If the following clip portends anything relating to the apocalype, then the world is ending soon. Very soon. In fact, it seems the Mayans were about 4 years short, but I guess it's still within an acceptable margin of error.
Now, don't get the wrong idea here people. Regardless of your reading habits, I am not a casual, low-brow visitor to OMG!, but my job does require a certain knowledge of celebrity attire, panache and lifestyle. A recent excursion revealed this little gem, one of the most hideous photo sets in the history of the "red carpet." There's not a single attractive human in the group, and I say this in fear you'll come to know me as the supericial and shallow twit I am. My favorite photo not only reveals an embarassingly forlorn Olsen twin attempting the job-hunting, rehabbed-coke-head-single-mother look, but also a panoply of janitorial supplies in the lower-left background.
Also, I'm not a Sex in the City hater. I think the show *is* trashy and cheap like its stars, but even its ardent supporters would agree with that statement. I guess there is something to be said for its importance to the women's liberation movement, these women are powerful and on the move!, but they still see the world as filtered through the men in their lives. Then again, the show is called Sex in the City, so what the fuck am I talking about! It's T-R-A-S-H-Y, and that's why people love it. Or at least they used to love it, back in the early two thousands, which was not that recent.
So, don't worry about going home after a long day at work. Just VoIP or Blackberry some of your gal pals at 4:45 PM and meet up at the shopping mall mini-plex to wash down some red vines and popcorn with a Diet Sprite. Fun!
One more Sifl and Olly:
Actually, two more.
Three more.
Four more.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Life at 55 m.p.h.
I drive 55 mph on the freeway and I refuse to go faster regardless of the "posted" maximum speed. This does not make me a popular driver here in SF but I'm not trying to get anybody's vote.
If you have never done this in a major city it's a fun time. Every vehicle, and I mean everything from school buses to tractor trailers, will pass you. It's like the world was meant to just go around and you get to watch the carnage unfold while listening to your favorite music. Don't worry about guns and road rage. Just stay in the slow lane like me.
People might say I'm just petty or mean spirited. True. But more importantly, I am possessed of a deep-seated contempt for mankind, or at least that's what my shrink says and I concur. So, next time you're driving, give it a try.
Also, you'll have the added benefits of: 1) no speeding tickets; 2) well-honed merging skills; and 3) increased fuel efficiency. Honestly people, don't fucking bitch about high gas prices if you refuse to take your foot of the GAS pedal. Slow the fuck down and you'll save some money.
I sometimes feel like this.
If you have never done this in a major city it's a fun time. Every vehicle, and I mean everything from school buses to tractor trailers, will pass you. It's like the world was meant to just go around and you get to watch the carnage unfold while listening to your favorite music. Don't worry about guns and road rage. Just stay in the slow lane like me.
People might say I'm just petty or mean spirited. True. But more importantly, I am possessed of a deep-seated contempt for mankind, or at least that's what my shrink says and I concur. So, next time you're driving, give it a try.
Also, you'll have the added benefits of: 1) no speeding tickets; 2) well-honed merging skills; and 3) increased fuel efficiency. Honestly people, don't fucking bitch about high gas prices if you refuse to take your foot of the GAS pedal. Slow the fuck down and you'll save some money.
I sometimes feel like this.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Fuck Bikes. I'm Changing This Blog.
I'm not promising anything here people. But I will say this--I am no longer going to limit my fertile and devious imagination to the confines of bikedom.
On that note, let's take a trip to one of my favorite fantasy lands.
Maybe I'll post more often than, say, every three months. What a lazy little shit I am.
On a serious note, I'm reading Iris Murdoch's first novel Under the Net, which somehow combines the aesthetics of both, strangely enough, Aeschylus and P.G. Wodehouse. Also, I am 7/8 of the way through Thornton Wilder's Bridge of San Luis Rey.
One more for old time's sake.
On that note, let's take a trip to one of my favorite fantasy lands.
Maybe I'll post more often than, say, every three months. What a lazy little shit I am.
On a serious note, I'm reading Iris Murdoch's first novel Under the Net, which somehow combines the aesthetics of both, strangely enough, Aeschylus and P.G. Wodehouse. Also, I am 7/8 of the way through Thornton Wilder's Bridge of San Luis Rey.
One more for old time's sake.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
How Very Perceptive of You, Senor
These days, I've got a lot more time to contemplate my life whilst riding, as my ridiculous bike permits an aforementioned top speed of just 11 mph. Yet, as all who know me may suspect, I have eschewed this newfound intellectual liberation and instead continued my downward spiral to a cesspool of incessant mockery.
Conversely, much like Palahniuk's penguin, I've been simultaneously wrapped in a blanket of tranquility, floating my way through an ever-growing sea of fakengers, meth addicts, europhilic degenerates, and hobos on 1993 Diamond Back Ascent EXs.
And, plumbing the depths of my soul in quiet repose at home, I've found the wellspring of my existence, my raison d'etre. Do yourself a favor and follow this link. Please.
And then: this masterpiece of modern american cinema.
I love people. I hate people. I love people. I hate people.
Conversely, much like Palahniuk's penguin, I've been simultaneously wrapped in a blanket of tranquility, floating my way through an ever-growing sea of fakengers, meth addicts, europhilic degenerates, and hobos on 1993 Diamond Back Ascent EXs.
And, plumbing the depths of my soul in quiet repose at home, I've found the wellspring of my existence, my raison d'etre. Do yourself a favor and follow this link. Please.
And then: this masterpiece of modern american cinema.
I love people. I hate people. I love people. I hate people.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Even Hell Has Its Heroes
Since the clamoring from my adoring fans has become well nigh to incessant, I figure its time to post. Problem is this: it has rained here in SF for what seems like 2 or 3 weeks straight, and my bike stands watch like some forlorn sentinel. More importantly, my ass grows a millimeter or two fatter every day.
Long gone are the days of getting out there in the pouring rain just to squeak in a few miles. However, there are plenty of people who will. So..what do you say we take a little foray into the senseless world of training in foul weather?
First off, I hereby exclude all professional cyclists from this post. If it's your job, then by all means, do whatever you have to do. But, if you're a 33-year-old Cat.3 racer (for those who do not race, amateur categories are graded from 5 to 1, 5 being beginner, 3 intermediate and 1 elite), then please pay attention. I also exclude the legions of people who use a bike as their sole form of transportation. No bus fare? I gotcha..ride on Ms. Thang, just tuck your thong back into those Jordache.
Otherwise, don't say I didn't warn you. People die in this sort of weather. People crash in this sort of weather. On days like this, idiots break their ulna, fracture their clavicle, splinter their fibula, crack a couple metatarsals, break open their nose and chip teeth. People crash into signposts, ride into ditches, fall into traffic, hit their heads on curbs, get crushed like a cardboard box beneath the wheels of a Kia Sportiva.
I don't intend to be mean. I don't mean to be flippant. And by no means am I a fear monger. I have ridden my bike countless times in the rain. I have ridden in the rain in tapered, acid-washed 501s with no fenders during a rainstorm that can be classified as nothing other than a maelstrom. I have been run off the road into ditches by old ladies in VW bugs. But the fact remains, trees fall on people during high wind and rain is not so good for your track bike. Get some damn brakes!
Long gone are the days of getting out there in the pouring rain just to squeak in a few miles. However, there are plenty of people who will. So..what do you say we take a little foray into the senseless world of training in foul weather?
First off, I hereby exclude all professional cyclists from this post. If it's your job, then by all means, do whatever you have to do. But, if you're a 33-year-old Cat.3 racer (for those who do not race, amateur categories are graded from 5 to 1, 5 being beginner, 3 intermediate and 1 elite), then please pay attention. I also exclude the legions of people who use a bike as their sole form of transportation. No bus fare? I gotcha..ride on Ms. Thang, just tuck your thong back into those Jordache.
Otherwise, don't say I didn't warn you. People die in this sort of weather. People crash in this sort of weather. On days like this, idiots break their ulna, fracture their clavicle, splinter their fibula, crack a couple metatarsals, break open their nose and chip teeth. People crash into signposts, ride into ditches, fall into traffic, hit their heads on curbs, get crushed like a cardboard box beneath the wheels of a Kia Sportiva.
I don't intend to be mean. I don't mean to be flippant. And by no means am I a fear monger. I have ridden my bike countless times in the rain. I have ridden in the rain in tapered, acid-washed 501s with no fenders during a rainstorm that can be classified as nothing other than a maelstrom. I have been run off the road into ditches by old ladies in VW bugs. But the fact remains, trees fall on people during high wind and rain is not so good for your track bike. Get some damn brakes!
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
You'll Never Guess What I Saw Last Night...
An idiot on a track bike!
Walking down Oak St. between Masonic and Central at 9 PM I hear the distinctive whirring of a bad chain line coming up behind me.
I turn, look, and in the vast night air I'm able to squeak out the visage of a lone fixed-gear freestylist (BSNYC) careening down the street.
Dressed in all black with nary a blinkie or other light source, this maverick rode not through the panhandle with its extensive network of bike paths, but instead in the center lane of Oak. For those who do not live here, Oak St. is essentially a three-lane freeway running alongside the Panhandle park.
Anyhow, heavy, three-lane traffic is coming up behind this nutmunch, yet this brave soul did not wander from his straight, true, narrow and incredibly stupid course.
I'm heading out in about ten minutes, and I'll keep you posted on the roadkill situation. By this point, probably all that's left is an empty, hardly used messenger bag, a Kryptonite chain lock, and a dopey cycling cap.
We all like SWAG!
Walking down Oak St. between Masonic and Central at 9 PM I hear the distinctive whirring of a bad chain line coming up behind me.
I turn, look, and in the vast night air I'm able to squeak out the visage of a lone fixed-gear freestylist (BSNYC) careening down the street.
Dressed in all black with nary a blinkie or other light source, this maverick rode not through the panhandle with its extensive network of bike paths, but instead in the center lane of Oak. For those who do not live here, Oak St. is essentially a three-lane freeway running alongside the Panhandle park.
Anyhow, heavy, three-lane traffic is coming up behind this nutmunch, yet this brave soul did not wander from his straight, true, narrow and incredibly stupid course.
I'm heading out in about ten minutes, and I'll keep you posted on the roadkill situation. By this point, probably all that's left is an empty, hardly used messenger bag, a Kryptonite chain lock, and a dopey cycling cap.
We all like SWAG!
Thursday, January 3, 2008
My New Bike
Will remain a single speed for now.
Of course you, dear reader, might be asking yourself, "Why? Why would such a perfectly reasonable, sane, and handsome young man keep such a devilish beast as a single speed 29er when he had heretofore made such bold proclamations to the contrary?"
My answer: I have no money for such endeavors, or endeavours if you must. Sure, I wrote in my last entry that I was trying to scrape together cash for parts, but my bank account suddenly developed a scaldingly horrific case of genital warts.
Boy howdy, I ain't goin' near that thing for a long while!
Honestly though, I'm kinda liking the experience, and maybe this is just a great excuse to simplify a little. Yeah...right.
Nevetheless, I've learned some humility from riding the SE Stout. Foremost among these: my top speed, on flat land, is approximately 11 miles per hour. In other words, any speed freak on a BMX en route to her/his connection (usually a her, with numerous purses and duffel bags oddly attached) can pass me at will.
The indignity of it all.
Still, I'm happy just to have the bike. I really am.
Thank you Jesus.
Of course you, dear reader, might be asking yourself, "Why? Why would such a perfectly reasonable, sane, and handsome young man keep such a devilish beast as a single speed 29er when he had heretofore made such bold proclamations to the contrary?"
My answer: I have no money for such endeavors, or endeavours if you must. Sure, I wrote in my last entry that I was trying to scrape together cash for parts, but my bank account suddenly developed a scaldingly horrific case of genital warts.
Boy howdy, I ain't goin' near that thing for a long while!
Honestly though, I'm kinda liking the experience, and maybe this is just a great excuse to simplify a little. Yeah...right.
Nevetheless, I've learned some humility from riding the SE Stout. Foremost among these: my top speed, on flat land, is approximately 11 miles per hour. In other words, any speed freak on a BMX en route to her/his connection (usually a her, with numerous purses and duffel bags oddly attached) can pass me at will.
The indignity of it all.
Still, I'm happy just to have the bike. I really am.
Thank you Jesus.
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