Not that I was feeling that balled up, but there have been a couple of times lately when I sat down at my desk, cracked my knuckles, took a sip of whatever and drew a blank.
…Or fired a blank.
Totally up to you as to which phrase you would prefer.
Anyway, shortly after I published Wednesday’s post, I came to find out that someone had nefariously snuck their way into the back end of my store, and begun redirecting funds paid into their own personal Pay Pal account. After several panicked phone calls to Pay Pal, and Cobra Commander, and at least as many apologetic emails to some customers, I have things sorted out. However I do have a message to the would-be recipient of my hard-earned monies;
I am but a humble schlub trying to make his way in a world of sharks. I don’t take kindly to people stealing the few hard earned scraps from my mouth.
You’re crafty, and I have to give that to you, but should fate ever (and I mean ever. I have an uncanny ability to hold grudges) find us in the same place at the same time, you are going to learn quickly that bad karma would be preferable to what sorts of unpleasantness I am capable of delivering. I have an email address, therefore I have your I.P address. With this information you are just a couple of steps from my grasp, and a plane ticket cross country to deliver what you have coming is a small price to see your blood on the ground.
This is no hollow threat. This is a promise.
Now then, let’s get on with things, shall we?
Aside from the aforementioned unpleasantness, Wednesday found an amazing surprise in the form of a comment regarding the photo that I posted of GSD. As it turns out, it was a photograph by one J. Grant Brittain and I was corrected on that point by none other than the man himself;
I don’t know whether he has a super computer sitting on his desk alerting him of every time someone posts one of his photographs, or perhaps just a finely tuned sixth sense for such things, but I was thrilled that he should have found himself here on this site. For those who might not be aware, what Mr. Brittain did for the world of skateboard photography is akin to what Charles Peterson did for the Seattle music scene’;
Or what Glen E. Friedman did for hip hop, punk rock, skateboarding, and youth culture in general.
And of course what Graham Watson has done for Bicycle racing;
To have him grace these pages was particularly exciting for me simply due to the fact that for over three decades, I have seen through his eyes. From a young age I poured over skateboard magazines, and devoured every image he shot (figuratively, not literally.) I studied the form, and the composition, and dreamt of a day that I might see similar action from behind my own camera. To have him breeze through here is an honor, and I thank him for the privilege.
In an effort to clear my head and digest all that had been laid on my plate, I jumped on my mountain bike and headed for points away. It’s always amazing to me how spending a few meditative hours in the woods by one’s self can clear out the cobwebs and quell the demons;
What previously seems like insurmountable tasks and unprocessable emotional baggage dissolves like sugar in the rain. It could be credited to the layered and sometimes almost deafening song of the birds, or cool breeze in my ears, though I suspect the eye-crossing fire in my legs and general paralyzing fear of falling in a Poison Oak bush might be more suitably credited.
When pared, the bicycle and your body are two amazing tools.
Like any tool, it should be used, and through use, can sometimes lead to abuse. Case in point, the following clip of the previously mentioned Slaughterama that was sent to me from Eric;
“If you don’t get an unplugged handlebar shoved through your abdomen, I would call it a success!”
It makes my wrists ache and my liver itch just thinking about it.
And speaking of itchy livers, Lucho Carlos Alberto Del Castillo Cabeza De Vaca from Cycling Inquisition sent this to me, that I like to call ‘Hillbilly Still Life’;
“Came upon this while riding to work just days ago. I love the artistic composition, as well as the tasteful selection of items. Southern Comfort t-shirt, bottle of Bud…and an Aerosmith cassette. Does anything in the world say “fun” like those three things combined? I think not.”
I appreciate the proof that somebody was having a good time. It’s like an anthropological study of white trash.
As we begin to wind down, I want to mention that the powers that be over at Bike Monkey Magazine have sent the official notification that the new issue should be arriving to their (and hopefully shortly thereafter, your) hot little hands directly;
This issue will be debuting my almost official foray into the world as a printed writer, so be sure to pick up a copy, as my efforts are almost guaranteed to underwelm. Or totally blow your mind. Or both in succession.
From Tobie, I get an offer I can’t refuse;
Post this or else…
Tobie’s words cut just like I know his knife would.
The news is old by now, but Ritte’s Crossberg is bad ass;
What I could do with a bike like that.
Initially “continue to come in last, and get so drunk I forgot where I put it” comes to mind, but beyond that, I think we might develop a special understanding with one another.
Now that the sun is setting on today’s journey into the recesses of the underworld, I thank you once again for your patronage at the market, and remind you that shoplifters will be leaving a hand behind.