 1, I was ravenously famished. The two salty urine-flavored Cliff Blocks—officially, margarita flavor—did nothing to curb my cravings. I needed food—real food—with gusto dammit!

La Cabaña is in a strip mall that looks nothing like this.

On the far west end of town is La Cabaña, pretty much the only taqueria in Santa Cruz I truly like. Convincing Sean to join me took exactly zero words, just a raised eyebrow in the right direction. The fact that he offered to buy me a birthday burrito made the sustenance thing even sweeter. Not just real food, but free real food!

I'd expected to order my old standby, the carne asada super burrito, when I saw the "California Burrito" sign I had noticed about a month ago. It's hand written and taped nonchalantly and near randomly under the more formal vinyl die-cut menu board. It seems like a more apt place for a lost dog or need a roommate flyer than an addition to the menu. And while I'm generally skeptical of culinary Californication (i.e., California Pizza Kitchen and the like), I literally started drooling as I re-read the flyer:

"New. California Burrito - guacamole, salsa, French fries and meat."

There is no punctuation, I added that part...but French fucking fries?! In a burrito?!! With Guac?!?!?!! Holy shit that's brilliant. Not traditional...and certainly not Mexican, but Mother-of-God that's genius!

I ordered one with carne asada (did I mention Sean paid) and was soon wolfing the thing down with a veracity that threatened my fingers. The fries, Dios mio, the fries! Perfection! Not too many, not too few, but just the right ratio in tantalizing counterpart to the carne asada.

So it’s like six hours later now and I haven’t eaten supper yet…actually still kinda full from lunch. And if I make myself burp, I can even taste it a little.

Mmmmmmm….California Burrito…..

Thursday, January 10, 2008

Too busy to write...


...but you're all invited to Pete-N'-Don's 1993 Halloween party. No slamming the stained glass window this time bitches.

Thursday, January 03, 2008

1989 called...


...they want their long lost junior college ID back.

Friday, December 21, 2007

Photo Phriday 12.21.07

LIVE! From Culver City!

Ahhh...Colorful Culver City, Cal-i-for-ni-a...


...home of the Kirk Douglass Theater...which has a box office with a hairstyle to match its namesake...


...also home to Lucy, Desi and Bubalu.

Monday, December 17, 2007

Today I Scanned Cheese


As I was waiting for the printer to warm up this AM, I grabbed this off a gift basket and scanned it not only to myself but to co-workers. Though I distributed it anonymously, most of them surmised who the culprit was. What can I say? My reputation preceeds me.

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Need...more...food...


I just got back from a ride and ate a burrito for lunch, but it's not enough. What I've really been craving--for a few days now--are some sour gummi somethings or those sour apple straws and the post-workout famine is allowing me to justify it. Unfortunately, the closest thing we have in our vending machine is Starburst and I'm going to spend all my crap food credits on those. I'm pretty sure they are made of plastic and I know they're not nearly sour enough, but they'll have to do.
.
The plastic Starburst wrapping machine must have been on 'tight' this week as it's nearly impossible to get the little individual wrappers off.
.
"What? Haven't you ever seen a grown man at work opening Starburst with a groady X-Acto knife?"
.
Busybodies.
.
For the record I like Starburst flavors in this order:
1. Cherry
2. Lemon
3. Strawberry
4. Orange
.
Also, when I do eat sour gummi patch whatevers, I shake the extra sour sugar from the bottom of the package directly into my mouth. I've also been known to freebase pretzel salt. There's nothing to shake in Starburst.

Friday, December 07, 2007

Photo Phriday 12.7.07


Here I am hounding Naked Raygun vocalist Jeff Pizzati at the Blank Club on Wednesday. I wanted us to throw up the "312" but I ended up doing a dorky "thumbs-up" instead. Some things never change. Photo: Troy D.


I pedal thwacked my shin while mountain biking a couple months ago and opened up this pretty fountain of red. I probably should have gone in for a stitch or two, but I didn't...it kinda left a mark. Permanent like.

Tuesday, December 04, 2007

Smells Like Bacon


I took side streets part of the way to work today to avoid a slickery 280 on the first day of rain. And near the train station all that still stands of Stephen's Meat Products is their dancin' pig sign. The rest is just a dirt lot now. I think it had been closed for some time....but I'm glad they kept the sign, for now anyway. I was so excited, I got out the Instamatic and took a snap shot of it. And made a t-shirt out of it....you can get one here.

Friday, November 30, 2007

Photo Phriday 11.30.07


Photo stolen from carsonblume.com

Santa Cruz local pro bike honch and all around good tall goofy guy Barry Wicks won the Single Speed Cyclo Cross World Championships a couple of weeks ago and wasted no time donning the gold lamme world championship Speedo--he changed into it on the podium upon presentation. For that, more than his win, I salute him.

Thursday, November 29, 2007

Yeah, I'm pretty juvenile


Someone sent me Harry and David's Mixed Muts....huhuhuhuhu. I said "mixed nuts."

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

One Week from Today




A history of Free Shit courtesy of Naked Raygun.

Blank Club - San Jose - Tuesday(oops) Wednesday, December 5, 2007

They just don't make 'em like this anymore.

Monday, November 19, 2007

Photo Phriday 11.16.07

I spent the better part of last week on the road, working in Seattle and Boulder. Yes, there are worse places on the planet. And the rain was actually refreshing up in the Northwest. Anywho, my mission in these locales is a secret, but here are some spy shots...

UW Aeronautics Lab Wind Tunnel.


Hey, I got an idea...

Monday, November 12, 2007

Separation Monday


The diffused grey light streaming in the tall windows on an overcast Monday is my best friend as I polish off a second double latte. My head has one of those soft throbs right now that comes from two or three too many cheap beers which are inevitably followed by a fitful night’s sleep. It’s not that split-your-head-open-with-an-axe kind of hangover or anything…I wasn’t even close to drunk—just one or two more than advisable while Chuck and I played air hockey and pool and foosball and Golden Tee and Big Game Hunter at the Walrus last night. And I’ll only mention the peanut fight to point out that I think bar owners should be tolerant of naturally occurring low-level projectile skirmishes when they practically encourage them by placing large barrels of in-the-shell salted nuts within arms reach of the bar. It’s not like we hit anyone but each other. But I digress. No, I’ve just got this velvet hammering that comes with the diminishment of the youthful resilience that used to absorb such things. It doesn’t help that the barista has been playing an endless succession of live Grateful Dead recordings either. It would be so relatively comfortable otherwise.

PAUSE.

Ahh. I just dialed up The Head on the Door on my iPod and that helps. I should mention I’m in my fourth hour at a downtown Boulder, Colorado coffee shop. Why I’m here is really an accident…or at least a mistake. I’m supposed to attend a meeting as proxy for the president of our division that he told me was today. It’s not…it’s tomorrow, so I’ve re-scheduled flights and hotels and have made this corner table my office for the day. I’m actually getting more done than I would in the office on a typical day, what without the phone and the drop-bys and such. I also feel I'm in a span of happy serendipity, which I hope continues.

Last night, before the beer and the flying peanuts and dead digital deer, we went to a nice dinner. As we entered the restaurant, some lyrics from a band I saw last Tuesday in San Francisco, The Hold Steady, were running through my head:

How am I supposed to know that you're high
if you wont let me touch you?
How am i supposed to know that you're high
if you wont even dance?

And then WHAM! Down the bar sits Craig Finn, lead singer of said band. In the flesh. On a bar stool. Looking like my coworker Phil’s older brother and all. I mean, how fucking weird is that?! Sure an Elvis or Curt Cobain or Elliott Smith sighting might have been stranger, but only because they’re alleged to be dead. I was literally humming this guy’s song in my head when I looked up to see him! I got inexplicably tingly with goose bumps and wondered if I were dead.

Anyway, I pointed him out to Chuck, then kind of felt my arms as if this would be some assurance that I wasn’t hallucinating after being hit by a car or meteor or something.

Trying to be nonchalant and un-superfanish, I walked up to Craig and thanked him for putting on a great show in San Francisco last week…he graciously said thanks in an almost bashful way. The woman he was chatting with gave off an incredulous laugh as if to say “wow, he really is a rock star.” We ate dinner, they ate dinner. We went to the Walrus and The Hold Steady played the Fox Theater…which I only found out afterward.

I’m feeling compelled to make the trip to Denver where they’re playing tonight, but I have a hob knob dinner in advance of the meeting I’m here for.

Damn responsibilities.

Friday, November 09, 2007

Photo Phriday 11.9.07

My parents paid a visit last weekend. They're funny. And they like their clip-on sunglasses. We went to Body Worlds2, which was kinda cool, though I think my dad likes his Ben & Jerry's infinitely better.

Gwen


Don v1.0

Thursday, November 08, 2007

Tuesday, November 06, 2007

Sunday, November 04, 2007

Bizzare Nostalgia Triangle

10:07 p.m. - I'm totally digging this video right now on 120 Minutes:

Now I understand how people of a certain age can still love a band like Kansas.

Friday, November 02, 2007

Photo Phriday


I heart my scooter. We rode to work today and it was fun if not a little nippy.


Somebody left this on my desk the other day. Not sure who, not sure why. But I scanned it. And it smells tapey.

Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Halloween at Work


The costume contest was tight and good as usual despite the departure of the perennial powerhouse Andrew F.

Angie R. got first with her 'Flower Pot' costume, Ryan P. was second with 'Jack' and Chuck P. was third with 'Bathroom Attendant."


Taking a poop at work has never been more luxurious.

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Bourbon Street, New Orleans 1955


"Man with garter" © George S. Zimbel 2007
I ran across this gallery online. So very cool.

Saturday, October 20, 2007

Time to Get Sweaty


From Chicago's finest forges comes the mighty Raygun.
The Blank Club - San Jose - December 5th - 12 Measly Bucks
Buy Tickets Here

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

Interbike '07 Part 2: Nic Nac Pattywhack

Knog slings bags for your inner hipster
So there’s this little company called Knog and I’m not sure what their deal is entirely (What do I look like, a reporter?). A couple years ago they came out with this coolish gelatinous little blinky light called the Knog Frog that you could attach rubber band-style to just about anything you can wrap it around…handlebars, seat post, frame tubes, etc. It doesn’t throw a ton of light, but it gives you a snowball’s chance of being seen before that Hummer’s brush guard processes you into a bag of tissue.

I like the Knog light’s industrial design…I’m pretty sure it’s what’s called a “blobject”; something that has an almost organic shape to it, roughly based on a blob of goo, as opposed to something angular or sculpted. The fact that it’s adaptable and doesn’t need a mounting bracket makes it exceptionally practical as well as good-looking.

Anyway, these Knog dudes apparently also do bags and have jumped on the messenger bag bandwagon. And while I’m perhaps a little too cynical and uncool for this brakeless fixie hipster playing-card-in-my-spokes I-look-like-messenger-but-I’ve-never-messengered-anything-but-a-pack-of-Pall Malls *THING* that’s going on, the Knogster’s have probably hit a home run with a couple of these bags.


There’s the naked bag, with the cool naked people on it showing dick and tits and stuff. It also says something cool on the inside flap like “Oh yeah? Well it’s better than television,” but I just made that up. I can’t remember what it says, but it says something infinitely clever and is printed in one of those scratchy kinda hand drawn fonts.


Then there’s the blueish one with the dude carrying the hotty on his top tube, kinda between this forearms. That one is stylie and cool too. I dunno if it says anything on the flap because I didn’t look.

Of hotdogs and shoe fetishes

Duffs had a skate-style shoe called Sweet Lou that I really liked. Mostly because its light blue argyle pattern looks like the packaging of the world’s best hot dog--the Superdawg...available at the corner of Milwaukee and Devon and Nagle in Chicago. I think they would sell a lot more shoes if they merchandised them with a Superdawg inside, but that’s just me.


Sidi had a new road shoe with a neon green heel cup. I’m not really a neon green kinda guy, but I found myself drawn to it. I think they retail for like $6K or something, but at least they’re made in Italy. And they have a green heel cup.

Despite Sirens, TI still serving up good, clean fun
OK, so this last thing wasn’t so much at the show as next to it, but I need to give props once again to the bars of soap they put in the shower at the TI hotel (formerly known as Treasure Island until they decided to slut up the pirate show, now called The Sirens of TI, and go more adulty). Anyway, the bars of soap there are nubbed for your pleasure! When you use it on your shoulders, it’s kind of like a mini massage! When you set it into the soap tray, it doesn’t turn into a bar of mush! The ingenious little nubs suspend it a few centimeters in the air and allow the whole bar to dry! When you use it the next time there’s none of that gloopy glop! Genius! Pure freakin’ genius!

Sunday, October 14, 2007

Interbike '07 Part 1 - Sexy, cool and crazy

I’ve been stewing on my Interbike observations for a couple weeks, but had little time to get them down until now. I’m thinking I’ll do this in installments so that my six regular readers are not overwhelmed. I know you’re all busy. In any case, I hope you enjoy.
-Don


Pinarello brings sexy back
I’m not sure if it’s the same with all guys but I have some quite vivid recollections of my earliest arousals. I say this not to be boastful or anything, but as a matter of fact. Like the sunrise or the tides, it is just one of those things…I have a memory for boners.

When I was 11 or 12, I recall seeing a photograph of a wetsuit-clad beauty sauntering out of the ocean, flippers mask and snorkel in hand and a come-hither half smile on her face. She was radiant. And wet and exotic. The setting sun lighted her long wet hair to perfection. The tightness of the black neoprene transmitted her perfect shape in a way more revealing than if she were wearing nothing at all. The just-shy-of-navel unzippedness of her top tantalizingly hinted at her curvaceous breasts and the neon yellow accents of the wetsuit brought it all home with a snap of dazzling color. This was no girly mag, mind you, it was either the Dacor Scuba catalog or Popular Mechanics or something else equally benign. But in the early stages of my hormonal upheaval it might as well have been Penthouse or Hustler or OnTV’s late night programming.

And while the new, curvaceous, flat black carbon and tennis ball yellow Pinarello Prince did not, in fact, pitch a tent in my pants, I must admit that I did linger on the thought of it between my legs. I have no idea what it weighs or how it rides or what gruppo it comes with or what it costs, it’s just the sexiest bike I’ve ever seen.

Crazy and cool: Richard Byrne's repro Masi Special
Possibly the coolest bike at the show was one that was not for sale. It belongs to Richard Byrne, founder, owner and principal of Speedplay Pedals, who was at the show ostensibly to sell pedals, but who I suspect was having way more fun showing off his latest flight of fancy—a custom-built Masi reproduction of a classic original Masi Special, which he also owns. To clarify, yes, he has a fully in-tact 1961 original, and, yes, he now has an exact custom-built replica frame clad with original 1961 parts.

I say the following with admiration and respect—Richard Byrne is fucking crazy.

Restoring an old bike to its former glory—that’s one thing. Commissioning someone to build a frame that looks like an old frame, well that’s another one thing. Scouring earth and internet, and taking literally years to find each and every long-extinct original part that came on the original frame…down to the decals and pedal straps? That’s insanity. Sheer craziness.

I should be so crazy. We all should.

PS – Speedplay makes awesome pedals and the full details of Richard’s Masi can be found here on their web site.

Tuesday, October 09, 2007

You know your fugly when...

You get the following note with your license from the DMV...

Monday, October 08, 2007

Red Light on Black Francis


Whether you call him Black Francis or Frank Black or Charles Thompson IV or that guy from the Pixies, this rotundish ball of sweatiness rocks. Here Frank churns out "Motorway to Roswell" during a sparsely attended show at The Catalyst in Santa Cruz on Monday night.

$300 Jeans are Not in My Genes


"Why yes I have been waiting nearly two years to figure out a vaguely plausable excuse to put a picture of my own ass on my blog, thanks for asking."

So here I sit at my desk in $300 jeans. THREE HUNDRED DOLLAR JEANS…that’s fucking ridiculous. I, of course, did not pay $300 for them and I never would. I can have these for free—ZIP, ZERO, NO DOLLARS, FREE.99—but I just can't do it...I cannot wear $300 jeans. I am not a $300 jeans guy.

I think if I were sitting across the table from my dad and told him I had $300 jeans on he would smack me. Well, after that look and that slight choking noise and his half-sentence shock—“You gotta be…” he would trail off, then WHACK! And I would be OK with that. He didn’t raise me to wear $300 jeans. It’s bad enough his son thinks he’s more Italian than he really is…that he shaves his legs and rides his bicycle all the time…that he lives in California…$300 jeans—Hells no!

Principle aside, these jeans ain’t all that. They make my ass look flat(er), the faux warn finish looks too faux, and—worst of all—they keep binding my nuts. Did I mention they cost 300 f-ing dollars? For 300 clams they should at the very least make coffee, fetch the paper and trim my nosehairs. And the oh-aren’t-we-super-fucking-edgy-because-we-applique-scary-skulls-on-the-ass-pockets-of-these-overpriced-clubjamas are just…dumb. A pirate wouldn’t be caught dead in these and they love skulls! Shit, I love skulls—and pirates!—but these just seem so contrived!

Nope, these are just not me and when I’m done typing and posting this, I will—carefully, so as not to rupture myself—remove them and return them, respectfully, to the giver of the jeans with the following note:

“Thank you but $300 jeans are just not in my genes.”

Superheros on Bikes



Were I going to be in town a week from Friday, I would go to this. In my absence, please go. I will be thinking superheroic thoughts.

Thanks.

Monday Morning Irony


So there we were in line at Noah's and just as Andy started telling me about the leak in his bathtub wreaking havoc on his home, Led Zeppelin's "When the Levee Breaks" comes on the radio. I know, I'm a total geek for making the connection, but you can't script that shit!

Wednesday, October 03, 2007

Cycling Tip #751

Never jam your freshly used cycling shorts in the same bag with your favorite hat. Your hat will smell like ass.