Mother Nature Evidently Tripped....

...On acid and decided to skip summer.


Instructions for viewing this photo:

1. Stare at photo.
2. Realize that photo was taken on APRIL FREAKING 28TH, 2008.
3. Bang head on keyboard.
4. Repeat as often as necessary to pass the time.

Caution - Tangent Ahead.

Would eating cookie dough from a plastic tube that reads, quite prominently, "COOKIE DOUGH CONTAINS RAW INGREDIENTS. BAKE BEFORE CONSUMING," be considered a sort of Russian Roulette?

Religion's in the hands of some crazy-ass people

I can't help but wonder how religion got its start. Here's my theory...

Caveboy is hanging around outside the family cave, playing with his favorite stick (the other one). He pauses a moment to watch his Cavedad push the Stegosaurus around the lawn. As his Cavedad halts in mid-swath to sip at his sarsparilla, Caveboy runs up to him, tugs at his animal skin and asks, "Daddy, why is the sky blue?"

This Cavedad happens to be particularly creative, thanks to a brand new modified gene, and proceeds to weave a web of wonder...you know, to cover up the not-knowing. "Well, son, you see, the water god's son cried a lot...and it drove him to drink. So he wandered the earth, and sipped from every lake, river, stream, sea and ocean. This made him happy, blottoed, and bloated and, lo, when he returned home, he trippeth over his son's favorite rock in the dark, and belcheth a blue streak..." Voila. Religion is born to explain the unexplainable, at least, until skeptics and analytical thinkers were born. Children who once upon a time asked many "Why?" questions and either weren't satisfied with the answer given or got the response, "Look it up."

Anyway, back to Cavedad and the various gods...Druids, Pagans, Wiccans, Hindus...they all pick up on this. Gods? Ooo! Toast, the God of Golden Brown! Fweep, the God of Gas! Witches Teat, the sweet, sweet Goddess of Cold! GENIUS! Farther down the road, Muslims and Christians decide "mmm...too complicated...let's narrow it down to one dude who did it ALL." Here endeth the lesson ala nutshell. That's all fine for some, however, I've 1) read too much and 2) subscribe to the next level of belief systems (well, two of them): The Church of Jimmy Buffett (Orthodox) and Motorcycling (Reformed).

I suspect, at any rate, that this origin of religion explains how a father can instinctively answer the question regarding how a giant zit can appear on your right butt cheek...he just makes something logical-sounding up. Unless he's a dermatologist; you then receive a clinical explanation involving words like "sebum" and "leather upholstery." ...At least Dad didn't say God was punishing me....er, that person with the butt zit.

Tangent swerve---hang on.

I swear if you ask my dad anything, he'll actually have an answer for it. Most of them make really good sense too, which leads me to believe he does know everything. But oh-ho, should he ask me a question...I stab right for the obvious. "Daughter, where do you think they get steel wool from?" Me -> "Steel sheep." Duh.

I Will Survive...

Nothing like a 100 mile romp before dark to soothe the troubled soul. I also rode the bike to work this morning...it was 38. When I left work at 3 this afternoon? 74.

We rode north from Eau Claire into Chippewa County and the Chip Co Forest. Somewhere along the way we passed through a speck of a town called New Auburn. You know it's small when the sign for the town pig roast on Saturday says "At The School."

New Auburn is actually a little newsworthy. It's the hometown of a local humorist (and frontman for Michael Perry & the Longbeds) named Michael Perry. I've read two of his books and they're both good reads.

* * *

I've decided to dip into some jealously horded cash for a home improvement project. Pictures to be posted after this weekend. Let me just tip you off by saying our house is molting. I feel an entertaining story or two coming out of this...

Gah

36. Oh, this can't end well. It's certainly not starting that way.

Of Mice and Men

In a sportbike club of 21 men (and 1 woman), only two members were manly enough to show up yesterday for the ride to Nelson, WI...and one of them was me.


El Presidente and I took the twisty way out to take in the extravaganza that is the Flood Run. It was cold. It was uncomfortably cold (I used up two-day's worth of hot water in the post-ride shower). Also, mostly Harleys. But the people-watching was seriously amusing. "Motorcycle clubs" on hand? Outlaws, Black Pistons, blah blah blah. Biker gangs. Jeez. It's 2008. A big group of Outlaws stood around on the corner in front of us for about 20 minutes...all I saw was a big group of clingy, needy insecurity.

After failing to warm up any while standing around, we got outta there and headed back. Even cold, all those twists and turns felt great. Yeah, I'm slow, but not as slow as last year. Also, a cold day's ride made THIS taste EXCELLENT.


Those are actual grill marks on that NY strip, and the onion filled a D cup easy. I'm all proud because it was brother/sister teamwork that produced this meal. I prepped, Tommy cooked. We were so amped for a grilled meal (the true sign of approaching warmer weather) we beat feet to the local DQ for dessert afterwards in our usual bloated tradition. Upon pulling up to the door (all their lights were on) and finding it locked, I walked back to the car while Tommy stood outside their door and shrieked in desperation, "I hate you!" Of course, it fell on deaf ears...I remember when I worked at a fast-food establishment in high school how, once the door was locked, you didn't look outside. God forbid you look into the eyes of a person desperate for a late-night alcohol-absorbing meal and deny them a toilet as well.

...I can bet you though, that the features of Tom's face are permanently emblazoned on the brain of the kid cleaning the counter after his outburst, and the next Mint Oreo Blizzard for the brother will have something special in it.

...The onion molecules are just oozing out of me this morning. Good thing I don't ride in a one-piece suit.

EEEEEEVILLLLL!

For you, Momma.

Tidbits

• Snow's gone here. It's supposed to be 67 today...I might go out after work and enjoy it...if I can stand upright in the 50 mph wind.

• Amy's band Plain Ole Delicious will be playing at Chicago City Limits in Schaumburg on May 20. Go see her for me!

• This weekend is the Spring Flood Run. I've never participated as an actual owner/rider in a rally before, so I'm mildly excited. Also, I'm interested to find out if I can stand to be around the CVSC guys without the alcohol buffer. And if they can stand me, of course. Riding out with them...I'll bring along my camera and report back.

• Pictured below is why I get paid. This is our digital press. The dude pictured gives you an idea of the actual size. Only difference is we don't have the extra section on the right end. We just upgraded our software and a technician is here helping us fix the glitches. Which is why I'm (at the moment) getting paid to blog. But only briefly. :)
  

The Love of My Life

I'm a materialistic pig.

I'm in love with my motorcycle. It won't be mean to me, tell me I'm too fat, sleep with other motorcycles, snore, punch me in the back of the head, what-have-you. Granted, I can't exactly cuddle with it, but that's what those male humans are for...if you can stand the snoring. And phlegm. And pharts (I swear, if you just let me get it out of my system, eventually I will tire of talking about it).

I've been around motorcycles well before I was born. I believe, in my early embryonic stupor, my mother hung on to my dad as they rode around the Midwest on my dad's Harley.

Dad, tallest in back; Mom, blond.

Not as easy as it looks on a Harley.

Post-partum, I was propped in front of and on the bike for photo ops. I don't remember rides on the Harley, but I'm sure there were at least a couple.


After it was stolen from the garage, Pop went without a bike for a number of years.

Eventually, he bought a Yamaha touring cycle, presumably because the birth of me, my brother and our move to the 'burbs from a Chicago neighborhood made a 4K bike seem a lot more plausible than a 10K Harley. I remember a lot of trips to Tastee Freeze three up. My brother was a slip of a child and four years younger, so he fit on the bike between my dad and I. Between my brother and my dad, I figure there's been about 15 motorcycles in our family, starting with that first Harley. Early evidence shows that Tom had no hope of escaping his destiny.


I started getting hooked after a friend of my dad's let me ride his quad ATV around Dad's yard up here in Eau Claire one summer. I never knew how to use a clutch and shifter until I sat on that thing. I can't recommend any better way to learn to ride a motorcycle. Get the shifting thing down first...worry about the balance thing later. A number of years passed after that...I think I was probably around 13 or 14 then. At that time, my brother was already living in Eau Claire with my dad and Tom had a 50cc sportbike. It tops out at about 50 mph and is around the same height as sitting on a toilet. Only fun-er. Another excellent opportunity to learn. Low n' slow...ish.


What REALLY got me in a froth over owning my own bike? Probably around 8-10 years ago, it was like EVERYBODY had one. My cousin, my other cousin, my brother, my brother's friends, my dad, my dad's friends. I was constantly asking my dad to give me rides on the back of his newest Harley. It actually started giving me stomach aches whenever I even so much as heard one.

One of my favorite memories...

Just out of high school, I was still living in the Chicago area and was in the EC visiting my dad and brother for a week or so with my former boyfriend. Dad had just bought a used Softail to hold him until his new bike arrived (yes, a Harley waiting list). He proudly brought it out of the garage and started it up. "Go ahead," and waved toward the bike. I sat down...and rode off. I swear I thought he meant "Go ahead, take it for a spin," but, looking back I suppose it was "Go ahead, have a seat." Either way I can just picture the jaws dropping in the driveway behind me. A couple of rides around the neighborhood and Tom comes zooming up on his sportbike with my Dad on the back, holding a camera. Yeah, just take that in for a second; those two on one bike.

Shortly after that, I received a big 8x10 framed photo of me on the Harley. You'd see it here but I had just covered my hair in Mega-Mega hold hairspray and I looked like Marge Simpson.

* * *

When I moved to Eau Claire late summer 2004, I committed to getting my motorcycle license the following April. Turns out my instructor was Tom's instructor. If you know anything about my brother and his ability to become one with any motorcycle he rides, you can understand why I didn't bring attention to myself.


Until Tom showed up, on motorcycle, to one of my classes. Amazingly, the man still allowed me to pass.

If you ask just about any male around here, my bike isn't even worth their beer money, probably because it's not the fastest around, nor is it sleek, sexy, Japanese, or Italian. As far as speed, it will hold its own, and the throttle responds when I need it to, but it's chunky, industrial, angry and British. Ladies and gentlemen, I present my 2004 Triumph Speed Four, seen below as purchased.


I picked it up in February 2007, an impulsive yet very affordable buy. Much as it reminded me of the "Hollywood Taxi" Bret Michaels (or was it Vince Neil?) tooled around on, the yellow seriously had to go. Luckily, I know a custom painter.

The result:




Ain't love grand?

Hey! It ain't the 6 inches!

A result of the Battle of Wills vs. Mother Nature.


Yeah, there's some, but not as much as those evil-doers (meterologists) said. I call that a win! It should be gone tomorrow...mid 50's then. But it's cutting into the pothole-dodging, sand-skidding, gravel-jumping motorcycling I could be doing by now. Also...SO sick of snow and cold. I may have mentioned that a phew hundred times. I always need something to whine (read: bitch) about, or I phear I will blow up.

This stuff is delish.

We have an Irish pub down near the UWEC campus that serves this nectar of the Irish gods. Just add the people-watching and it's a phull night. By "people" I mean mostly college students, which are just about the most entertaining and amusing group of uncertain, uncomfortable, experimenting (particularly with clothes and phacial hair) people around. And as I've realized last night, have NO taste when it comes to alcohol. Sheep.

The All-Mighty Brother introduced me to Beamish on a road trip up to Menomonie for a wedding rehearsal party. Ah, my phirst roady sody.

Hey is this "ph" obsession my new trademark? Or are ya all just really annoyed by it?

For some reason, it reminds me of a post one of the guys put on the CVSC forum. Check it out.

Cna yuo raed tihs? Olny 55 plepoe out of 100 can.

i cdnuolt blveiee taht I cluod aulaclty uesdnatnrd waht I was rdanieg. The phaonmneal pweor of the hmuan mnid, aoccdrnig to rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it dseno't mtaetr in waht oerdr the ltteres in a wrod are, the olny iproamtnt tihng is taht the frsit and lsat ltteer be in the rghit pclae. The rset can be a taotl mses and you can sitll raed it whotuit a pboerlm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe. Azanmig huh? yaeh and I awlyas tghuhot slpeling was ipmorantt! if you can raed tihs forwrad it.

I'm not the only one who can breeze through that, right?

Phack

I can't post anything right now. I'm so busy forcing my will on Mother Nature to not poop 6 inches of snow that my right lower eyelid is twitching on its own. Also, dropping bad motor scooter music onto my mp3 player for when that whole "global warming" smarminess kicks in.

Happy Birthday Tommy. I wished for a slow day at your work and 80 degrees, but I might have asked for that for MY birthday on accident. Love you, little brother.

Hock-tooey

I've been ordered by a Pipeline reader via finger and dictionary to post about...phlegm. Good thing that other current fascination isn't spelled "phart", right?

Phlegm. Why can't it be spelled "flem?" What's the point of the letter "g" I wonder? Beats hearing the word "mucus." Uck.

In medieval times, phlegm was known as one of the four humors of ancient and medieval physiology, thought to cause sluggishness, apathy, and evenness of temper. Evenness of temper? I don't think so. Try going on a week and a half of coughing up that crap in the shower. Or hang out at our house when my brother and I just finished eating ice cream. Good thing we humans have moved on from leeches and bloodletting.

I know its purpose is to lubricate and protect organs and linings in the body, but ew. Heck, a lot of stuff about the body is ew. I'd just prefer it stay inside.

Hey, this topic sucks. Sorry, Cheryl. I find it difficult to come up with thought-provoking and hilarious conversation on this subject. Probably because it doesn't relate at all to pharts and I can't recall a funny first-hand story. Like the time my brother managed a "fireman" phart. Anyway...
/end topic

Uhhh....bad time?

Odd post...This is what happens when I am either 1) lacking in ideas for posting or 2) have perfectly good ideas for posting but am FAR too lazy to get off the couch to move to the other computer where the pictures necessary for posting are, OR 3) your best friend tries to steer you away from a post revealing her past...talents. Uh...yeah. Not that dirty.

I warn you, you will likely encounter turbulent tangents. Buckle up, sunshine. You'll thank me later.

Backstory -> Scene: The Grandpa Chair, living room, my house, Eau Claire. Props (no, not those...OR THOSE! NOT THAT DIRTY!): blanket, laptop, Scrubs dvd playing on tv, cell phone. I'm warm, comfy, and playing Mahjongg on my laptop until my contacts dry up and threaten to run off to a more humid climate.

I receive a text message from said best friend TRISH...something to the effect of "I'm bored. When are you going to post a new topic, you lazy bag?" I let her know that I was on the fence with two possibilities for posting: the bike...or Trish's...past talents. For some strange reason, she encouraged the bike posting (see #3 above).

In my attempt to encourage posting reciprocity, I text back, "Maybe we should throw topics at each other. Your is: Oreos."

Shortly thereafter, I receive another text...something to the effect of: "Look, Princess, while you're sitting in a quiet house, watching your beloved Scrubs dvds, letting your big ass fall asleep in the Grandpa Chair, and possibly downing a bottle of Mondoro and a bag of Smarties, I'm running helter-skelter around this house mopping up barf (she was unspecific as to whose) and poop (again, unspecific, whose), while watching HUGE tumbleweeds of dog hair drift across the dining room floor. You can kiss my frazzled ass right now, but I guarantee you, tomorrow there will be an Oreo post. Just for that? Your topic? Colostomy bags!"

...okay. Uhhh. That's not really...I mean, nothing really is coming to me...

Ah, colostomy bags are...oh man. You are all gonna be so very sorry. Especially if you've been reading my comments over on Trish's blog. Well, here goes...

Can you just IMAGINE how funny the FARTS are when an unrestricted orifice and an amplified plastic bag are involved??? And no smelly! Ah hahahaha! (note to self: duct tape one to brother's butt. All laugh, no gag.)
Good lord, I have to get out of this chair. My cheeks really are asleep.

Fool me once...

You gotta love it when the dot-com that is poised to take over the world shows its humorous side. I actually got sucked in...ME! Fooled! Hoodwinked! Bamboozled! I thought, rubbing my hands together in a most "muh-ha-ha" manner, "That'll come in handy one day...like when I forget my best friend's birthday and I'm too cheap to send anything but an email...."



I recall once, way back in my "working for The Man" days, that if you changed the system clock on your computer, you could fool Outlook and make it look like you sent email earlier or later than was true. Yeah, yeah. "Every saint has a past. Every sinner, a future."

Here I sit, the butt of what I think might be the biggest joke ever played on me...3 inches of snow. Rassen frassen...