For those who opted not to click the link at the bottom of Friday’s tear jerking ode of appreciation of you all, and how much I’ve enjoyed my time here on the soap box, you ruined my sweet prank..
It was like taking days to construct a perfect joke, and then finally telling it, only to have the person you were telling it to place their hands over their ears at the exact moment of the punch line, and run around in circles screaming “BANANABANANABANANABANANA!”
So no, I’m not working for the Gap, and no, as far as I’m aware, they are not planning to launch a line of urban cycling wear, but I did work for an art installation company, we did do occasional jobs for the Fishers, and they do have an outstanding collection.
As proof, I offer two poor quality photos I took there, the first being of a Richard Serra sculpture during mid-install;
(Each lead plate in this, as well as a number of his other pieces weighs several thousand pounds, and every time we’d finally remove the rigging, my heart would momentarily stop as we waited for the sheer weight of them to settle into itself.)
And the second one of Gregorio and myself schleping a Larry Rivers painting;
(Rivers is one of my favorite painters, and this was only the second one I had ever seen in person.)
Besides, when I actually do sell out, this will make it seem tame in comparison.
Anyway, I’m fond of saying that you can make anyone believe anything if it’s said with enough conviction.
Which of course brings me to a story.
One night while on a date with a young lady, we walked past a trash can that had a pile of oranges on top of it. I picked one up and rolled it into traffic, as it went perfectly beneath the oncoming vehicle’s front right tire. Amazed at the luck with which it took to pull off such a feat, I explained to her that while in the Army, one of the skills I developed was to be able to roll grenades under oncoming enemy vehicles, particularly the right front side, as that was the Achilles tendon of the vehicles primarily used by whoever the United State’s enemy was at the time.
I then went on to tell her about the different aspects of basic training, and the friends I’d made there. “Why aren’t you still in the service?” she asked. I explained that one night I had had about as much as I could take from my drill sargent, and I punched him in the face, knocking him out cold.
It was then that I grabbed another orange, and once again rolled it under the right front tire of another oncoming vehicle, further cementing my story.
Granted, it was lucky to have the good fortune of such a visual aide. I was also lucky that there happened to be an abundance of oranges on garbage cans that night, but my point remains that no matter what you say with a straight face, it can somehow sound believable.
But really? ‘A Gap In The Curb’?
Shit.. Maybe they should give me a job.
Then, just as I was leaning back in my gigantic office chair, and reaching to give myself a well deserved pat on the back, along comes commenter ‘bustin rhymes’ who responded to my prank thusly; “whatever dude, noone would hire you’re sorry ass.”
Starting off with ‘whatever dude’ leads me to believe that buster was none to pleased with my hijinx. I know this because my friend’s ten year old daughter has said the same thing to me repeatedly, further confirming that in her eyes, I’m a weird old man with no sense of humor. Secondly, I assume ‘noone’ was actually meant to be ‘no one’, due to its relation to the rest of the sentence, which of course concluded with ‘you’re sorry ass’.
By itself, saying ‘you’re a sorry ass’ would be reasonable, save for the fact that I’m not sorry about anything other than repeatedly throwing string cheese dipped in yogurt into that one girl’s hair on the school bus when I was in seventh grade. In as far as buster’s point was concerned however, I assume he meant that my ass was worthless, which again is an erroneous observation, simply due to the fact that if I didn’t have one, I would have nowhere to sit, and based on my experience at the Gap’s corporate offices, sitting is one thing the work force there does extraordinarily well.
Anyway, I enjoyed my little ruse, and I hope that you did too. For those who didn’t, I’m not sorry.
I also made an apt comparison between FGFS videos and one of paint drying. This might not have been totally fair due to the fact that the paint drying clip had no blistering soundtrack. To make up for this error, I will present to you a suitable replacement that was sent in by Dan;
Almost never before have overgrown ‘Green Machines’ been presented so appealingly.
Something that is much further down the list of things that suck is the following image that was sent to me from Joe;
It’s photos like this that I feel lend a touch of class to this site, which generally has very little.
Last week A-Train and I were shooting some emails back and fourth when he mentioned there was a photo in the new issue of Bike Magazine that I might be interested in seeing (my fifteen seconds of fame should be wrapping up any day now). As it went, we began discussing the Sh*tb*ke, at which point I told him eventually I should (not to be mistaken for will) be having an article about my own personal experience with the beast printed.
He responded in turn;
“I’ll look forward to race photos of that beautiful bike. We were cruising around Eureka a few weeks back and picked up a Softride (complete with suspension stem and a recalled shimano crankset with biopace rings) from one of those “free stuff” piles. It’s probably been witness to a homicide or two.
Anyways, in case you’ve forgotten what real BMX is all about (going fast and winning), this guy will remind you. Some of his Props videos have him absolutely hauling dick on some dirt jumps.
Also, you may have seen the attached photo, but we hosted a collegiate race two weekends back, and one of our riders – one Ben Barry – really lucked out for the circuit race;
The triple six tag has been one that has long eluded me. I told A-Train that years ago while racing a National in Mount Snow Vermont, I missed it by a hair when Mickey from Spooky Bikes snagged it in registration just before I arrived;
Then again at the following week’s National in Mont Sainte Anne, I succeeded by half;
I may have mentioned at some point that I won this particular race, though was ultimately disqualified. Strangely however, none of the UCI officials were able to present to me the actual reason for the disqualification. I received no fewer than three shoulder shrugs and “that’s weird. I’m not sure what happened here(s)” upon my inquiry.
It’s just another case of always being the bride’s maid.
I hereby declare that someday, and in some way, it will be by the grace of Dog that I will eventually be bestowed the lucky number, disqualification or no, and that my friends, is no lie.