Monthly Archives: May 2010

At a certain point we both realized we were going too fast to jump off without consequence. Tommy was 10 yards in front of me and moving away quickly. A woman hallooed us from her yard as we thundered past. I waved with the nonchalance of a deckhand on the Edmund Fitzgerald. Why involve a stranger in the looming disaster? I aimed for a strip of grass between road and ditch and shifted my weight back on the board. I slowed for a moment and then the wheels dug into the turf and I was running. I was running with arms windmilling and feet slapping in front of me like a little fat kid chased by bullies. I ran for my life. Inertia kept my head pointed firmly down so all I could see was grass for about 30 yards and all I heard was my ragged breathing and a significant popping sound from my back/ ribular area.

The woman was still in her yard. She was yelling something.


Sure enough there was Tommy at the bottom of the hill, still rolling on the asphalt head over heels.

“I’m sure he’s fine!” I yelled back. The last thing Tommy would want is to cause a neighborhood scene. These hippies would come running with aloe root, Arnica tinctures, and a poultice of chewed rutabaga leaves. We couldn’t have that.

I was too exhausted from my own miraculous landing on the Hudson to expend the energy to walk down the hill to check on him. I thought I would give him a moment.
He got up and started walking up the hill. “Thank God I don’t have to go down there to get him,” I thought. As he got closer I walked a few feet in his direction, to imply I was just about to go and help him, and asked if he was OK.

He checked over a smattering of abrasions and pulled muscles, but decided he was more or less fine. We cautiously skated back to the house. As he was loading into the truck to go home he said, “I feel so lucky to not be going to the hospital right now.”

Old dogs, new tricks.


I saw a rainbow this evening after a good ride with the hardman/cupcake/mystery the untameable stallion/powder (Stevie.) It was a ribbon of color against a dark blue sky, which of course made me think of the rainbows you see in a sheen of oil in the Shop-n-Go parking lot- no way to escape the thoughts of the Gulf of Mexico suffocating. Oh well. I have come to the conclusion that we deserve it I guess. We should have listened to Jimmy Carter when we had the chance and put on the sweaters and bought the tiny cars. God forbid I feel perspiration as I type on these keys.

See you all in hell. Oh wait. We are already here.

On a more positive note, because you have got to stay positive, the malaise is lifting. I implemented about 35% of Mingo’s plan for robust living and things are turning around. I am going to make my peace with the Angry Monk again. I drank, ate, and was merry and tomorrow we die- unless we get in the saddle, place the bit in our pouting jowls and get out of this slump the way we got into it, by ourselves.

Slow and low that is the tempo.


All that and a jumpsuit too

I have no dog, no guns, no smile, and no jumpsuit. I hate this guy. I feel bad, people. Tired. Played out. Maybe it is from the dread of the oil sucking the life from the ocean. Maybe it is the all the TPS reports that need filing. I don’t know.

I think I have a dose of the fybromyalgia? They say morning stiffness is a symptom. What do you think they mean by that? I would not have considered that a problem, but I’m no doctor.

I’m trying hard to do things right to turn things around, but I can’t seem to find the restart button. Maybe it is all Rand Paul’s fault?

What do I do? Rest up or no pain no gain?

Sick of it all,


Some things matter some don’t

I live in a neighborhood where you can say to your charming guest, “Would you like to go see some foxes?” and you walk two blocks and there they sit, foxes. The kits didn’t come out to watch us, but they parents were right out in the street keeping an eye on us. The young ones are adolescents now so they were most likely somewhere brooding and updating their foxbook pages.

Foxes matter.

I rode Munson yesterday with S’quatch and he crashed violently on the new surface, shredding his knee like grated cheese and contusing his hand badly.

Matters to S’quatch, and maybe to Mingo.

After millions of dollars and euros, and the suicide of his father-in-law and friend, Floyd Landis admits he was a doping fiend after all when he won the tour de france. He did it all-dope dope dope. He lied like Marion Jones. He lied like Colin Powell. He said they all did it. Lance, George, Dave Z, everybody. I believe his lying ass too.

Pro cycling doesn’t matter. At least no more than professional wrestling.

Every time I see or hear that Laura Ling person, who was captured wandering around in North Korea, I feel the overwhelming urge to wash my hands. I can’t put my finger on it, but I am reasonably certain I would not like her very much.

She probably doesn’t matter.

Tommy had a birthday and we are going to watch the Wrecking Ball shred the skins tomorrow in celebration.

Hello! Matters big time!

The oil finally coalesced in the Louisiana marshes.

Almost the only thing that matters right now. Makes me want to cry, throw up, and reach for my shotgun. Saddle up the posse. Time to ride for justice.

I slept the contented sleep of the humble and grateful last night and that certainly matters to me.

What matters to you?


A Few Things

Those decals people put on their cars that say, In Memoriam confuse me. From my understanding that is a prepositional phrase and an unfinished thought. Does it mean, I drive this car in memory of? If so, what is the significance of driving a car in someone’s honor, unless driving was somehow significant to the relationship in the first place? With Dale Earnhardt it kind of makes sense, but only if you drive fast and put people into the wall in tribute to the intimidator.

When I am gone please do not drive a car in my honor. I would appreciate it if you would memorialize something relevant to our relationship, whatever it may be. Thanks, that has been bothering me and it is good to get it off my chest.

I am disappointed in the future that we are living in at the moment. We are not all wearing jumpsuits and nobody has a machine that can instantly create a hot fudge sundae or a nice piece of baked Halibut depending on your preference. We are not a wiser, more peaceful people. We are actually more ignorant, and quite a bit more ignorant depending on who you run into on a given Saturday afternoon. Especially here in America are we ignorant. We continue to turn inward against each other like cannibals- crazed with defiant scorn over nit picky things like sex, religion, and money that don’t even matter in the bigger picture of whether or not you get more good days than bad. This is a good time to be an enemy of America. “Look” they say. “They are fighting amongst themselves.”

When Kobe and Shaq started squabbling on the court you knew the dynasty was over.

That was a reference to professional basketball, specifically the relationship between two star players about ten years ago I think, for those who might be wondering.

All right. That’s enough.


Load Up

I don’t remember where I parked it, but my wagon is around here somewhere. As soon as I find it I am cinching the team and rolling out for the country. The holiday schedule was never supposed to last until June. It is time for some austerity measures.

No more Johnny Funtime until I feel reasonably sure I could save myself from most run of the mill catastrophes. These include my usual concerns…

Escaping a stadium full of panicked and stampeding hordes (best option is to shelter in place.)

Snake encounters of all kinds. I saw a Cottonmouth and a Rattler on friday. Either could have run me down.

Running out of gas and walking to the nearest exit. (Right now that could be a two day bivy.)

Multiple gate changes at the ATL airport.

Until I feel I can survive those and many other threats I will be over here sulking in the corner with some carrot juice.


Each one depends on another

By telling you that I attended a county commission meeting last night I am confessing the bleak social landscape I currently inhabit. Tonight I will probably go back to my usual favorite distraction- calling Senator George Lemieux’s voicemail and encouraging him to break out of his cocoon and fly free like a butterfly against the partisan winds. He never calls me back. Last night however it was Agenda Number 19, the human rights ordinance for Leon County which proposed to include language extending protections to folks who are gay or transgendered (I realize I am lumping some categories together, but I think those two cover the general range of gender identity and sexual orientations.)

S’quatch promised me fireworks and I was in the mood for a scrap so I put some pants on and proceeded to “get my civic on.” I got to the courthouse way too late for a seat and ended up watching the debate on T.V. in the overflow room. What a rip-off.
Still, I stuck it out for four hours and then left minutes before the vote. it was like attending the Superbowl and leaving in the fourth-quarter with the Bucs in the red zone for the go-ahead drive. (Go Bucs.) It didn’t matter. I had heard enough.

I really want to understand this thing with religion. I really do. It seems like someone enjoying the special protection of their rights by the grace of the social contract between the peoples of the United States would see the logic of the most simple law of the universe- you have to give up to get.

To be sure, God had many spokespeople last night, with the majority preaching the golden rule which is the application of human rights in its truest form. I tell you now. A lot of courage was applied at the podium.

It takes courage to stand before your community and condemn people who would do you no harm, who would in fact wish to see you prosper in pursuit of your happiness. It also takes courage to talk about the violence and ridicule that has characterized much of your childhood. One man talked about his generation being, “the last that learned to pass” and how he felt he was a lesser man for it.

That took some guts I am sure.

I understand that beliefs are dear to us all and some believe, under their federally protected right to do so, that others live their lives wrong according to those beliefs but- and here I make my stand- the lack of grace is inexcusable and threatens all of our freedoms.


Mush Donkey Mush!

The neighborhood festival, Nenefest, was both more and less than anticipated. Early in the afternoon it was a friendly gathering of Lefty-Lou’s and Lefty Lucy’s. My friend Chuck referred to the crowd as “Flat-screen hippies” which made me giggle. By the time they hit the 9:00 P:M curfew, the band kicked up the experimental puppet jazz/rock and ripped the knob off. Two blocks away we held up lighters and cell phones as we swayed to the closing score of Purple Rain, with the lead guitar parts played on violin. Good fun, that.

Sunday afternoon I rolled Munson to see what changes are taking place. Old man Mingo himself was out there looking like the picture of vitality and wellness. I hissed at him like a feverish ‘possum and waddled up the trail. The improvements are looking good and there is still enough sand for everybody.


Flip Flops and Wine

Everything would be okay if I could just call a time out and sleep for a week. It is all crisis all the time, as if addressing chronic social issues as acute illnesses will work. I keep thinking, it took a long time for things to get this bad, it won’t turn around in a day. In fact, things won’t likely turn around at all. Sometimes I would like an easier job, like renting chaise lounges at the beach. Riding my skateboard after hours in my flip flops, drinking wine until I rip off a toenail, then going home to my pallet on a mobile home floor and sleeping it off.

Not going to happen, all the good jobs are taken.