Are You Feeling Better Now?
Yes I am, thank you. I woke up without the desire to run into the bathroom screaming, which is how I spent most of last night.

Excited: To see The Decemberists in Chicago on Friday. I hope they play The Tain and maybe a cover or two, even an old Tarkio song. I've been NOT listening to them lately, so that when I hear the songs again at the show I can be impressed all over again. Like I was dumbfounded by their simple brilliance when I first heard them on a rainy day last year. I was driving around Toledo, doing my thing, when I decided to play that stuff my brother sent me and that all the fegs were raving about.

Depressed: My job has changed, since a co-worker has left. Those of us who remain have to pick up the slack. Hey, I don't begrudge the guy for following his dream and all that, but now my days will be a little different. Glah.

So I guess "excited" wins. Yay.

Ugh
That will be the last fast food salad I ever eat. Some dumb teenager must have thought that the thing about washing your hands after handling raw meat was OPTIONAL. And I have to pay for it. Ugh. What a way to spend a few hours. At least I can catch up on my reading.
And then, to make matters worse, Sam jumps on me, screaming, "Smell the feet of horror! Smell them! Smell them!" The child watches far too much Ed, Edd and Eddie, or however the show is spelled.
Please excuse me while my insides utter unholy noises.

There will be no pictures. Sorry.

Blech
We've had some almost good weather here the last few days, allowing me to get in some early season base miles. I even came across a nice little paved farm road that has curves and hills (OK, bumps)--which are both pretty rare in these parts. While I was riding yesterday I tried one of those energy gels thingies that I got for free at the race a few weeks ago. I always thought they might be a good idea, since they're squishy and they take up almost no space in a jersey pocket. Well, they're not. Now maybe other brands taste better but this one tasted like some sort of sweetened yeast paste. And you have to down at least 8 ounces of water with it or you'll get sick (I hear). I didn't notice that I felt any more energetic after all that long-chain maltodextrin, whatever that is. I'll stick with good old PowerBars, thank you very much. And sometimes I do a sort of sports nutrition crossdressing when I eat those Luna bars, which say they're for women. (They have better flavors.) Actually, I like Clif bars the best, especially that one that's always on sale with the whole crunchy coffeebeans in it.
The bike seems to be in good shape. I think it's gonna be pretty much dialed in for the rest of the riding season. I'm using my training wheels right now (ie, heavier, sturdier wheels used during training, not the kind you put on your kid's bike) and it's plenty windy, so I should be in fine riding form in a few weeks. Which will be good and here's why: I have a co-worker, who is leaving his position to move to Missouri. Another co-worker asked him in my presence if he could still ride his bike when he's there. Would it be too hilly? He just sort of looked at her and then at me and said he likes hills and won't miss the flat landscape of these parts. Um, do I NOT look like I'm in good shape? I realize it's early in the season, but am I that flabby? I'm the office cyclist, people! See my bike? The one I rode in on? I give up. Even Lance Armstrong has a few extra grams on him at this time of year. Of course, it may be because he's been living high on the hog (as my mother would say) and galivanting (she would say that, too) across Europe with his AARP-rocker girlfriend, Sheryl Crow (I made up that last bit by myself). I liked it better when he left his wife and kids for fellow-Texan Sandra Bullock. She's much cuter.
Here's the offending substance:

PS Just because it quite literally fulfills the definition of "sports drink," I would not recommend a Gatorade margarita. Trust me on this.

You're Such a Lovely Audience
I have this crazy idea to spend years of my life making a note for note cover of the entire Sgt Pepper's LP. I have no idea why I want to do this. Yeah, it's a tribute thing, because it certainly is my ultimate choice for a desert island album, but it'll be some sort of post-postmodern redaction, thereby making some kind of artistic statement. I won't limit myself to four track recording technology, though. And my utter lack of musical ability will not stand in my way, either.
Being for the benefit of Mr Kite.

Here's another work in progress. It'll appear again when more is done. Don't ask.

Holy Rollers!
Did you know the Vatican sponsored a pro cycling team? I didn't, and I've been following the sport pretty closely for more than 20 years! I only found out by a sort of accident. I've been keeping track of all the revelations from Jesus Manzano, an ex-pro Spanish rider who's been willing to tell all about systematic doping in the sport. (He's the new Paul Kimmage, I imagine.) He was fired from his team at the end of the last season for getting it on in his hotel room and getting caught. (It seems that such lusty behavior is forbidden by the team contract.) His revenge--and a lucrative payoff, I'm sure--is to give his story to anyone who'll listen (and pay up). Anyway, he's now been offered a spot on this Amore e Vita Italian team, which is comprised entirely of good Catholic boys who refuse to participate in doping (and who certainly will not find themselves in any compromising missionary positions). And, since they're not even on the radar screen of results, they're probably not doping. My personal feeling is that most of the peloton is doping, and justifies it because everyone else is, and, because they have concocted elaborate justifications in their minds, having to do with all sorts of scientific/medical stuff. For example, they may not see blood transfusions as doping, since it is already standard practice (and not illlegal) to rehydrate via IVs at night during long stage races like the Tour de France. Then there's EPO, testosterone, human growth hormone, corticoids, nandrolone, and so many others. Good old boy Lance Armstrong has always said that he has never tested positive, which to me seems like a pretty wiggly rationalization. Notice the clever choice of words, sports fans.
I have no idea why this interests me.

On a completely different note, Gabe got a piece in the annual city school art show. Actually any kid with a pulse did, but here's his self-portrait (in the middle).

If You're Feeling Sinister...
What a shock, to learn that my little brother has been emailing his bowlie friends about my bad Clash habit. It's touching, in a way, that he cares for me so much that he doesn't want to see me waste my life listening to music from other decades. I think I'll try and quit again, for myself and for his sake, too.

He forwarded me the email for some reason.

Overpowered by Joe Strummer
I'm really enjoying this!

Verdict
I've decided I will only listen to my Clash bootlegs from now on. How could I ever have wandered into that twee indiepop mess?

A family's like a loaded gun/You point it in the wrong direction someone's going to get killed
My brother in law is a drunken idiot.
Until they caught the other guy we were fairly sure he was the Ohio Highway Shooter. But then we realized that the shootings were on the other side of the city and he probably wouldn't be bothered to go all the way down there. He prefers to shoot up innocent cars in his condo parking lot. The Columbus PD doesn't seem to care. We've called them already. We can't get him committed because they don't think he's mentally ill. "He just has a drinking problem." Uh...yeah.
And then there are all the others here. Don't get me started.

For Old Times' Sake
I had to go to a meeting in the town where Lauran and I lived about 10 years ago. While I was there I stopped in at my old favorite bike shop, and lo and behold, there was Butch! His real name is Trevor, and I knew him when I worked at Borders, also about 10 years ago. He moved up to Delaware from Columbus because his wife, a cat vet, has switched to horses, so now they live closer to the country. I always knew Butch was into good old classic punk rock and guitars and computers, but I didn't know he was into cycling. Wait, I take that back, he did tell me he used to ride a lot when he lived in SoCal, when he saw me reading VeloNews and the old, now defunct, Winning, while I was on my breaks. He lives a charmed life, that Butch. He sorta just does whatever he finds interesting in life. It never seemed to be the case that he and his wife needed the money he made. So, he was a manager at Borders, now he fixes and sells bikes. He showed me one of the three $2,000 bikes he owns. Mmm. Another interesting Butch fact: he took his wife's name when they got married. No wait, if I remember correctly they both picked a new one, that neither had before. Weller. (Yes, named after old Paul.)

All in an Afternoon's Fun
The local Young People's Theatre Guild put on Godspell. While, it's not my favorite show, I took the boys to see it. Gabe was enthralled with the singing, dancing, and tie-dyed t-shirts. Sam, on the other hand, was less than enthused. When he wasn't asking if that was the last song and can we go home now?, he was singing his ABCs or counting (and he gets a bit lost after 12 or so). During the Last Supper scene he loudly proclaimed, "I'm hungry, too!"
The entire cast was middle-school age kids. And they did a pretty good job. The Judas character was played by the local 12 year-old evangelist (he has his own cable access show--honest!). The Superman/Jesus guy was played by a young man, who, shall we say will probably go far in show biz. Or any line of work where he gets to wear makeup and be the center of attention.

Oo, that reminds me, Alias is on tonight. I used to like it, but then it seemed to get goofy on me. On the advice of a friend, I'm giving it another chance. This friend said Sid "kicks royal butt." And there you have it.

The Sickness Unto Death and Other Cheery Philosophical Tracts
The doctor that saw me at the urgent care, who did the chest xray and pronounced me diseased with "a touch of pneumonia," called yesterday to see if I was better. She talked to Lauran and told her I had pneumonia in both lungs and in cases like mine usually the patient ended up in the hospital. The docto-girl was very surprised to hear that I had resumed my normal life and wasn't still under the weather. I was very sick when she saw me... Yeah, but... That's not what she led me to believe that day (though I did have a fever of 102!). So Lauran calls me at work and wants to know why I never told her the extent of my sickness! As if seeing me in bed for five days wasn't a clear indication! I had a checkup yesterday with my real family doctor and he pronounced me clean and clear. So I can start training again without fear of a relapse.

But I don't feel like it...

Out of the Mouths of Babes
I made Lauran listen to Belle & Sebastian recently. She said it was very nice, but why bother? Once you've got Robyn Hitchcock why do you need more off-kilter pop? (That's pretty much verbatim, folks.) And she wants to come to the Decemberists show in a few weeks? O ye of little faith...

Umm, Does Your Mother Know about This?
Gabe showed me his new project. Yes, that's crayon on the bunk beds I built him. He's been watching Trading Spaces with his mother entirely too much.

While My Guitar Gently Weeps
The new strings on my cheapo electric won't stay in tune.
I keep stretching them, but they still sound tinny. I hear it's called "bright" in guitar lingo, but the old worn out strings were so...broken in, I guess, and I liked the way they sounded.

Some kind soul has posted tabs (chords, mostly, and I'm glad, 'cuz I hate tab--just use standard notation, people!) to nearly every Decemberists song ever, so I can relive the glory of July, July at home, all by myself. It's fun to play with yourself. A A D D E E D D...

I Could Be Dreaming
As heard on NPR in the car:
We spend one third of our life sleeping,
One quarter of that is dreaming,
We tend to remember only 1% of our dreams,
There probably aren't very many universal symbols in dreams, despite Freud & Jung's best efforts, so that paperback dream dictionary isn't really very useful after all.
Hmmm.

It Could Have Been a Brilliant Career
I am still not allowed to sing. Especially in the van. Traveling to and/or from preschool. On the way there today Sam told me not to sing along to his Thomas the Tank Engine Music because we might get into a crash. I'm not that bad! On the way back HE was allowed to sing, but only him, "because the song tells me to."
Right.
Sam also gave me a lecture the other day, when I was half-delirious with fever, about how the commmercial told him that sports drinks are too high in sugar and I should drink Pedialyte, so my diarrhea doesn't get worse. (But that's not what I had.)

Gabe made this guy for me. When he wasn't reading Harry Potter. By himself. For school credit. Lord, the child is in first grade! What's next? The Origin of Species? The Brothers Karamazov?

Career Opportunities
With alarming frequency, Gabe has been submitting bills to me. I find them on my dresser, near my iBook, etc. This recent example also includes a grinning pumpkiny head thing, I suppose to make me cough up the $100 more cheerfully than usual. He's never clear on what services require such compensation. Perhaps "grouching", or "not listening", or "making little toothy (or lack thereof) nasty faces at me"...I dunno. And he still expects his allowance, too, for his usual chores, which he usually does.

PS I probably overdid it yesterday, which is a shame, because I'm gonna need that energy today.

And This is How It Feels
I spent all of last week like this.
What? Yes, I am feeling a bit better now.
Huh? Yes, I am being careful not to overdo it.

Television is the blues
Television is hysterical laughter of people

Some random notes:

Recently I found (only) the back end of a field mouse or shrew in the garage. I assume it was our cat's doing.

Occasionally noticing what's on TV, even though I don't watch much myself (I'm not a snob, really!) I have made two interesting discoveries:
1. The Apples in Stereo did Let's Go on the PowerPuff Girls. Did I mention this already? Elephant 6 in a cartoon?
2. The Violent Femmes were on Sabrina. It just so happened that at their in-store signing all the instruments they needed to play were already decorating the walls. It just so happened that they had a fretless acoustic-electric bass in there--just like Brian Ritchie plays--with all the NSync singles, just so the Femmes could play for 20 seconds? And they didn't have to plug in or use a PA. What an intimate venue.

Which Side of the Brain? Left? Right? Neither?
Since I am home sick I have some time to think.
I admit I am puzzled by many things, despite the fact that, when questioned, I'll make up an answer if I don't know one. One mystery has always been my handedness. I am supposedly a lefty. Which is good--I get to use all that right-brain creativity juice. But here's the thing: I can't use so-called left-handed scissors. When I play whiffleball or some such stupid ball game I bat right (though I do throw left) but I often prefer to catch right. I was forever pulling my mitt off during neighborhood championships. I use a mouse right-handed. I can work manual transmissions just fine. I can write with almost the same speed and legibility with my right hand (although this does not count for much if you've seen my handwriting). I shoot guns as a righty. I draw with my left but often paint with my right. When I have to kick a ball (or a cat--no, just kidding) I momentarily freeze and neither foot springs forward. [OK, I said "here's the thing," but then went ahead and listed several.] Now, when it comes to guitar I should probably be playing left-handed, but I just can't. I remember reading how Joe Strummer was a lefty, but he only had a standard guitar to learn on, plus he thought it would be better to fret with his good hand [I'd agree], but what ended up happening for him was that he could never do all kinds of nice picking with his right hand. That's how he got his nickname, Strummer. So, when I got my guitar many years ago, I deliberately bought a standard model, because it seemed to me that skill on the fretboard far outweighs what happens over the soundhole. Plus, with my handedness confusion, both hands are pretty useful, so I might as well take advantage of all the lessons and chord charts out there for righties. All my informal lessons and noodling up to this point had been on a standard--except for the parent's recital in sixth grade, but that's another, sadder tale than this. I still think I'm right because every time I give it a go and try to use my right hand for fretting I get all fumbled up. (I'm not really all that good with my left, but at least my poor fingers don't get tangled.) I'm not claiming to have any special ability here, I really am confused. But I'll carry on, making my millimeter of annual musical progress. Any advice would be helpful.


PS I heard one guitarist (lefty) say he never knew there were lefty guitars so he just learned to play by flipping it over and leaving the strings the same. And he learned all his chords upside-down! There are also idiotic rumors out there Paul McCartney is not left-handed, but he prefers to play that way. Patent nonsense! And he's not dead, either.
PPS I have other bodily mysteries, if you're interested. No...don't be scared. I was only gonna mention that when I let a beard grow in it contains thick dark brown hair, standard-issue in whiskers, it seems, as well as grey (matches my head), but also blond and red! Strange, huh?

No News Here

Nothing Clever
Just sick. Pneumonia.
Argh, quoth my chest.

The Boy with the Phlegm in His Bronchial Passages
OK, here's why the race didn't go so well for me. It's not just me whining or being snide (like I usually am), these are just the facts:
1. I didn't really train at all the last week before it.
2. I was breaking in a new saddle. It's gonna end up (no pun intended) being much better, but my poor nether regions weren't really used to it yet. Always bad idea to switch gear before an event.
3. a. I wore the shorts I don't really like because they match my club jersey.
3. b. I wore my club jersey on top of a base layer, which would have been fine for an outside ride, but was simply too hot inside the health club.
4. I couldn't breathe. Seriously. And to make matters worse, the wheel block under my front wheel was too low, so I had to waste energy trying to be comfortable. And I just couldn't maintain a nice compact tuck because I was drowning in my own phlegm.
5. I'm fat and out of shape. I saw myself in the mirror. Just wait, though. By July I'll be as svelte as last year. It's just a few kilos.
6. I was worried that my heart rate had gone up over 200. I know I said before that it's no big deal, but it can be, so that's the truth.

Oh well. The organizers said they'd like to make this a monthly event during the cold months, so I'll have a chance to redeem myself.

Wonder what an indoor bike "race" looks like?

All the News That's Fit to Beat to Death with a Hammer
Since I've lived in these parts I've noticed there is a...healthy? rivalry betweeen Michigan and Ohio. People line up to support one college football team or the other--that's big stuff here. (Some idiots who have the good fortune to live in Ohio think they should root for that blue and yellow team, without ever seeing the inherent misguidedness of it. They live in OHIO. They might as well be rounded up and shipped up north if that's the way they're gonna behave--get 'em out of the gene pool, I say.) I've heard there was a small little war fought at one point over exactly where the border is, but I've never been upset about it enough to check the history books. I just assume Ohio won. In recent times some of the rivalry has centered around a dead bear. Toledo's zoo had a sloth bear on loan from Detroit's zoo, but the Toledo zoo people forgot to give it water and dehydrated it to death. (This is true, folks.) The erring zookeepers said they didn't realize he was ill--he just seemed lethargic. I saw the bear shortly before his untimely demise and he did indeed seem lazy. However, it could be debated that he was already in the end stages of death-by-dehydration and wasn't simply slacking. Anyway, that's some background. Here's yesterday's paper--front page, above the fold. A story designed to stick it to the Michiganders once again!

For the proud residents of the fine recovering-industrial city of Toledo it's just further proof that it's better south of the border. The Detroit police just couldn't be bothered to investigate a confession of homicide, it took Toledo's finest to crack the case! And the ineptitude of those not lucky enough to be born in the 419 area code is the stuff of modern legends, at least that seems to be the subtext of all this. I like subtexts.

To the Tune of the Sound of Grinding Metal
OK, so I have bronchitis, but I decide to go to the race anyway. I took a couple puffs of albuterol, some pseudoephedrine, and blew my nose like there's no tomorrow. I thought I'd be alright. And I pretty much was. It was VERY hard to get a good breath, but I survived. I came in 5th in my heat, which was somewhat pleasing. There were 2 ringers in it, though. One was Corey, an 18 year old who's the national champion of something in his division, the other was Aaron, who is the 2-time national time trial champion for the blind. (Did you know blind people race bikes? I didn't. I'm not trying to be rude. I just didn't.) For most of the course I was in fourth, but the last half mile or so was all uphill and one guy passed me. My heart rate went above 200, which was amazing--it hasn't done that for at least 10 years (although my max should be around 185, however with conditioning it would not be unusual or bad to be above that). The rest of my stats (because cyclists are perhaps the geekiest of athletes):
Time: 20:49.7 sec
Average speed: 17.9
Max speed: 26.82
Average power: 210.34 watts
Peak power: 453 watts
I stuck around after my heat to see the semi-pro (Cat 1 & 2) Toledo Saturn team ride. Their slowest guy was still 3 minutes faster than me.
Oh well, it was just a bit of fun. No one's gonna pay me to ride my bike.

On a more artistic note, I listened to The Decemberists' The Tain and, I must say, it is an amazing piece of work. One of my fegmaniax colleagues said it was like King Crimson meets Tom Waits, and, while neither of those artists make it into my personal pantheon, I think it sorta fits. Also: Lots of loud, thrashy guitars, and plenty of female backing vocals. I couldn't understand most of it, and I have read the book (during my protracted education). It was nice to just to take it impressionistically. Good karma or something has made this a really good music week--I met Trish and Richard, I got the new Belle & Sebastian single (the Avalanches remix is just a Lion King outtake, but I really love Stop, Look and Listen), I got Let's Active's 1986 classic forgotten pop gem, Big Plans for Everybody, and now, Colin and his merry band of tunesters have taken an obscure Celtic myth and added a head-nodding beat.

And the Winner Is...
Bronchitis.

Thank God for the Internet!
Thanks to a Polish fan site, I now have the disco Star Wars theme! It's 1978 all over! Truly a modern classic!

About As Indie As It Gets
While I was away I got to meet Trish and Richard Bruxvoort-Colligan. I heard them play and enjoyed it very much. I bought a CD of theirs, all covers, including new folky stuff as well as Beatles and Sesame Street. They’re an unbelievably nice couple and they have a little boy named Sammy, too (but, alas, I did not get to meet him). I’m gonna try and get them to play where I work in the Fall. They played a song based on Norman MacLean’s Young Men and Fire that gave me goosebumps. It was probably the depth of Trish’s voice or the strength of Richard’s playing or maybe their harmonizing or all of the above. They reminded me that there is more talent out there than there are record deals. But in this day and age who needs a label? As the Xerox commercial says, on-demand publishing means anyone can get their stuff out. I think that if the RIAA is worried about record sales they should invest in companies that provide on-demand services. That way the labels can get a cut, the public can get more music and books by their favorite artists, and the artists themselves can release things that are artistically great, but not necessarily sell-able (at least in the eyes of the corporate bean-counters).
But what do I know? I’m an artistic idealist who wasn’t willing to stick his neck out and scrape together a living from art (though I probably am not doing any better than I would have!).

The Boy with the Reflective-Material Newspaper Bag Strap
On this the third, yes, third, trip out of town this year I took my old guitar and my new Beatles fake book to the hotel with me. At least I know how the songs are supposed to sound. I've been a huge Beatles fan since at least the fifth grade, when I would walk around the apartments delivering my newspapers with a cassette player in my bag. My dad made me a tape of his Sgt Pepper's LP and I played it to death. Except I always skipped that one-note George track, Within You or Whatever. A couple years later I discovered the Walkman and every night I would listen to the greatest hits tape that I talked a girl in my class into giving me. After that I discovered the Sex Pistols and The Clash and it's all been downhill from there.

Other miscellaneous Beatles memories: that old tape player was one of those blue egg-shaped Panasonic jobbies, which took C batteries. I had one of those old flesh-colored single earphone thingies, too. Also, I got in touble in Sunday School for quoting Beatles lyrics instead of answering the teacher's questions properly. Cindy Dench and I were riffing lines from Eleanor Rigby, Strawberry Fields and Nowhere Man back and forth. Our teacher, on a crusade against satanic Rock music, told our parents about our devilish heresy. One more: I used to stay up every New Year's Eve to watch Yellow Submarine on Channel 5 at midnight. I never made it all the way through. Sometimes I would drift in and out of sleep, never sure if it was a nightmare or the Blue Meanies
Non-Beatles memory: I also played a tape of that disco Star Wars theme over and over and over. I especially liked that laser sound. I wonder if I can find an mp3 of that somewhere?

Let Me Lick Your Carbon Fiber Headset Spacers, Baby
This year's batch of bike porn arrived. On two consecutive days last week, I got the VeloNews and Bicycling annual buying guides. Not that I'm gonna buy much more than some new bar tape and spare tubes this year--I got a whole new batch of gear last year and I still think my cheapo KHS is just marvelous. Still, it's quite a thrill to flip through the pages and see $11,000 DeRosas or 450-gram carbon fiber cranksets. It definitely gets my heart racing (so to speak). One thing I don't get: why the iPod mini is there? It wasn't even in stores yet. (iPods are all the rage in the cycling world even though it is manifestly unsafe and possibly illegal to ride while listening to music--I know because I tried it.)