As I rolled out of bed at a leisurely 4:45 in the morning on Monday to give the cat some food and wander around in the dark, I was feeling pretty good. I had thrown together an adequate post, done a load of laundry the night before, and was feeling at peace with the world around me.
It wasn’t until I first received an email from Dan of The Nashville Bicycle Lounge that things started to get a little pear shaped.
Mother threatened with arrest after allowing her child to ride a bike to school.
Like Dr. Phil says, stories are like pancakes. No matter how flat you make them, they’ll always have two sides. Just the same, I emailed the mayor of Elizabethton and very politely described the fact that this occurrence has already begun to garner national attention, and if it isn’t in fact, fact, it might serve him well to do some clean up.
So there I was, all safe and snuggly in my Battlestar Galactica pajamas, engraged in the glow of my computer and firing off very sternly worded emails when what should I come across but random commentary eluding to rightwingnut Michelle Bachman’s declaration that the recent East Coast earthquake and hurricane was God’s way of telling us she wants a smaller government.
To that I said this.
“Of course she was saying it in jest”, her campaign spokeswomen said.
She says that in jest, but she’s dead serious when expressing her theory that you can pray the gay out of someone.
“How is it”, I ask.. How is it that Minnesota can give such awesomeness as Al Franken, Prince, Sex World, the cleansing waters of Lake Minnetonka, Portland East, The Hard Times Bike Club, Grain Belt Beer, Amphetamine Reptile Records, the Walker Art Center, and the Oberpriller Family, but also at the same time provide the world with Michelle Bachman(n)?
Like the ICP’s take on magnets, it’s a damned mystery.
Then, just as I was fearing that my little, addled brain might pop, I learned that Michael Vick just signed a six year, 100 million dollar contract.
Did everyone, (and especially the person who said they’d sooner boycott this website for the post that included a photo of Vick and his dog, than Nike who I had mentioned recently reinstated his contract), read that correctly?
One hundred. Million. Dollars.
Public school teachers are making.. What? $40,000 a year, maybe?
To take away the pain, I slammed my hand in a drawer.
Though with the considerable black cloud still hanging above my head, I took a trip to the post office to deliver some orders and check my po box. What should be waiting in there for me but two items worth their weight in gold.
The first was my newest Dank Bags Cüzie Of The Month Club offering;
This one replacing what has up until this point been my favorite;
Presently Dank Bags proprietor, Corndog is off in the wilds of Utah engaging in the riding of the mountain bicycle machine, but if you want to get in on your own subscription of custom one-off cüzies, there’s no time like the present.
Another bottled message came in the form of a postcard, which you might recall is a favorite medium of mine.
It was from New York and carried with it an array of very nice words;
Firstly, the electronic version to which Georges is referring can be found here at The Bottle Ride.
Secondly, I really appreciate the kind sentiment, and if I wasn’t going to be balled up in Minneapolis West for the upcoming Oregon Manifest Constructors Challenge I would take him up on his offer, which could very well result in him never extending such a generous invitation to a perfect stranger again.
Finally on Tuesday I made the trip to Oakland (or San Francisco’s Brooklyn, if you will) to meet up with Nat at Bloom screen printing in order to pick up my submission for the upcoming Las Vegas Art Crank poster show;
Though the printing job was top notch, the art on my poster looks just as crappy as you’d imagine it would be, so to save face, here is just a detail;
While the week started off on a sour note, by the time I was departing Nat’s company I started to see my glass a little more like it was half full.
Though the world can occasionally serve up some bitter pills, as long as they’re equalled by some Georges and some Nats and some Corndogs, it’s all I need to keep my briefcase and my shotgun in the closet where they belong.