You have to pardon my dour disposition, as Christmas has never been my particular cup of tea.
Of course when I was a small child, the end of December couldn’t come around fast enough each year, but sometime around my 14th to 17th year, the proverbial party ended and I grew to have a strong aversion to the combination of red and green.
I would be lying if I said that I don’t get a bit of joy from seeing kids get all blown out on cookies, candy and the electricity of the season, but from my particular corner, which is one of general financial destitution, it’s just another day.
However, I did love a long standing tradition that used to occur with my friends Lucy and Millionaire Bob (he’s not actually a millionaire, but we rarely knew him to have a job. He was like a sloth, moving around slowly so as not expend extra energy, only ever spending money once a year on a new Landshark roadbike.)
Anyway, we used to stay the night at Lucy’s dad’s beautiful home, and wake up the following morning to watch movies, eventually adjourning to their own house where we would engage in a marathon session of beer drinking.
One year between Bob, a couple other randoms who breezed through, and myself, we killed 75 cans of beer.
That is my idea of a perfect holiday.
“Arybody got they own kind of Christmas.”
Ordinarily I would include a photo of a room full of empty beer cans to conclude this walk down memory lane, but the only one I could find was a shot of thousands of empty Coors light cans, and even I wont stoop that low.
Anyway, here is to hoping that this season holds all that you want it to for all of you. Now with that, let’s get on to business.
I realize now that Worlds has concluded with a brilliant performance by Sven Nys, continuing with the random cross clips might be poor form, but old habits die hard;
I can’t help it. I be loving me the classic footage, or as the Canadians call it footie.
Then again, any race won by a guy with a moustace is pretty ok in my book.
Or, as proven by this correspondence from Seeley, body hair of any sort;
Since I’ve put pro into procrastination and it is almost Christmas, I figured I should talk about the ‘cross race that went down here on Halloween. (Actually, I just got a good version of the picture, which is why you’re getting it about 7 weeks after I originally sent it.)
The picture of me as Nacho Libre was from the SD State CX Championships at the McNenny Fish Hatchery. And when I say SD, I mean South Dakota, not San Diego, but I am sure you knew that from my picture. I am sure there are laws and rules preventing hairy men in public in San Diego. There are laws that prevent men from wearing lycra here in South Dakota, but that doesn’t stop us.
Anyhow, the race was put on by Betsy Cordes and her husband, and a fine job they did.
I pussed out and raced the short race, but that was good as it was cold out that day and with no jersey and not much hair on my nipples, they were hard enough to cut glass.
I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that the picture was taken by a photographer from the Black Hills Pioneer.
I found out about the picture after a got a text from a friend saying as she was sitting down to dinner with her family (including her parents and grandparents) they opened the paper to that picture! She claimed a tiny bit of vomit shot into her mouth, but I think she was beguiled by the beauty of my pelt.
And the crowds were heard to exclaim “what form! What grace! What the hell?”
But lest we assume that the heavy hitters have hung up their cleats for the season, as the 51st running of the North Sea Cyclocross race in Middelkerke, Belgium will be happening TODAY.
You say you haven’t heard of the North Sea Race?
Neither had I, until Joe Parkin H.N.H. gave me the skinny on Tuesday. Lucky for all of us, he’s written a piece about it right here.
*Which apparently Nys won as well.*
Of course this event isn’t as important as Cross Vegas, but then again, that’s just my opinion.
Anyhow, Professor Parkin has left the building.
Consider yourself educated.
On the industry side of things, my old pal Mickey from Spooky Bikes gave me a shout to say hello, and lay a run down on us of what’s occupying his world these days;
“We are gearing up to attempt to build 900 bikes next year. All sorts of complicated Dave Weagle designed FS stuff, cheap as fuck steel xc bikes- gay ass 29’s and even some bikes that I like.
As far as spooky shit and info and all that- when I start navegazing i get pedantic as fuck.
I spend a lot of time ranting about post-humanist philosophy and post-scarcity anarchism. It’s an affliction. We are sponsoring the fuck out of the ClifBar team this year- and those guys want me to swear a little bit less- but fuck them- it’s just when I’m talking about them, for the most part.
Our shop is next door to Dinosaur Jr’s merch and down the hall from where Sonic Youth practices- those guys are cool and all- but goddamn- I see Barlow at the grocery store and Kim and Thurston at the locally grown burger place.
It’s the Tofu curtain out here- And we are within $10000 of being profitable right now. I screwed the pooch on softgood sales last year- $2300 total. I also had some boss-like hiring and firing I had to handle.. Things are better now.
We have a syndicate of nerds from Socal to the Netherlands- dealers on a few continents, and almost no bikes to sell right now.
So now, now is the time to crank over the viral machine to pandemic status and move softgoods. Low numbers- limited edition- web 2.0 and capitalism 3.0 buzzphrases- synergystic asswiping. All of these are things that we get down too…
Tell me what to say, please- otherwise I am going to bore the everlasting piss out of people. I just bought a suit for fucks sake.
Someone once told me to be successful, you have to look successful.
I think a nice suit is a good place to start.
Or, at the very least, a hamburger bed;
Recently on my Facespacetwitter something or another, I released the ultimate spoiler alert by saying that as it turns out, Darth Vader was actually Luke’s father.
In response to that, Ghostship Matt sent me this image;
Bummer? Maybe, but look at it this way.. We just saved you a nine dollar movie admission.
While we’re on the topic of black aerosol communiqués, here is one that proves when deciding between spray paint and chalk as a holiday party favor, it’s wiser to choose that latter;
Lastly, in a final swoop of unrelatedness, my mind and body have once again been romanced by this film that was originally released in 2003. I remember waiting in line at the theatre with great anticipation, and I wasn’t disappointed in the slightest.
If you haven’t seen The Triplettes of Belleville, may I now please request that you do;
There aint a single thing wrong with that flick.
As Patrick from Red Kite Prayer recently said to me- “most comedies aren’t that funny and most dramas aren’t that poignant.”
Truer words are rarely spoken.
It’s with that, from all of my house, to all of yours, it’s my wish that you all have some very happy holidays.
We will catch you all on the other side… Wherever that is.
Mickey is the man. Foul mouth and all.
Ah yes The Triplettes of Belleville, I saw it in the theatre as well. It was fantastic although I haven’t seen it since. Perhaps I should go rent it for viewing on my day off tomorrow. Supposed to be wet and crappy all day and I need something to do besides stare out the window at it.
I used to share your grinch-like attitude about the upcoming holiday. But then I realized that you can still enjoy yourself without purchasing, giving, and receiving a bunch of plastic crap from a mall. The lack of sunlight makes people grumpy. But lotsa lights and cocktails will cheer anyone up. Works for me…
Exarchia still burns!
Nice to see our new Black Hills transplant doing the Chewbacca-Libre on your new site!
I went to the theater to see the Triplets and it was great.
Being Canadian and a cyclist I whined and cried until someone gave me a DVD of my own for Christmas.
I think I’ll crack a Blue and watch it tonight.
Hmmm… is it flattering or disturbing that even though I ride my bike about 5 times a year I read this blog enough to know what H.N.H. stands for?