If you could stare through your computer, through the series of wires, and electrical impulses, and ultimately out of mine, you would see that this is exactly what I look like as I type these transmissions up day after day.
It’s really quite uncanny.
Anyway, what with the general level of grab assery I’ve engaged in the last few weeks, the correspondences have yet again piled up. The time to roll up my sleeves and get down to business is like, yesterday..
Several weeks ago April hit me up to help spread the word for the upcoming Quake City Rumble;
Once a week I would dig back through my inbox to find this, making sure I hadn’t missed the date. To avoid doing so, I’ll post this now, and leave it up to you to mark your calendars. If you are into such a thing, more information can be found here.
A little sooner than the beginning of July is the end of June, and up there in Seattle, Robert’s got his own kind of throw down planned with his two day Rebel Without A Cog bicycle machine event. Why, Robert even made a promotional video which I watched all the way to its conclusion;
You get the idea after the first 15 seconds, but I was pleased to see at the video’s end that Robert thought to thank his sponsors, of which I am one;
Granted, I only sent him a box of garbage I collected from my slovenly white trash neighbor’s front yard, but prizes is prizes.
Speaking of which, as well as crappy contemporary R&B, and nipples that will stab you in the eyeballs, Justin sent this absolute peach of a video on, which I have gotten probably far too much enjoyment from;
I’m a long time admirer of your blog and fellow garbage internet video aficionado. Thought I’d pass along this gem:
Back before the internet, and especially Youtube, people’s shame would be isolated, and not easily digestible for the masses. I for one am thankful that it now is.
From one who will remain unnamed, I was forwarded a correspondence between a representative at Road ID, and someone who clearly is the sort of person I enjoy being friends with. For the sake of anonymity, we will call the Road ID representative Han Solo, and the customer Grape Ape;
“Thanks so much for your recent Road ID order.
Prior to engraving, our editing staff noticed the text that you requested on line [LINE 6] of your ID. We have a policy in place that stipulates that we can’t engrave certain words on our IDs. Well, you’ve stumbled across one of those words.
Wearing ID is so important. So, I definitely don’t want you to cancel your order. Is there something else we can engrave for you?
Your order is currently on hold until we hear from you.
So sorry for the inconvenience.
If I can be of further assistance, please let me know.
Be safe out there,
Just eliminate the line.
I believe line 6 says “Don’t fuck this up”, a sound instruction for a first responder if I ever heard one. While “this” is a pronoun with no defining direct object in the sentence–which is really just a fragment–I don’t think such a grammatical faux pas warrants censorship.
So, I’m left to believe the offending word is “fuck”? I tried to verify how this violated your policy, but I didn’t see such a policy online. I recommend posting your policy so that would-be consumers can evaluate said policy and tailor the final line accordingly. Don’t get me wrong, I realize “fuck” is an offensive word–so offensive that some people wouldn’t even type it in an email–but let’s be assured reasoned adults can determine whether a word is so offensive that it shouldn’t be worn on one’s own wrist. After all, first responders are adults too, right?
But alas, I’m sure Road ID would get a strongly worded letter from some poor busy-body who saw my Road ID band at Church and immediately thought I was suggesting–and you were encouraging–that a first responder perform some lewd act on my bracelet. So, in order to avoid the hassle, its best we just delete the line.
That’s some good stuff right there, and as logical as could be.
You may have noticed that I linked Road ID multiple times, as I don’t want them to sent to thick necked bruiser to my house to teach me a lesson. He’d kick my ass, throw me in a van, drive me to the middle of nowhere, and dump me, leaving me for dead. This would be a bad thing for many reasons, but chief among them because I don’t own a Road ID.
And in an ironic conclusion, I don’t own one because they refuse to engrave bad words on them.
Not that I have even scratched the surface of what’s contained within the bag o’ mail, but given the limited space and time we have here from day to day, I’ll finish off with something wholly bicycle related. There is a fella I’ve known for a decade or better who goes by CD who for years has worked at a place, that at least within the bike world is akin to Oz.
Multitasking is a gift of his, as not only was he in town recently for a family vacation/visit with his dad, but he was towing the line at the San Francisco Rapha store during an appearance of The Wizard himself.
I made my way to his dad’s East Bay art studio on Monday, where I met up and slapped hands with his clan, and then dressed down in some stretchy pants to take him on a tour of some of my old spots.
Here are three standard photos of the ride, and one graphic illustrating how to high five for good measure;
It was a lazy day filled with meandering conversation, catching up and reminiscing about days passed.
Nearing the conclusion of our adventure it was brought to my attention that CD has changed his first name from ‘Christian’ to ‘California’. He tends to be a secretive individual, and while it was clear that he wanted folks to be aware of this, I could tell that he wasn’t totally comfortable spreading the news himself.
It is with that, that today’s post has come to a conclusion.
The time for me to stop quietly mouthing the words that I type and contorting my face into macabre expressions is upon us, and I for one, couldn’t be happier.