What Good Luck, What Bad Luck

I usually tell people that my favorite book of all time is Great Expectations, but that isn’t exactly true. It is actually second. My real favorite book of all time is a kids book called ‘What Good Luck, What Bad Luck’. I like it because it tells you pretty much everything you need to know about life at a first grade level.

You should read it. I still have my copy, but you cannot borrow it. Well, maybe if you come over to my house and read it – but you can’t take it with you.

Anyway, on one page something good happens in this kids life, then on the next page something bad happens, then on the next page something good happens, then on the next page something bad happens, then on the next page something good happens, then on the next page something bad happens, then on the next page something good happens – get it?

So here is an example.

What good luck! Mike went on a Christmas vacation!
What bad luck! He went to visit relatives.
What good luck! People in Colorado couldn’t care less about BSU football!
What bad luck! Mike left his bike in Idaho.
What good luck! Mike’s in-laws got a new HD tv!
What bad luck! They use it to watch The View.
What good guck! It snowed a foot and there was a white Christmas!
What bad luck! Mike has to run for exercise.
What good luck! Running in a foot of snow is actually kind of fun!

You get the idea. Everything you need to know is in the book, and my vacation was, well, average I guess.

The highlight was Christmas dinner. No not the food. It was when someone offered my 6 year old son some cheesy broccoli casserole and he replies with ‘That’s like giving a madman a loaded gun and a pile of crack!’

That’s Pulitzer stuff there, that is.

I don’t know where he gets it.

As good as that was, it was know where near as entertaining as my wife’s 80 year old grandma almost falling over laughing. And that wasn’t as good as the look on my mother-in-laws face (I didn’t know eyes could pop out like that in real life). And that wasn’t as good as my father-in-law spraying food out his mouth. Yeah, good times.

I would have to say that the low light was getting on the return flight sitting behind people all bedecked in new BSU gear. Ugh. But that wasn’t quite as bad as when I noticed on the flight safety card that our plane was built in Brazil. Seriously? Brazil? Um, they make airplanes there? Ooo—kay. But that wasn’t quite as bad as when the airline maintenance guy came on board before takeoff carrying nothing but a roll of duct tape. And that wasn’t quite as bad when I saw him using the roll of duct tape as a hammer to fix something in the back of the plane. That was below average.

So yeah. Everything I needed to know about life was in that book – ‘What Good Luck, What Bad Luck’.

Happy New Year everybody.

Day 3 and Counting...

Here I am going all Ivan Kilchoe from the in-laws house in Ft. Collins.

Ft. Collins, home of the world famous Screaming Peach Waxing Studio. Actually I made the part about world famous up - but there is a Screaming Peach Waxing Studio. I just thought you should know that.

Anyhow, yeah, here I am. Yea me!

I flew out here with my 142 best friends. No I didn't count, but I did figure. It was easy because I was in row 22 on the plane and there was only one row behind me. Plus the 3 angry flight attendants and the 2 drunk pilots - that makes 142 besides me.

It was an almost disappointingly uneventful flight. Except for the Montanans in front of me. Well I mean, I think they were from Montana. They were wearing sheep skin coats - you know, the leather ones with the bits of sheep squeezing out from all the seems. Plus they were pretty manly, all three of them - including the two women. Yup. Montana. I am pretty sure.

I could have asked once when I made eye contact with one of them, but I was too busy giving her the stink eye for leaning her seat back. Manly women need more room in the airline seat apparently. Apparently they are also susceptible to the stink eye, because she put the seat back up.

Good times.

Did you know in Colorado Santa has a skullet? And baby Jesus has a head full of blond hair?


Just thought you should know.

OK, gotta go. Klink is coming...

How My Dog Ate Christmas

I’m not sure why, maybe I was feeling guilty, but a while back I decided to go back and read all of the books I was supposed to read in high school, but, well, you know, didn’t.

I kicked off my little reading fest with Lord of the Flies because it has a cool title. Being lord of anything is pretty much bad ass in my book. So yeah, I read Lord of the Flies. I know it is supposed to be an allegory with symbolism and all but I don’t know if I am buying it. I think that the lesson is that everyone is a wanker. I mean, deep down everyone is a wanker. When things get stressful wankerishness comes out, and some people are better at suppressing their wankerishness. And oh yeah, if you aren’t a little bit of a wanker you might get taken advantage of (sorry ‘bout that piggy).

Maybe it’s better I didn’t read it in high school – I’m not sure how my English teacher would have taken that.

Speaking of wankers, then I read The Catcher in the Rye. For some reason I thought there would be a guy with a scythe chasing kids through a field of grain. I was a little bit disappointed. I think there was a field of grain mentioned, but no scythe. It was about a teenage boy being a teenage boy – you know, mental. Largely overrated because of the potty words sprinkled through it.

Don’t worry, I wasn’t corrupted by the potty words. Some good citizen went through and crossed out all the potty words in the book that I checked out from the library. Shit, that was close.

Speaking of potty words, I don’t have much good to say about Les Miserables. I just finished that one a month or so ago. I am not a fan of abridging books, but if there was ever a book that needed to be abridged it is this one. Holy crap! In the story the main character saves a dude by escaping a battle through the sewer system of Paris – that’s like a page worth of plot right? Wrong. There are 50 pages describing the history of the Paris sewers. That’s a lot of poo.

So yeah, anyway, that one is about an ex-convict who becomes so nauseatingly good that the cop who spends the entire book chasing him has to kill himself. Nice story. Horrible book.

Now I am reading To Kill a Mockingbird. There are some gems in that book. And a Jem too. Maybe I will write about it the next time I am out of things to say.

I’m cultured as hell now. You may recall I gave my wife season tickets to the Musical Theatre of Idaho for Valentines Day. That must have been a good gift because it has caused me pain for nearly 11 months. It wasn’t too bad considering that my wife and I were the only ones in the audience that weren’t related to one of the actors. And that all the actors are the same for every musical. And that the lead characters always have the same name last name as the person who runs the theatre.

The highlight for me was when the actor that reminds me of Ross the intern from Leno played the beast in Beauty and the Beast. Yup, the big gay beast.

Speaking of well rounded, my dog (byd) has a well rounded diet. After eating my sons homework a few months ago she ate Christmas yesterday. Turns out eating Christmas sounds crunchy, you know like chewing on a Christmas ornament. Or twelve. When do you eat Christmas? 2:30 a.m. or so, when you feel like a snack. Waking up to crunchy sounds is below average.


Say it ain’t so, not Santa!

I was worried my son would be traumatized when he saw it. When he saw it, he dryly told me I should have hung the nice ornaments higher on the tree like he did.
Thanks for that bud.

I Think I Am Going To Be Sick

One of my friends at work told me yesterday that he never gets sick. I didn’t point out to him that he had missed several days of work the previous week because, well, he was sick. Or at least that was his story.

The reason I bring it up is that I am planning on getting sick next week. I am flying to Colorado next Monday – yea inlaws! Three hours of re-circulated air with my 150 best friends in an oversized soda can. It will be so great.

So I decided that I would get my swine flu vaccine. I heard that it isn’t really a vaccine, that they are really just implanting microchips so the government can track us. After some careful consideration I decide to take the chance. I mean all the really good stuff about me they could just read about on my blog or facebook page, and if they really wanted to know anything else about me they could just buy it from google.

Right, the government is tracking your ever so interesting life. They could learn everything they wanted to know about you from the bumper stickers on your car. I mean, if you have a car.

Anyhow, so I go to the vaccine clinic. Wait in a bit of a line. This teenage girl behind me has tuberculosis or something. Lung butter abounds. I am thinking the trip may be counter productive – swine flu no, tuberculosis yes. I am not too pleased with the experience so far, but then I see this guy (the one in the middle of the pic)…


Whoa, there is a small mammal on his head! Holly crap! I’m no expert, but I think it’s a badger. Or at least it was a badger. Damn, that’s rich. Looks like Davey Crocket. Daavveeyyy, Daavveeeyyy Crocket, king of the wild frontier. Seriously, look…


As I get closer though it becomes evident that it isn’t a badger. It’s the dudes hair. I wish I had hair. It looks like Billy Ray Cyrus or Simon Le Bon. Actually I am pretty sure it was Simon Le Bon. So yeah, not a badger, just big hair. Not a mammalian tail, just mulletude.


Nice. How can you not love that.

So I get implanted. It didn’t really hurt. Its amazing how small they make microchips these days.

They make me go to the holding pen for 15 minutes, you know, in case my body rejects the chip or something. I select a seat as far away from everyone else as I can. It’s not that I am anti-social, I just don’t like people.

It was all good until tuberculosis girl and her mother come and sit near me. It’s not enough that she has tb, but she is crying as well. Seriously? Crying for a flu shot? I mean waiting in line was more painful. OMG! Besides, Simon Le Bon is there - you should be happy.

Unreal. Crying about a flu shot. I don't think her mother could believe it either. To top it of mother and daughter are sporting their pajama pants. I think there are like two, maybe three people that can pull off pajama pants in public without looking like a lazy slob - well without people noticing that they look like a lazy slob. Anyway, these two were not among that group.

The trainer calls...

Of Rocks and Trainer Time

Do you ever feel like a rock.? A rock in a river and the water running by is time and the sediment and other stuff in the water are the events in your life and that they contact you for just a moment and that even though only in contact for a moment they take a small piece of you away with them so that eventually there will be nothing left of you but a collection of events downstream in time and that the rocks around you are your friends and family that you try to stay close to but sometimes the other rocks get picked up for someones special collection and you don’t see them again and other times the water rises and there is a big flurry of events and when the water comes back down again some of your friends and family have been washed a little ways away so they aren’t as close as they used to be or maybe it is you that got washed away and other times the water goes down slowing down time and you are able to stick your head out of the water and look around with clarity for a little while but then the water goes back up? Do you ever feel like that?

Yeah, me either.

That’s what happens when you ride the trainer in your garage and your garage tv is not digital. And your DVD player is broken. You think about rocks.

Also, I am not a big fan of talking about the weather because it is what it is. Nevertheless (notice I didn’t use but), yesterday was the first time ever that I thought maybe I should have worn tights while I was riding my trainer. It was the first time I have worn gloves while riding my trainer.

More Lickers...

So I just stumbled across this...



'Facebook forms board to lick molesters'

Not just one licker, a whole board of lickers.

Um, I know they are trying to improve their service but this seems like a bad idea. Maybe even illegal. Definitely catering to the wrong group.

Fortunes

I love fortune cookies. I love the way they taste, I love the fortunes inside, and I even kind of like it when some dumb ass says 'in bed' after you read your fortune out loud.

We went out to Chinese the other day. My son got this fortune...



Do something unusual tomorrow. (in bed).

Oh god. Just what my son needs, a little encouragement. He couldn't get 'Hard work brings success tomorrow' or something like that. Nope. Do something unusual. Outstanding.

That's why I was a little disturbed when I saw that the fire department had to rescue a kid because his tongue was stuck to a pole. When I saw that I pulled out my cellie to see if they had called. Seriously, I did.

It wasn't him, but I am still holding my breath. At least it didn't say 'pick up a ho' or something like that.

Christmas Tree in the Can

I have got a big can. I really thought it was huge until I started putting stuff in it. Even then it was still ok till I started putting yard debris in it, you know, like apples and tree limbs and stuff. Now I think that it may not be big enough.

I have this tree that I want to put in there, but it won’t fit. So I have to cut bits off the tree and shove as much in there as I can each week – until there is more room again. I have been doing this for several weeks now, but I am thinking I will never get it all in the can.

You see, there is this tree growing too close to my house, so I kind of need to cut it down. Actually I mostly need to cut it down because it is on the verge of interfering with my satellite reception. Rather than cutting the whole thing down and hauling it to the dump I have been cutting limbs and filling up the trash can every week.

When I was jamming limbs in my can yesterday I had an idea. Maybe someone could use my tree as a Christmas tree. It looks like this…


I could cut it off at the appropriate height from the top and have a nice-ish Christmas tree. Maybe a little wide, but still ok – especially if you have a big house.

That would be good. It would be like recycling only different. I would be saving a wild, free roaming tree by sacrificing my domestic tree. That would make me feel green as hell, and everyone knows, I am definitely green as hell. Or something like that.

Anyway, yeah, if you are interested in my tree you know where to find me.
If you are into hiking into the woods to find a tree, I could let you hike around in my front yard for a while looking at the trees – then you could walk into my back yard and pretend to choose the tree I am offering. If you like a snowy Christmas atmosphere I could get on the roof and throw crushed ice at you. You could even pretend that my dogs were wolves. If you need to harvest one, please select the little black one – I know she is smaller, but she is much more fierce so is definitely a better trophy. So yeah, we could set it up like that.

Or if you like to go to a lot and buy a tree you could walk around my yard sizing up my trees and then choose the tree that I have available. You can give me some money and I will donate it to charity. I will even match your donation. Note, in this scenario my dogs are just dogs – so no harvest.

Or if you are into doing bad things due to the thrill of possibly getting caught you could come and steal my tree. I will turn off all the lights and try to ignore any sounds you make while stealing my tree. When you get it all loaded up I will come running out of my house with some weapon and yell ‘hey, what are you kids doing’! We can negotiate about what type of weapon, and as to whether my dogs are guard dogs, wolves, or just goofy ass retrievers. Yeah, so if you are into that we could use that scenario.

Or if you want the tree, but don’t want to act goofy I guess you could just come over and get it. We could go out and look at it, then we could go in and drink some beers while we think about the suitability of the tree and how best to cut it down, then we could bust out the power tools. I will have a video camera just in case we have an Americas Funniest Videos moment and break something. I guess we could even use my truck to deliver it. Not somewhere far away though – only the treasure valley. If I have to drive too far it would be cheaper to take it to the dump.

Yup, there’s the deal. Let me know. If more than one person wants it I will have to come up with some creative way to decide the winner. I reserve that right. I am not responsible for any wildlife that may be living in there either, I should mention that. If you have a Christmas Vacation moment it is entirely on you.

If it works out well maybe we can do it again next year. Except next year the tree will probably have to be a maple, so it would look largely like a stick in December.

Or if no one wants it I will just continue sticking it in my can.

Belated Thanksgiving

Work, family, my bikes, and a disturbing video game addiction have enforced an unplanned blogcation over the last several days. You might imagine that I would have a long list of things to discuss if I haven’t blogged for so long. I imagine you might be right, I did have a long list of things to bitch about – but unfortunately (or fortunately), I have a short memory for some things.

I do remember that Thanksgiving finally ended on Wednesday when I consumed the last of the leftovers. Yeah, that sucked. Honestly I don’t like most Thanksgiving food on the first day and my appreciation goes steadily downhill after that. I mean really – if gravy is an integral part of a meal it is probably an indication that the rest of the food isn’t that good. Because, you know, that’s what you do with gravy – cover up other things that don’t taste as good.

Anyway, it was a very thankful time. I was thankful for my family. Then I was thankful that I don’t live with them. I was thankful for 3 hour solo Thanksgiving bike rides. By solo I mean solo…



I was thankful that the next generation of my family is clearly going to be better than the current one, as indicated when my niece suggested we go around the room and say what we are thankful for. I was still giving my brother-in-law the “who’s kid is that stare” when my turn came. I gave the usual family, friends, health, blah, blah, blah thankful schpiel . It didn’t really matter what I said though, because no one was paying attention – anticipation was building over what my 6 year old son might let loose with.

I was thankful (and a little disappointed) when my son said pretty much the same thing I did. I think he sensed the general disappointment and threw in as an afterthought that he was thankful for football. And how! That brought approval from the family and covered the fact that my dad was able to skate by saying ditto.

I remember another thing I was going to right about, but I don’t know why. Why I was going to write about it. Not why I remembered it – but I don’t know that either.

Anyway, this one time when I was a kid my uncle stinky Bill the truck driver came to visit. By came to visit, I mean he got arrested when he was passing through Idaho and my parents had to bail his ass out of jail. Yeah, that rocked. While the wheels of justice slowly turned stinky Bill ate our food, and drank our beverages, but mostly just sat in the our rocking chair, watched our tv, acted like an a-hole, and stunk up the joint.

It was an ordeal. I remember my mom calling my aunt, Mrs. Stinky Bill – and indicating that she needed to get stinky Bill out of our house. I think my aunt was relieved that stinky Bill was not a her house because stinky Bill stayed at our house for two weeks.

One day my mom asked stinky Bill if she could wash his clothes for him. She did. Then she put them in a suitcase. She took stinky Bill for a ride and left him at the bus station with a ticket to stinky Billsville. That was epic. One of those secret family stories. Oops, I think I just wrote that on the internet.

eah, I don’t know why I wanted to write about that. I am sure it had some point. I will leave it to you to decide. It is kind of a thing of beauty to find your own meaning after all.

Goin Rogue With Captain Kirk

A friend sent me this picture today.



Star Trek & Sarah Palin Book Available Now.

Of course I immediately thought - Wow, I new she was out there, but not that out there. Sarah Palin in Star Trek? Seriously?

I wonder if she goes rogue? I wonder if Captain Kirk goes rogue? I wonder if they...

Um, nevermind.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised, she is an expert. She can see space from her house ya know.

The B-team?

For some reason when I saw this the first thing that came to mind was that B.A. Baracus would not approve.

The second thing was that I didn't know what crusing was. What I did know was that it was so fine, bitchen, and far out.

It was definitely better than this one.



That just seems to be asking for trouble.

Happy Friday.

Three Unrelated Items All Mashed Together

My 6 year old son has been into Star Wars a bit lately, so this morning when I went in to wake him up I got close and whispered in my best Darth Vader voice ‘Luke, I am your father’.

Without opening his eyes or giving any other indication he is awake he whispers in his best Darth Vader voice ‘Dad, I already know that’.

I think he may have been telling me where to stick it.

Speaking of telling people where to stick it, I am sure you have seen this but I don’t care because it cracks me up.



I always wanted to win a bike race and fly the double eagle across the line. That was before I saw this guy. The six shooter alternating birds culminating in the double eagle would be the pinnacle of celebrations. Now I just need to find a race I can win.

No one wins when there is an angry beaver ravaging town. I stumbled across this the other day.



I saw a beaver when I was rocking down the gb on the way to work one morning. Well, actually I didn’t know it was a beaver until I was rolling past it. I just said ‘nice beaver’ and kept riding. The thought never crossed my mind to dismount and place my bike between myself and the beaver. Aww hell, another opportunity lost. I have never fought a beaver before.

Apparently it isn't all that uncommon. I found this video on YouTube...



Of course that was a Russian beaver. And we all know Russains are evil right?

Anyhow, there you have it. My blog mashup.

Got Nuts?

I got this email today. It had a linky to this website, where you can get these…



Of course, this is just one style, you could be rocking several other styles as well.
At first I thought it was pretty sweet. I immediately envisioned myself powering through a time trial in the Tokyo style helmet with the Jazz Pink fabric. Because, you know, sometimes it is more important to look good than to be fast – and with that lid I would be looking good. Good indeed.

After some reflection, however, I think I may not be as attractive as lid models on the website. I know, self doubt is an ugly thing, but I really don’t know if I can pull it off. I think maybe covering up my balding head and ugly melon cover with some textile stylings may be a bit like wearing baggy shorts over the tops of your tights. You know how I feel about that.

I’m still not sure, I will need to cogitate on it for a while. Of course if I did decide that I had the intestinal fortitude to sport one of those, I would have to overcome the fact that the prices are in euros, and that I don’t know what a euro is worth. I am guessing a couple dollars at least, because it isn’t cheap to look good on a bike.

Speaking of having nuts, these deer don’t, but they found some in front of the building where I work.



They have been making frequent visits recently, eating all acorns. That probably pisses the squirrels off, but so it goes.

Yesterday, there was a buck with them. Of course I missed it, but some friends took pictures of some deer partaking in a little ungulate foreplay. If we don’t run out of nuts soon I think there may be some corrupting of deer morals right in front of our office. OMG!

Speaking of corrupt morals and deer in town what’s up with these wankers?


Its always a good idea to do some deer hunting at night with a flashlight and underpowered sawed off shotgun. Of course deer season is closed and you are right next to a subdivision, so it isn’t like you can ‘hunt’ during the day with a rifle.

Asshats.

For the life of me I can’t figure out how they didn’t get shot by Boise PD. It’s ok, they could have their hunting privileges revoked for 3 years – oh the horror, hunting by the rules obviously means so much to these guys.

At least they weren’t hunting in front of my office…

True Confessions

This isn’t easy for me to say.

I am embarrassed to admit it, but when I graduated from high school I wasn’t ready for college.

So I went to Boise State University.

The fact that I spent three years there doesn’t make it any easier to own. I know. That’s a long time to decide that you don’t want to be a truck driver.

So yeah, one day I woke up and realized I didn’t want to be a truck driver, or construction manager. I also realized I couldn’t get into nursing school if I wanted to.

So I transferred to the University of Idaho.

I did learn some things at BSU. First, there is always a party on every Saturday night somewhere around Lincoln and Beacon. Second, you can pass a 3 credit class even if you only show up once a week. If you are an athlete you don’t even have to show up once.

Then, then there is BSU math. That is the math and reasoning skills you use to justify giving the national championship to the football team with the 100th ranked difficulty of schedule. Did I ever tell you how BSU won Super Bowl XVI? It goes like this…

BSU shut down Adrian Peterson in the Fiesta Bowl in January 2007 season. Then, in November 2007 Adrian Peterson ran for nearly 300 yards against the San Diego Chargers and set the single game rushing record for the NFL. Ergo, BSU is better than the San Diego Chargers.

Later that year, the San Diego Chargers defeated the Indianapolis Colts. Ergo, BSU is better than the Indianapolis Colts.

The Indianapolis Colts won Super Bowl XLI on the field. But really, since we all know that BSU is better than the Indianapolis Colts – BSU won the Super Bowl.

See how that works? BSU math.

So then I went to the University of Idaho. I didn’t bleed blue and orange from my time at BSU, but I did like Blue Monday at the Garden.

I learned some things at U of I too. First, that my self worth is not determined by the number of flags, window stickers, license plate holders, wind socks, bumper stickers, license plates, sweatshirts, sweatpants, t-shirts, jackets, hats, gloves, socks, chairs, bbq’s , cars, trucks, suvs, rv’s, and underpants that I own with my favorite athletic team logo on them. Second, they can put windows in cows. I also learned that most of the things that I learned at BSU were not applicable in college.

(Later I learned that most things I learned at BSU and U of I were not applicable to real life, but that is for another day).

I did learn some Vandal math.

There are 12 cans in a half rack. There are 24 cans in a case. There are about 80 cans in a pony keg, you know, give or take a few. Ergo, there are about 160 cans in a keg, you know, give or take 4 or 5.

I also gained the analytical skills that enable me to realize that the likelihood of the Vandals overcoming the Broncos tomorrow is slim at best.

So it goes. This too, shall pass.

Go Vandals!

Signs Your Town Has Too Many Parks

I kicked a squirrel the other day. It wasn’t nearly as satisfying as I thought it might be.

At my work there are some people that feed squirrels peanuts at the back door. Sometimes, if you leave the door open for too long the squirrels will sneak in and feed themselves peanuts from the peanut stash.

Dirty little bastards. The squirrels, not the co-workers. Well, usually not the co-workers. Squirrels are nothing but rats with bushy tails. If they could figure out how to kill you they would eat you. Just like your house cat. Of that, I am convinced.

Maybe I don’t like squirrels because I ride a bike. Squirrels are like the roadside bombs of the bicycle world. I am pretty sure that they or getting together to try and off me. So you know, they can eat me. I wonder if I would taste nutty?

There you are, minding your own business when boom! A squirrel jumps out in front of you. You dodge left, it dodges right – right in front of you that is. They seem determined to jam themselves in your spokes like this…



Of course then I would be flung over the bars onto my back at which point the rest of the little terrorist would jump out of the bushes and gnaw on me.

I used to try and dodge squirrels, but now I just aim at them. That way if I hit one it will just go bump bump and not get caught up in my wheel. They are really pretty good at getting out of the way if you just aim straight at them. I have never had a problem, well, until the other day.

Sometimes when I can’t ride my bike to work, I take it with me and try to get in a nooner. That’s what I did one day last week. The day I kicked the squirrel.
I changed into my cycling clothes and went out to get my bike.

I leave my bike shoes in the truck with my bike, so I was rocking socks when I stepped outside. Stepped outside right into a squirrel. I knew something wasn’t quite right when I could feel something furry and wiggly at the end of my left big toe. It didn’t last very long, by the time I looked down there wasn’t anything stuck to my toe – but there was a squirrel rolling across the concrete a foot or so away.

I didn’t do it on purpose. I wouldn’t do that on purpose, well, at least not without shoes. The little vermin was coming right at me! I was attacked!
So the squirrels have mobilized. They are lining the street waiting for me.



They haven’t figured out that I leave from the back of the building yet.

Signs Your Town Doesn't Have Enough Parks

I have this cycling rain jacket that I bought for a buck. It really kind of sucks because I get almost as wet inside from sweat as I do outside from rain. A friend of mine used to call me 'rubber boy' because of it. But what the hell, it was only a buck, right?

I was looking for it the other day, you know, because it was raining. While looking for it I stumbled across this old news paper...



You can see it is kind of old. I have been saving it a while. Here is lower part of the page.



Recently we were in Boise and happened to see this live duck walking around this tree...

Wow! A live duck walking around a tree! Are you shitt'n me? You are right? Actually I would have been more impressed with a dead duck walking around the tree.

Nothing seemed to disturb this duck...

Apparently in Riggins, they are more used to disturbed ducks.

...we went in and asked about the duck.

I would have payed to be there to be asked about the duck. Really.

They did say it was not their duck. They didn't feed it and it came anyway.

I am pretty sure that these are the best two sentences in the history of newspapers. Hands down. Pulitzer stuff, that.

Yeah, I found the jacket too.

A Few Loose Ends

A friend sent me this the other day…



Tragic and a bit disturbing.

Note to self - if you ever drive into a pond, calling friends on your celly is not an effective method of rescue. Unless maybe the pond is in said friends backyard. Try something else. Anything else.

Another friend sent me this…

… two Nevada college students struggled to stay calm after a drunk driver allegedly tore into their home, ripping them from their slumber.

Allegedly, you know, because they may have imagined it. Ripping, nice verb selection, that’s painful to read.

…When you experience something like that there's no limits anymore

No limits in Nevada, Uh oh. Keep an eye on that guy.

Authorities say the motorist was drunk when he drove into the couple's home in Sparks, mistakenly believing it was the home of his ex-girlfriend and her new boyfriend.
Eric Cross is accused of drunken driving, battery with a deadly weapon, possession of a stolen vehicle, driving without a license and careless driving for his alleged role in the crash, which occurred October 21, according to the Washoe County Sheriff's Office.

So the dude decides he is going to kill his ex by driving into her house with a car. He chooses to steal a Kia Rio to do the job? I mean really, a Kia? What, couldn’t you find a Subaru Justy? Asshat.

"I could see the tire to the right side and I was like, there's a car on top of me right now," he said. "That was really hard to get through my head."

Dude! I’m totally getting squished by a car! That is significantly below average.

Woods credited the slackness of the bed for preventing their legs from breaking altogether as the weight of the car pinned his girlfriend's entire body and his lower half to the bed.

Um, slackness? Slackness. Yeah.

"She was screaming really badly because I could actually move above my chest and neck, but she couldn't move anything," he said.

Screaming because, you know, its unfair. He can move his top and she can’t.
So the car is sitting on them. It comes about halfway up on him, but all the way over her head. Her head is about halfway up...

The couple calmed down somewhat after emergency workers arrived at the scene, using chainsaws to rip through the wall…

Check, soothing chainsaws. Remember that. It is the last time you will ever see it.

"When the car was lifted and you could see blood circulating back through my legs, that was probably the happiest moment of my life: Yes! I'm not paralyzed," he said.
"I was so happy, hugging everyone and making sure Kristin was all right," he said. "I was just real happy to get out of there."

Whoa! You had me at circulating.

Now there is something you don’t see every day.

Wasn't Me

I went trick-or-treating with my 6 year old son and some of his friends on Saturday. He was a Kermit the frog. I was dressed as a slacker in a Vandals sweatshirt and jeans with holes in the knees. I took one of our dogs, lbd as well. Lbd was dressed as a witch. Really.

I have always felt that dogs wearing clothes is a warning sign that there is a demented person nearby. Dressing my dog was my wife’s idea. I didn’t like it, but I rolled with it because I like being married.

So yeah, we walked to the other kids houses to pick up the other kids. One of the other kids moms decided to come along too. Because, you know, you don’t just let your kids go walking around with a guy who has a dog in a dress.

We go to pick up the last kid in the party, a neighbor girl 2-3 years older than my son. She is wearing some kind of pink furry outfit with a skirt over the top. I think she said she was a Cheetah Girl. Whatever. My son, never short on words, lets loose with ‘oooooooooooooo, sexy costume!’

You know, in his outside voice.

Umm, yeah. The other kids mom is giving me the stink eye. ‘Where did he learn that’, she said.

Errrrrr, wow, the things kids pick up at school. I mean, he didn’t couldn’t have gotten it from me – I don’t talk like that. Right?

Is it possible that at 6 years old my son has already discovered the true meaning of Haloween?

Shorts - OK, Tights - OK, Tights & Shorts - ?

You know what I hate? I hate it when people wear tights, then they wear shorts over the top of them. Yup, that’s what I hate.

It happens a lot this time of year, what with the chilly temperatures and all. It is too cold to wear just shorts, but it isn’t too cold to stop riding a bike.

So there is this big group of people that are afraid to wear spandex but like riding bikes. Oh, the horror. The conflict inside just tearing them apart. In the summer they rock the baggy mountain bike shorts, because they think they can look swell and ride a road bike at the same time. Well, they are wrong.

When fall roles around they throw on a pair of tights and slap a pair of shorts over the top. Looking keen right? Well, not exactly. You look like someone who has butt issues. Nothing says butt insecurity like baggy shorts over tights. That goes for runners too.

Get over it. Odds are no one cares about your butt. Well, I mean, besides you. You care about your butt. You care much more than anyone else. Butts come in 3 categories: significantly below average, average, and significantly above average. Covering your butt with more clothing cannot move your butt from one category up to another category but it can move your butt down a category. Really the only thing that can make your butt move up is lots of exercise by you, or lots of beer consumed by everyone else.

I guess what I am saying is own your butt. TTFU and ditch the baggy shorts. You can be sexy with a big butt, but you can’t be sexy with butt insecurity. Seriously, when was the last time you saw someone sexy with tights and a pair of baggies.

Euwh. That sounded bad. You get the idea though.

So yeah, that’s what I hate.

Butt to Mother-in-law

I just wanted to say that changing the time 2 times a year sucks ass. That’s all I have to say about that.

So the time changed. It takes a few days for my old body to adjust. I decided to ride my bike to work anyway.

It was a bit chilly this morning. I decided to ride my bike to work anyway.

When I went to get on my bike this morning I remembered that my back tire had worn through and I could see the casing underneath. I did ride my bike to work anyway, but not until after I put on a new back tire.

After I put the new rubber on the back I check the front. I decide to add some air.
I put the little presta valve to shraeder valve converter majig on the valve (because my pump works best if I do that). I put some air in the front tire. When I unscrew the presta to shraeder converter majig the whole entire presta valve stem thingy unscrews out of the valve. Air goes everywhere.

Damn it! I smile to myself as I think that I guess I am just going to have drive today. In the truck. The truck with the heater.

I am halfway back inside to change my clothes when I remember that I have like 8 bike wheels. Four of them are front wheels. Unfortunately none of them are Natty Light front disc wheels, but one of them does have a tire with air in it. I decided to ride my bike to work anyway.

About a mile from home I feel my phone ring (vibrate). Now where did I put that phone? Is it in the back of my wind vest? Nope. Is it in the back of my long sleeve jersey? Nope. Oh, there it is, in pocket number 9 in the short sleeve jersey underneath the long sleeve jersey, underneath the wind vest.

I really like to layer.

So yeah, by the time I get to pocket number 9 the phone isn’t ringing anymore. I check the caller ID and find it was my wife. There is a surprise. I get my hopes up that I may get to go back home and get in my truck (the warm one) because of some family issue.

I call my wife back. She asks me why I made a phone call to her parents so early in the morning.

Umm, butt? Was that you butt? Yup, squished between my lower back and my tremendously manly commuter bag, my phone decided to make a call. It called my inlaws and woke them up. That was kinda funny of my butt. Actually that was the second call of the morning for my butt. First it called someone I don’t know. Oops.

I decide to take the long gb way to work. If anymore funny business happened I didn’t want it to involve a car. It was pretty uneventful after that. Somewhere around Veterans Pond my toes started to hurt. I would have quit and went home but I was closer to work.

Around the zoo somewhere my hamstrings felt funny. It was right before I almost hit the duck. Damn ducks.

Anyway, I made it to work. My reward? Work. Oh yeah, then I get to do it all over again on the way home.

Something Wankerish

I am not calling the prosecutors wankers, but there is something wankerish going on here...

I'm no phsycologist, but it seems people get most defensive when they think they may be wrong.

Happy Boo Day.

Day Old News

So I get home from work on Thursday and sit down to read the day old news. I look at the front page and turn to the second. I don't have to worry about picking which stories to read because the statesman ranks them so I know which ones are most important. There at number 8, right before 3 articles about the economy, and the article about the Red Sox winning game one of the World Series in an article in regard to Wal-Mart selling urns and caskets.

I know the Red Sox aren't in the World Series, but really, a Yankees loss is the same thing as a Red Sox win isn't it? I still believe.



So yeah, Wal-Mart is going to sell urns and caskets online. Um, that’s a bit disturbing.

You ever noticed that at Wal-Mart you can get anything in the special NASCAR edition? Yup, it's only a matter of time before you can get your Jeff Gordon, Jimmie Johnson, or even #3 memorial accommodations. Hey Jimmie, did your parents miss that ‘and sometimes y’ rule? Just wondering.

You know that somewhere in Mississippi there is some dude sitting on top the TV (right next to the rabbit ears) in his Dale Urn-hardt. That just ain't right.

Wow. After that I turn a few pages. I come across the little section where you can email in your health care questions and a medical professional will answer them. Question number two:



My husband was diagnosed with colon cancer. Is it contagious?

Are you freaking kidding me? OMG. Unbelievable.

I can’t believe I live in a community where someone is dumb enough to ask that question. I mean seriously. What, have you been sharing polyps? I can’t believe I live in a community where someone is dumb enough to publish this question. I mean someone gets paid to produce and edit this, Nice.

Can you imagine being the guy with colon cancer?

Docotor – I am sorry to have to tell you that you have colon cancer.
CC Guy – shock, fear, worry
Wife – scoots the chair a little to the right.

The guy needs some support, some encouragement, maybe even a LiveStrong. He gets – is it contagious? I’m thinking you made a bad decision in regard to your relationship a few years back bud.

Running?

I have always contended that running is a survival skill, not a sport. That is, until last Friday. See, last Friday I discovered that running may not be a survival skill, rather I think that running may be a method of committing suicide. It still isn’t a sport.

I realized this when I saw an enormous woman ‘jogging’ on the gb last Friday. I am pretty sure she was going to keel over. It was like one of those moments like on ‘The Biggest Loser’ where one of the enormous people collapses. Just like that. Only this woman hadn’t collapsed. Yet. It was going to happen, there was a kind of miasma about the gb that day.

Look! I used the word miasma.

I love ‘The Biggest Loser’. It is probably my favorite show. That and Phineas and Ferb. I would say that I like it because it makes me feel better about myself watching the large ones exercise, but that isn’t true. I know it isn’t true because watching the large ones work out while I sit on my butt and eat makes me feel somewhat like a toad. I would say that I like it because Jilian Michaels is hot, but she’s not. In fact she kind of scares me. Scares me right through the tv.

Anyway, yeah, I am rocking down the gb the other day and see this enormous woman just killing herself. Death by running. She was probably a code 4-0-0. You don’t see that every day.

What made it really interesting was the camera crew with her. Yeah, one guy with a fancy video camera on a stick kind of running in front of her and another guy running beside her shouting instructions.

Please note, I am using the term ‘running’ loosely here. Very loosely.
So I role up behind this little running circus. So do is this a situation where I need to yell ‘on your left’? Should I just ride past? Should I shout encouragement? Should I say the first thing that comes to mind? No, no not that one. I was on camera after all.

I just rode past and tried to look cool, well as cool as you can when you are wearing spandex.

Dings, Rings, and Things

Have you ever really looked forward to something for a long time, and then when it finally happened it wasn’t nearly as good as you thought it might be? Or maybe it wasn’t even good at all? Yeah, that’s never happened to me either. It’s all roses around here, let me tell you.

Last week I started commuting by bike to work again after a long layoff. I was pretty excited about it because I have pretty much run out of things to blog about, and there is always good blog material on the commute.

I gotta say, the first day I was a little disappointed. Nothing really happened. It was dark, and it was cold, it made me a little crunchy around the edges – but that was it.

Friday was my second day on the ol bike commute. I was about a mile in to my 12 mile trip when I heard a sound to my left. I said to myself ‘self, that sounds a lot like cars running into each other’. Sure as hell I look to my left and about 15 feet to my left and there is a car with its front inserted into the back of the car in front of it. Nice.

Yup, someone going all Jeff Gordon and bump drafting in the 20 mph school zone. It wasn’t too bad, but there were bits of car scattering about. I hit the brakes as the cars maneuvered to a stop in front of me. Huh, you don’t see that every day.

That made for a good day (for me, not for Jeff Gordon). Little did I know that Friday would get rich on my way home.

So rocking on the gb towards home I come across that bad guy from Scooby doo. You know, the one that says “… and I would have gotten away with it…”. Yeah, that guy. He was riding his bike coming the other way and as I get close to him he start gesturing and saying something about ‘over there’. He looked and sounded just like Scooby doo guy. I am pretty much positive it was him. Well, I assumed that the guy was hassling me. I was about to tell him where I thought he should go when I looked the direction where he was gesturing.

There was this guy down on a knee proposing to a girl. At least I assume he was proposing. I mean, what else do people do on their knees along the gb? Well yeah, there is that – but that is a few miles downstream on fantasy island, and at night, besides didn’t the police sting put an end to that?

So anyway, yeah the Scooby doo guy go’s nuts trying to show me the proposing couple. Or at least the couple that seemed to be partaking in some proposalage. I guess the guy had never seen a proposal. I guess I haven’t either. Now that is something you don’t see every day.

I was still contemplating my good fortune when I pulled off the gb in Garden City. I hadn’t been on the road long when the sound of a car driving slowly behind me shook me out of my revelry. If you ride a bike you know that nothing good can come of a car driving slowly behind you.

This car drives up alongside me. I look over. Holy crap! There it is! A chick exposing a jublee! I know its hard to believe. I hardly believe it myself! Really! Exposing a jublee with one hand, kind of leaning over to facilitate such exposure – and oh yeah, trying to drive with the other hand.

So yeah, there it is a little jublee in a whole lot of Honda Civic. A Honda Civic that seems to be getting closer to me by the minute. Nice. I am getting flashed and run off the road all at once.

I gotta admit I was a bit dumbfounded. Maybe more than a bit. In fact, I haven’t been that dumbfounded since road rage guy called me a ‘pretty little Mormon boy’- which I still haven’t figured out.

Anyway, it was over as fast as it started. I continued to role, in fact, I rolled up next her car at the next stop sign. You know, by the bible college. How nice is that – in front of the bible college. Anyway, there she is laughing and taking a picture of me with her cell phone.

Wait! I thought I was the one who was supposed to take pictures.

So yeah, I am probably on the internet somewhere with the subtitle of ‘Dumbfounded Guy I Flashed’.

Seriously.

I still can’t believe it.

Flasher girl, if you ever read this, not to sound ungrateful, but I have some ideas to improve the experience for both of us. It would go something like this…

You roll up next to me (give me 3 feet please). Roll down your window, then say…

You - ‘Pardon me, would you like to see my jublees?’

Me – ‘Yes, yes I think I would thank you.’

Then you drive up the road a few blocks, get out, and pull up your shirt. There is no need to go halfway – you lose the full effect. As I roll up I will give you an appropriate compliment, you know, like ‘nice jublees!’

Then I will stop, and we can each take pictures, you know, for evidence that we can show our friends.

Yes, I think it should go something like that.

OK, at any rate, that was a hell of a way to kick off my commuting season. Like a 9 out of 10 on the angry cyclist scale of bicycle commuting bizarity. Now that is something you don't see every day.

Ahhh Nuts

I have been pretty sure that I wasn’t going to get the swine flu due to an aggressive hand washing campaign in the bathrooms at work. You may remember that I wrote about it a while back.


Well all that changed yesterday. Someone removed the ‘urinal guy’ sign from the bathroom. The other one is still there; urinal guy is gone. All that is left is a sticky residue. I am afraid without the urinal guy sign there that no one will wash their hands, and someone will get swine flu from their bits. I mean, why would I wash my hands without urinal guy there?

Someone stole it. It didn’t just fall on the floor and get thrown away. It was really stuck on there. I know, I tried to take it off. I was going to scan it, but it was really stuck, so I took a picture. Taking pictures in a bathroom is creepy. For some reason it made me feel like Larry Craig.

It makes me wonder what happened to the sign. Did urinal guy see it and was offended? No, I don’t think so. He looks pretty good humored. Good humored for a guy that carries a urinal. I bet the swine flu took it – damn you swine flu! It figured with that sign out of the way we would be easy pickings. I bet he put it on craigslist. Even the swine flu needs some extra cash. The economy sucks. I am going to look. On ebay too.

Anyway. So yeah. Swine flu here I come. Sucks to be me. Maybe I should make my own sign. Something like ‘Swine flu is on your bits! Washed your hands?’

Simplification

I am totally simplifying. I deleted my twitter account. I deleted all the mail in my email inbox. I deleted some crappy music off my hard drive. I even deleted a facebook friend.

Don’t worry. It wasn’t you. Well, I mean, It probably wasn’t you. If it was, well, sorry about that – I don’t really like you.

It was all quite liberating. I feel so free and untethered. Actually that isn’t true, but I do feel less tethered. You should try it (except delete someone else, not me).

Its going to give me at least 30 extra seconds every day. Seconds I will spend riding my bike, because riding my bike makes me a better Mike. And every second counts – Lance Armstrong taught me that.

Anyway, I was thinking about retiring from blogging. You know, to remove the incredible burden that it is for me to be a sarcastic smart ass. It really is a stretch you know.

So yeah, I decided to retire – but not before I reach an all important egotistical goal. I need to complete my little mappy thingy. It shows all the countries that have someone who visited my blog. I realize that most of the people accidentally visited my blog when they were searching for cycling underwear, and then quickly left – but I am ok with that. In fact, it kind of cracks me up.


I will retire when I get a visit from all those countries that I don’t have one for yet. Quick, someone go to Africa! Or at least someone go to South Dakota and visit my blog – I don’t have any visits from there either. They do have internet there don’t they?

Yep. Fill up the map and that’s it. At least until something ticks me off and I need to vent.

Pop Quiz

A. This rig belongs to Butch.
B. This rig belongs to a butch.
C. This rig belongs to two or more guys named Butch.
D. This rig belongs to two or more butches.
E. This rig belongs to someone who is a fan of Butchs, which could be a,b,c, or d above.
F. This rig belongs to the highest elected official in the great state of Idaho. By the way, how do you get Butch out of Leroy?
G. All of the above.

Answer: Hell, I don’t know. I should go back to school and learn that grammar thing, especially that plural/possessive apostrophe thingy – maybe then I would stop running into conflicts like this. Nah.

Wheel of Dreams

You guys can have your Zipp's, your Edge's, and even your HED's. This is what I will be rolling with next year. I mean, that is, if I win the contest.




You see it right brothers and sisters, yes, a Natty light disc wheel. When I win I will be rocking that badboy in time trials all year. And yes, in case you were wondering, I will be rocking it on the front.

Steering, who needs steering?

Maybe I will carry a Natty in my bottle cage too, you know, in case I get thirsty.

Here We Go Again

So last week Ada County Highway District commissioner Sarah Baker accused her fellow commission members of being Stalin.


Here we go again.


Whats with the politicians playing the communist card whenever they feel they have been wronged? I mean seriously, its not 1980 anymore. A few things have changed. A few people obviously have not.

OK, to be fair Baker didn’t flat out call her coworkers Stalin. She said “You know, I am not accusing anyone here of being Stalin, but this is exactly what Stalin did during his reign”. Wow. You know, if you ever start a statement by saying ‘I am not …’, and then follow up with ‘BUT…’, you are most definitely saying ‘…’. Yeah like, I am not saying Sarah Baker is a wanker, but, her behavior is very much wanker-like. See how that works?

So anyway, she is a bit miffed because her name was left off a plaque on the new Park Center bridge. The bridge that was dreamed up 20 years ago. The bridge that has been debated and battled for the last 10 years. The bridge that was under construction before Sarah Baker was elected. Yeah, that bridge.

Somehow she thinks that her name not being on the bridge is falsifying history. Like Stalin. I am no expert, but I think Stalin made people disappear and then erased evidence of them ever existing. Maybe its just me, but that isn’t quite the same as not putting someones name on a project that they had nothing to do with – in fact, putting someones name on a project they didn’t participate in may even be the opposite.

Wait, I’m confused. Who is Stalin here?

Ugh. I am not saying someone should just quit, but there are plenty of other things to do. You know, listen to ’99 Luftballoons’. Watch ‘Red Dawn’. Read some Tom Clancy. And then maybe you can make your hair poofy. Especially in front...

I'm just say'n

My Dogs is Bitches

I awoke Sunday to the sound of water being poured from a pitcher into a glass. Even semi-conscious I knew that nothing good could come of liquidy sounds in morning, so I sat up and looked around. My wife was in the bathroom, but the sound wasn’t coming from there.

Turns out a dog peeing in a shoe sounds exactly like someone pouring water into a glass from a pitcher. Yup, there was little black dog (lbd) peeing into a croc. As I flew out of bed, corrected the dog, drug her downstairs and threw her out the door I thought to myself, ‘self, at least it wasn’t your shoe’. That’s true. It wasn’t my shoe.

So yeah, lbd pee’d in a shoe. My wife’s croc to be exact. This is the same dog that fought with the sprinkler system twice this summer (dog 2, sprinklers 0). The same dog that pulled one of pumps out of my backyard waterfall and destroyed it (don’t ask, I don’t know). The same dog that found the buried power cord to the other pump in the backyard waterfall and chewed it in half (yes, the gfi works). The same dog that is now in the middle of her second tour of dog training. And oh yeah, the same dog that occasionally escapes the backyard to go romp in the neighborhood.

Just to be clear, this is not the dog that ate my sons homework (really, she did. I wrote a note to the teacher. I got one back that was all water damaged. I think she laughed so hard she cried on it). Not the dog that once ate half of a Costco chocolate cake. Not the dog that always poops within seconds of me picking up all the poop in the yard. And not the dog that eats apples by the dozen, especially when I act like I might pick them all up off the ground. Not the dog that until Sunday morning I suspected of peeing in the house. No, that dog is big yellow dog (byd).

My wife has like 100 pairs of shoes. Normally I exaggerate a little, but in this case I am not. I promise. On Sunday morning at least 18 pairs of those shoes were laying around on the bedroom floor, you know, waiting to get pee’d in. So really, what are the odds that my wife comes out of the bathroom while I am throwing lbd out – and puts on the shoes that lbd just pee’d in? It’s a long shot right?

I know why crocs have those little holes in the sides now. I used to think it was for ventilation. Now I know that it is to give the pee somewhere to go when you slide your foot in a pee filled croc.

It’s a good thing I was still downstairs when my wife screamed, because I might have smiled. I may have even giggled a little. That would not have gone over well. Trust me. I composed myself by the time she got downstairs. Composed myself to give my standard response for when my wife is pissed at someone who is not me – ‘those bastards’! Except this time, this time I rolled with ‘those bitches’!

Open Letter to Cartwright Fence Guy

So some friends mentioned it may be a good idea to leave a note for the Cartwright Fence Guy. Well, I don't know if it was a good idea for ME to do it, but I did do it and stuck it to the fence. Hopefully it stays on the fence, it was a bit windy. Would it be ironic if my letter about roadside debris ended up as roadside debris? Anyhow, an open letter to the cartwright fence guy...

Dear Cartwright Fence Guy,

First, let me say thank you for the service you do in picking up other peoples junk and affixing it to the fence here. There is way too much stuff thrown out of cars (and from cyclists pockets) – and anyone who helps to clean up after these morons is a good person in my book.

I have enjoyed riding past this section of fence for several years now, seeing what new interesting garbage was affixed to the fence. I would have enjoyed it more if there hadn’t been steep freak’n hills on both sides. Anyhow, it has been like a roll through garage sale or even ride by second hand store – while I haven’t made any purchases yet, I’m sure that the right item will come my way soon.

I must admit that I rode past your sign here several times before I stopped to read it. I figured it to be a rant about cyclists and their trash, and after a long summer of hearing rants about cyclists I really didn’t want to subject myself to more.

Well one day I rode past 3 times (that’s a lot of nanocalories), and decided to stop and read it. Well, I was right, it was a rant about cyclists and their trash. The unexpected part was that it was a well written and witty rant about cyclists and their trash – not to mention the fact that it was spot on.

So you see, I agree. I have an anger that burns inside about roadside debris as well. When cyclist contribute it really ticks me off. The Gu packages are irritating, but what really gets my goat is when some wanker leaves the old tube when he changes out a flat tire. Ugh.

I will say that I do like some roadside debris though. I have quite an eclectic collection of music cds that I have collected in the last year. I do somewhat enjoy listening to those. I have a new appreciation for rap.

Anyhow, thanks again for what you do. I promise not to purposely leave crap on the roadside, and to ridicule other cyclists when they do.

TheAngryCyclist

P.S. Thanks for saying me and my carbon fiber bike look good. I know it is a lie though, my wife even makes fun of my spandex. One time a kid with a violin kid made fun of me. Yes violin kid made fun of me. Nonetheless, I appreciate the compliment. I mean that in a manly sort of way of course, especially if you are a guy.

Butt Crackers

My son called me a butt-cracker this morning. That’s pretty good, no ass hat mind you, but then he isn’t allowed to use potty words – so butt cracker is pretty solid. I just don’t know where this behavior comes from.

Speaking of butt-crackers, I heard that we aren’t allowed to call the swine flu the swine flu any longer – we have to call it H1N1. Apparently someone in the pork industry is afraid people won’t eat pork because they are afraid it will give them swine flu. Which it wont. Trichinosis yes, but no swine flu. Swine flu, you get that from your kids. Sorry pork industry, I just can’t memorize the codes for different viral strains of the flu – I am sticking with swine.

I’m not too worried though (about the swine flu) because someone at my work has put up little signs in all the bathrooms telling us to wash our hands. First came this one, which appears to encourage leisurely hand washing at work.

That’s ok I guess, I am all for leisure at work.

A few days later the chaser appeared…

This one I am not so sure of. I mean I assume that the guy in the picture is the fifth guy, you know, the one who didn’t wash. No wonder he didn’t wash, I mean he is carrying a freak’n urinal. Have you ever tried to wash your hands while carrying a urinal? I mean really. Its not like you’re going to put that bad boy down in the bathroom so you can wash right? Someone might pee in it!

And the part about ‘lets talk to the fifth guy?’ What the hell does that mean? No, YOU talk to the fifth guy ‘bathroom sign hanger upper guy’, not me. Last time I talked to a guy carrying a urinal it didn’t work out so well.

Another thing, if washing my hands after I potty helps prevent me from getting the swine flu am I to assume that I can get the swine flu from my bits? I mean, I keep pretty close track of my bits – I know where they are pretty much all the time. I think they are pretty clean too, I mean they get washed daily in the shower along with the rest of me. I don’t know.

I wonder why my son thinks I am a butt cracker.

Ties Ribbons To Bushes Guy

It’s the time of year when I don’t ride my bike so much and do other things more. You may have noticed that the last several days I didn’t do any blogging. You probably didn’t notice, but you may have. Its ok if you didn’t, but you probably should have.

So anyway I took a little blogcation and did some other stuff. Two days last week I walked around in the woods with my gun. Actually I only walked around in the woods with my gun one day. The second day I walked around in the woods without my gun because, well, I didn’t need it anymore.

OK, to be completely honest I may be exaggerating the walking around part a little bit too. See, my old man procured a new 4-wheeler – so now he has a matching set. Being old, he is more fond of riding said 4-wheelers around than walking. So yeah, deferring to him I drove around a lot with my gun and walked a little bit with my gun. The second day I mostly just rode around without my gun and got off to pee every once in a while.

It was a good time in a ‘spending time with the old man’ kind of way, but not so much in the ‘walking in the woods with a gun’ kind of way.

Have you ever seen those Family Circus comics? The ones where the kid is somewhere and he says ‘I bet I am the first one to ever be here’ – but there are little ghost dudes representing all the different people who have been there through time? I feel like that when I walk in the woods sometimes. Especially when I walk in the woods with my gun – cause I usually don’t walk on trails – just walk where ever.

Every time I feel that way though (like I am the first one to be someplace) I look around and see little pieces of ribbon tied to bushes. Dooouuuugggghh, that damn ‘tie ribbons to bushes guy‘ has already been here. The bastard. I really don’t get it. He has tied some ribbons in the damndest places. Pink ones, orange ones, yellow ones, even striped ones. Dude either likes to support a lot of causes in obscure places or has some secret government job. Makes sense to someone. Someone isn’t me.

Know what else doesn’t make sense to me? Went to the gym today (other things). Saw a guy riding the exercise bike wearing bike gloves (to protect his hands?) and flip flops on his feet. Yeah, seriously. Bike gloves and flip flops. WTF?

Who Invited Coleslaw?

So at work today we had a morale building Oktoberfest at work. Except they took out all the morale building stuff, namely the beer and work inappropriate costumes. So in the end I am thinking morale isn’t any better. Maybe a little worse, because now everyone has gas from brauts, and sauerkraut. And oh yes, my favorite coleslaw.

Does anyone like coleslaw ? I mean really? Yeah I am sure that some people eat it, but does anyone really, you know, like it?

I was lying. Coleslaw is not my favorite. I pretty much hate it. I think it may be my dislike of mayonnaise. Which stems from my extreme dislike of vinegar. Which stems from my disdain of the smell of vinegar.

Have you ever gone to a restaurant and seen something that sounds good on the menu, but then you see it comes with coleslaw, and it ruins the entire meal. Its like when you go somewhere really cool, but there is that one guy there – the guy that no one invited, he just like followed you there – and the cool thing isn’t quite as cool as it could be because that guy is there? Yup its like that. That guy is coleslaw.

Who invited coleslaw?

Depressing

Something about New Hope being a Dead End just depresses me.

Like

You know on Facebook they have that little 'Like' link? Yeah, well, they need a 'Don't Like' link. Thats all I've got to say about that.

The Season For New Friends

So I made two friends today when I was out for my noon time ride. It doesn’t happen very often, and honestly I usually do my best to steer clear of it. I mean, not to be rude, but I sorta got a schedule you know?

I ran into these two on the greenbelt out by Lucky 13 – you know, the bumpy ass section. Anyway, yeah, run into them out by Lucky 13. My first instinct to extract myself from the situation immediately. But deep down I know that my chances of being happy at the end of the ride will be much greater if I finish it with these two.

I kind of thought they might get dropped in one of the rough sections, or around some of the corners, or surely on a hill. Nope. They were right on my tire all the way out to Lucky Peak, across the dam, to the boat ramp and all the way back to Municipal Park. At that point I thought it was my lucky day. It was looking pretty good that I was going to be happy at the end of my ride.

Then they broke off and disappeared. Ah hell, I just pedaled back to work and hoped for the best. Despite losing my 2 new friends and going back to work I still felt pretty good.

I didn’t get any pictures of my friends but I found this picture on the internet of some similarly endowed…

Speaking of friends. It came to my attention today that in order to be good at the Mafia Facebook game that more friends is better than less friends. I am going to have to get over my fear of making friends and start being nice to people. I just read The Godfather, so I think it might be kind of cool to be a Don.

So yeah, I need more friends so I can be better at killing people (in a game). I’m sure there is a message in that somewhere, but I don’t have time to explore it.

I wonder if Goatheads will be my Facebook friend? Probably not.

Don Elmer sounds kind of stupid anyway.

The Prodigal Son

The other day my 6 year old son decided that his homework wasn’t challenging enough – so he made up his own…

Yeah there is an error or two, but what do you expect from a six year old that has to make up the questions AND the answers.

He also got in trouble the other day at school for playing tackle football (I’m so proud).

Which behavior do you think he inherited from me?

No need to answer that.

Summer Insults 2009

I was riding my bike the other day and had a little run in with a motorist. It got me reflecting on some of the things I have been saying lately. I realized that I keep going back to the same insults, my top 3 insults of summer 2009. Here they are…

Wanker. Wanker is one of my favorites every year, not just 2009. I picked it up when I was in college and lived with a British guy. Yeah, he didn’t speak American –just English. Wanker was one of his favorite words. That ‘crazy bird’ and ‘bloody hell’.

I like that one too; bloody hell. He always said ‘bloody hell mate’. A lot of times he would mix em up like ‘bloody hell mate, what crazy bird’, or ‘bloody hell mate, that guys a bit of a wanker –isn’t he?’

I remember the first time I met him. He asked me if he could ‘bum a fag’. I was like, yeah, that’s your business man – leave me out of it.
Anyway, yeah, wanker. Definitely top 3.

Recently I have been calling people republicans a lot. You have to understand, I live in the most republican state on the planet – or at least it seems that way. Our state leaders set a great example.

The republican governor comes out and says he wants the first hunting tag for a species which at that time was on the endangered species list.

His opponent in the next primary election one ups him by saying he would buy an Obama tag and follows up by refusing to apologize.

The highlight or our last republican congressman’s short stint in D.C. was trying to repeal the law of gravity.

Then our most esteemed republican senator, well he went to the bathroom in Minnesota but didn’t go potty. He did something else. Then he admitted he did. Then he changed his mind and he didn't. Then he didn't run for re-election and gave up saying that he didn't (because he did). Yes, I am confused too.

Yeah, I don’t know what would give me the impression that republicans are otherwise intelligent people who are blinded by faith, ambition, and tradition. I don’t know why I call narrow minded statements and behavior ‘so very republican’.

I don’t know why, but it is in the top 3 this year.

My favorite new insult this year was ‘ass hat’. I don’t really know where I picked that one up, I think from one of my friends. Honestly, I didn’t know what it meant until I googled it. I know, what an ass hat I am, huh? I really just like the way it sounds. It just feels right to say it.

Go ahead. Try it. What an ass hat.

You know you liked it.

Snake River Handicap

As a bike racer if you lose your will to suffer, you pretty much got nothin.

Saturday I lost my will to suffer. I lost it somewhere between the steep hill and the field of goat-heads at the end of the first lap. The next couple laps I went as fast as I could without, you know, suffering.

Near the end of lap 3 I ran out of water so I stopped where I saw some friends out on the course. They offered me beer - or water.
Two roads diverge in a field of goat-heads.

Me? I chose the one less travelled.

I may not have won the race (or even finished), but I am pretty sure that I am the only one who stopped to drink beer with friends in the middle. Did you know dos equis helps make you the most interesting man in the world?



Stay thirsty my friends.

Have A Nice Day and Other Stuff

Feeling the caffeine uglies a while ago, I rolled down to the vending machine for a bit of liquid refreshment. When I get there this is what I find…

So they had a batch of ‘Have a Nice Day’, but as you can see the light is on indicating that they are fresh out. Son of a bitch! I could have really gone for some have a nice day. Some selfish bastard came along and bought it all up for himself I bet.

Here I am stuck with at stupid Pepsi.

Speaking of stupid, here is a blog I wrote last week while I was banned. I saved it, you know, in case I ever got unbanned. Well, the man still has me in banned purgatory – but I can post, so here you go. I can assure you that it was much funnier when I wrote it last week. Don’t blame me. Blame the man.

I was out riding my bike the other day. Doing some intervals. Intervals in September. Why the hell am I doing intervals in September. It led to me reflecting on my racing season. It went something like this…

Interval

Breathing hard – intervals in September suck. Suck like when that time trial I trained for all winter got cancelled.

Interval

Breathing hard, and heart beating fast – then there was the first race when my teammate stopped to pee.

Interval

Breathing hard, heart beating fast, and sweating – that rescheduled tt would have gone better if I hadn’t stopped training for it when the original date was cancelled.

Interval

Breathing hard, heart beating fast, sweating, getting phlegmy – then there was Chicken Dinner. I was good for Chicken Dinner – till I got that flat tire.

Interval

Breathing hard, heart beating fast, sweating, getting phlegmy, and legs burning – Emmett-Roubaix, that was pretty good. Fun at least.

Interval

Breathing hard, heart beating fast, sweating, getting phlegmy, legs burning, and going a bit cross eyed – Then there was the left turn series, God I need to learn how to turn left better.

Interval

Breathing hard, heart beating fast, sweating, getting phlegmy, legs burning, going a bit cross eyed, and lung butter forming – State championship RR I lost to everyone who sprinted, but beat everyone who didn’t! Gotta learn how to sprint.

Interval

Breathing hard, heart beating fast, sweating, getting phlegmy, legs burning, going a bit cross eyed, lung butter forming, and back hurting – you train for months only turning left, then in the state championship crit they throw in a right.

Interval

Breathing hard, heart beating fast, sweating, getting phlegmy, legs burning, going a bit cross eyed, lung butter forming, back hurting, and holding head at an odd angle – forgot the LP200, that time handicap thing sucked ass.

Interval

Breathing hard, heart beating fast, sweating, getting phlegmy, legs burning, going a bit cross eyed, lung butter forming, back hurting, holding head at an odd angle, and going bleary eyed – I would have been happy with that state time trial championship if so many guys hadn’t gone faster than me.

Then I did some more intervals. Yes, intervals in September. One race left for me, the Snake River Handicap. Then what?

Not real sure, but I know there won’t be intervals involved for a while.

My Cat Haiku

I do not like cats
My in-laws know I do not
They gave me this one…

Republican cat
I believe they are mocking
I do not like cats

Cartwright Fence Guy

If you ride a bike and live in Boise you have ridden Cartwright Rd. I should say if you RIDE a bike and live in Boise you have ridden Cartwright Rd. If you have ridden on Cartwright Rd you have seen the Cartwright Rd fence, and by association know about the Cartwright Rd fence guy.

In case you have no idea, that’s ok I guess. Heres the deal. At the top of a gnarly little hill out on Cartwright Rd there is a stretch of fence where someone (the Cartwright Fence Guy – CFG) sticks all these bits of stuff that he picks up off the side of the road.

He is the loggerhead shrike of the stuff picker uppers. There is usually a hat, some bike junk, or other paraphernalia neatly hung on the fence where it can be seen and collected. Right now there is a hat and a key in a key hider box thingy. They have been there for at least a month.

Anyhow, also hanging there for the last several months is this sign. As you can see the text is pretty small, so I normally just blow on past – figuring it is a rant about bikers and their trash. Well over the weekend I road past the damn thing several times and I couldn’t help but to stop.

Turns out I was right, it is a rant about bikers and their trash. But little did I know it was a well written and witty rant about bikers and their trash. I might also mention it is a spot on rant about biker trash…

Bicyclists – If you can pedal a full GU pack to the top of Cartwright, you can spend an extra nanocalorie coasting home with the empty. Visit the website listed on the bottom of the pack. Even GU wants you to be a responsible ‘green’ rider. You look great in Spandex on your ultra-light carbon fiber bikes, but your tossed Gu pack is, well, just trash.

Way to go CFG. Your next beer is on me (if you read my blog, which isn’t likely).

So yeah, take your crap with you loser. I know it makes a mess in your pocket, and sometimes on your digits. That’s why you wash the damn things stinky sticky guy.

Oh yeah, and when you get that flat tire – take the freaking tube with you. No wonder people think we are pretentious a-holes.