I was posting a comment to my last topic, but it got WAY too long. Here's me trying to clear the air (without any fart references...can you believe it?)...
Anonymous Cousin: "At Last" is NOT embarrassing in the least. In my poor opinion, anyway. I'm having that song played at my wedding, should one occur. Maybe at my funeral too. :-)
Momma: I refer to the embarrassment when playing your mp3 player out loud on speakers...not so private then. None of Gord's Gold is embarrassing to me, however, being a child of the 80's more than the 70's, this can be somewhat odd to hear on MY mp3 player if you don't know me too well. Imagine my surprise that Mostly Naked is a devotee of the Neil, and the Denver. Mostly because I thought only OUR family ever heard of them. :-) BTW, he listens to them WHILE HE'S ON CLUB RIDES. And he's a hard-core rider. The amusing assumption is that we all listen to death metal when we ride. Enya is probably my favorite to listen to when I'm riding as vigorously as I can.
Here's some examples of potentially embarrassing mp3 tracks (again, in my poor opinion) when played in the presence of others (i.e., you will not find them on my list, nor do I like them):
Anything by the Osmonds
Anything by Captain and Tenille
Me So Horny
Biz Markie's "You Got What I Need"
Anything by Don Ho
Anything by Menudo
Your artist list, Momma, is a good one, I will not deny. You are of strong character and say "the heck with you" should someone call you out. YOU can listen to Cher without anyone making a generalization. Now, if TOM had it on his mp3 player well, then clearly, he's gay. If he's not...he probably should be. I suppose it all boils down to age and gender stereotypes. I use them...I'm not ashamed. They usually make for amusing observations (Filet-O-Fish/Orange drink).
I'm not at all embarrassed by my song selections because they are my favorite songs, for whatever reason, but mostly because they're good memory triggers. A memory trigger example, "Walking on Sunshine" by Katrina and the Waves? The song that was playing when I last crashed. How do I remember it? When I rolled to a stop and was on all fours staring at the gravel on the access road, I thought, "I'm riding off the road..whooaa. I'm rolling in the dirt...whooooaaaa. And I still feel good! HEY!"
"The Memory of Trees" by Enya is a good one for both Heb and I. We went skiing at Big Powderhorn in the U.P. and took a day-trip to our family's former cottage in Iron River, WI. Her father had passed away and Heb wanted to scatter her dad's ashes at the lake. It was cold, overcast and kind of gloomy. As we were driving back to our chalet at Powderhorn, the sky cleared up, the sun was brilliant and warming, the sky was the bluest blue, the pine trees were the greenest green, and the snow was the whitest white. I had put a CD I compiled in the player and "The Memory of Trees" started playing right at this change in weather and it struck me suddenly, as if her dad had said, "Thanks. That was nice."
Swell, this is making me well up.
Anyway, it made me feel really good that we had done this for Heather and her dad and it felt like the Universe had given us all a little high-five. So every time I play this song, I think of that day and you can imagine how it makes me feel when I'm hauling ass down a sun-dappled County Road D through the trees.
I WILL blush if I'm blaring my mp3s in the garage and one of the songs from the Musical episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer starts up. But I still love it. And I won't NOT listen to it just because it's blush-worthy. Technically though, I was embarrassed that Brother's mp3 player, not mine, was playing "Hangin' Tough."
I've started asking other riders at the club rides what they are listening to at that moment on their mp3 players. I think it provides entertaining insight into the person they are. Like the 40-something guy in our group who was listening to a Rob Zombie song when I asked. This weekend I'm asking the tattoo-and-piercing covered 20-something what he's listening to.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
You hope the ground swallows you up...
...when the neighbors ride by just as your brother's mp3 player, plugged into the BIG speakers, starts playing "Hangin' Tough" by New Kids on the Block.
Which prompted us to conduct a quick poll of our most embarrassing song/artist on our mp3 player. Brother couldn't decide if the above or having Gordon Lightfoot on his player was worse.
Mostly Naked has John Denver's "Sunshine on my Shoulder" on his...I'm not sure if he's embarrassed by that, however.
I think my most embarrassing song is "Tarzan Boy" by Baltimora. But that's the only one that comes to mind right now. I bet I can top it...Oh! Just remembered. John Denver, "Thank God I'm a Country Boy."
What's yours?
Which prompted us to conduct a quick poll of our most embarrassing song/artist on our mp3 player. Brother couldn't decide if the above or having Gordon Lightfoot on his player was worse.
Mostly Naked has John Denver's "Sunshine on my Shoulder" on his...I'm not sure if he's embarrassed by that, however.
I think my most embarrassing song is "Tarzan Boy" by Baltimora. But that's the only one that comes to mind right now. I bet I can top it...Oh! Just remembered. John Denver, "Thank God I'm a Country Boy."
What's yours?
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Roger "Wilco", Hawkeye Slob-san
The boss man found an internet station that's pretty good...WNEW, from New York. It's commercial-free, and I've heard everything from Marvin Gaye to Death Cab for Cutie, with some Depeche Mode and even School of Fish thrown in.
The only bizarre thing, is that I've now memorized a 2-3 minute piece from one of their DJ's broadcasting "live" from the Bonnaroo music fest in Tennessee. Which was last month. And if I could count the number of times this guy uses the words "audience" and "artist" in his spiel, they'd make up about 90% of the words spoken. It's been played so much that when I was working over by our intern, I said out loud before the DJ did, "Do the artists have the audience in the palm of their hand?" I was promptly answered by said DJ ("The artists here have the audience in the palm of their hand") and our intern stared at me...I thought I detected a little witchcraft fear in his eyes.
That audio quirk hasn't stopped me from listening, though. They even play Wilco...maybe two of their songs. And I just cannot stand them. I feel a little bad...some part of me should automatically like the band because long ago I marched with the drummer, right (I just realized what a dork that makes me...I didn't DO the drummer, I MARCHED with him)? There's a connection and I should honor it by snarfing up all their music...legally, even. Right? Agh...I just can't get into them. I give.
Mostly Naked had never heard anything by Wilco (a trend I'm finding all too familiar, even though Mostly Naked likes just about any music you could name), and asked me to describe what they sound like. I came just short of writhing on the ground in the fetal position, trying to come up with a fair but clear description. Finally, as I sat there sweating with cerebral effort and squinting my eyes as if in physical pain, I blurted out in a Tourette's-like manner, "Pussy Rock."
Sorry, Billy. If it makes you feel any better, I really like that one Son Volt song...
The only bizarre thing, is that I've now memorized a 2-3 minute piece from one of their DJ's broadcasting "live" from the Bonnaroo music fest in Tennessee. Which was last month. And if I could count the number of times this guy uses the words "audience" and "artist" in his spiel, they'd make up about 90% of the words spoken. It's been played so much that when I was working over by our intern, I said out loud before the DJ did, "Do the artists have the audience in the palm of their hand?" I was promptly answered by said DJ ("The artists here have the audience in the palm of their hand") and our intern stared at me...I thought I detected a little witchcraft fear in his eyes.
That audio quirk hasn't stopped me from listening, though. They even play Wilco...maybe two of their songs. And I just cannot stand them. I feel a little bad...some part of me should automatically like the band because long ago I marched with the drummer, right (I just realized what a dork that makes me...I didn't DO the drummer, I MARCHED with him)? There's a connection and I should honor it by snarfing up all their music...legally, even. Right? Agh...I just can't get into them. I give.
Mostly Naked had never heard anything by Wilco (a trend I'm finding all too familiar, even though Mostly Naked likes just about any music you could name), and asked me to describe what they sound like. I came just short of writhing on the ground in the fetal position, trying to come up with a fair but clear description. Finally, as I sat there sweating with cerebral effort and squinting my eyes as if in physical pain, I blurted out in a Tourette's-like manner, "Pussy Rock."
Sorry, Billy. If it makes you feel any better, I really like that one Son Volt song...
Monday, July 28, 2008
If you're gonna be slow...
...try to have a sense of humor about it.
My helmet, as viewed from behindAnd yes...it's reflective. :-)
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Everything I've ever done was out of fear of being mediocre.
Guess old Chet Atkins wasn't lying..
Sunday turned out to be a good day for me. A friend of Brother's was in town with his girlfriend for a wedding and they both ride sportbikes. So there were five of us from our house on the club ride. Turned out we had our biggest group so far...twenty, I think.
Sunday turned out to be a good day for me. A friend of Brother's was in town with his girlfriend for a wedding and they both ride sportbikes. So there were five of us from our house on the club ride. Turned out we had our biggest group so far...twenty, I think.
Here we pause in Chetek for a roller dog and Corn Nuts.
I felt pretty good when I woke up today. Normally, I get a little gut ache and the first half of the ride, I'm twitchy and panicky. Not today. I spent the night before telling myself I wasn't going to wig out, slam on the brakes and creep through the gravel. I was going to Eat. It. Up. And, convinced myself that going off the road was NOT an option.
I updated my mp3 player with some new, gravel-eatin' music and set out with the rest of the group as we headed north to Chetek. On the way up, we took the same route where I went off the road last month. The turn before that one was the dirty one this time, but I breezed right through. Seconds before I came up to "the turn" was when I recognized it. And, honestly, I have no idea how I could tell. There is absolutely nothing that gives it away; no signs, houses, marks in the pavement (not even from me). Yet there it was. And it was dirty with gravel. But since I rode off, enough vehicles have ridden through it to create clear lines through the turn. And I Ate. It. Up. When we stopped at the next intersection, Mostly Naked was waiting with the rest of the group, looking back for us stragglers. I pumped my first in the air and let out a whoop! in my helmet. Victory. THAT felt good.
County highway D heading south from Chetek is probably my absolute favorite road we've ridden so far. It's clean, there's a sizeable paved shoulder and it winds through the trees with fast sweepers and changes in elevation. There is a benefit to being hind tit...if the group gets far enough ahead, you can zoom through a stretch at whatever speed you're comfortable with, and there's nobody in your way. The leader is the only other one who gets to enjoy that.
I was just...switched on.
Gravel comes in different shapes and sizes, as we all know. The smaller it is, usually coincides with the fact that there's more of it. Sand would be the worst. The bigger the pieces, the less there are typically, and if you run over it in a turn, you'll feel the weight shift a little, like a wiggle, but as soon as the tire returns to the pavement, you're on your way. A little knowledge, from me to you.
I updated my mp3 player with some new, gravel-eatin' music and set out with the rest of the group as we headed north to Chetek. On the way up, we took the same route where I went off the road last month. The turn before that one was the dirty one this time, but I breezed right through. Seconds before I came up to "the turn" was when I recognized it. And, honestly, I have no idea how I could tell. There is absolutely nothing that gives it away; no signs, houses, marks in the pavement (not even from me). Yet there it was. And it was dirty with gravel. But since I rode off, enough vehicles have ridden through it to create clear lines through the turn. And I Ate. It. Up. When we stopped at the next intersection, Mostly Naked was waiting with the rest of the group, looking back for us stragglers. I pumped my first in the air and let out a whoop! in my helmet. Victory. THAT felt good.
County highway D heading south from Chetek is probably my absolute favorite road we've ridden so far. It's clean, there's a sizeable paved shoulder and it winds through the trees with fast sweepers and changes in elevation. There is a benefit to being hind tit...if the group gets far enough ahead, you can zoom through a stretch at whatever speed you're comfortable with, and there's nobody in your way. The leader is the only other one who gets to enjoy that.
I was just...switched on.
Gravel comes in different shapes and sizes, as we all know. The smaller it is, usually coincides with the fact that there's more of it. Sand would be the worst. The bigger the pieces, the less there are typically, and if you run over it in a turn, you'll feel the weight shift a little, like a wiggle, but as soon as the tire returns to the pavement, you're on your way. A little knowledge, from me to you.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Bawk!
So we turned around and I got my good old Triumph out and fan-folded myself in my suit on my own bike and we rode. Much better.
Faster can wait. I'll wear the mantle of Hind Tit begrudgingly, but at least my heart rate will climb back down off the ceiling. Annny minute now would be sweet...
Friday, July 25, 2008
That Thumping Sound....
...is coming from inside my chest.
Oh dear God...I talked myself into riding on the back of Mostly Naked's bike tomorrow (at his suggestion, obviously) as we travel to Whitehall to hang some posters for our big ride/party coming up on August 9th. I've dubbed myself the Club Hind Tit because I am the rear-most rider in the group rides. Mostly Naked usually leads the rides. Please note, it's now 10:30pm on Friday, and I'm already amped...maybe it's scared. Probably both.
Funny enough, we spent most of the time this evening hanging out at The Joynt on Water Street discussing how I must be broken inside because I've gone skydiving, crashed a motorcycle twice, and done a track day...all of which were without the usual human surge of adrenaline. Now, I'm wide awake...and what's this? Adrenaline? Think I'm gonna wear that hotbox leather suit tomorrow? HELLS YEAH.
I was just wondering if I should bring my camera and take some video from the back seat, but I think this first time I should just concern myself with that silly hanging on and concentrating on being a non-entity on the back.
What started the whole thing is that I don't feel like I'm improving fast enough and I'm getting frustrated at being in the back all the time. However, whenever I'm out on a ride I consciously tell myself to ride at my own pace...which I do...and enjoy even. Mostly Naked pointed out that I'm only in my 1st/2nd season of really riding and I just plain won't be fast for some time...at least not fast AND in control. Coming from a guy who's been on a motorcycle for...what did he say...maybe 15 years already? That doesn't make it any more soothing for an instant-gratification junkie.
So, as I'm sitting here, all a-quiver, I'm mulling over the possible blocks to my improvement. And yeah, they're all in my head. Stupid head.
1) I don't trust my tires or my bike and just how much they can do (Mostly Naked pointed that one out).
2) I don't trust me to handle whatever happens unexpectedly with clear thinking and graceful, quick reaction.
3) I frickin HATE gravel, ergo it spooks me. How come it's always in the corners??
4) Blind turns and blind hills are creepy if there's no one in front of you to follow.
5) I'm afraid if I unass my seat I won't be able to get back on (picture one of those people bouncing along the side of a horse when they lose their balance, but can't get out of the stirrup...and try not to laugh).
I ask myself, how come all these people in front of me can get through all these issues and I still don't see them until they stop to wait for me at the next change in route? How come I get to be so mental? It occurs to me, the reason for the lack of excitement in response to how I'm currently riding? I don't test myself. Yes, I'm really REALLY new compared to most of the riders in the group, but jeez...how long do I have to be the hind tit? One guy joined up this year and rode behind me because he was all panicky in turns...but one day, not too long after, he passed me and I never saw him in the back again.
No, I'm not going to go out and try to kill myself. I have a fairly strong sense of self-preservation. I'm not...brave. At least not to my satisfaction. Darn me. I am however rambling on hurriedly because I'm as excited as a 7-year-old at Christmas at the prospect of riding behind Mostly Naked tomorrow. I hope I don't throw up in my helmet. Also, he won't be mostly naked. He'll be mostly armored.
In other news, The Joynt is a bar I lovingly refer to as "The Place Where the Pot Smokers Congregate." It's very nearly a guarantee that anytime you walk in there, you will spot a tie-dye t-shirt or pony-tail accompanied by full beard. They have a neon sign over the bar that READS (not "says"...Mostly Naked has taken to correcting my grammar (if you can believe that)) "No Light Beer." Happy Hour? Of course! This is Wisconsin, after all. What? $.40 taps? YES. I walked in with FOUR DOLLARS and walked out with empty pockets and a sturdy buzz. This place is a study in eccentricities. Initially, my dad took me there for a drink and, coming from a sheltered, over-franchised Chicago suburb, I thought this place was a total hole. Now, it's grown on me...it's like visiting with an old war veteran; it's crusty, worn and dusty on the outside, but there's inherent charm, history, and stories if you sit still and observe long enough. With one exception; the war vet likely won't have the finest beer in all the land (Point, Grain Belt, Leinie's, Berghoff).
I'm going to try to go to bed now...and in the spirit of over-exaggerated, adolescent reactions, "OH MY GOD! He TOTALLY touched my arm in gym class today! WEEEEE! D.K. & Z.D. 4 EVER!"
..toodles...
Oh dear God...I talked myself into riding on the back of Mostly Naked's bike tomorrow (at his suggestion, obviously) as we travel to Whitehall to hang some posters for our big ride/party coming up on August 9th. I've dubbed myself the Club Hind Tit because I am the rear-most rider in the group rides. Mostly Naked usually leads the rides. Please note, it's now 10:30pm on Friday, and I'm already amped...maybe it's scared. Probably both.
Funny enough, we spent most of the time this evening hanging out at The Joynt on Water Street discussing how I must be broken inside because I've gone skydiving, crashed a motorcycle twice, and done a track day...all of which were without the usual human surge of adrenaline. Now, I'm wide awake...and what's this? Adrenaline? Think I'm gonna wear that hotbox leather suit tomorrow? HELLS YEAH.
I was just wondering if I should bring my camera and take some video from the back seat, but I think this first time I should just concern myself with that silly hanging on and concentrating on being a non-entity on the back.
What started the whole thing is that I don't feel like I'm improving fast enough and I'm getting frustrated at being in the back all the time. However, whenever I'm out on a ride I consciously tell myself to ride at my own pace...which I do...and enjoy even. Mostly Naked pointed out that I'm only in my 1st/2nd season of really riding and I just plain won't be fast for some time...at least not fast AND in control. Coming from a guy who's been on a motorcycle for...what did he say...maybe 15 years already? That doesn't make it any more soothing for an instant-gratification junkie.
So, as I'm sitting here, all a-quiver, I'm mulling over the possible blocks to my improvement. And yeah, they're all in my head. Stupid head.
1) I don't trust my tires or my bike and just how much they can do (Mostly Naked pointed that one out).
2) I don't trust me to handle whatever happens unexpectedly with clear thinking and graceful, quick reaction.
3) I frickin HATE gravel, ergo it spooks me. How come it's always in the corners??
4) Blind turns and blind hills are creepy if there's no one in front of you to follow.
5) I'm afraid if I unass my seat I won't be able to get back on (picture one of those people bouncing along the side of a horse when they lose their balance, but can't get out of the stirrup...and try not to laugh).
I ask myself, how come all these people in front of me can get through all these issues and I still don't see them until they stop to wait for me at the next change in route? How come I get to be so mental? It occurs to me, the reason for the lack of excitement in response to how I'm currently riding? I don't test myself. Yes, I'm really REALLY new compared to most of the riders in the group, but jeez...how long do I have to be the hind tit? One guy joined up this year and rode behind me because he was all panicky in turns...but one day, not too long after, he passed me and I never saw him in the back again.
No, I'm not going to go out and try to kill myself. I have a fairly strong sense of self-preservation. I'm not...brave. At least not to my satisfaction. Darn me. I am however rambling on hurriedly because I'm as excited as a 7-year-old at Christmas at the prospect of riding behind Mostly Naked tomorrow. I hope I don't throw up in my helmet. Also, he won't be mostly naked. He'll be mostly armored.
***
In other news, The Joynt is a bar I lovingly refer to as "The Place Where the Pot Smokers Congregate." It's very nearly a guarantee that anytime you walk in there, you will spot a tie-dye t-shirt or pony-tail accompanied by full beard. They have a neon sign over the bar that READS (not "says"...Mostly Naked has taken to correcting my grammar (if you can believe that)) "No Light Beer." Happy Hour? Of course! This is Wisconsin, after all. What? $.40 taps? YES. I walked in with FOUR DOLLARS and walked out with empty pockets and a sturdy buzz. This place is a study in eccentricities. Initially, my dad took me there for a drink and, coming from a sheltered, over-franchised Chicago suburb, I thought this place was a total hole. Now, it's grown on me...it's like visiting with an old war veteran; it's crusty, worn and dusty on the outside, but there's inherent charm, history, and stories if you sit still and observe long enough. With one exception; the war vet likely won't have the finest beer in all the land (Point, Grain Belt, Leinie's, Berghoff).
I'm going to try to go to bed now...and in the spirit of over-exaggerated, adolescent reactions, "OH MY GOD! He TOTALLY touched my arm in gym class today! WEEEEE! D.K. & Z.D. 4 EVER!"
..toodles...
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