Old Puppies

Note:  If I talked to you recently and said, "Oh yeah, I kind of know what I'm going to write about, but it's pretty boring."  Well, I just got done with (gave up on) that one.  If you want to know just how boring it was though, I can say for certain that it is way way Boringer than the one I'm about to write.  So just be happy about that.

If you have an old dog that just lays around all bored and everything, Maybe you should get him a puppy.

I don't really know much about dogs. I do know they seem to lie around a lot.  It seems to me the older ones have become so efficient at lying around that when something grabs their attention, they immediately investigate by shifting their eyebrows to and fro. No head lift.  Maybe a slight tail wag and that's it.  No wasted energy.

They've been doing this dog thing long enough that they understand precisely how much energy to expend in order to survive.

Zero.

The food is just over there in the bowl.  There's no hunting necessary.  In fact, it was possibly frowned upon by the food providers like just about everything else.

Jumping up on people in happy greeting!  No! Down!

Barking at the door just for sport?  Forget it.

Chewing on tasty shiny shoes.  Newspaper attack!

The only thing the old dog has learned for certain is that there is no trouble in just laying around.  Unless you fart, but that's another matter.

But puppies?  Bring in a puppy and it will immediately try to get the old dog playing.  It will run into it.  Bark at it.  Challenge it.  Jump around.  Taunting.  Every once in a while the old dog will join in for a while, but mostly he will figure it's just not worth the effort. The old dog has a regimented plan that he must stick to.  This unscheduled play has no place in the old dog's life or ATP.

But that's where the old dog has missed it.  Unscheduled play is one of the best things life has to offer.

Over the last few years, I've been on a few hundred bike rides. About 25% of those are group rides.  All different kinds of group rides.

Some of those rides are fairly regular and predictable. There is a set goal (fitness).  Nothing (including fun) must interfere.  There are places where people are allowed to sprint or launch an attack.  Specific places.  There's probably a rulebook somewhere stating the appropriate places for surprise attacks.  These are serious important strength building rides and yada yada yada.

And I'm ok with that. These rides are also completely optional but I join because I hate myself and when I'm in pain, I think "Good! Jerk!"

But sometimes a bouncy little puppy (Peter Boyd) will join the ride.

He'll jump around and chat with people.  He'll attack out of nowhere at the wrong time and then sit up when everybody whizzes by him. The old dogs will laugh at the puppy's foolishness.  Silly Peter Boyd, they'll say.  He thought his attack on our training ride would succeed! Ha - HA! Cough, cough, cough!

But his attack did succeed. He's a puppy. A bike tossing puppy, sure.  But still a puppy. He didn't attack to "win".  He attacked to wake the old dogs up. To get them to play.

Mission accomplished.

Then he chewed on Shim's shoe.  Which I admit was a little weird, but hey.  Puppies.

STFU Man

Stop me if you've heard this one ...

 So a few weeks ago, I was on a weekend ride with Brady.  I don't remember if it was a long or short ride.  I just remember when we went by the crossfit building.

I think it's crossfit.  I don't really know.  I've seen videos and articles and proponents and opponents on the whole crossfit thing.  It seems strange to me, but not really any stranger than a traditional hard gym workout.

It's new and exciting and I think there might be kettle bells involved so I guess that's cool.

The place is on about 42nd and Nicholas.  I know because it's just down from where my grandma Surber used to live.  That's where (grandma's, not the crossfit place) my brother and I would go on Sunday mornings after Sunday school in favor of sitting through church.  If you recall, my brother and I would always feign stomach aches so we could get a swig of that delicious Pepto-Bismol.

Probably an actual conversation at the living room of my Parents one Sunday evening:

Mom:  Those boys are always constipated on Sundays.

Dad (peering over the top of his newspaper):  It's that church you take them to.

And speaking of churches, there's a church right next to the place that may or may not be a crossfit place.

But much like Cro$$fit (TM) is the new exercise fad, this church is super modern.

First of all, I could have never gone to it.  Every single person who goes there is real young and real pretty.  I mean as a cross section of people, it has to be about the best looking crowd around.  They look good enough to be at the high school dance in a movie.

They look way way better than the crossfit people.  Maybe they're the crossfit graduates.

Probably and actual excerpt from a crossfit graduation commencement speech:

"You've conquered your mind and body, now it's time to lay it all down and let God conquer your soul ..."

At this point, I envision several graduates sneaking out the back door and over to grandma's house for a nice refreshing tiny little plastic cup of the pink stuff.

Anyway - the whole reason I think it's a crossfit place (next to the church and down the street from grandma's) is because I always see them doing weird exercise things like the videos or articles I've seen about crossfit.

So yes.  It's completely possible that there are 2 distinct types of cultish workout.  But it really doesn't matter to me.

One time as I was riding by, I saw a guy running in the street, up the hill, towards grandma's house.  He had some sort of rigging around his shoulders and was dragging a metal plate with weights on top of it.  It was sparking and scraping up the street something terrible.

I didn't at first realize that this was something he chose to do.  I figured he was making his loud slow escape from the church.  

But once I got close and passed him, I could see he was nowhere good looking enough to go to that church.  But then again, maybe they chain up the less um, spiritual ones.

So yeah.  Crossfit.  

So when Brady and I were returning from our ride, there were around 20 or 30 people out running from the gym to grandma's house and back.  

As we went by, Brady offered some encouraging words of motivation to each person we passed.

What a guy.  These people were giving it all they had. A few words of encouragement can go a long way.

Like one time I decided I was going to run a 5K race.  I had set a goal for myself of under 25 minutes.

The race was somewhere around or on St. Patrick's Day.  There was a pot o' beer at the end.

Brady also ran that race.

After he finished the race, and knowing my goal, he sauntered back to where I was struggling like a diarrhea-plagued crossfitter running to grandma's.

He ran alongside and helped pace me to the finish in 24 and change.

Turns out, 25 minutes is not a good enough goal to get your hands on that beer at the end.  It was all gone by the time I got there.  But all was not lost.  It was Budweiser so I couldn't be too upset.

So a few weeks ago, we're going by these crossfit people and Brady wants to help.  That's just who he is.

"C'mon," he shouts, "Let's get those knees up.  Go! Go! Go!"

No comments from any of them.  No acknowledgement.  No laughter.  Just grim faces focused on the challenge ahead. Longing for the day when they can go to church unshackled.  

But Brady's words were not entirely wasted.  My spirits were raised tremendously by spectacle.  

We kept going by people and Brady kept shouting friendly encouragement.  It was hilarious.

Finally, Brady was rewarded for his effort.  It was the very last guy we passed.  Brady brought out the irony, "You're running in shorts on a cold day like this?  Put some clothes on!"

"Shut the fuck up, man," is all he said.

I don't know about Brady, but those 5 little words made my day.  

Thank you weight belt wearing runner.  Even though you're too ugly to attend most of the modern churches without being chained down, you can have a front row seat at mine anytime.  We take ex-lax chewables and Pepto-Bismol for communion.  You DO NOT want to see how we baptize.

It's too soon to tell, but I personally feel this is the first post in  a long time that merits a "What the hell is cube talking about?"

Virtual Assholes

Lately I haven't felt I've had much to say.  Last week, I mentioned that I thought it might be because of winter.  There's little going on during the big chill and [hence] little to write about.

I could tell a story of something from the past if I could think of one.  I can't.  I'm pretty sure I haven't told them all yet, but maybe I have.

During other parts of the year, I might talk about something that happened while I was out riding or otherwise doing stuff other than shivering.

In past winters, I've blogged about my [training] or made promises about what I would do when the next season starts.  I don't do that anymore.

Now I just get on the rollers throughout the week and go on the occasional weekend ride.

The rollers still suck, but the time is slightly more bearable if I use the Zwift.

Or at least it was.  For a while.

Zwift is a pretty cool idea.  Sort of like a video game where the controller is your power meter or approved trainer equipped bike.

Zwift is probably less than a year old and they have a long long long way to go if they're going to succeed.

The login process is clunky.  The limitations are many.  There are only a couple of courses available and you don't get to choose which one you go on.  Well - I've seen chatter that you can change the date on your computer if you want to ride the course that isn't offered for whatever day.  Um no.

But overall, the time on the rollers goes by quicker with Zwift since it kind of sort of resembles riding a bike if you squint.  Not really, but kind of.

When I first started using it, I had to be careful or just close my eyes when "cornering."  I rolled right off the rollers a bunch of times.  Kind of funny, I guess.

Also, I think I'd get a better workout (more structured) if I just did the music thing (no TV or Zwift). As it is, I'm mostly focusing on power output during the Zwift rides (this is what determines speed, based on whatever grade you're riding on).

So I rarely focus on just high cadence work - which I believe is an important part of any balanced breakfast.

Anyway - there's one thing that works flawlessly on Zwift.  Group chat.  Absolutely perfect. There's no end to the meaningless text messages popping up on the screen.  I think some people are logging in just to chat.  They can't actually be concentrating on a workout.

Often people are fighting about Donald Trump or calling Merckx a doper (so what) or telling everyone to just shut the fuck up and ride or telling everyone to watch their language and just ride and so on.

There are the occasional racist comments and the obligatory ensuing outrage and public flogging and such.

Then someone will say "Don't feed the trolls."

Other people need to tell you what they're doing:

"Whew just finished my FTP.  Totally got my head kicked in."

"Metric Century finished !!"

"That's all for me.  Thanks for the ride, guys."

"Who here is from Ohio?"

"Tennessee here."

Then there are those who brag about how great the weather is wherever they live.

"Yeah - 60 and sunny here!"

I wait for sometimes up to 3 seconds before somebody else says, "Why the hell are you not riding outside?"

It never stops.  But it's not all bad.  The other day soebody actually offered the best advice I've seen so far.  He wasn't talking to me.  He was talking to another rider who was complaining about all the chat (and presumably completely missing the irony).

"WHY CAN'T ALL YOU PEOPLE JUST SHUT UP AND RIDE YOUR BIKES!!!"

"If you don't like the chat, just go into your settings and shut it off, dumbass!"

Doh.

So I did.  That's better.

So if you're ever riding around on the Zwift and you ask me a question about Donald Trump doping, don't be offended [ or do ] if I ignore you. I may not hear you.  I've got my music on.

Ok winter. We get it.  You can go now.  I mean it's still better than Arizona at any time ever, but I'm a little tired of it.

But 'Cube. What's wrong with Arizona?

I hope you're joking reader.  I really hope you're joking.

Update

It's 8:26 PM.  I've had a fairly busy day and once again find myself in a place where I don't have anything to say.  I really want to get to the TV watching by 9:00PM.

I think the general slowdown of activity that happens in the winter may contribute.  I can't really sit outside at lunch and eavesdrop. So I don't really have anyone to make fun of or marvel at or anything.

So I will provide an update.

About 23 years ago, I had a complete physical checkup.

I had another one yesterday.

There were none in between.

I've been to the Dr. a few times for various questions about whether or not I was dying of some horrible disease I read about on the internet that exactly described my symptoms.

In each of those cases, the Dr. was able to discern that I was not dying at all.

Recently I had a scare with something the kids call "Heart palpitations."

In the end, the doctors and spouse have come to the conclusion this was brought on by anxiety from recent upsetting events (Death of a friend of approximately my age and the ensuing gatherings).

My general Dr told me everything was fine and there was no reason to believe anything was wrong.  Unconvinced, I worried myself to another round of palpitations and ended up at a cardiologist.

The cardiologist was cool because he was listening to my heart and saying things like "Wow.  It's like 44 beats a minute."  

He told me I was fine and that he would like to put a heart rate monitor on me for 24 hours.  Not because I needed it, but because he thought it would be cool to see how low my heart rate went while I slept.  But yeah - we didn't do that.

Because of this scare, I decided to get current on my medical maintenance stuff.  

So yeah - everything's still ok.  I'm in much better shape than I was in 23 years ago.  Back then, my triglycerides and cholesterol were high.

My only problem now is that I'm old.  

So in March, I am now scheduled for a thing they call a "Colonoscopy." I'm sure it's every bit as exciting as it sounds.

While we were on the subject, I asked about the old prostate exam thing I've heard about for so many years (Think "Fletch").

"Yeah - we don't really recommend those anymore."

"Why not?" I asked, a little happy.

"They are statistically more harmful than helpful," The Dr. said.

"How?" I asked.

"Well, for one, they can make your johnson (no relation) not work anymore,"

Good enough for me,

The update is this: you know that thing they say about when you are going to start exercising?

"Always ask your doctor before beginning any blah blah blah."

I started exercising 19 years ago.  I didn't ask my doctor until yesterday.

He said it was fine.

~

Also - funny story - My Dr. likes to ride his bike around.  He has a Madone and a cross bike he just bought last fall.  He shops at the Trek Store in Papillion.

He told me he's a little disappointed because he tried to ride his cross bike on the gravel roads near his house and it was such a harsh ride, he couldn't stand it. 

"What pressure did you have in your tires," I asked him.

"About 85 or 90," he told me.

I suddenly realized how he must feel when I make assumptions about medical stuff.  

"You can probably go more or less, but give 40 a try," I told him, "If nothing else, it will be much better than 85."

"Or 90," he said.

"Let's just not talk about 90," I requested.

Ok, maybe that's not a funny story. I just wanted you to read it.  Thanks.

I think I'll go see Cracker

It seems like every summer, there's a big huge free concert down the street over there at the Memorial park.  There are usually 3 or 5 bands who used to be popular.  They each do a 20 minute set and then there are fireworks.

One year recently, I think it was Sugar Ray, Blues Traveler and Uncle Kracker.  Smashmouth might have been there or maybe that was a different year.

I think the estimates are usually that something like 80,000 people go. I think we go about 1 out of 2 or 3 years.  It's usually a pretty good time.  It's free.  It's a big party.

I wonder how many people would show up if they charged say, five dollars.

Anyway, I don't really know who Uncle Kracker is, but I'm pretty sure I don't like them.

Cracker on the other hand.  I really like Cracker. The lyrics.  Yeah.  It's the lyrics.

"Hey, Hey it's ok to make a little mess out of your life. Cause you don't need a diagram to tell you how to have a good time."

"I don't know what the world may need, but a V-8 engine's a good start for me"


"Well I was gonna bring you flowers but I didn't.  It's the thought that counts and I think I'm a bit too broke."

Pure gold.  Uncle Kracker though.  Hang on. I honestly don't know what they sing. I will consult the google and get back to you.  It might take a while but to you it will only seem like a moment ...

Ok I'm back.  That was only like a minute.  I have to go back to google but I just wanted to stop back and say that I still don't know what "they" sing, but I have learned that "Uncle Kracker"  is the stage name of a person who is really named "Matthew Shafer"

I'm not sure which I like better except that it's not "Uncle Kracker."  I think that's a terribly annoying name.

Cracker on the other hand ...

Ok hang on, I'll go see what M. Night Shafer sings.  See?  Right there.  Better name than both of the others.  And that took me like zero seconds to come up with.  Maybe Uncle Kracker was too busy writing awesome songs to worry about how he was being bullied. Hang on, I'll be right back.

Holy Jason Mraz on helium, Batman!  Yuck.  I do not like the song singing of this Uncle Kracker very much at all.

I distinctly remember him now.  I remember being glad we were arriving as his second 15 minutes in life was ending at Memorial park (he was the first on that night).

But honestly, I can't give anybody at the free concert too hard a time.  It's free.  Therefore: fun.

I can't stand when people complain about how much the bands playing at the free concert suck.

Who cares?  Drink a beer and have some fun.  It's free.  I hope that next year when the suck bands are announced and you get into the tongue clicking, eye rolling thing, you'll remember the cost of admission.

But anyway.  I bring all of this up because:

1) I am at a total loss for anything to say tonight
b) I put on some Cracker (Kerosene Hat) when I sat down to the blank page tonight.
3) I want to iterate that there is no cost for the concert.

That reminds me.  One time a few years ago somebody told me Cracker was playing at the free concert down the street.

He was telling me because he knew I liked Cracker so much.

I said, "Whaaaaaaat?!?! Cracker!  That is unbelievable."

Then he said, "Oh it's definitely Cracker. On the radio, they said the lineup was Blues Traveler, Sugar Ray, Uncle Kracker, and maybe Smashmouth.  They couldn't remember"

"Wait," I said, "I thought you said it was Cracker."

"Yeah.  That's right.  Uncle Kracker."

"I'm pretty sure that's different," I said, crestfallen.  Hang on.  I'm going to google "crestfallen" to see if that's how I was behaving when I found out it was Uncle Kracker and not Cracker playing the free concert down the street.

Ok I'm back.  I looked up "crestfallen".  I was totally crestfallen at that moment.

It turned out alright though.  As I mentioned, we got there about the time Uncle Kracker was doing his last (possibly only) song.  We worked our way to the stage and started shouting for him to play "Eurotrash Girl."

He tried to explain but we weren't having it.  We basically threatened him.  It worked. He played Eurotrash Girl for us.  He had no choice at that point. Then as a bonus, he did a beautiful rendition of Jason Mraz's "I'm Yours" as sung by Alvin and the Chipmunks.

Did I mention that this was all free?  We had beer.  We had fun.  Mission accomplished.

Afterward:

So while I was writing this, I wondered out loud if Cracker was still touring.  Crazy.  They're playing tonight (Thursday) through Saturday in Athens GA.  Yeah, I won't be able to get to that one.

Next Friday though. They're in Maryland. Better, but probably not.

Hello, what's this? Richmond Virginia a week from Saturday!! Are you kidding me! I'm virtually there 3 times a week on the Zwift. I was there tonight as a matter of fact.  I'm getting to know my way around that course pretty well.  Lucky me.

Oops.  Time to end the post. "Cracker -- Kerosene Hat" just ended and  became "The Cramps - Off The Bone" which is simply delightful (96 tears in 96 eyes).  Although possibly not as good as "The Uncle Kramps."  The jury is still out and such.

Obligation met.  Goodnight.

Spoiler Alert: Contains a vampire.

There's an old thing people say sometimes. They look at you and say "Is that a banana in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"

This is a question with no good answer.

Possible answers:

1) Yes it is a banana

2) No it is not a banana

3) Yes I am happy to see you

4) No I am not happy to see you.

First of all, I think that carrying a banana in your pocket is a rare thing.

Much more rare than being happy to see a friend.

But not quite as rare as being so happy to see your friend that you get a big boner.

But your friend doesn't know.  It's either a banana or a boner as far as your friend is concerned.

To me the problem with the question is that whether or not you have a banana in your pocket, you are in an awkward position.

The question seems to suggest that you cannot possibly be happy to see your friend and also have a banana in your pocket.

Of course, this is ridiculous. Both could be true.

But that's not really the point of the question is it?

The question is rhetorical, isn't it? (rhetorical).

If somebody says "Is that a banana in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"

They are really saying "Why does it appear that you are sporting wood? Correct the situation immediately."

But then - and most likely - not completely without whimsy, they offer 2 possible answers.

The first is the thing about the banana.

Stranger still, the question implies that the banana hypothesis is the more exciting one.

"Oh yawn.  You're just happy to see me."

Almost seems like it should go the other way.  Like "Hey - are we going to get busy or is that just a banana in your pocket?"

Then you could say, "Both.  I need my potassium if we're going to get busy."

Then you could just whip it out, peel it and enjoy your tasty banana while your friend waits.

"I can clearly see now that you're happy to see me," your friend might say.

At which point you could say, "No.  Actually that's just another banana."

Then you could give the second banana to your friend because even though you are happy to see your friend, it's not in that way that your friend is thinking of.

Regardless, everybody needs potassium.

This was the funnest blogpost I have written this year so far.

Ah ... a Vampire!

Not Talking About Bowie

Maybe some other time I will talk about what David Bowie meant to me.  Maybe I won't.  But now is not the time.  I was shocked when I heard he died.

I knew his birthday was last Friday.  He also released an album.  Amazon Prime had it available streaming, so I listened to it Saturday while I was on the rollers.  Yep.  That's Bowie.

I didn't know he was sick.

I've spoken here and here about Bowie.  Or rather - about me with Bowie as the backdrop.

The first time I ever became aware of Bowie's existence ...

Oh wait, I'm not talking about Bowie.

But his surprise (to me) death does bring up some emotions I'd like to share.  Thanks in advance for your consideration of my thoughts.  This isn't easy for me:

---

One of my least favorite types of comments old people make begin with a phrase like "Kids these days."

People will claim that they were raised to respect their elders.  That their parents would have "whooped" their asses if they'd behave the way the "kids these days" do.

I've seen people lament that the kids these days are soft because they've never had to go off and die in a world war.

Kids these days just play video games.  Communication is dead because they use text messaging instead of just punching each other or whatever they did in the 50's.

I think what I hate most about the talk above is it's just not true.  Kids are not more "spoiled" than we were.  People haven't changed at all.

Communication isn't ruined.  I never talked to anybody except my close friends when I was a kid.

I see so many kids, fresh out of college starting careers and way more responsible than I ever was at that age.

And I was more responsible than the people complaining now.

So yeah - I don't think the old ways are any better.  I almost always think we are moving in the right direction as a planet.

The rest of this post is about bicycles. The future of bicycles.

I am surprised how many people are openly embracing electronic shifting.  I am hearing more and more rave about this marvelous new innovation.

Gregg (from Olympia) told me recently that he had demoed some electronic groupset from SRAM.

He went on and on about how lovely it was.

I told him why it's a deal breaker for me.  It's not a bike anymore.  Not the way I think of a bike.

Making shifting easier by means of electronics crosses the line.  But not enough to make it any easier to ride the bike.  Maybe due to weight savings (if there isn't any yet, there will be), but you still have to do all the legwork yourself.

And then you have to remember to charge your bike or you wont be able to shift (I'm guessing).

That's just stupid.

I just saw a remark on the Facebooks that with electronic shifting, no more worry about cable stretching.

Um ..

When the fuck do you ever worry about cable stretching? Well replace that with worrying about all the other crap that will go wrong with electronic shifting.

When the cable stretches - give the barrel a turn.  Then forget about it.

But none of that stuff really matters to me.  I have to admit the reason I hate the idea of electronic shifting has to do with a certain romantic attitude I have toward a functioning bicycle.

In the past, when bike improvements came along, the pros were always slow to adopt them.  And even slower to adapt them.  Not me. I don't end up getting the new thing until way late, but that's more economics than skepticism.

Disc brakes on road bikes?  Yes please. Clipless pedals?  Of course.  Brifters? Absolutely.  Full suspension Mtn Bikes?  You bet. Fat Bikes? Well, no.  Fat bikes are dumb.

However - fat bikes are still bikes.

But cube? You've got batteries all over yourself when you ride.

I carry a phone.  I have a heart rate monitor.  A  Garmin.  A power meter.  All require batteries to function. If I ever forget one of these things within the first mile or so of a ride, I will go back for it.

It's as if I can't ride without all of these things.

But I can.  Because none of those things is required for my bike to work perfectly well.

Oh Cube!  Just try battery powered shifting!  You'll love it and so on.

If I'm, say, riding around in Las Vegas or something and somebody's going to rob the casino, I could be in big trouble.  As we learned from the docudrama "Oceans 11,"  You can temporarily knock out all electronics for miles by sending an EMP out to everywhere.

I'd be riding around and boom, my heart rate monitor, cell phone, power meter and Garmin all stop working.

Admittedly, even if I just had boring old regular non-electronic shifting, I'd probably pull over and wait it out, just so I wouldn't miss out on any Strava segments or anything.  But that's not the point.

The point is, I could still ride and shift if I wanted to.

I think if there was a way to still shift in the event of a dead battery or casino robbery, I would be more willing to consider electronic shifting.  Or if I could shift somebody else's bike, maybe.

Which - that's another thing.  I've heard the Electronic shifting evangelists claim that the signal is solid.  Difficult to interrupt or hack.

Bullshit.  When has anything wireless ever worked flawlessly?  It's a little inconvenient when you're trying to watch Netflix.  But could be deadly if you're bombing down a hill and need to stop suddenly.

What?  How could that matter?  It's shifting not brakes?  Good point.  It makes no difference.  Until electronic braking is a thing.  Oh it will be.  I promise.

How can I be so sure?  Because it's a really stupid idea.  Like Fat bikes and eShifting.

Can you even imagine how mad I am at those electronic bikes? No you can't. And I'm not going to go into it right now.  But  I can tell you it's way worse than Fat bikes (still a bike) and eshifting (not a bike). Specialized makes one.  It's made to look like a bike.  You can hardly tell, but it has "battery assist."

Oh for fuck's sake!  Just get a goddamn motorcycle already.

The Ice Thief

I think it was Monday of this week that I went to a little convenience shop near work.

I was going in to get a cup of coffee.  Small.  

Small is the best value.  Not per ounce.  Per price.

See, the medium is just a few pennies more than the small and a few pennies less than the large.

I used to get the large because it was the cheapest per ounce.

Eventually I realized that I would end up drinking only about half of it and dumping the rest out - so yeah, small is the best value.

When I get the coffee, I usually mix the regular blend with the hazelnut.  About 80/20 regular/hazelnut.

I like the flavor of hazelnut.  But it's too much in pure form, so I step on it a few times.  20% Hzl is about all I can handle.

A couple of weeks ago a customer, let's call her "Julie" was trying to decide what kind of coffee to get.

The crusty old worker lady in there, let's call her "Crusty" said "You should just mix some hazelnut with regular.  It's really good that way."

I was irritated by the suggestion.  Not that I thought Crusty stole my idea or anything.  No -  I was mad because now I couldn't get the coffee the way I wanted because Crusty would see it and expect some sort of recognition for her great idea.

It might seem unlikely, but people in the morning are like that.  All up in everybody's bidnus and such.

That's why Crusty was telling Julie all about how she should prepare her cup of joe.

No way I wanted to hear Crusty say something like "See - he's gonna give ol' Crusty's idea a whirl."

I would have no choice but strangle her at that point and my day would be pretty much ruined.

Even after I got my full cup of regular coffee, Julie was still trying to decide.  "Maybe you just don't want coffee Julie.  You ever consider that, bitch?!?"  I felt like saying. God, Julie was annoying.  Then she got even more annoying ...

She made a strange reference.  I guess it wouldn't have been strange 20 or 30 years ago when some people knew who Denis Leary was (a bad comedian).

I bought Denis Leary's "No Cure For Cancer" cd many years ago.  Just awful.  But I had just paid $9 or something for a cd and felt like I should listen to it a few times.  It didn't get better, but at least there are tiny little parts of it that make me smile from time to time.  Ok, one part.

It's the part about NyQuil.  Not even the whole rant. Just some of it.  Bits and pieces like:

We love you NyQuil, you giant fucking "Q" 

Or of the guys in AA who had a 2 year long cold:

"I'm high as a kite and my teeth are green.  Merry fucking christmas."

See? Not funny at all.  But so stupid, it makes me laugh.

Back to Julie.  She said to the room (she was turning to include me - I looked down to hopefully exclude myself)  "I can't mix the coffee because Denis Leary would yell at me for not having coffee flavored coffee."

I was thinking, "Really? A Denis Leary reference.  That's some weak-ass shit."

But I just wanted to get out of there without talking to any of them.  

Now that I think about it, the whole thing doesn't make any sense.  Nobody would get her joke.  I mean yeah, I did.  But Crusty had no idea what she was talking about.  Crusty just made that annoying whiney. moany sort of laugh noise people sometimes make when they can tell by the person's manner that they are trying to make a joke of some kind.  It sounds like something a bored wookie might say.

It wasn't funny when Denis Leary said it and it's not funny now.  But then later as I was drinking my plain coffee, it occurred to me that Julie must actually be friends with Denis Leary.  I imagine that he probably gives her a ride to work or something.  She doesn't even know that he was once an awful comedian. He's just this high strung guy she knows who goes out of his mind at Starbucks and screams at Ford Trucks.

And maybe Julie and Crusty are friends.  Maybe Crusty knows Denis Leary, but is uncomfortable when Julie mentions him because she cares for Julie. Denis Leary is obviously bad news.  Always shouting about cough syrup and stuff.  That's why she made the funny noise.

Yeah that makes a lot more sense than someone making a Denis Leary joke on purpose.

Oh dear - I seem to have strayed off course.

Oh well.  The other day I went into the convenience shop near work.  As I was going in, a woman was walking out with a big cup.  Immediately, I was irritated.  I hate those giant cups people walk around with all day.  

"Ma'am!  Excuse me!  Ma'am!"  shouted Crusty (who may or may not know Denis Leary) from behind the counter.

"The ice is NOT free!"

The Ice thief tried to act all innocent and everything.  She just looked at the woman and kind of shrugged like, "Are you kidding me?"  Or maybe that was me.  As much as I don't like huge cups of ice, I think they should be free.  So did the ice thief.  

Anyway, Crusty said, "You have to pay for that, you know!"

There were about 4 people in line.  Crusty was sort of busy at the cash register, but she'll be damned if that ice thieving bitch is taking one more step toward that effing door.  Or something.

If I was the ice thief, I would have just bolted down the street.  Actually, that's just what I wanted the ice thief to do.

Because I think old Crusty would have chased her down, gout be damned, and tackled her, huge cup of ice tumbling through the air, ending in a magnificent explosion at the pavement.

That would have made my day.

The point is, I'm kind of grumpy in the morning and I just wish everybody would shut the hell up until I've had my coffee.  On second thought - maybe Denis has a point ...

Family is what you really want.

Abe is 10.  He doesn't really like football.  I mean watching football.  I'd say he severely dislikes it.  He wouldn't want to play it either.  Not really his thing.

Abe likes to watch Disney TV and Cartoon Network and stuff like that.

I don't watch much football anymore.  Weekends are usually pretty busy if I go for a long ride.  I don't have cable, so I have a lot fewer games to chose from than I used to.

But for the bowl games, I subscribed to "Sling."  Sling is streaming live television from a dozen or so popular TV channels.  It is 20 dollars a month.  ESPN is one of the channels so I have pretty much all of the bowl games.  I'll cancel Sling after the games are over.

I've spent several hours the last few days enjoying some of the most boringest bowl games I can remember for a long time.

Early Friday we got some bad news about some friends of ours.

This is a family that lives nearby.  Jill and I have been friends with the mom since we were teenagers.  I knew her from High School and Jill has been good friends with her since college.

Their kids play with our kids when they have parties/gatherings.

The family is losing the father from illness.  I came home yesterday to see the tail end of my wife explaining to our kids what was going on.

Abe was extremely upset.  Both children were sad and scared.  They were sorrowful for their friends losing their dad.  They were also contemplating "What if .."

A few hours later, I was watching a football game and Abe got into my lap.  He asked me if he could watch football with me.  This has never happened before.  He asked me why the numbers start to go back down after 50.  He asked me what "15 yard penalty" meant. He asked me question after question and I tried to answer as clearly as possible. It really is a difficult game to try to explain to somebody who's never watched it.

But I didn't mind.  Abe wanted to spend time with me because yesterday he became aware that time with me is finite.

I asked him if he'd rather watch the Disney channel. Like I said, the games have been fairly boring (lopsided victories).

I like watching the Disney Channel about as much as Abe likes watching football.

But I didn't care.  Neither did Abe.  He said, "It's fine.  We can watch football"

So we did.

The homy

This post is called "The Homy."  There's no way a post called "The Homy" can live up to its title.  Maybe someday, I'll write a post called "The Homy" that is actually about the legendary "Homy Inn."

But not tonight.  Tonight I just went to the Homy to meet up with a bunch of friends/teammates and drink some beer and champagne and stuff.

Well the whole thing went on a little late and then I had to go buy some scotch tape and Sharpies.

I was going to write/rant about something that's been bugging me, but I need to go to bed.  I don't want to rush the planned post.  I want to really get the point across.

I won't say what it's about, but I will say - It's something related to bikes and it's horrible.  No, it's not Fat Bikes.  Yes, they are completely stupid, but I've already talked about that.

So this new gripe is for next week.

This week.  Well this week I'm going to break a rule of mine.  I normally refuse to discuss politics.  It's boring and stupid.  But with the way the Republican race is heating up, I can no longer keep quiet.

Whether you're a Trump man or an apostle of "The Rube" please read carefully what I have to say.  I know that the chance of me changing anyone's opinion is next to nothing.  But this is important. I have to try.  Don't make me say anything about the "precipice" we're on.  Just read it with an open mind. Please.

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Thanks for reading and I hope you now understand just how passionate I am about this thing.

Bob the car wash manager guy

Bob lives in Coralville Iowa.  Five months ago, he moved there from Maine.  He manages a Laser Wash Plus.  Laser Wash Plus is a place to wash your car.  It has 8 bays with power washers.

I met Bob last Saturday afternoon.  I was waiting for a bay to open up.  There was a line of cars waiting at each of the open bays.  I went to the sixth one from left to right and waited.  There was a guy washing his Mercedes in that one and a couple of cyclists waiting to wash Jingle cross off their bikes behind Mr Mercedes.  All the other bays already had at least 2 cars waiting.  Except for bay 4, which was "Out of Order"

Five of the Se7en working bays were being used to wash bikes.  Everybody washing the bikes was still in their muddy skinsuits.

I was also there to wash my bikes.  But I was in regular clothes.  I had gone to the hotel and showered before going to the car wash.

So Bob was walking around, marveling at the spectacle that was the aftermath of Jingle Cross Saturday.  He spotted me and said, "There's some sort of bike thing going on today."

I thought he was joking.

"Never seen anything like it.  I have to keep cleaning up all the grass. It clogs up the drain.  It's a real mess.  I don't mind though.  Pays the same."

"Yeah - it's some muddy races down yonder a speck," I said trying to blend in.  I had no idea what I was doing.

"Oh you know about it?" - Now I was sure he was goofing with me.

"Yeah I raced today."

Then Bob looked up to see my bikes on the rack behind my car.  The realization hit him.  Hard.

"But you're so ... clean."  He really said this.

"Yeah - unlike these guys, my bikes are a lower priority to me."

Bob seemed to think that was funny.  I knew he was a little bothered by "cleaning up the grass."  He said he wasn't. It was all in a day's work and so on, but I know I would be annoyed by it.  So I instinctively separated myself from the others, even though I was about to leave as much grass as the rest of them.

"Tell you what", he said, "Do you need soap?"

"No.  Just water."

"Bay 4 is closed off because there's no soap. Otherwise it works fine. Drive around over there and I'll get you in."

It always helps to know somebody.  Bob did me a solid and I won't forget it.

Maybe next time I'm in Coralville, I'll mow his lawn or something.  Then clean the mower at the car wash.  It could happen.

The Little Yellow Christmas Light Who Lost his Way

So today is Thanksgiving.  We had a lovely dinner over at somebody's house.  It was nice.

Anymore, I'm beginning to think the traditional TG (as the kids will soon be calling it) dinner is falling out of favor.  It's such a huge pain to produce a dinner that is nobody's favorite.

Tacos.  Let's be real.  Tacos are really what everybody wants.  Tacos are tasty and easy to prepare.

Cheeseburgers (sorry KM) are also easy to prepare and so universally loved. Much more so than turkey.

Anyway - I had the day off from work today. The boys were out of school.  Jill was relatively unbusy so we spent all day before the TG dinner cleaning up the house.  It's needed it for a long time.

I went to the living room to start.  Jack was on the couch reading something on his iPad.  I asked him what he was doing. He told me he was done with the living room.  He was just waiting for Abe to vacuum.

Jack did not understand what it means to "clean the living room."  I think he thought it meant "Take that plate into the kitchen."

So Jack, Abe and I worked on the living room for a few hours.  It meant moving all of the furniture, throwing away any trash and cleaning and stuff.

The boys were not into it at first, but after finding a few lost treasures, they caught the fever.

After I moved the "Entertainment Center" and swept behind it, I found a single yellow Christmas tree light bulb.

It must have fallen behind there when we were taking the tree down last January.  I picked it up and showed it to Abe and Jack.  We considered its lonely existence for the last year.  It had been forgotten.  Abandoned.  Never to be reunited with its fellow bulbs on the glorious colorful bright strand.  It must have been a very sad and frightened little light bulb indeed.

If I hadn't pulled out that furniture, the little bulb may have been doomed to darkness forever.  But as luck would have it, the bulb was discovered on the last possible day.  One day before the Christmas tree goes up.  Finally to be reunited with all of his beautiful bright friends.

"What should we do with it?" I asked Abe.

"Just throw it away.  We've got plenty more." Said Abe.

And that's exactly what I did.  Merry Christmas everyone.

Because Science

I read an article the other day.  It was kind of a scientific journal sort of thing.  Normally, I get bored with these in a hurry.  They are usually too technical for me so I don't get anything out of them.

This one was different.  Much different.  Not only did I understand most of the words, there is a practical application to the scientifically proven facts in this baby.

The title of the article is 9 Scientific Ways to be Hotter.  Right away I can hear you saying "You? Hotter?"

Well I have recently applied some of the things I learned from this article and I am happy to report that I am getting lots of long, hard looks from people who never would have given me a glance before.

This is not surprising because, science.

Heck, I haven't even bothered to apply all 9.  Just the 4 or 5 convenient ones.  That's probably enough hotness for me anyway.

I linked the article above but I'll just write down the list here and mention the ones I'm going with.

1) Keep Your Chin Up

2) Keep your Eyes Open

3) Smile (Or Don't!)

4) Wear Red

5) Adrenaline

6) Androgyny

7) Don't Overdo the Scents

8) White Teeth

9) Eat Fruits and Vegetables

10) Red Lips Are Key

11) Ditch the Beard

12) Stick With a Group

13) Make Yourself Look V-Shaped

14) Get a Dog

15) Men Love Fertile Ladies

16) Average Can Be Better

17) Wear Some Shades

18) Collar Stays

So that is the scientific list of 9 ways you can make yourself hotter.

Number 3 clarifies that if you're a woman, you should smile.  But some scientific survey said women like brooding men more.

Number 9 "Eat Fruits and Vegetables" was obviously just stuck in there by the scientist's mother.  All the rest (after 9) are apparently bonus ways, so I stayed away from them.

For my new found attractiveness, I decided that from now on, I will keep my chin up and my eyes open.  I will brood and show off my white teeth.

That should be good enough.

The result?

Hello Ladies!

Science wins again.

a quandary

I should just remain silent because I'm not posting tonight.  But I don't want my fans to worry.  I'll catch up with you soon.  Everything is fine.  Don't worry.

Thursday Night Extra: Mind your Camera

My wife is a real estate agent.  She helps people buy and sell their homes.  That's kind of the point.

What she's really good at though is making houses look good so they are ready to sell at the best price.  It is a ton of hard work to get a house ready.  But it is worth it.

The only problem is by the time you get your house all fixed up, it looks so good you wonder if you really want to move.

Jill's been working with this couple a lot lately to help them sell their house.  

The couple has done a lot of the work and after months or years, they're finally ready to sell.

The transformation is amazing.

I can't even believe it's the same house.  

Now that the house is going on the market, Jill went over to take a bunch of photos for the listing.

At some point she put her camera down.  It wasn't until later she found out why you should never ever leave your camera unattended.

Ready to Race!

Maybe, someday. Not this weekend, of course.

The title and first line of this blog is a tribute to (ripoff of) Steve Martin.  On one of his albums he tells the audience "You guys are gonna be on a record!"

They all cheer and he says, "Maybe.  Someday.  Not mine of course."

So yeah - I stole an idea from Steve Martin.

The thing is, I don't have any original thoughts. I've thought them all up. I'm spent, so I have to borrow from others.  I put a lot of hard work in to produce a mediocre product so if you don't like it ...

Well Excu-u-use Me!!!

Too obvious?

Anyway - For some reason, I'm really excited about this weekend's cross races.

I am not sure why.

Maybe it's because I haven't raced since Pioneers Park back like 3 weeks ago?  I think that's right.

I've certainly lost a little fitness since then.  I don't figure to do too well, but I'm going to try.

The weather looks all nice and mild.  Hooligan Hill is ready.  There is some horrible sand pit (I'm guessing) they are calling "Sandtooine"

Normally, I'd be pretty pissed off about a sand pit, but after the mud pit at Cunningham Cross, I'm willing to give it a go.

I think part of my excitement is that my cornering is better than ever right now.  My remounts are coming along nicely (will probably still stutter step in race conditions).  I have a goal for this race.  One remount without a stutter step.

I think I can do it.

You know, a lot of time when I'm on a ride, people ride up next to me and they say "Cube, how can you be so fucking funny?"

"Well I'll tell you.  Before I get on my bike, I put a slice of bologna in each shoe.  That way, when I clip in and start pedaling, I feel funny.

Sorry - another Steve Martin joke.

Ok - We're about out of time.  Blogging sucks.  If it doesn't start getting fun again, I'm going to quit.  I don't want to quit, but I never seem to want to do it either.  So there's that. Dick.

Ok - writing "Dick" was kind of fun.  I have to go away now and think about why.

Good night or morning or what have ya.

Reminiscing with Shim

Gara e 1935, bicikleta vintage por te shpejta!
Gara e 1935, bicikleta vintage por te shpejta!
Posted by Eco Bicycle on Thursday, 29 October 2015

Swing Thought

Back in the early 2000's, I gave up cycling for golf.  I love golf.  But I don't do it anymore.  I like cycling almost as much as golf.  But it has way more physical and mental benefits.

So for the foreseeable future, I'm a cyclist. Again.

This round of cycling has been about diversity.  I used to ride exclusively road, but when I started back up a couple of years ago, I added single track "Mountain Biking" and Cross racing.

Actually, I started in the late fall of 2012.  I decided at that time to start riding in the winter.  That meant using my cross bike.  Yeah, my cross bike.  It was in sorry shape.  It had been hanging in the garage for years.  The chain was rusted stiff. Whenever I walked by it, it would squeak "Oil can" at me.

Getting it all dusted and cleaned off paved the way for the other cycling disciplines.  I rode tranquility and Swanson with the cross bike until I got the 29er.

The 29er made all the other trails more enjoyable.

So even though I think of myself as a road rider, I actually enjoy both mountain biking and especially cross more than road "racing."

I think a fun spirited road ride will always be my favorite, but I'm not much of a fan of races on a road bike.

Road racing is scary to me.  Well, just crits.  But that's most of the road races around here.

And time trials.  The worst.

I think Mountain bike (single track) races are kind of fun, mostly because of the ride itself.  Plus there's the whole "conquering your fear" thing.  I suppose I could apply that to crits, but crits have tremendous crashes at high speeds.  Mostly it's the handling skill I like learning while riding the 29er.

But Cross.  That's just a big sufferfest of fun.  It's always a party atmosphere.  The cheering, heckling, beer handups, stinging ass slaps.  That's as much fun as I've ever had on a bike.

And I'm getting better.  Slowly but surely.

My bike is heavy old steel.  It is not yet the main thing slowing me down.  Not yet ...

I can corner a little braver now.  I can pedal a little faster over bumpy, grassy land.  I can climb steep hills with better balance, etc.

But there's one thing I really struggle with.  It is the toughest thing about cross as far as I'm concerned.

Back when I was a golfer, when I was not practicing my swing, I was meditating on it. I took lessons. Everybody recommends lessons.  The pro can easily correct faults with your swing.  He gives you a new way to think about what you are doing.  He gives you drills to help.

When you are trying to learn the swing, you may have 5 or 6 things going through your mind about how to swing.

Eventually, you will hopefully get that down to one thought.  Then it's not a thought.  I believe it's a trigger at that point.

I learned some important things from golf that I apply to cycling. I have become a better cyclist in the last couple of years than I ever had been before.  The main thing I learned is relaxed muscles move faster than tensed ones.

Of course you have to use muscle to ride fast, but you need to learn to use as little as possible to get the job done.  To be efficient.

I saw a great demonstration of this principle once.  It was a golf video, but it applies.  The instructor showed what it looks like to run with all of your leg muscles clenched at once.  It was a comical, stiff legged hobble, but it illustrated the point.

When I'm climbing well, I'm thinking of relaxing my legs as much as possible.

In golf, my instructor wanted me to get all of my thinking done before I addressed the ball.  Once I set up, I was supposed to just swing.

Some thoughts seemed to help for a while - then they would get stale.  I'd pick another that would be good for a time then -- suck.

These days, I spend about as much time trying to remount my bike (cyclocross) as I used to spend trying to get my swing right.

Every once in a while, I would effortlessly hit that straight 250 yard drive.  No idea where it came from or how to repeat it.

A week ago, I was at Super Secret cross practice (Monday or Tuesday).  Lucas was the only other person there.  I mentioned that I was trying to figure out how to get back on the bike.

He gave me a fantastic swing thought.

About 90% of the time, I stutter step or land so hard on the seat, I'm afraid I'm going to pinch flat or break a spoke.  But sometimes I land so perfectly. So smooth.  Sometimes my feet just attach to the pedals immediately after the landing.  Sometimes.

I've been learning that smoothness in all of the motion helps.

Going only as fast as I can handle helps too.  If I try to go from anything more than a about 5 mph right now -- stutter step.

But I'm getting faster. Little by little.

The problem with swing thoughts in golf and remounting is that you are thinking about what to do.  Not doing.  The thought actually gets in the way once the correct feel is established.

As I've had a few more successful remounts lately, I've noticed they all feel pretty much the same. The more I do this, the more it's about feel and the less it's about thinking.

That's the big problem with trying to explain this to someone.  If you know how to do it, you probably never think about how you do it.  It's all feel.

That's what makes good instruction so valuable.  It's coming from someone who not only knows - but can put it into word form so the student can have a starting point.

When I told Lucas what I was doing, he said "Have you consulted the internet?"

"Not this year," I told him.

He kind of contemplated it for a while and went through the motions real slow, thinking to himself, doing sort of a remount from basically a standing position.

He came back and said to me, "I've heard if you think of sliding your thigh onto the saddle, that's a good place to start."

"I'l give it a try"

Then he went to do a lap or 10.

So far, his suggestion has been the best I've heard.  I've been practicing and it's coming along.  I have only landed on the back wheel twice!

I haven't racked myself at all this year!

Thanks Lucas.

The Dead Lay in Pools of Maroon Below

Last night (Sunday) at about 7:30 the doorbell rang.

Since it was 7:30, I was wearing a bathrobe.  Since I'm 50, I was also wearing black socks.  Someday, you'll understand.

Since it's late October, it was completely dark outside.

I couldn't see who was out there so I turned on the porch light.  

It was a tall thin man with a thick dark beard.  He was wearing a fashionable snug fitting sport jacket and slacks.

I had never seen this man before.  He brought to mind a young Gundersen (Hell On Wheels) or that bad guy from "Something Wicked This Way Comes"

I just got into town

We have a problem.

I opened the door a little and leaned out to hear what the mysterious stranger had to say.  I felt vulnerable in my bathrobe and black socks.  I just looked at the man and waited for him to speak.

He looked around.  He was visibly shaken. "We have a problem," he started.

To the best of my recollection, this is the order of my thoughts:

1) Is this some kind of religious freak?

2) What horrible thing has happened to this person that he'd knock on a complete stranger's door for help?

3) He must be extremely desperate.

4) He's going to pull a gun out of his pocket and shoot me.

I realize the last one is kind of silly, but I was very confused.  Then the man said, "I just got into town."

Well that didn't help.  Here's how my theory at that moment went:

So this out of towner was looking for his grandma's house or something and he got lost.  He decided to ask for help - but he has a problem. He said so.  So maybe there's some sort of emergency and he needs to get somewhere and he doesn't know where it is.

So I repeated what he said.  It's something I do a lot when I don't quite know how to respond to something I've heard. It's a stall tactic.  

"You just got into town."

"Yes"

Then a short young woman ran from the driveway to the man's side.  She said to the man, "I'll explain it."

You know how women do that thing?  That "Let me handle it" thing when they think you are going to fuck it all up?  That thing where you've decided you're finally going to take a stand. You tell your woman all about how tough you're going to be.  What you're going to say. 

You think you sound pretty good.  You're pretty sure you're impressing the woman.  

You're not.  They know you.  You are actually just overreacting to some relatively minor incident. You think you can go in bullying and gun blazing because your target has on nothing but a bathrobe and black socks.  But then the woman comes to "explain."

Well - that's what this woman was doing.  It was the first thing from the time I opened the door that I understood.

Well that was emasculating, I thought.  Up until that point, I did not realize this guy had a bone to pick and it was with me.  

This whole time I'd been standing there, this guy had been "confronting" me and I had no idea.  Not until this short woman said "I'll explain" to her hero.

I chuckled inwardly.  We were now brothers, this stranger and I.  I've been put in my place a million times like that.  His journey is just beginning.

Anyway - I looked to the woman for this explanation, but she was just looking down at her Android, scrolling through photos. Oops.  Maybe she should have had the photo ready before she went after Jebediah's spotlight.  I guess she's also got something to learn. Amateurs!

While she was looking for the photo, I noticed the huge black GMC Pickup truck parked in my driveway. It was too dark to get the exact model, but I'm pretty sure it was the GMC Compensator.

That's when Jack walked up from behind me to see who was at the door.

I didn't know Jack was behind me but when the man saw Jack, he said to him, "You might as well stay right there.  You know what this is about, don't you?"

Then Jack started talking, "Well I think I might."

Back the truck up!  What the hell is going on?  So this guy knows Jack and Jack knows who this guy is.

The woman was still scrolling through photos.

Time to edit my confusion story with this new information.

Jack was doing something he shouldn't be doing in somebody's yard and the short woman got a photo of it. Presumably, she is much faster taking the photos than retrieving them.

The man continued to address Jack, "Maybe you should tell your dad what's going on.  Then we'll all know. I think he's pretty confused."

Hold on there, Abraham Lincoln, just because I'm standing here in my socks and bathrobe, my helmet hair all over the place like some kind of Doc Brown ...

What's going on Marty Jack?

"I work my ass off to have nice things," continued the guy on my porch who looked like he was missing out on a barn raising somewhere ...

Then the woman showed me the photo she had been looking for.  It was a couple of pieces of lime green gum stuck to the tailgate of a huge black GMC Compensator.

Jack doesn't chew gum.

"Also there was gum on my driveway!"  Said the tall dark man on the porch.  Really.  He did,  He complained to me about gum on his driveway.  He parked his big huge truck in my driveway to complain about gum on his.

"Oh yeah ... Where's the photographic evidence of the gum on the driveway?"  I thought to myself.

At this point, I was no longer concerned.  I knew jack had nothing to do with this guy's problem and even if he did, they had pictures of the gum on the truck. Not someone putting it there.

I'm still not sure why the gum on the driveway was mentioned.

"Jack," I said, "If you know anything about this, please tell us.  This is expensive."

I only said that because the guy was so upset.  It's gum on a truck.  I don't know.  I wouldn't like it if someone put gum on my car.  I wouldn't like it at all.

And if I knew who did it, I might let their parents know.  But I'm pretty sure I wouldn't take pictures of it. Oh yeah - or care too much.

But then my car is just a car. Not an extension of my manhood.  Nobody wants gum stuck to an extension of their manhood.  Period.

So when I said to Jack, "This is expensive," The NBA Hipster said, "That's an understatement."

First of all, no it isn't.  You park your truck that you wish was your penis in my driveway and correct my English?  Geez.  Now I want to put gum on your driveway.

Understatement.  Was I supposed to say "Really really expensive?"

So now I was irritated.  I had been listening to "we have a problem" for a few minutes and now he's going to correct me on how I talk to Jack?

Mad or not - I now realize I'm dealing with a douchebag.  There I go again. I mean "a really really douchebag."

All this drama about gum on a truck.  And a driveway.

That's when Jill walked up and said, "Jeremy!  The short woman's name! Come in! What's going on?"

"Oh, hi Jill."

Turns out the mystery man lives across the street from us and 4 or 5 houses to the North.  I didn't know that.  I never go that way.  All the cool people live to the south of us (obviously).

Errrrrt!  He lives just down the street there?  He just got into town?  

Hipsters are lazy (understatement).

I realize that Jeremy is not technically a hipster.  No self-respecting (is there any other kind) hipster would drive such a monstrosity as the GMC Compensator, but since I'm 50 and wearing a bathrobe and black socks, I can get away with the occasional generalization.  He had a beard.  Therefore: hipster.

So - Hipsters are lazy.

If the gum thing happened while you were out of town, then you didn't take your truck out of town.  

Why drive to my house from 4 houses down? Unless you want to show me the gum on your truck.  But no, shorty has photos.

You are just lazy.  You do not work your ass off.  You sir, are a liar!  I am now convinced that you actually put the gum on your truck yourself.  You were chewing but your mouth got tired.  You decided to throw the gum away, but the trash container was far, etc.

Lazy hipster.

So anyway Jill took over.  She went outside and talked to Jeremy and whatsername while I went downstairs to read the twitter or something.

Jeremy recounted the story to Jill.  Apparently he originally suspected the girls that live across the street from him. However, when he went over and asked them about it, they said the boys who did it went over to our house.  Case closed.

By case closed, I mean I figured out why Jeremy works his ass off.  He's a moron.  Work harder, not smarter, eh Jeremy?

So you asked the little feral children across the street from you about the gum.  I bet they were blowing lime green bubbles at you when they told you the boys down the street did it.

I later found out that one of the kids came to his house a couple of weeks back and told him she was collecting for a school fundraiser.  He gave her $20.

She wasn't.  She does that to all the new neighbors.

~~

This whole thing happened about 24 hours ago so I've had time to consider better ways for Jeremy to open up a dialog with me.  Here's just one example.  Enjoy:

"Hi, I'm Jeremy.  I live in that house down there.  I know Jill real well.  May I come in ..."

To which, I'd cordially reply, "No way! Go back to hell you bloodsucking fiend!" as I produce a mallet and wooden stake from within my bathrobe and plunge the stake deep into the monster's black heart.

Readers of this blog will understand. I didn't get this far by inviting vampires (vampyres) into my home.

I gotta say - it's nice not getting all torn to bits at the end.