Alley Cat

I won my cities alley cat race this past friday. 87 riders. I beat second by 30 seconds and third by 8 minutes. I won a Chrome brand messenger bag. I really needed a new bag. My seven year old timbuktu was starting to leak when I rode in the rain. The last alley cat race I took 4th out of 72. I own Kansas City. Fuck.

I am everyman.

The Immortal Class.

I picked a new safe route to work. There were getting to be too many cars on SouthWest Boulevard due to construction on the surrounding downtown highways. I was rolling down Roanoke, approaching 25 to 30 mph — ah, fuck it. Some lady cut me off talking on her phone. I locked up both wheels and slide within 8 inches of her. At least it got my heart going. Who needs coffee, just ride your bike to work!!

In response to a question.

Chimay


Check it. Don't wreck it. Drink a Chimay Red and introspect it.

I have my window open. It is probably 50 degrees or so. I have a hot coffee with vanilla creamer. The sun is streaming in my partially open shade and I have a Ghostface Killah album on in my headphones.

I feel like I am at Dave Ferrel's office. I feel like I am getting in my car and driving to Memphis to put down a Chimay with Jordan and Scott. I feel it.

pigs.

day of judgment, God is calling. I think pigs are pretty disgusting. actually i know they are. they eat their own shit — and then we eat them. we eat shit for breakfast.

I am not.

I don't know what I am but I know what I am not.

design

I am not a "graphic designer." Too fucking bad it took me four and a half years of school and a few years of bullshit unfulfilling work to figure it out. So today I call for a do over. I think I can make a living selling art. So I will start trying that. I am an artist — as much as I don't want to be one of those either. I think I would rather be a professional cyclist. There are last hits and there are last hits.

maude

I spent 600 bucks today on medical tests for one of my cats.

My Dad's response - "It's just money."

"Fuck a benz wit tints I got the raza' prints
Y'all rappers love idols there it is I’m convinced."

Raza' prints = albums and tracks produced by the Rza and printed to vinyl or CD.

There is no hook, there is only what you do. I want the raza prints.

Scent.

I woke up this morning - obviously or I wouldn't be typing this shit. Master of the Obvious. (Say it with a booming God like voice)

It was 45 degrees outside - seems friggin cold when it was 85 two days ago. It smells like fall. Like Chicago on an early morning as I was loading a van to go work in a frozen foods warehouse. Like Manhattan (Kansas) - when I was waking up early on a Saturday - probably was a month from now - as it falls in the year - hungover and shrinkwrapped in spandex to go get a ride in and sweat out some alcohol.

It never ceases to amaze me - I spend the majority of my life trying to represent things visually and the thing that makes me feel and see and know where I was and what I experienced more than anything else is scent.

Can you be a scent artist? -

Summer of '79

I was born this day in 1979. I am 26. I am pissed it is my birthday. I don't want to get any older.

Fuck.

Oh well.

Broken Ribs

On Sunday I went mountain biking. I was riding like a little scandinavian girl with a skirt, some wooden shoes, and a pail of milk - ah hell, and some tulips to boot - when I tossed over the handle bars and landed on some rocks (for those of you literate in bike speak - it was a classic "oh, shit ENDO"). Mind you, the first part of my body to hit was my ribs on my left side and they decided an eight inch tall pointy rock would be a good place to disperse the impact. Well fuck me - cause it knocked my breath out for a good minute and a half. I then got to ride 6 miles back to the car. With two broken Ribs. Awesome - and by that I mean awe inspiring.

All this said I got narcotics. So I guess even injuries have an up-swing - like the fact that I am looped at work - and enjoying every minute.


::The Way of the Samurai is found in death. Meditation on inevitable death should be performed daily. Every day when one's body and mind are at peace, one should meditate upon being ripped apart by arrows, rifles, spears and swords, being carried away by surging waves, being thrown into the midst of a great fire, being struck by lightning, being shaken to death by a great earthquake, falling from thousand-foot cliffs, dying of disease or committing seppuku at the death of one's master. And every day without fail one should consider himself as dead.

Its on Rent. I took out the insurance policy so I could run it with reckless abandon. I am speaking of my body.

Shameless Plug

peep it

Glock

Got me a glock.

Money

As someone reminded me -

If your not making money you are spending money.

.and then this comes to mind - -

You can want in one hand and shit in the other and see which one fills up first.

Boredom

EDIT - Please forgive the bitching and complaining. I must have been pms'in.

Why am I always bored. I seriously don't know how much work I can take. I seriously despise it. It seems as though it is just a time filler in between very short periods of enjoyment. Oh yeah, and it pays the bills. This fucking sucks. I can't take much more.

I am going to flip out and start killing people with my ninja skills. Cause ninjas are sweet and they flip out and kill people.

Figuring out how to get completely out of debt is depressing. My goal - to pay off my house, and then I would only need to work three months a year max. Awesome. That would be awesome.

bored. rambling at work. fuck.

Rebuilding the Machine

I ran into an old moutain biking buddy of mine a few weeks ago. He has been riding alot. As a competent smoker - my friend smokes pot before he goes to work, when he comes home from lunch, most everytime before we go on any sort of a bike ride, he smokes in the middle of the ride, and as far as I can tell - well, there is never an excuse to not smoke. So we were talking about how much exercise we have been participating in and he said something that made me realize I am a pussy. I don't think we hold the same belief system and I think he assumes when we die its all over. He said, "Shit - this body is s rental anyway, I am going to get as many miles out of it as possible and beat the shit out of it." So I kicked it up a notch and have been getting at least three days of riding in a week.

In February I started working out three days a week at a gym (the gym is in the building my office is in and my boss pays for it - normally I would run kicking and screaming from any room with any exercise equipment in it). For those of you that knew me while I was in Cali I was a lard ass. I think I topped out at 225 or so. That is pretty heavy for a 5'8" shorty.

I am down from a size 38-40 waist when I got married a year ago to a 34.

My encouragement to all who may read. Exercise now - it will get you a few more miles out of that body of yours. I don't want to be here any longer than I have too - but if I am going to be here I might as well feel good and be in shape. Oh yeah - and if you are a real hard ass - just start exercising and don't stop drinking or smoking. It makes you feel cool. (Although - I have quit smoking - it just means you have to increase the drinking.)

American Dogs

Italian Dogs

I love my dog. Hell I love dogs that don't belong to me. That's why I had a stray hanging out at my house until I could find it an owner. My brother in law told me this weekend I am turning into a one man animal shelter. Read the above link (admitably stolen from Fark.com). I am not sure what my point is here. Oh yeah - sometimes I feel hampered by rules but then I read shit like this and don't mind driving the speed limit.

Dog 3

Found the dog a home. Unfortunately, the girl I am giving him to is somewhat irresponsible but a friend of my wife. I think I will be getting this dog back.

Reality is a crutch for people who can't cope with drugs

Borrowing from systems theory, the "relaxation rate" is the rate at which it takes a system to return to homeostasis after it is challenged by external input or stress.

Humans are presented with increasing information, concepts, and stimulation. The cognitive system never gets a chance to fully relax. I think this is what is behind the supposed increase in ADD (aside from American's being pharmaceutical-happy).

Dog 2: We are all pussies

No - I didn't pick up another dog.

When my mother was young she had a dog. One day my Grandpa John told her and his other children that they could no longer afford to keep that dog. Being that they lived in a small western Kansas town, where the horizon is as flat as the sea and the winds wail at an average 25mph, he told them he would take the dog to a farmer nearby.

My grandpa was an undersheriff and knew many people and carried a weapon. He took that dog for a drive and it is rumored that it never made it to a farmers house. Rather he "let it go." If you can't put two and two together maybe you deserve to be shot. That dog sure didn't deserve to be shot. Grandpa was never a malicious man and what I experienced was that he was always kind and gentle. When my grandpa was young my grandma said he either drank laughin' whiskey or fightin' whiskey - you didn't want to be around him when he was drinking the latter. I think I am not dissimilar to this man - but at the same time I know I am much weaker.

My grandpa had a close friend that shot himself. Grandpa also died before my friend Josh did the same and so we never got to talk about it. Granpa was "on duty" when his friend was found. He had to go to his friend's house with the coroner, help him remove his friends body, and then clean up the mess for his friends wife. His friend had shot himself in the mouth with a shotgun. I never experienced any of this.

Grandpa John was an engineer in the army in the European theater during WWII. He was in charge of a small group of men, I am not sure what the group was called and I don't know what his rank was. When I was a child it had to be explained to me that engineers in the army didn't build things, rather they blew things up. He was commanding a group of newbies and they came under intense mortar and artillery fire. Everyone was ordered to split up and only himself and one other man did. Running away from the group he turned back to yell at them to split up again as he witnessed an artillery shell drop directly in the center of the group. Six men vanished from the face of the earth - only pieces were left. I have never experienced any of this.

I tried to take that dog I found to an animal shelter. They told me there was a 50% chance he would be euthanized. Why did I save this dog to take it to a place where there was a 50% chance of him being killed. I guess that is better than starving to death or being hit by a car.

My question is -- why can't I just take this dog out and shoot it? This is not a rhetorical question and none of these following questions are. Why are we all such a bunch of emotional pussies? Why is my friends death still incapcitating to me? - I didn't have to wipe his brains up off a wall like my grandfather did for his friend. I didn't have to carry his dead body out of his house. Why are we all a bunch of pussies?

Jews and Italians: The Moral - Spit out hot food.

I went to my first barmitzvah on Saturday. The service was rather impressive - regardless of the fact that 80% of it was in Hebrew, there was no translation, and it was two and a half hours long. I will revisit that some other day.

I also went to Buca di Beppo's for the first time that night. We went with a group from the barmitzvah - basically all of the family - and there were about 40 of us. The wine flowed like beer and the food flowed like (insert solid flowing thing here). I wasn't footing the bill and so proceeded to drink bottles of wine and eat till I was sick. It was awesome. Nothing like a nice spread.

So I took some of the food home as left overs. Included in those leftovers was a sizable piece of lasagna. I heated that sucker up for lunch on Monday at work and got it hotter than hell. Being the dip shit that I am I put a piping hot piece in my mouth. I was sitting in front of my G'ed up G5 and my immediate reaction was not to spit this hotter than molten lava food out (because it would have landed on my sexy white keyboard) but to swallow it.

I have now learned that it is possible to burn the shit out of your esophagus. It still hurts today. I didn't burn my throat, tongue or mouth. I swallowed that cinder of a piece of lasagna and it got lodged about halfway down to my stomach. I drank water as fast as possible but the damage was done. It hurt too much to eat monday nite. I am awesome.

Dog

I saw a dog in the street yesterday and the stupid fucker ran straight at two different cars. So being the benevolent guy that I am I took him home. My wife was pissed.

I chained him up outside and promised to take him to a no kill shelter. This overly rambunctious puppy proceded to tear the shit out of my landscaping and destroy a plant that my wife had nursed back to health. When she got home she cried over the plant. When I saw that the dog had destroyed it I teared up. You help one and it hurts something else you were trying to help. I realize I am talking about dogs and plants and not people - and don't worry I am not turning into some pansy ass tree hugging don't eat meat pinko. I leave that to all the really pussies.

My friend Josh killed himself 2 years ago this past April the 10th. It is still some fucked up shit. Man am I eloquent. But really - I can't express what I think because I still don't know what I think. All I know is I feel pain and anger. My friend Josh was my wife's brother. Peeling back the layers of the onion. So we have been reduced to people who cry over plants. I can't help anyone right now so I try to help what I can - dogs and plants. People hurt to much - shit - plants hurt. Life is loss.

I thought I would be further along after two years - but I am realizing that this process of grief, etc. is going to take much longer.

Oh yeah, and I'm pissed off.

"I'm like a green an' white kickball, I bounce"

Don't want to be no johnson county mother fucker - regardless. Don't want to be no mother fucker. period. Almost got runover again yesterday on my bike. How is it that someone can drive past you and I am assuming see you - I mean I wear some pretty bright ugly ass colors, and then hang a right in front of you and almost clip your front wheel. I was pushing a good 22 mph. That would have been one hell of a ride.

So I scream at this lady, "BITCH" and flip her off - cause that always accomplishes something. She flips me off. - Awesome - She almost sent me to the hospital or ended my life and she flips me off. I am going to start carrying rocks in my jersey pockets. Forget yelling and signaling - I'll just throw a rock through her back window and maybe then she will not cut a cyclist off next time. Hell - maybe I will just carry a gun.

Well, the moral of the story is how niggas rose to glory. Bang Bang. I don't bounce. Sticks and stones will break bones but glocks will kill you. So keep your eyes open and your wallet in your front pocket - oh yeah - and YIELD TO CYCLISTS - they are keeping the air cleaner - keeping a car off the road - and you are driving a 2 to 4 ton killing machine. I got hit by a car once. I don't bounce.

Good Morning

Well, I have been posting things to xanga. But after looking at a few old friends and acquaintances blogs, I realized I was not down with the cool kids - and that in fact I had been populating a junior highers wet dreams with information that is way beyond their level. All that aside - Good Morning and I welcome myself to this burgeoning online thing. Publish bitch.