While I have quite enjoyed these past sixteen months at the helm of my own ship, there is a weight on my shoulders and a pain in my head, and that pain is called taxes.
I liken this time of the year to painstakingly pulling out every stop to make myself look nice- I get a pedicure, manicure, buy a nice suit, bleach my teeth, get a hair cut and shave each one of my facial hairs individually with a razor blade that I sharpen by hand after every cut, only to later be beat up in an alley and then de-pantsed and left bleeding in a pile while THE MAN nonchalantly tattoos several disparaging comments across my ass.
You see, I happen to have grown up with a learning disability involving numbers that is not unlike a form of dyslexia. You would have an easier time teaching a donkey to speak Chinese than you would instructing me about profit and loss margins. This has been a dark cloud above my head for several weeks, and with every attempt I make, only seem to dig a deeper hole for myself. This coupled with the fact that once this puzzle is conquered, I then get the privilege of paying money that doesn’t seem to go to any facet of life that I need.
Certainly I’m not alone in this boat, and of that fact I’m aware, but I’ll be damned if at times I don’t feel like the only one in the room who has absolutely no idea what I’m doing.
I suppose this is the down side of getting to do what I do, which nine out of ten days involves wearing a union suit until at least noon each day, then riding a bike, getting drunk and then writing about it. The upside is so very, very up, but this down side is excruciating, and if done incorrectly may very well result in massive debt and/or jail time.
At least then I would no longer have to collect my receipts.
But you know, this is my problem and I apologize for dumping my dirty laundry on your heads. What we need to do now is get into some regular action and leave the tax man in the rear view mirror for a spell.
I’m sure the lot of you have witnessed the unfortunate incident of the fellow plowing through a group of cyclists in Brazil last week;
Sickening for sure, but as I’ve said previously, the only thing that surprises me about this is that this is the first time it’s happened. Anyway, I’m sure as we have seen so many times before the offender will get a slap on the wrist and walk away with his freedom intact, but that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t get some presents in the mail;
RICARDO JOSÉ NEIS
JOão Pessoa 1065 – Apto 418
Cidade Baixa, Porto Alegre, RS, Brasil
I mean after all.. Who doesn’t like presents?
Or at the very least an award of some sort.
Speaking of awards, the Over Opinionated Cyclist (who should be noted is in fact not Albert Eisentraut) has come up with a second round of awards for the elite ranks known as custom frame builders in his Bike Show Awards Special Post.
That’s some good meat and potatoes right there.
Now check this out.. I bust balls of people here on the regular. Self important bike racers, frame builders, advocates, whatever. And it all boils down to a conversation I had last fall with Jordi, pictured below perched regally upon his throne;
The discussion was in reference to his first master’s race in which he found himself surrounded by overly inflated egos, false entitlement and sub par skills. In the midst of his rant he made a very good point. “I don’t care if you take racing seriously. When a person invests a lot of time and effort into it, that’s going to occur naturally, but the problems arise when you begin to take yourself seriously.”
This point can be applied to any discipline you choose. Bike racing? Musicianship? Chess playing? Frame building?
You name it. We are all little ants on this dirt pile whose existence is but a blip on the big radar.
“But they’re artists!” you might argue. “They create form and function from where before there was none!”
Nope. I still don’t buy it.
Granted, custom frame building is pretty sweet, but so is what Mark Hogancamp does. Hell, I might argue what this guy does is even sweeter, and you don’t see him wrestling with his own ego;
Photo taken from Marwencol(dot)com.
Interestingly, or possibly not I suppose, just as I was navigating my way through this set of observations, HWJ contacted me with an interview he conducted with Mr. Dario Pergolini. I mean, Pegoretti;
Thus cementing his position as the bike industry’s Zach Galifianakis.
Apparently this clip isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, as it has generated a few varying comments that go something like “this is a disgrace! How dare he insult a legend!” and so fourth.
Which upon further reflection, I find to be almost as funny as the video.
It is with that, that we move onto other topics. On the business front, I would like to extend a very warm welcome to Deez Wheels over there in the Maximo Supremo sidebar. You see, the proprietor of Deez Wheels is a fellow named Dylan. He contacted me a couple of weeks ago concerning getting a banner up to which I replied with something like, “well, since it would be reasonably disingenuous of me to have an ad for you up, and have no association with your business, we probably need to strike a deal of some sort.”
I’d mentioned also that with a brand new Ritte Van Vlanderingham Saüsberg on its way to my house, I’d be needing a set of wheels. A deal was struck, and the contract was signed in blood. Keep em peeled here for photos of his wares.
Finally, in a burst of inspiration that I had nearly forgotten, El Lucho of The Cycling Inquisition walked.. No.. sauntered through town a few weeks ago and sent smoke signals to my Bat Phone. We met up in the city called San Francisco and took a rainy stroll though the streets together, where unbeknownst to him, I snapped a photo of his feet. (His people don’t like their photo taken, as they believe it steals their souls and makes their hair fall out.)
Secondly, retaining his anonymity is reasonably important to him, as apparently he owes a great deal of money to a recycling yard in Pittsburgh, and if they were to find out that he’s taking pleasure trips to San Francisco in order to walk through rainy streets with men he’d met on the internet, heads would surely roll.
We had a nice day together discussing among other things, tall women and their feet, the inner workings of blogtopia, South American drug cartels and the history of punk rock. Not surprisingly he is even sharper than you might guess by reading his words, and generally left me feeling like one of Charlie Sheen’s “droopy eyed, armless children”, but when in the company of greatness, you have to remember where you stand.
Though that being said, personally I might still prefer to owe money to a Pittsburgh recycling yard than a bunch of suit wearing thugs in Washington.