Friday, October 31, 2008

vote?

As I sit here wearing my Obama t-shirt, dear Reader, I'm considering not going to the polls on Tuesday. Before you get all bent out of shape, let me explain why.

Delaware is all but decided. Biden has his senate race locked up tighter than Maid Marian's chastity belt. Should the Obama/Biden ticket win the Presidential election, Gov. Minner gets to appoint our Senator until a special election to be held in 2010. #1 candidate for that spot? Beau Biden, Joe's son. Our other Senator - Carper, isn't up for re-election until 2012. Castle, the Republican in the House, who I don't actually have anything against, has his race locked up tight as well.

As far as Presidential Politics goes, Delaware is one of the safest Democrat bastions in the Union, going to Democrats by no less than 8 points in the last 4 years. Sure my vote counts when I'm sitting in the booth, but statistically: irrelevant.

For State politics, things are embattled. The battle for Insurance Commissioner is wide open, and I need to vote against this guy, if only because his web URL is super lame and I hate his face on a pumpkin. Karen Weldin Stewart, you have my vote.

"I believe you have my stapler."

At the end of the day, I'll probably step up to the booth. But only so I can say I voted AGAINST McCain and especially Palin. To John: I am not your friend and to Sarah: stick to porn.


Wednesday, October 29, 2008

just hang in there...

A beautiful moment from Granogue, at least this lap it was a smile and not a middle finger.

MegA hanging in there. Photo courtesy of Tough Cookie.

The next day at Wissahickon I think JD got me back for the above harassment of his finer half. He was on my like stink on a chamois - chopping me like a day old onion in every turn and generally working me over like a fine Asian masseuse. Good times.

A mediocre performance on a mediocre bike. Photo courtesy of dennisbike.

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

are you ready for your check?

So here we are, 3+ weeks since my last post. Time seems to fly when you're looking at life one day at a time. That, and there's not a lot to report. Fall is here, the cooler weather has brought cross to our doorstep. Not that I've been partaking a whole lot. Raced Charm City, Wissahickon - both fun courses. I've also ridden a few anti-cross mountain bike rides - Brandywine, Fair Hill, etc.

Just trying to have fun.

In that vein, I headed to a local eatery this evening with Jan. We had a few bottles of Delirium Tremens and an entree each. The waitress brought some dessert menus, but we both decided we had drank our calories for the evening. "Are you ready for your check, then?" she asks. Of course.

She drops the black patent leather receipt portfolio. Jan opens it up and immediately starts laughing: "Is it me, or did she draw a cock and balls on the check??!" By now, dear Reader, you must surely understand that I'd be the first to find a phallic resemblance on anything. But I didn't see it.


I flip the portfolio around. Laughter erupts. "Now I see what she was going for!!" A couple strokes of the pen and the portrait is complete. For the record, she didn't seem to notice our artistic interpretations.


That's why I like dinner with Jan.

Monday, October 06, 2008

that's not my bag baby...

Today, dear Reader, marks the end of an era. My well-loved, well-used, oft-abused navy blue and black Saint-Gobain Abrasives duffel bag has been retired from service. This has been my go to cycling bag for the last 4+ years. Though I will be sad to pull my helmet and shoes from another bag, my soul is quieted by the memory of the last few years we've spent together.


This duffel has been with me for most of my competitive cycling career. I started riding seriously in 2002, during one of my financially poorest years of college. In 2004, I took an 8 month co-op internship with Saint-Gobain Abrasives, helping engineer the processes that made Norton Sandpaper. With the money I was making at this job, I bought my first road bike - a Raleigh Grand Prix. It was beautiful: Columbus steel tubing; red, white, and blue paint job; Campagnolo 10-speed. I started riding seriously, but on Tuesdays, when our team would drive to ride in the Tuesday Night World Championships, I would be at a loss for the transportation of my riding apparel.

The answer came out of a hangover haze that August, 2004. It was the last Thursday at my internship, and the other intern and I had been out drinking the night before until 4 in the morning - well past last call. We had been celebrating a successful completion of our gig with Norton. We both arrived late that Thursday, still in the previous day's clothes, stinking like stale beer. We spent the first 2 hours of that work day with our heads down on our desk, only to be interrupted by Judy, a coworker: "Who kicked the shit outta you last night?! Come on kids, we got a nice lunch for ya."

Our coworkers had arranged for a nice catered lunch to say thanks and good luck with your futures. To this day, I don't think I've had a meatball that good. But the finest moment of that day came when two unmarked boxes came out from under the conference room table. One for my colleague, one for me. As I opened the box, a golden light shined from under the lid, and somewhere from behind a sandpaper-maker, a Heraldic choir sang. There, in front of mine own eyes, was the solution to an armful of loose shoes, gloves, and a helmet - the navy blue duffel.

Since that day, I've never thought of going back into the "Gritty Business". But I am reminded of the basic goodness of man. And I've had a place to leave my sweaty, stinking cycling clothes to fester for a few too many days. But the zippers have started to bust. And though I've never said it to my bag's face, I've never been satisfied with her volume.


So when (Desperately Seeking Nickname) Matt Mc. offered up an opportunity to purchase some discounted goods, I jumped. Introducing my new, fully zippered, more-voluminous, but far less charismatic Pearl Izumi gear bag.


Navy blue and black Saint-Gobain Abrasives duffel bag: rest in peace. You are gone, but never forgotten.