But he didn’t mean shit to me.”
-That guy up there.
Recently I’ve been thinking about heroes, and the nuances of getting starstruck. Personally I don’t care all that much about celebrities, and in general, celebrity, and in a conversation over lunch with a couple friends the other day, we began discussing the specifics of our general level of apathy. But then, like a lightening bolt out of the blue, I thought “however, if Bob Mould walked in the door right now, I’d crap my pants.”
Speaking of which- this recent performance on the Letterman show proves without a doubt, old Bob’s still got it;
Anyway, ironically this was at the same Mexican food joint where many years ago I sat at a table adjacent to the Dixie Chicks, which inspired a many year long collection of stories regarding the most famous person people had ever slept with. Not because any of us at dinner that night actually left with any of the Dixie Chicks, mind you. That’s just simply the direction the conversation went.
For what it’s worth, the only person I had to contribute to the list was the niece of the guy who sang the ‘Happy Days’ song.
Whatever. Sexual exploits notwithstanding, the idea of putting another human being on a pedestal has always seemed a bit wonky to me because after all, people are people. So the other day when I received a signed photograph of a skateboarder who I’ve long admired named Garry Scott Davis, shot by a person who for all intent and purposes is the Graham Watson of skateboarding, named J. Grant Brittain;
-I was a bit surprised with myself when I sat staring at the signatures with a glazed stare of a dear in headlights.
These are two people whose work atop a board and behind a camera I’ve revered for well over half my existence on this planet, and yes, while they may just be two people, I still couldn’t help but squeal like a gay man at a Cher concert. (That’s totally not fair. I know plenty of gay men, and not a single one of them could give a shit about Cher. Dolly Parton on the other hand…)
So perhaps I’m not as unaffected by celebrity as I would like to have thought.
But recieving this print reminded me of a time in 1997 when I produced a short lived zine called ‘A Beggar’s Answer To A Question Posed‘;
-and some contact that Garry and I had with one another regarding music, skateboarding, art and so on;
Eventually he agreed to answer a few questions for me, which looked something like this;
I’d like to thank both GSD and Mr. Brittain for not only their contributions to the world of rollerboarding, but for taking the time to make my possession of this print a reality, and say that it was probably best that the transaction didn’t occur in person, as I most likely would have been the one to extend the handshake for an uncomfortably long duration.
Not necessarily having to do with hero worship, as much as it does maintaining contact with someone you admire- Over the years Lucho from Alps And Andes and I have become friendly with one another via the interwebs. At first it was regarding obscure heavy metal trivia (a topic that the Bike Snob is fairly well versed as well), which then lead into all manner of conversation, not the least of which was organized crime in Columbia and finding huge sums of cash in public bathrooms.
Anyway, when he’s not waxing poetic about the grace of professional road racing, or the fact that the great grandfather of the bass player from Kreator invented the benson burner, (or whatever), he’s sending me things like this;
Though I can’t help but wonder how many middle class suburban refrigerators that strip was displayed upon?
In news of bike dorkness, Loudass sent on a new super spy shot of one of the very handsome Fat City Yo Eddys;
The thing that strikes me as a ‘wait, what?’ however, is the space between the rubber and the seat tube.
You can almost see daylight between the two, but I suspect if you never rode a bike in mud, those tolerances would work out pretty damn skippily as you ascended with mountain goat-like prowess.
And then when the bike was parked, you’d have a good place to keep a couple spare business cards. Or better yet, a business card that turns into a caliper to let you know how much room you have for business cards;
Luckily, no sooner did I type all this, was my snark derailed by Kurtz who did a bit of detective work and uncovered the following fine print from somewhere or another, where he noted also mentioned ‘throaty girth‘;
“The 433mm chainstays are the same as the 27.5 bike. For production, they will be lengthened. Also, Fat Chance is waiting on custom drawn stays for production, so they’ll change a bit as well.”
Happy to see that Chris is back and fully swinging;
Lastly, relating to my personal war against dog walkers who insist on leaving bags of dog crap everywhere;
I offer you this;
He’s not the hero we need. He’s the hero we deserve.