Monday Morning Ultraman.


The second I saw this image on The Whore Church I said to myself, “yes. This sums up everything quite nicely.”
At least the facial hair and sunburned nose part does anyway.
So yes, there were big doings all around this weekend. First with the Levi’s party in San Francisco where innocenses were lost, and then the one the following night in Los Angeles at which a few of them were apparently found.
The San Francisco bash started at Box Dog Bikes, where the beautiful people commingled;
(The fellow in the Wrangler shirt was forcefully bounced.)
(Jared the Master Tailor meets Demonika the Master Wife.)
And Billy said some stuff about some things;
It was about this time when we went to down the street to a bar called The Zeitgeist which at one time was a home away from home for me. It was a safety zone, rumpus room, and secret club house all rolled into one, but the last four of the five times I’ve been there I’ve gotten into a screaming match with security or management for standing in the wrong place, or taking photos, or whatever other kind of reckless behavior I might be found engaging in. Against my better judgement I entered the hallowed domain anyway and proceeded to continue the celebration for the denim.
Eventually, as I said on Monday, the water resistant properties of the jackets and pants began being tested as glass after glass of 21st Amendment was being poured over, onto, and into the pockets of the goods. While the Commuter Line might very well be able to fend off a drizzle on your way to work, it didn’t stand a chance against a tsunami of beer and cocktails;
At around two, (or was it three?) those of us who remained melted off into the darkness to find more adventure, hijinx, and in my case, a crepe from a random food truck. Of course waking up the following day I was reminded in shocking detail of why I don’t drink fancy beer, or really any beer aside from a simple pilsner, as the rich dark brownness of the whatever-it-was-we-were-being-served stained every fiber of my clothing as well as every cell of my being.
Call me a tasteless lightweight if you wish. I’m ok with that.
I would like to take the opportunity to thank Levi’s, Jared, and Echos Communication for including AHTBM with this project;
If my guidance counselors, teachers, parole officers and the like could only see me now, they might re-assess their projection of where they projection of where they thought I’d eventually wind up;
You know, my destiny, or lack there of aside, I have some mail bag, so before too much time slips away, I suggest we take a bite.
Amigo numer three came though with a notification that dispite my best efforts, there is a woman in his life for whom I have not ruined bicycling;
“It was a bitter sweet ending to our Prarie City race series. Sara and I both missed the second to last race due to a vacation in Shasta. Because of this I dropped from fourth loser to tenth loser and Sara missed first place by one point. All we had to do was show up and She would have won her class. That’s the bitter. The sweet is that in the last race of the series Sara beat the overall series winner by almost three minutes.
sara podium.jpg
Not bad considering early in the series that same lady was beating Sara by the same margin. My dream has come true, my wife loves riding bikes and hates losing.
Love you long time,”

Not only have I failed to ruin anything for Sara, but she seems to be enjoying herself and achieving some fairly remarkable success as a racer of bicycle machines.
I feel as tough I’m pedaling backwards.
Though just when I’m feeling that all hope is lost, David comes through with an email containing, among other things, this clip of the Tour Day Fraance’s sixth stage, and an indication that perhaps my directive isn’t all for not;
“I’m wasting time at work today and listening to TDF coverage, the NBC stage 6 recap has an interesting bit of audio. Paul Sherwen accuses Rabobank of trying to “ruin it for everyone.” I think this shows that he reads the Black Market.”

Even if it was just a happy accident that Paul should have used that phrase, I still feel all warm and gooey inside.
Finally in closing, from KCE, I get this clip with no explanation, not wordage, no nothin’, but upon watching it I see that no description is necessary.

The 50-50 over both the light and the stairs made me crap my eyes out, which makes my 9:00 shadow and imminent skin cancer look that much more appealing.

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5 Responses to “Monday Morning Ultraman.”

  1. hurltron 5000 July 11, 2011 at 1:53 pm #

    You truly are a Saint for Seamen/Semen….

  2. dflbrad July 11, 2011 at 4:22 pm #

    troublemaker !

  3. scooper July 11, 2011 at 11:31 pm #

    This one time Loudass almost made me wanna quit riding my bike

  4. Josh RVA July 12, 2011 at 2:04 pm #

    Glad to see that the Spirograph is still influential.

  5. Bob July 13, 2011 at 4:59 am #

    I thought that was bird crap on the jacket, not spilled beer. Now there’s an idea for a graphic … fake bird crap on hats, jerseys, jackets, etc.