Domestic Dispute
Will someone please explain to me what I'm doing wrong?
For a month now I've been putting the same four dishes back in the washer. And every time they come out looking like they have some detergent residue on them. I've put them on the top, the bottom--I've even handwashed them. But as soon as they dry they look like this again. All the other dishes come out nice and clean. These are the only ones that don't. I don't understand. Is it maybe because I've started using those nifty new gel packs thingies? (That they seem to be marketing to men, see the commercials--it must work, I buy them. They're so squishy!). Oh, but why does this happen? Soap is soap, right?

OK, maybe the pictures don't show it very well, but I can assure you they're covered with a white film.

It's so sad when aging rock stars get causes. Case in point: Bono. See also, the drummer.
(Photo from U2log.com)

Zipadeedoodah
First road ride of the year. 50F and sunny. I put on my twice-as-heavy-but-bulletproof wheels, strapped on my heart rate monitor and my old shoes and away I went.

We'll Drink Ourselves Awake
Did you know that caffeine and pseudoephedrine are banned substances? They're my favorites. They're considered "soft" substances by the UCI (as opposed to blood doping, steroids, amphetamines, EPO, HGH, etc.) I was also desperately hoping that the inhaler I use to prevent exercise-induced asthma would be a performance-enhancing drug, but it didn't seem to help me last summer at the Thursday night races. Eating well, resting, and being pre-hydrated did, though. So there you go. Stay on the straight and narrow if you want to succeed, huh?
350 miles so far this year--that 3,000 mile goal gets closer every day. If I train for a century or three I should have no trouble getting there.


Test/Box, 2001

My Wandering Days Are Over
Yesterday not one but two toilets were overflowing. One was causing a rainstorm in the basement.
Today I have to go to a family funeral.
Tomorrow I wil be tired and grouchy because my cold is getting worse. And I will be only 8 days away from the race, three of which I will have to spend out of town for work and I probably won't have any time to ride (because I will have work to do) and all kinds of things I've been putting off for weeks are coming due.
1. taxes
2. a project for work which shall remain nameless
3. another ongoing project there
4. something else I can't remember right now
5. oil changes for the van and the old car
6. replacing the chain on my road bike
I want to sit, sip tea, and listen to music. I want to try and play some. I want to paint. I want to ride my bike in glorious summer weather. And instead I have all kinds of responsibilities.
PS The family funeral went OK (for a funeral, that is). The hardest part was seeing my family name on a gravestone. If I saw it before it didn't get to me. This time it did.

Too Much Love
From 1988. (Hint: it's not me.)


OK, here's a clue.

Seeing Is Believing
In spite of the fact that Mel and his dad are fundamentalist Catholics, I'm intrigued by the film. Instead of joining the controversy chorus, I'll see it myself before I pass judgment (and maybe not even then).

*Let me be crystal clear on this: it's not the Catholic part that I have a problem with. Fundamentalist anything is bad bad bad. If I sound like one by saying that, then so be it.*



Training Update (Not That Anyone Cares But Me)
I've been fighting off a cold the last few days, and even though conventional wisdom says to train through a cold, I've found it difficult to get in any miles. Last night, for instance, I was so knackered I could barely move. I couldn't even move my fingers to form chords, so I didn't do much guitar either. Right now I'm on an every other day schedule. If I'm feeling better in a couple days I'll train hard for the race. Next week I have to go away for a few days, so I'll try and take my bike. The weather forecast says it'll be almost nice this weekend--should be perfect timing to feel better.

Ghastly Mellow Saxophones All over the Place
Now playing, 1 pm: Isobel. Mmmmm.
Now eating: kettle-cooked salt and vinegar chips

A Town Called Malice (Or Something Similar)
Where we live Winter won't go away.
Going to Florida in January has absolutely ruined Winter for me this year. I think it'll be fine next year, but this year I'm just done.


Decobox, 2004

Oh Really?
More on Pantani...

Another Kind of Cheating
At the local big-gigantic-everything-store all the bottles of Pepsi are in disarray. And they were like that before I got there, I say in my own defense. I did figure out how to "check" them before I buy, but in the mess all I could find was caps with a watery-looking "AGAIN" printed on them. I don't want those. Damn teenagers got there first!

Another Kind of Drug

Fluoxetine, 2004

Nice Day for a Sulk
OK, it was supposed to rain here, but it hasn't. No, I don't want it to, but I would have ridden my bike to the office, to get in some badly needed base miles. We've had a little break in the cold weather, so the last couple days I've been able to hit the (wet) roads. Now the clouds have lifted and it's sunny sunny sunny. This race deal is only about 2 weeks away and I don't think I'm anywhere near ready. It's gonna be so embarrassing. And my schedule over the next few days does not permit any training time, except if I give up sleep, which would be bad.
On the good side of things: those old iPod headphones that Sam mutilated? Well, the right earbud still works, so they *theoretically* could be used to listen to tunes in one ear while I'm riding, but, of course, I wouldn't, since you're not supposed to wear headphones while you ride. It's not a law (I don't think), it's just considered a bad idea/safety hazard because you can't necessarily hear cars. But the pros all wear one-earpiece radios during races to communicate with other team members and team cars and get up to the minute race standings. Of course, they're on closed roads.
On the bad side: the death of Marco Pantani has again raised the question of just how far doping goes in pro cycling. Some say it's worse than it was during the "Festina Affair" of 1998, which itself was not the worst, just one time when they got caught. The French now claim that they don't do it--except for the fact that the entire Cofidis organization is under investigation. It seems just assumed that the Eastern Europeans do. Word on the street is that the Italians do. ("Oh, that positive test result? No, I wasn't doping. It's because I ate some candy from South America and it must have had traces of drugs on it.") Even Johan Museeuw has had his house searched. ("Those 'medications' in the fridge? They're for my pets," he said.)
Oh, I'll stop now. I think I'm beginning to sound like some old man, obsessed with the weather and how all those young whippersnappers are ruining this world...


Detail of Health, 2001

Slurp!
Follow up: Yes, it has started raining, so I feel vindicated. But I still can't ride, so I guess I lose.
Fun news: I got an iTunes Pepsi, so I bought "Space Oddity." I've heard you can tilt the bottles and see what the cap says. I tried, but couldn't make it out.

I've Never Done This Kind of Thing

Though I am a longtime feg, I rarely grovel for live tapes, and I haven't figured out that whole bit torrent thing, so I don't have all that much non-canonical Robyn music. But I was recently warned that *it would soon be too late* so I went ahead and ordered the Glass Flesh compilations from Bayard. What a pleasant surprise. Yes, it's all by slavish fans, but some of it is very charming, and, sanctioned by the man himself. I recommend it heartily.
I may figure out how to post a sample.
gf-satellite-sample.mp3
The handsome artwork is by LJ.
PS Some of the artists on the discs have gone on to indie-pop glory--Colin Meloy, some Elephant 6 guys, among others. Also, as a free bonus, all the track info is already in CDDB, though one disc is classified as "Reggae."

Is That a Sebaceous Cyst in Your Shorts Or Are You Just Glad to See Me?

I have a big blue cyst under the skin of my mid-thigh, left leg. I’ve had it checked out and I’ve been told that it’s not a blood clot (though cyclists tend to get them a lot—one guy in my club has a leg that looks like a bag of blue and purple marbles). It’s actually a lipoma, a fat cyst, like the one I had taken out of my wrist a few years ago. I’ve got several more in my arms, but I can’t have them all removed or I’d start to look like Frankenstein (pronounced “Frahn-ken-steen” according to the good young doctor in the classic movie). I guess that some people just get them. Instead of developing an all-over subcutaneous blanket of fat, they just amass the stuff in little balls. Since I’ve been training for that race thingy next month, it’s come to the surface again. Sometimes it’s sore to the touch.
Probably more than you ever wanted to know, huh?
Photo ©: AFP Photo/Karim Jaafar-STR

Get a Life
I am torn between my obsessions. Even my interests are scattered.
1. Painting, and other arty things
2. Cycling, and racking up as many miles as possible. 3000 this year? Somehow it’s always worth the sweat
3. Guitar-ing, even though it’s all too little, too late. I am not now, nor will I ever be, “any good”
4. Voracious music consumption (AKA fanboy syndrome)
I also have a family and a cat, as well as work to do, but we don’t talk about that here.


From Any Old Box, 1994

Get This
In addition to being banned from ever singing, my garlic consumption is being rationed. It seems I really stink up the place.

Fishline, 1993

A Little Strange, I Must Say

Marco Pantani dead at 34.
I have to admit that he wasn't my favorite pro cyclist, especially after he was caught doping, but he did win the Tour in 1998 and the Giro, too, that same year.
Apparently he was a little strange lately, checking in and out of mental hospitals, claiming the hounding of the press and the legal authorities had made life unbearable for him (never mind he was being hounded in a criminal investigation). He often referred to himself in the third person, always a sign of serious mental illness, in my opinion, but still, that's no reason to Nick Drake himself in a hotel room. His nickname in the peloton was il pirata, I guess for his ridiculously large gold earrings and bald head. Lance Armstrong famously called him elefantino (check out the ears), but again, that's no reason either (especially since he had them clipped last year). I feel bad for his parents, both of whom I believe are still living.
Cyclists do die every so often--some up-and-coming racer dies in his sleep because his blood is too thick with EPO or a horrific crash without a helmet scrambles the brains or someone ODs on antidepressants or a dangerous arrhythmia kicks in--but it's stilll so sad. Thirty-four is way too young.
I don't know what else to say.

L-O-V-E, Love, It's Coming Back
This is the valentine I sent to 350 of my closest lovelies.

I am serious. But it was for work.
(I scanned some cloth and shirts and cut paper, then scanned it all again.)

Worth the Trouble, Worth the Pain
Sixty Belle & Sebastian songs later, I found myself in Chicago to pick up Lauran after her 11-day stay at the spa. The drive across the industrial wasteland that is northern Indiana was much more enjoyable with a lispy twee singalong. Thankfully no one was there to hear me. Truthfully, I don't care what I sound like, but I've noticed that others have this hang up with me singing off-key. Petty.

I discovered a novel new use for jewel cases. As a society we'd better find good things to do with them, now that Apple's iTunes Music Store is doing so well and we won't need to actually buy music on discs. SRAM makes high-zoot bike parts, like lightweight chains. This is how they package their PC99 Hollowpin 9-speed chain.

* #1 Principle of cycling gear: it's far more important that all rotating parts be lightweight. It doesn't matter if the saddle is 200 or 300 grams when the wheels weigh pounds more than they should.
** Cycling Gear Lexicon: "Speeds" refers to the number of cogs on the freeweheel (the gears on the back wheel), not the number of gear combinations--a "24-speed" bike is a common misstatement. What someone means is that they have 24 gear combinations, in this case from a triple chainring crankset (the front gears) and an 8-speed freewheel. In my case, my road bike is a 9-speed machine, with 18 gear combinations (though 2 of them are extreme crossovers and should not be used, but that's another story).

OK, I'm Done
I've been wearing around my New Year's Resolutions all week.

My, What Sharp Teeth You Have
So I did start training for this race thingy next month. It's just a little old 10K time trial.
So far my best practice time is 18:25. I have no idea what that means (other than dividing it up by miles and time). Perhaps I can shave off a little more before the big day. Of course, the event willl be on a computer-simulated course, with road-condition resistance. I wonder how they'll set up the bikes on the trainers themselves? There are so many factors--whether the bike is level or not, the pressure of the roller against the tire, tire pressure, too. How can it be objective? But then again, real races aren't--some guys have better bikes or better legs, so I guess alll things can't be equal. I'll just have fun and ride hard, I guess. That is the point, it seems.

Lonely Old Shut-Ins Only

Since it arrived in my mailbox, in its slim, shiny, jewelbox, I must have watched Fans Only at least 8 times. I am trying to figure out if the band had any un-media-ed event, ever. All the home movies! gig videos! TV show excerpts (who knew Brazilian TV was so much fun, and in English?)! I am also trying to figure out exactly what is the charm of this little band of gorgeous popsters. Certainly (it used to be) Isobel, certainly the whole mysteriousness of the band that they themselves created, certainly the music. Sam has fallen asleep on the couch next to me while I watched it twice now, so that must mean something. I don't think that the pompous yelps of Bono or the barking of Joe Strummer would lull that child to sleep. And I am convinced that Stevie is perfectly charming (and yet I am very glad that Beyond the Sunrise didn't make it onto the DVD). Of course, Stuart's songs have something to do with it all.

Fair Warning
This is what the door said, at the hotel in Florida.

When I Was a Boy I Was Confounded
Many years ago now, I tried to be rebellious with my hair. I cut it all off one summer, and then, as it grew back, I didn't cut the bangs until they got to my chin. After that I chopped off most of the bangs and buzzed the rest. Then, as it grew in I dyed it jet black. I tried to reverse the black with blond dye, but it ended up orange, which, to me, looked fine, actually.
Then, for many years it was just plain.
Now that I'm all grown up my hair has become rebellious in and of itself by turning grey without my permission. Unless I am mistaken, which is always a very real possibility, Stuart Murdoch and I are the same age.

From Sketchbook 4, 1987

Family Portrait

I Dub Thee...
I bought Gabe a little tiny guitar at the store yesterday. It's sort of a real instrument. It's not one of those plastic Elmo thingies, anyway. It's your basic dreadnought, sort of a miniature version of my Washburn. He wants to play songs right away, of course--don't we all?--but he isn't getting that the notes only run from A to G. He strummed all the strings wildly a moment ago and announced that he had created a new sound, H. The truth is, he's really way ahead of me. I once asked Lauran, who knows a little music, what note you use when you want to sing a K sound. Is that a chord? I was kidding, but she thought I was serious, even to this day.


Landscape K, 1988

He Must Have Learned It at School
This morning, when I asked Gabe to come eat breakfast instead of watching some dumb cartoon that will be repeated ad nauseum anyway, he said he couldn't because that was the only time "the freakin' show is on!"
Oh, that's just lovely. Real classy.
I asked him to repeat it, so I could write it down properly and he denied ever saying it. I asked if he said the word "freakin'" and he replied in angelic tones, "Heck, no."
This child is 6. Yesterday he came home from school and said someone got kicked in the nuts, "as in your privates!"


Heroes of the Revolution, 1993

Survival of the Fittest
While Lauran is away at the spa, I have total responsibility for the boys and the house, and my job. I'm actually only working about half time, and spending some of the rest on guitar (I wrote a moody song about Lauran going to Chicago) and finally getting around to finishing the train layout for the corner of my offfice. Geekery of the highest order!
Here's a glimpse of it. Little touch-ups, "water," etc., are all that's left. Oh, and wiring up the little tiny light bulbs in the buildings.

I've done no training at all, even though I'm gonna be in a race next month. It's an indoor dealie. On these things called Computrainers. Basically, you mount your own bike on them and the computer simulates road conditions. They'll have them set up in pairs so that you race the same course as your partner. Then at the end of the day they'll sort it all out and see who's fastest. It's a time trial where nobody leaves the building. And it's really short, so I should be OK if I start training tomorrow.

It's Official
Gabe (6) came home from school today and announced, "It smells like crap in here." And he'd be right. Sam refuses to poop again and the smells that come out of him are positively unholy. Plus, I have some sort of stomach bug. Fact is, it's just a bad old world.


Ivory Tower, 1991

Always a Sucker
Believe it or not, I am always a sucker for a good spy story. Not so much James Bond cartoon-spy crapulence, I mean "serious" stuff. There's an article on the New York Times site (I'd link to it, but it won't do you any good, you have to register [which is free]) about how the CIA figured out that the KGB was covertly buying US technology to run its own programs. The US was, essentially, in an arms race with itself. Instead of rolling up the discovered network of agents and dealers, the CIA had some geeks put Trojan Horses in the code of the chips so that they would seem to work fine, but later make things go wrong. It worked flawlessly (well, very flawed, but that was the point) in some computers that ran, I believe, a natural gas pipeline. The chips caused the wrong amounts to be pumped in critical areas which in turn caused the welds to fail and caused a MASSIVE explosion, one that could be seen from space. The Air Force geeks at NORAD thought it was a nuke. I'm sure the Russians executed dozens of suspected double-agents when they realized what had happened, but who could they complain to? The point of all this: I like spook stories (but not Alias anymore, even if Sid does go jogging in slo-mo with an iPod).


Genesis, 1993

Studio, 1992