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Posts tagged ‘silly human tricks’

Grayscale

I like a rainy day at the beach. I have no idea who this dude is, but he made me a nice swirly design.

The rest of this post has nothing to do with the picture. Just one of those things.

Saturday, I went out for a little bikey riding. John was out surfing a rockin’ west swell that the stork brought in from the Pacific. I’m pedalling along enjoying the sunshiny day, when I see some guy riding along ahead of me. He’s going kinda slowlike, so soon enough I roll on up and pass him. I said hi and gave him the requisite roady wave, because I didn’t want him to dash home to his computer and get all ranty on some forum or another about how roadies are a bunch of stuck-up assholes who never wave. (True topic, actually seen in forumland.) B’sides, he’s in my ‘hood, and I wouldn’t want to give the wrong impression. The natives are quite friendly here. Really.

So I said hi, and continued on my merry way. Since there’s some flowery things blooming (they’re obviously confused, like, um, newsflash, it’s January), I had some extra snot that needed removing. Duly removed. Oopsy, looks like slow guy sped up and jumped on my wheel. Who knew he was back there? I didn’t. So now, he’s going to go home and tell all his friends virtual or otherwise about how this mean bitch blew snot on him.

He said he was from the East Coast or some sort of cold place like that. And I’m thinking, you spent all this cash to come out here to ride, and you’re going to spend it staring at my ass? Not like you’re going to get fit sucking my wheel all day, you know.

And he wanted to chat. With my ass. If he’d actually wanted to talk to me, maybe, just maybe he’d have moved on up next to me and we could have had a chat. Not that I really wanted to or anything, but really, it’s odd having someone sitting back there babbling on and on about nothing I can really understand since I can only hear about one word out of ten over the wind.

After a while, I decided I really didn’t want to listen to him back there any more. And more importantly, I had some more snot to dispose of. Usually I just head for the hills under such circumstances. Or turn off somewhere completely random. But there weren’t any random spots for turning and I wasn’t near any hills for heading. So I turned the screws until he blew.

I guess I’m a mean bitch after all.

At least I waved.

Under a Winter Sun

I like me some kelp. With a full moon comes wide tide swings. Yesterday, it hit 7 feet and change in the morning, then skedaddled on out to a minus by the late afternoon. As the tide goes out, the kelp reaches up and wraps around fingers and toes and surfboards. Nothing like blowing the take-off, because the kelp grabbed your fin.

Yesterday was some good surfing. An overcast, grey sort of day, the sea the color of the sky, or maybe it was the sky the color of the sea. I’m never quite sure about such things. A decent little swell brought out the full cast of characters.

There’s the guy who always wears a white hat tied under his chin. There’s the guy that rides each wave all the way to the beach, then walks back up the point for the shortest possible paddle back into the lineup. Is it really easier to walk than paddle? There’s spastic paddler guy. His hands churn egg-beaterlike, his elbows high and dry. Who knew it was so hard to make a surfboard go. There’s the wave hog. Got it! Outside, outside, got it! He likes to give a little whistle, just to be sure. I mean really, if you’re that badass, go to Jalama or something. Tarantulas. Now there, my friends, is a great name for a surf spot.

But I am being digressing.

There’s the dude who can’t steer. Um, if you’re going to take off from the top of the point, try not to run everyone over, mmkay? There’s the spastic kid on the short board who’s watched far too many surf vids. There’s the woman who must have spent years at ballet school as a child. She stands on the board in third position, the feet placed just so, the arms floating all graceful like. She can’t turn either, but she looks pretty doing it. I suppose there’s something to be said for looking pretty. There’s dad, teaching his kid to surf. He knows just where to sit in the lineup, and he launches his little missile into the perfect wave. Of course, junior falls over and gets worked. There’s ugly pink surfboard guy. Pink. I hope it was free.

Me? I caught me a few waves and watched the sun dance off the peaks, turning grey to silver, each rolling swell a wrinkle in rippling silk.

Intermission Talk amongst yourselves. Topic, the weather.

Alright, I’m back now. Didya miss me?

The espresso machine called. Of course I answered. Now, where were we? Thanksgiving happened. Bikes were ridden. Nappage was committed. Coffee was consumed. People were watched. Pizza was eaten (with red wine, natch). Relatives were phoned. Slacking occurred. Fun was had.

The passive voice was massively abused in the writing of this post. Forgive me oh Chicago Manual of Style, I know not what I do.

Respect my Authoritay Was it me, or did the cop who pulled over the group ride bear a striking resemblance to Cartman? This coincidence made it terribly hard to take seriously the earnest lecture about behaving well and traffic laws (yes, kids, the red sign with the letters on it does mean stop) and such. Terribly hard not to start giggling at exactly the wrong moment. Congratulations, sir, you win the prize for Walking Caricature. Come on down, you’ll find your prize behind door number two: A dozen jelly donuts. Mmm, donuts. Stop sign? What stop sign?

Maybe the local ride just needs a donut sponsor. Pass the sprinkles.

In other news, I managed only six points on last week’s round of trivia. Alas. I need to work on my guessing skills. Or, um, learn something about bike racing. Right, I’ll get right on that.

How ’bout that weather?

You’re not punk…


…And I’m telling everyone.

I went to the gym today. Specificity, Shmecificity. Since I’m not very good with numbers, I kept losing count. Was that two sets or three? Eight reps or twelve? Maybe I need to carry a calculator. Or an abacus.

But counting is so not punk rock. So I just guessed.

Yo, meathead. Yeah, you, making funny faces and loud grunting noises, checking yourself out in mirror. Ohmigod, I can’t believe you can squat three times my body weight.

You. Are. So. Cool.

NOW RERACK YOUR FREAKIN’ WEIGHTS, DUMBASS! Newsflash, pec-boy, there are other people on the planet. And some of us plebes can’t get your 45 plates off the squat rack, mmkay? I really like tracking down some gym staff guy to do it for me, or more to the point, for you, since you’re the one that sucks. So I’m only going to say it one more time: RERACK YOUR WEIGHTS! Don’t make me come over there. Because I’m way, way smaller than you.

Meanwhile, I’ll be slam dancin’ in the corner. A Girl’s got to do something between sets. And it sure isn’t listen to that ’80s crap coming through the sound system. (If you like ’80s crap, I’m sorry. For you.)

Anarchy burger, hold the government. (Extra credit, if you can name the originator of that gem of a phrase.) Speaking of punks, we had a little outburst of anarchy here at Disneyland, right on Main Street. Stop the electric light parade, we’ve got a cataclysmic situation here. Halloween night, a crowd of merry pranksters decided to throw a spontaneous party in the middle of State Street, the main shopping drag lined with chi-chi boutiques. Coach handbag, anyone?

Now, spontaneous outbreaks of “people power” are not exactly the norm here. Yes, student protestors burned the Bank of America in the Sixties (actually, I believe it was in 1971, but sometimes the calender refuses to conform to events), but that, my friends, was then.

I think there might be a few ageing hippies still hiding out in the hills. If you search the halls, there’s probably even a Marxist or two lurking about the University. Has the New Left become the Old Left yet? Inquiring minds. (Full disclosure: All three volumes of das Kapital, first American edition, are sitting here on my shelf. Bound in red, natch.) We have a hardy band of war protestors who never miss a Saturday. Thanks to them, I frequently spend my training rides with peace songs stuck in my head, which at least makes it hard to summon up much in the way of road rage. All we are saying is give peace a chance. (No, no need to thank me, just playin’ it forward.) But in the main, this place is pretty darn mainstream when it comes to the politicin’ A median housing price in the low seven figures just doesn’t bring out the anarchists. Property is Theft.
What, no takers?

Anywho, the Reclaimers led the police on a wacky foot chase around downtown. The cops weren’t so amused, and out came the riot gear. Clear the station. All the cars came peeling out one after the other, getting crazy with the blue flashy lights.

Me? I was just trying to pedal my bikey to the grocery store to get some food. A Girl’s gotta eat, you know.

Please don’t run me over blue flashy lights. All I wanted was a Pepsi.

Pen Tests

We have a collection of espresso cups called Pen Tests. The espresso machine is the only tool in my kitchen I know how to use, which isn’t to say that I have a great many kitchen tools. I am not what those of a previous era might have dubbed an “accomplished woman.” I boil water competently. What more is there? The kitchen is where the espresso machine lives along side its friend the bean grinder and its other friends the espresso cups. I have more espresso cups than dinner plates. Big blue scribbles decorate this afternoon’s choice, picked mostly at random from the cupboard where the espresso cups live. Frothy tannish foam sticks to the inside. I begin to feel smarter, a little.

Big blue scribbles.

I did the group ride this morning. I’m a fall group ride kind of girl. When the days get a little shorter and I get a little lazier, I roll on out and see what everyone has been up to. Turns out, not all that much. Someone gets faster, someone else gets a little slower, and one dude just keeps getting fatter. There’s a new bike here, a new wheelset there. The same guys ride the front. And at the back? Sandbaggers, party of five, your table is ready. I was cozied up to the October sandbagger table, shooting the breeze, checking the scenery. Nice weather back here, pass the chips and salsa, can I get a another drink? Waiter, there’s a fly in my soup.

It was a small sort of group ride today. It seems there may have been a secret ride. But since I lost my secret decoder ring, I wouldn’t know anything about that. Meanwhile, the fall transfer season is in full swing. Did you hear the news? All the cool people are riding for the red team next season. But only if they didn’t get invited to join the exclusive new team, where the really cool people are. They’re going to get cool bikes to match their cool new kits. A veritable epicenter of cool.

Then there’s the press releases. I’m going climbing after this, so I have to go easy (Watch out for that overpass, it’s a doosey). Last week, I did my best time up the climb. (One wonders if he measured it from the same spot.) I can’t go hard, because my socks are too white (so distracting), my shorts are too tight (sounds like a personal problem), my chain is too loose (are you sure it’s your chain?), my bottom bracket is unthreading (that really sounds like a personal problem), I’m choking on my gu (real excuse, used by an honest to gosh category 1 racer), uh, sorry, gotta take this call (for best results, use this one when about to get dropped by a girl, she’ll never guess). Use as directed, limit one per customer, please. Void where prohibited.

Me? I’m just sitting here pedaling.

On the way home, I rode by the beach to see what was doing. I won’t keep you in suspense. It was flat. So I sang a little song, and pedaled onward. Rubber ducky, you’re the one, you make bath time lots of fun…

Can I get one of those in carbon fiber?

Last week there was a swirly off the coast, and it made us some waves. So generous. When we went out on Thursday, I got totally cleaned up when the first big set rolled through. Spin cycle, my favorite. Thank you, I’ll have another. Uh, wait, I didn’t mean it. Yes, friends, set means more than one. So, there’s always more where that came from. The trick is to keep breathing.

And while I’m on the subject of water, if anyone can tell me how to get tar out of my hair, I’d be most grateful.

Big blue scribbles.