I started a blog back in 2005 on MSN and only entered a couple of posts into it, but tonight, while driving home through Amish country with Turd after listening to a cover band for a couple of hours, the "caution: horse and buggy" sign reminded me of this post...back when I was a wandering fool who would take any motorcycle available. Fahjah had loaned me his Softail and Brother offered up his Buell (before I crashed it, anyway). Turd, por vous.
Here's the post from Summer, 2005.
So, I’ve been a motorcycle momma for a couple of months now…I’m pretty comfortable on both the Softail and the Buell.
This past Saturday, I took Tom’s Buell out to Augusta/Osseo with Fahjah and his friend Dennis. Things were a-stirring in Osseo (or Augusta…I forget) for Bean & Bacon Days (big Bush’s Baked Beans plant in town). We were traveling to Dennis’ parent’s house outside of town. Awesome place to live…top of a hill…100-some acres of your own property and a constant breeze (poop free smell!). I tell you, in a 2 or 3 mile stretch of road, I’ve never encountered more horse doody, pea gravel or Amish in my life. The Amish wave at EVERYONE. ALL of them wave at EVERYONE. They are completely expressionless, but they wave. I was a waving machine that day. Wave at the Amish boy walking on the side of the road in his suspenders, hat, and bare feet. Wave at the Amish 20-something gentleman in his black carriage (pulled by HUGE blond draft horses) as he goes by. Wave at the Amish girl who stops working in her family’s garden as we ride by and….waves. I waved at every bike too. I figure if you’re lucky enough to ride a bike, you’re lucky enough. Made me wonder…do the Amish hate partying like it’s 1699? Especially with all of us “English” (what the Amish call all non-Amish) in plain sight with all our innovative and high-tech toys and equipment? And, you know, things that make life a little easier, like running water, indoor plumbing, a dishwasher? Especially the kids. I can’t help but think that 11ish year old girl in the garden on a beautiful sunny Saturday afternoon was thinking, “I hate this shit. Where are my damn shoes? I could travel exactly two miles and get a pair of Shaq-Fu Reeboks and waltz through the horse crap in comfort and style. Maybe I’ll pick up a MP3 player and finally get to hear that Weird Al Yankovic song ‘Amish Paradise.’ Then I’m going out to the hill behind the house with my boyfriend and sit in the back of his Camaro complaining about what an asshole my dad is.” I wonder if I was born into that life and, living in 2005, would like it. Maybe if I didn’t know any better….of course, today some Englander just rode by on a horse of shiny metal and leather…there’s a potential better out there. Screw this dress crap. Jedediah, Amos, Father Eldon, I’m outta here. I’m gonna come back and bust a cap in your ass for making me do homework by candlelight. No husband wants a wife with rougher hands than his! And I’m bringing back a set of GOODYEAR’S for that frickin’ buggy!
Anyway, it made me want to stop and just chat. I was intrigued. But I was busy…had shit to avoid and places to go.
Showing posts with label Road Trippin'. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Road Trippin'. Show all posts
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Thursday, January 1, 2009
You can't go home again...
Unless you're me.
A few years ago, around Christmas, my brother and I thought it would be of benefit to my mother's mental health to steal her away from all the holiday stress that she seems so good at piling up on herself. We decided to hop on the Metra from Elgin and choo-choo our way down to Chicago. The intention was to spend the day at the Art Institute, which, for some reason I never get tired of going to. My favorite museum would be the Museum of Science & Industry, so I can't explain why I'm so entertained at the Art Institute. I don't feel any artistic leanings. How things work has always fascinated me so much more. The Art Institute is just plain good eye candy I guess. Not unlike the rippled six pack on Ryan Reynolds or Jason Statham or the newest James Bond, bless him. I can sum up the feeling I get being at the Art Institute in four words: Ferris Bueller's Day Off. The feeling I get looking at rippled six packs is better left unsaid.
Once we arrived in Union Station, we strolled down Adams to have lunch at the Berghoff, a Chicago landmark. History lesson: Herman Berghoff introduced his Dortmunder-style beer at the Chicago's World Fair in 1893 (coincidentally, the fair is the subject of a book I'm currently reading entitled The Devil in the White City). He prospered and opened the Berghoff Cafe in 1898, next door to the current location. Eventually he expanded into a restaurant and the Chicago haven for German food continues to this day.
We planned to eat and continue on to the Art Institute. The Berghoff, which is a block or two from Union Station, was the farthest we got. After two pitchers of Berghoff's Winter Hazelnut Ale and really good conversation (surprising, for us), we ran out of time. We stumbled back toward the train station (stopping at an English pub known as Elephant & Castle for one more pint) and headed home. Since that day, we try to keep up that tradition whenever the opportunity presents itself.
This time around, since we brought Anya from teeny-tiny Chetek (Brother and I like to tease her about Chetek, saying they've only just started the 80's decade, showing "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" in the theater and stocking 'Roos on the shelves for the first time), we thought we'd do something touristy and (I thought) free.
Not far from my alma mater is a winery that I never ever would've stepped foot in until my best friend Choz dragged me in there one night. They have wine tastings, $5 for a sample of 7 different wines. Every month the flavors change. After that, I started planning a tasting once a month and invited my favorite co-workers and friends. Now that I've moved away, whenever I'm planning to visit again I email people and try to schedule a tasting. It's a great way to get to see a bunch of them in one place and then we go somewhere for dinner afterward.
This time, when we went the Friday after Thanksgiving, I was privileged to meet up not only with Trish, but also a friend of ours from high school, whom, up until that night, I hadn't seen since I was a Junior. Novotny was in Marching Band along with us. For some reason, the two of us called each other by our last names. I'm not sure either of us knows why. Some time ago I tracked down Novotny's email through our alumni directory and got in touch with her. My only regret as far as meeting at the winery was that I wanted to spend so much time catching up with Novotny and Trish, but there were so many people to talk to, it was tough. I hope to spend time with them both at length when I once again return to the Land of Flat. A good time at the winery appeared to be had by all.
Novotny, Moi, Trish
The Family
****
Brother, his woman and I took a day trip on Saturday downtown on the train. For around 5 bucks, you can ride all weekend round-trip should you choose. We thought Girlfriend (the Chetekian formerly known as Friendgirl) would enjoy a train ride (I'll just refer to her as "Anya"...I think that might have been a bachelorette bar name...) and I know I never mind eliminating driving to Chicago. If I go downtown these days, it's always on the train.
****
A few years ago, around Christmas, my brother and I thought it would be of benefit to my mother's mental health to steal her away from all the holiday stress that she seems so good at piling up on herself. We decided to hop on the Metra from Elgin and choo-choo our way down to Chicago. The intention was to spend the day at the Art Institute, which, for some reason I never get tired of going to. My favorite museum would be the Museum of Science & Industry, so I can't explain why I'm so entertained at the Art Institute. I don't feel any artistic leanings. How things work has always fascinated me so much more. The Art Institute is just plain good eye candy I guess. Not unlike the rippled six pack on Ryan Reynolds or Jason Statham or the newest James Bond, bless him. I can sum up the feeling I get being at the Art Institute in four words: Ferris Bueller's Day Off. The feeling I get looking at rippled six packs is better left unsaid.
Once we arrived in Union Station, we strolled down Adams to have lunch at the Berghoff, a Chicago landmark. History lesson: Herman Berghoff introduced his Dortmunder-style beer at the Chicago's World Fair in 1893 (coincidentally, the fair is the subject of a book I'm currently reading entitled The Devil in the White City). He prospered and opened the Berghoff Cafe in 1898, next door to the current location. Eventually he expanded into a restaurant and the Chicago haven for German food continues to this day.
We planned to eat and continue on to the Art Institute. The Berghoff, which is a block or two from Union Station, was the farthest we got. After two pitchers of Berghoff's Winter Hazelnut Ale and really good conversation (surprising, for us), we ran out of time. We stumbled back toward the train station (stopping at an English pub known as Elephant & Castle for one more pint) and headed home. Since that day, we try to keep up that tradition whenever the opportunity presents itself.
****
This time around, since we brought Anya from teeny-tiny Chetek (Brother and I like to tease her about Chetek, saying they've only just started the 80's decade, showing "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" in the theater and stocking 'Roos on the shelves for the first time), we thought we'd do something touristy and (I thought) free.
While the Sears Tower is no longer the tallest building in the world, it does still have on display quite a view of the city. Up we went. But not before going through the security hassle similar to the airport (except I got to keep my shoes on), and forking over 13 bucks a piece. I don't remember the trip up to the observation deck costing anything, but then the last time I went up was in grade school and I wasn't paying then anyway. Needless to say, we stayed up there till it was worth the ticket. And it was. They actually have two observation decks, one on the 99th floor and another around 106, though the 99th floor looks like it has a dance floor in one corner...hmm. Methinks this floor is party-specific. Could you just picture shindiggin' 99 floors off the ground?
We arrived on 99 shortly before dark, so we got two views for the price of one: enough daylight to see way out, and then the opportunity to watch an entire city preparing for darkness. Tres cool.
****
Mmm...beer.
The weather was uncannily cooperative for late November, so we took a few photo ops on our way to and from our next stop (the Berghoff) and the train station. Just goes to prove my theory that I look much better in the dark. :-)
We arrived on 99 shortly before dark, so we got two views for the price of one: enough daylight to see way out, and then the opportunity to watch an entire city preparing for darkness. Tres cool.
****
Mmm...beer.****
The weather was uncannily cooperative for late November, so we took a few photo ops on our way to and from our next stop (the Berghoff) and the train station. Just goes to prove my theory that I look much better in the dark. :-)
****
Just wanted to take this opportunity to wish all of you a Happy New Year. That there are people out there actually enjoying my useless info (besides me, of course) is all the encouragement I need. Be good to each other.
Most love,
Kuj
Most love,
Kuj
Monday, December 1, 2008
Global Warming is the poo. Take a big whiff.
Riding in November? Never thought I'd experience that up here. Winter seems to come a little earlier here in the Chippewa Valley. Earlier than in Illinois, and that's only about 4 hours south of here. As a motorcyclist, I jump on any opportunity to ride if it's warm enough out. I usually save the desperate, upper 30 degree rides for the beginning of the year, when I've been off the bike so long, I fear I will have forgotten how to ride.
So it was a balmy upper 70's a couple of days right around Halloween. I've said it before and I will reiterate again: I have the best boss. Ever. I like to think I work hard for the man and I try not to ask for much. But my resolve was weak when, after a few weeks of temps in the 40's, then we get the mid-70's days, I begged for an opportunity to bail out of work at noon. And he let me. Twice.
I recently purchased a sweet digital video camera that's small, waterproof, and mountable. My dad happily (almost giddily, I'd say) fabricated a custom mount for the gas tank on the Freaky Tiki and it all works most splendidly. With that, I'd like to share a sample of video footage from an October 30th ride, complete with my one of my top ten favorite riding songs ("Hard Sun" by Eddie Vedder). I'm trying out some new video editing software, so this is kinda messy amateurish.
Hwy 95 is out near Arcadia, Wisconsin and it's a relatively unremarkable road. You typically won't find us riding on it except for this one spot. Although, after this hill climb, the rest of 95 is all fast sweepers, which, it turns out, are my favorite kind of turns.
Not bad for a hundred dollar camera eh? M.N. and my brother, whom are experienced, fast, and are my motorcycling mentors, are officially uncomfortable watching me. I call that a win. Not because I'm fast...I'm not. But because I've progressed so quickly in one season, they may not be convinced that I've tapped my true ability to ride well. I have miles to go, yes, but the second half of this season has made me prove to myself that I do, indeed, have some great potential at this sport. Sorry, Momma. [insert evil laughter here]
So it was a balmy upper 70's a couple of days right around Halloween. I've said it before and I will reiterate again: I have the best boss. Ever. I like to think I work hard for the man and I try not to ask for much. But my resolve was weak when, after a few weeks of temps in the 40's, then we get the mid-70's days, I begged for an opportunity to bail out of work at noon. And he let me. Twice.
I recently purchased a sweet digital video camera that's small, waterproof, and mountable. My dad happily (almost giddily, I'd say) fabricated a custom mount for the gas tank on the Freaky Tiki and it all works most splendidly. With that, I'd like to share a sample of video footage from an October 30th ride, complete with my one of my top ten favorite riding songs ("Hard Sun" by Eddie Vedder). I'm trying out some new video editing software, so this is kinda messy amateurish.
Hwy 95 is out near Arcadia, Wisconsin and it's a relatively unremarkable road. You typically won't find us riding on it except for this one spot. Although, after this hill climb, the rest of 95 is all fast sweepers, which, it turns out, are my favorite kind of turns.
Not bad for a hundred dollar camera eh? M.N. and my brother, whom are experienced, fast, and are my motorcycling mentors, are officially uncomfortable watching me. I call that a win. Not because I'm fast...I'm not. But because I've progressed so quickly in one season, they may not be convinced that I've tapped my true ability to ride well. I have miles to go, yes, but the second half of this season has made me prove to myself that I do, indeed, have some great potential at this sport. Sorry, Momma. [insert evil laughter here]
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Don't Ride Angry
Heck with that...Ride angry. It brings out the intestinal fortitude.
Over the winter, some club members decided to keep in touch by meeting for an occasional drinky-poo. Sometimes we feel the need during the riding season too. In some cases, it's the only time we use our cars. So, a Friday or two ago a handful of us wander off to the Joynt for 40-cent Premium Grain Belt taps. Undoubtedly, the only pride of New Ulm, Minnesota. Horrid everyman beer, cheap yet surprisingly, minimal hangover. Must be all the water in it.
To summarize the evening: Kuj drinks too much, is nagged for a lifelong bad habit to the point of absolute irritation, and, with hurt feelings and a "repression-in-progress" attraction issue rearing its frustrating head, walks the mile (uphill) home in the pouring rain after dark. Kuj empties drunken, pained soul on to Best Friend Trish via phone call. BFT offers comfort, compassion, advice as best she can to a rambling, sauced dope. Kuj wonders after talking to BFT if Kuj might be too old to be behaving in this manner. Then sleep takes Kuj. Sweet, sweet sleep.
Saturday passed with a weight in my chest and silence. Angry, hurt, need for solitude.
Sunday morning finds me amped up for the club ride. No more than usual. At the meeting spot near a gas station, I wander into the BP and grab a bottle of V8 and a package of little chocolate donuts, The Donuts of Champions (RIP John. RIP SNL).
Our Secretary, Mileageguy (forum names are used to protect the populace), was the ride leader that day. The route he picked was a great combination of new and old to me. Most of it was clean, open, higher-speed sweeping turns, and roads you could see all the way through. I've learned this is to my liking. VERY MUCH to my liking.
I can never explain how these little epiphanies arise in me. It always seems to be a combination of events or things that one can never really replicate. But they are almost always memorable. This combination? V8, little chocolate donuts, the copper wolf and crescent moon pendant my brother gave me that I decided to wear that day, the drunken, Friday night dip in spirit, greasing up the butt of my leather suit with armor-all (I stick to the seat otherwise), the roads, the suit, my first attempt at getting off the seat in turns to be able to go faster and confidently execute smooth turns.
When we stop at intersections to wait for everyone (me) to catch up, it's also an opportunity to move around in the lineup. About halfway through the first part of the ride, I just had this moment. Or something. We were zooming along some great roads and I realized how good I felt. I was actually following right along with the mid-pack guys. At a gas-up stop, Mostly Naked and Turd Furgesson were standing nearby and M.N. said, "Have your Wheaties today? Good job!" I said, "I think I gradu-ma-tated!" The gang stopped at an intersection just before this wild, uphill section on 95, and I jumped in front of the faster guys...M.N. and Turd. Mostly Naked passed me again, but Turd stayed back. Holy hell, that was fun. Off the seat, knee down, the pavement visible up close in the corner of my eye. It was the first time I can remember ever feeling the adrenaline pumping, heart racing, feeling out of breath. But without fear. Not even on track day did I feel like this.
The first stop after that section, we paused for the group and I was caught up in a big, one-armed hug, and I hear Turd holler through his helmet, "I think you DID gradu-ma-tate!" Later on, I told him how nice it was...that it felt like a proud daddy moment. He said, "I did feel a little like a proud daddy...I can't get that kind of moment for myself anymore. I have to look elsewhere."
Let this guy hug you. It's nice.
Somewhere around the halfway point in the afternoon, I took a couple of turns a little wider than I was comfortable and realized my time for personal glory was subsiding...and I dropped back to my Hind Tit status. After that, it was just a calm Sunday drive. Brother was on the ride too. He hung out behind me for a little bit early on, gave me a thumbs up as he passed me and then told me later that he couldn't ride behind me anymore. He wasn't sure what was going on in my head and said he couldn't watch. M.N. said something similar...something about watching me ride, leaned over, on the double yellow stripe (which is sometimes slippery), and cringing a little.
Best. Day. Ever.
Lesson learned? Get drunk once in a while. Cry. Walk home in the rain. Swear and writhe at the air. Take a break in a park. Feel pain. Swim in it a little. It truly does make you stronger. And most of all...do something that scares you once in a while. Because the feeling you get from accomplishing something that up until that moment terrified you, is fantastic. And the memory of your own moment of glory lasts a long time. Longer, if you put it down in a blog. :-)
Thursday, August 7, 2008
I'm evil, I'm evil, I'm evil...
I'd hang my head in shame, if I wasn't so darn amused by two incidences that have occurred in the last week.
I think I mentioned in a previous post that becoming a motorcyclist has awakened a sort of hyper-awareness. It creeps you out a little when you realize you can anticipate other driver's actions. You no longer look at the car, you look at the driver's head and their eyes in the rear view and side mirrors. They telegraph what they're going to do before they act on it. Which, even if you're in a car, it's a better way to be a defensive driver. I think the vantage point from a motorcycle might be better though, because you're up higher than most car drivers. This newest ability has come into play in both cases.
The street I live on has no stop signs for about 3 or 4 blocks. The cross-streets in that distance all have yield signs, which nobody pays any attention to. My theory is that the morons flying through the yield signs think that the traffic on my street has a sign too. They don't. I've lived here two years and there have been 3 accidents in that time, right on my corner. My belief that the doling out of rules, regulations, and safety precautions by the government to "protect" the public, is merely the answer to society revolving around the weakest mental links. Enough stupid people crash at these intersections, soon there will be yield signs all around. Then stop signs. Then traffic lights. With cops directing traffic.
Incident #1
I'm leaving my house (on bike) to deposit my paycheck. Normally, I won't go left out of my driveway because that's the direction of all the intersections with the fools flying through them. But I was pressed for time and that's the shortest route to the bank. I gassed it a little more than I usually do down that street, so I was probably at about 10 over the speed limit. Two blocks from the house I see a guy on a bicycle hauling ass towards MY intersection and we are about to have a meeting. Except that I see him first and let off. Two things happen. I see that he looks left first (I'm to his right). Then I notice that a car parked on the side of the road blocks his vision of my approach. He was truly moving...I wouldn't doubt that he was rocketing along at 30.
So when he finally looks in my direction, I watch as both his hands mash down on all the brakes he has. I was going to let him pass in front of me, but when he decided to park his mountain bike, I slowed down enough to look him square in the eye as I passed him and shrieked with loud, obnoxious laughter at him as the look on his face was truly priceless. It was a mixture of adrenaline-powered fear and the realization that the slamming noise he likely heard behind him was his butthole. Which reminds me of the dog we used to have that would sit on the floor between my mom's and stepdad's chairs during dinner and would fart audibly (wood floor), then look at his butt curiously. Hence the hysterics. Also, there's some genetic bit in our family that mocks another's misery. In particular, I laugh first, then ask if you're okay.
I think I mentioned in a previous post that becoming a motorcyclist has awakened a sort of hyper-awareness. It creeps you out a little when you realize you can anticipate other driver's actions. You no longer look at the car, you look at the driver's head and their eyes in the rear view and side mirrors. They telegraph what they're going to do before they act on it. Which, even if you're in a car, it's a better way to be a defensive driver. I think the vantage point from a motorcycle might be better though, because you're up higher than most car drivers. This newest ability has come into play in both cases.
The street I live on has no stop signs for about 3 or 4 blocks. The cross-streets in that distance all have yield signs, which nobody pays any attention to. My theory is that the morons flying through the yield signs think that the traffic on my street has a sign too. They don't. I've lived here two years and there have been 3 accidents in that time, right on my corner. My belief that the doling out of rules, regulations, and safety precautions by the government to "protect" the public, is merely the answer to society revolving around the weakest mental links. Enough stupid people crash at these intersections, soon there will be yield signs all around. Then stop signs. Then traffic lights. With cops directing traffic.
Incident #1
I'm leaving my house (on bike) to deposit my paycheck. Normally, I won't go left out of my driveway because that's the direction of all the intersections with the fools flying through them. But I was pressed for time and that's the shortest route to the bank. I gassed it a little more than I usually do down that street, so I was probably at about 10 over the speed limit. Two blocks from the house I see a guy on a bicycle hauling ass towards MY intersection and we are about to have a meeting. Except that I see him first and let off. Two things happen. I see that he looks left first (I'm to his right). Then I notice that a car parked on the side of the road blocks his vision of my approach. He was truly moving...I wouldn't doubt that he was rocketing along at 30.
So when he finally looks in my direction, I watch as both his hands mash down on all the brakes he has. I was going to let him pass in front of me, but when he decided to park his mountain bike, I slowed down enough to look him square in the eye as I passed him and shrieked with loud, obnoxious laughter at him as the look on his face was truly priceless. It was a mixture of adrenaline-powered fear and the realization that the slamming noise he likely heard behind him was his butthole. Which reminds me of the dog we used to have that would sit on the floor between my mom's and stepdad's chairs during dinner and would fart audibly (wood floor), then look at his butt curiously. Hence the hysterics. Also, there's some genetic bit in our family that mocks another's misery. In particular, I laugh first, then ask if you're okay.
***
The main road outside our neighborhood is a four-lane road with a median. It basically allows traffic to sort of bypass our downtown area and the Chippewa & Eau Claire River's confluence. I realize it's not the bypass you'll find around the Twin Cities or Atlanta, but in a town of 62,000 people, it is fairly busy. Many intersections, many lights.
It's currently undergoing a major overhaul, so all the traffic is diverted to one side. At each intersection, the through lanes veer to the right to make room for left turn lanes. I've been noticing that a majority of car drivers either don't realize the lanes veer to the right, or they change lanes there deliberately, like a straight shot from right lane to left. At any rate, I've been near enough to a handful of cars that decide they want my lane, but since I anticipate this, I ride just ahead of any car that's next to me.
Incident #2
Except the one day recently...apparently I had enough. When a woman traveling in the right lane (I could tell later by the outfit that she was a nurse), decided there was one too many cars in her lane as we approached a light, she barely registered a turn of her head (and no signal) in my direction as I was passing her and moved over. Well, now this time I actually was next to her and had to brake hard to avoid getting hit. I let her get in front of me, but this time I was pissed. And I rode the twenty feet to where the lanes veered right with my horn full on. When I got no response from her, and she stayed in the left through lane, I rode up to the driver's side in the left turn lane and proceeded to wave both flippin' arms in the air at her. "Do you see me now, you STUPID BAG?" "DO YOU?" I'm yelling uselessly into my helmet. I realize this probably lacked the explanation I was so wanting to give her, but it made me feel better. Also, when I finally showed up in her peripheral vision, riding inches from the side of her car, waving my hands in the air like a maniac, she jumped a foot out of her seat, which made me collapse into a bout of hard laughter. Explanation conveyed.
At the next light, which was turning red, I signaled in a grand way that, in addition to my left turn signal...I'M GOING TO TURN HERE. JUST SO YOU KNOW. She totally blew the red light. Fear?
That was a good day.
It's currently undergoing a major overhaul, so all the traffic is diverted to one side. At each intersection, the through lanes veer to the right to make room for left turn lanes. I've been noticing that a majority of car drivers either don't realize the lanes veer to the right, or they change lanes there deliberately, like a straight shot from right lane to left. At any rate, I've been near enough to a handful of cars that decide they want my lane, but since I anticipate this, I ride just ahead of any car that's next to me.
Incident #2
Except the one day recently...apparently I had enough. When a woman traveling in the right lane (I could tell later by the outfit that she was a nurse), decided there was one too many cars in her lane as we approached a light, she barely registered a turn of her head (and no signal) in my direction as I was passing her and moved over. Well, now this time I actually was next to her and had to brake hard to avoid getting hit. I let her get in front of me, but this time I was pissed. And I rode the twenty feet to where the lanes veered right with my horn full on. When I got no response from her, and she stayed in the left through lane, I rode up to the driver's side in the left turn lane and proceeded to wave both flippin' arms in the air at her. "Do you see me now, you STUPID BAG?" "DO YOU?" I'm yelling uselessly into my helmet. I realize this probably lacked the explanation I was so wanting to give her, but it made me feel better. Also, when I finally showed up in her peripheral vision, riding inches from the side of her car, waving my hands in the air like a maniac, she jumped a foot out of her seat, which made me collapse into a bout of hard laughter. Explanation conveyed.
At the next light, which was turning red, I signaled in a grand way that, in addition to my left turn signal...I'M GOING TO TURN HERE. JUST SO YOU KNOW. She totally blew the red light. Fear?
That was a good day.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Clear as mud...that's me
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Negative, Ghost Rider. The Pattern Is Full
Mostly-Naked and I went up to Duluth, MN for the air show on Saturday. We've just recently watched "Top Gun" (both of us for the bajillionth time) and are throwing quotes back and forth when the situation warrants. It's no surprise, then, that we were both amped up about the air show and willingly drove the few hours north to view the spectacle (it's not dread, Momma; it's airplanes).
It's been warm and muggy here in EC for the last week or so, but when we stepped out of my mighty sedan at a Duluth mall to await shuttle pick-up, I observed, "Ooo! It's cool up here!" The temperature was decidedly lower that close to the Arctic Circle. Maybe upper 60's around 10am. Mostly-Naked Roommate, was, as you could probably guess, mostly naked. So when the skies grew overcast, the wind picked up and dropped the temperature to 55 degrees. My sweatshirt went on and Mostly-Naked's appendages retreated.
....and then it rained. For hours. The whole Blue Angels segment at the end was in the pouring rain, but we refused to leave early, on account of the BA being the highlight. Turned out, we couldn't leave anyway. The traffic was backed up for at least two hours trying to get out of the airport, so we hung out in a hanger where NASA had a booth set up.
This was the first air show that I can recall going to...and the prospect of getting to watch military aircraft up close was totally goose-bumpy for me. Ever since that first viewing of "Top Gun" at the theater with my dad, I wanted to be a fighter pilot. However, I personally would have to skip the whole military part...I wasn't built for physical labor, I don't enjoy it, and having to look and do like everyone around me causes a near-psychotic episode (yeah, I was in Marching Band in high school...Shaddap. Different...downtime w as a junk-food-fueled screw-off good time, and I only had to carry a flute. Besides, the uniform made me look cool. Mandarin collars? Absolutely the way to go.).
We sort of got shafted some on the air show's content...I was hoping to get to see the as-advertised in-flight refueling demo, but that was omitted for some reason. And we waited as much as a half-hour at one point in-between flights. But we got to see F-16's, an A-10, and the Blue Angels and their transport plane. The Blue Angels are always worth seeing. Photos are posted, and a video so you can hear what these incredible machines sound like.
Duluth was pretty cool. It's got that former boom-town, post-industrial look with steep hills and the Freakin' Huge Lake Superior at its door-step.
The Chippewa Valley Air Show, right here at our hometown airport, will be in September and looks like it will have a better variety. Most importantly? A P-51 Mustang in flight. Can't wait!
It's been warm and muggy here in EC for the last week or so, but when we stepped out of my mighty sedan at a Duluth mall to await shuttle pick-up, I observed, "Ooo! It's cool up here!" The temperature was decidedly lower that close to the Arctic Circle. Maybe upper 60's around 10am. Mostly-Naked Roommate, was, as you could probably guess, mostly naked. So when the skies grew overcast, the wind picked up and dropped the temperature to 55 degrees. My sweatshirt went on and Mostly-Naked's appendages retreated.
Mostlyus nakedus, spotted in the wild in rarely seen upper torso covering
....and then it rained. For hours. The whole Blue Angels segment at the end was in the pouring rain, but we refused to leave early, on account of the BA being the highlight. Turned out, we couldn't leave anyway. The traffic was backed up for at least two hours trying to get out of the airport, so we hung out in a hanger where NASA had a booth set up.
This was the first air show that I can recall going to...and the prospect of getting to watch military aircraft up close was totally goose-bumpy for me. Ever since that first viewing of "Top Gun" at the theater with my dad, I wanted to be a fighter pilot. However, I personally would have to skip the whole military part...I wasn't built for physical labor, I don't enjoy it, and having to look and do like everyone around me causes a near-psychotic episode (yeah, I was in Marching Band in high school...Shaddap. Different...downtime w as a junk-food-fueled screw-off good time, and I only had to carry a flute. Besides, the uniform made me look cool. Mandarin collars? Absolutely the way to go.).
We sort of got shafted some on the air show's content...I was hoping to get to see the as-advertised in-flight refueling demo, but that was omitted for some reason. And we waited as much as a half-hour at one point in-between flights. But we got to see F-16's, an A-10, and the Blue Angels and their transport plane. The Blue Angels are always worth seeing. Photos are posted, and a video so you can hear what these incredible machines sound like.
Duluth was pretty cool. It's got that former boom-town, post-industrial look with steep hills and the Freakin' Huge Lake Superior at its door-step.
The Chippewa Valley Air Show, right here at our hometown airport, will be in September and looks like it will have a better variety. Most importantly? A P-51 Mustang in flight. Can't wait!
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