Sibling Rivalry

The Terrorist Event in India...

...is NOT funny.

I want to be clear about that.

Which sucks, because normally, this photo would be screaming for a funny caption:

At least someone is paying attention...

The quarter ended today. The last two weeks, my 11am lecture class has been quite verbal and participative. I've been having the students play with molecular model kits composed of plastic balls and sticks. They're like Legos for chemistry students.

Anyhow, I received an email from a student who apparently has been colluding with another student and writing down some of my "quotes" of the past two weeks. Here goes...

Mike,

Listed below are a couple of choice quotes that Justin and I picked up on in the last two weeks. Wish we would have started sooner in the quarter, then we might be publishing a book right now. So, pop open a nice cool Schaefer light, or Natural light if you want to spring the extra couple of cents, and enjoy.

"You usually don't want to put more than four things around a thing."

Mike (pops a balloon) " I feel powerful!"

"Aromatic is a dirty, dirty, burner."

"You can make an ester and another guy can make an ester, then you can sniff each other's esters."

"I ran around looking for balls and sticks, and I couldn't find any real ones."

"The Balls prove it!"

"Oh, I got balls!"

"Except this one is kinky."

"Most woodchucks are very fire savvy."

"An instructor did die once in the middle of the quarter. But it wasn't me."

"Never ignore things that are dangling off anyway."

-Words to live by. Have a great break,

Eric

Stupid Football Announcer Cliches I Hate

Include the following:

"Burning" a timeout

Timeouts are not flammable. They do not have a carbon chain. They don't have mass or take up space. Timeouts are not matter. They are purely conceptual and this make them decidedly non-flammable. If timeouts were flammable, we wouldn't have an energy crisis in this country, especially in the NBA. So, I repeat, you don't "burn" a timeout. You "call" a timeout or "use" a time out. Thank you.

"He gets stronger as the game goes on!"

With the exception of body odor, nobody gets stronger as the game goes on. Go find me someone who can play a entire 60 minute football game and tell me at the end "Wow, I feel stronger!". What really happens? Everyone gets tired as the game goes on. Some players, particularly the ones on anabolic steroids, get less tired and when compared to the more tired players, they seem stronger. That's what's really going on here.

"Muffing" a punt

For some reason, when punting, if you drop the ball or fail to drop it on your foot, you didn't "botch" the punt or "flub" the punt, you "muffed" the punt. Why do the words "muff" and "punt" always need to go together? I don't know. But, I think I'll quit there because I feel like I'm treading on dangerous territory.

"If he *insert thing player should have done* it would have been a touchdown for sure!"

Hey, Mr. Announcer Guy. You don't know that. Sure, he might have had a lot of open field in front of him and no one chasing him. But, do you know for sure that if the dude caught the ball or picked up the fumble he would have absolutely, undoubtedly and with 100% probability strolled in for a touchdown? I've seen times where guys running for touchdowns give up running and then a speedy little sneaky guy like Don Beebe catches him, pooches the ball out from behind and causes a fumble. Dude could be running down the field and one of Tonya Harding's goons could hop out and whack him with a pipe. How do you always know what's going to happen next in life, Mr. Smarty Pants?! Do you know what word I am going to type next? Bleeble! You would have never guessed I was going to type "Bleeble". So, please allow events in life to unfold as they may. That's why people like sports, because it's different every time.

Okay, that's all.

I feel like I've left it all out on the field and given 110%.

Me don't get it...

I'm looking at the weather forecast for tomorrow and it says it's going to rain all day.

Okay. But, because I am not very trusting, I looked on the weather map and there's no green stuff showing any precipitation.

Then, I look at the weather map in motion and it shows no green stuff. But this time, the lack of green stuff is in motion!

So, like how's it gonna rain?

Okay, okay, I'm a scientist. I understand precipitation is sometimes a complicated process. And, the atmosphere is a very heterogeneous mixture of gases with temperature fluctuations and pressure systems and there's probably a low pressure system with very moist air that is going to collide with a high pressure system and produce some turbulence with tightly packed isobars.

I understand.

No, wait, actually, I don't understand what the hell I just said.

But just the same, I don't see any green stuff nearby. So, it's not raining all day tomorrow and I'm callin' it.

And, I'm riding my bike to work. I think that's really behind my theory. In psychological terms, it's "wish fulfillment".

So, in closing:

Ain't raining tomorrow as much as they say.

Bye.

A Night With The Aquabats

My head still pounding, ears still ringing and liver still swollen from the night before with The Toasters, I set out to make a road trip to Cleveland, Ohio and the Agora Ballroom. I was advised that the Agora is not located the friendliest neighborhoods. But, I was willing to flirt with danger to see the ultimate kings of nerd-core, The Aquabats.

I also needed to prove to the world I wasn't Agoraphobic.

The Trek

The trip flowed smoothly, until the last 20 miles. This is region where I am told Canada passes gas on us, which flows over warm Lake Erie producing lake effect snows. The snow was falling hard and fast, like some sort of strong metaphor that requires too much thought from a hung over person. Emboldened by my five years of winter experience in Buffalo, NY and the fact that my car is a total piece of shit, I pressed on.

It was times like this I wish I had fixed my broken windshield wiper fluid motor pump thingy and did not have to resort to a wind blown cycling water bottle squirt done arm dangling out the side window.

When pulling in to the venue, I asked the parking attendant when the storm was supposed to let up. Monday, he replied. That information cut my beer quota in half.

The Show

Harsh weather aside, the Agora was packed. As the third oldest person there, I could appreciate the youthful exuberance and sweatiness of the mob that was soon to be come a swirling pit of humanity. The Bats opened with Fashion Zombies and my mind exploded with excitement and child-like joy.



Quite often, I found myself giggling at the stock video clips that ran on the projection screen behind; scenes from Japanese sumo wrestlers, old Godzilla movies, space films, etc.

After a side skit involving a golden idol and a white buffalo, the plot of which I think was really driven by the purchase of a cheap costume somewhere on tour, the real suprise came about two thirds of the way through the show:


This was the "Hooray for the Holidays" tour. And a mystery guest was soon to arrive...

He was dressed in red and white...

He seemed jolly...

Yes, the Magic Chicken joined the bats on stage, dancing and clucking to the song which is his namesake.


It was beautiful.

The most clever rock & roll "fake ending" ever...

Sadly, we were two songs from the end. The bats said "good night" and left the stage. Naturally, the crowd was chanting "Aquabats" and sticking around for their reappearance. Meanwhile, the projection screen showed film of them high-fiving each other and leaving the outside of the venue. They hopped on horses, firing six shooters in the air.

Suddenly, they stopped riding...

Do you hear that? M.C. Bat Commander announced?

That's just crickets. Jimmy the Robot replied.

No it isn't? That's kids at the show! They want us to come back and play some more songs! We better get back!

And, so they did, riding their horses, it took them 30 seconds or so for them to reappear.

They closed with Captain Hampton and Awesome Forces.

Summary

Critics of the Bats have maligned them for losing their brass and abandoning their ska roots. I am happy to report, that Jimmy The Robot played his sax more than his keys. For some songs, they invited the trumpeter from the warm up band and got their ska on like they did at the turn of the century.

The Aquabats are also a breath of fresh air when choosing obscure music usually means bitchy, f-bomb rock. Their message is nauseatingly positive to the point of sarcasm. You'll be hard pressed to find a cuss word. What's more important, they celebrate all things silly. I appreciate that. There's part of me who wants to forget all the bitching I've heard all day and listen to a song about a martian girl or Powdered Milk Man or what not. As a result, I feel encouraged at times like later that night when I visited the highway rest area traveler's log, signed my name and wrote "I went poopie!" in the comments section. Life is too serious already and The Aquabats provide a respite.

This trip also allowed me to spend some serious quality time with my favorite person. If The Aquabats invade this area again, I will be there.

Perhaps, someone will go with me.

Check it out...

http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/eticket/story?page=buffalo58

Glad to see we've grown up a little since then.

One more reason to root for my alma mater!

24

The following events will have occurred between 11/20 and 11/21:

8pm-9pm: Finish typing this. Enter cockpit of the Mickmobile. Set GPS coordinates for Covington, Kentucky. Depart CTU (Counter Tediousness Unit) Headquarters.

9pm-10pm: Arrive at Mad Hatter Club. Occupy territory near bar. Conquer responsible number of cocktails using hand to bottle combat.

10pm-11pm: Dispose excess urine stores. Frontal assault on stage area.

11pm-12am: Commence Rocking with The Toasters & Two Tone Army while not letting the bastards grind me down.

12am-1am: Enter Mickmobile. Set GPS coordinates for Beavercreek, Ohio and CTU HQ.

1am-2am: Locate hidden micro chips, destroy with some sour cream and onion dip.

2am-6am: REM cycles 1, 2 and maybe 3

7am-8am: Dress in professional camouflage. Enter Mickmobile. Depart CTU for Fort Sinclair.

8am-9am: Attend briefing of department with Agent Boss Man. Sit in remote location so no one detects drowsiness, alcohol or ringing of the ears.

9am-10am: Search internet for further instructions.

10am-11am: Office Hour, stay vigilant against spontaneous drowsiness.

11am-12 noon: Train future operatives.

12 noon - 1pm: Fuel glycogen stores with long chain polysaccharides.

1pm - 2pm: Travel via Mickmobile to CTU headquarters.

2pm - 4pm: Secret love rendezvous and liver cleansing with mountain bike.

4pm- 5pm: Set GPS coordinates for Agora Ballroom, Cleveland Ohio, depart CTU via Mickmobile

5pm - 6pm: Commence Operation Scratch Myself

6pm-7pm: Rapid caffeine download at Ashland Starbucks

7pm - 8pm: Rapid Mickey's Malt Liquor download in parking structure. Enter Agora Ballroom. Join forces with M.C. Bat Commander and the rest of The Aquabats and commence fighting all evil.

Holy Cow!

I bought some steaks at Kroger.

Did you know Kroger is "regork" spelled backwards? Who would have thought...

Check it out...These steaks are a product of U.S., Canada, Mexico, Australia and New Zealand.


That is some well-traveled beef.

When I stuck my fork in it, it said "mooo" in three different languages.

Or, maybe I'm making this all up.

If so, my misteak.

Chow.

My limited petting experience

While growing up, I remember how much my father loved animals.

He loved them for breakfast, lunch and dinner!

For sure, we didn't make a habit of co-habitating with them.

So, now that I'm mostly growed up, I can't help but reflect on the very small number of pets I've had. In my entire life, I've had maybe six. And, out of those six, all but one of them are completely DEAD!

But, it's not my fault. Because, I was always good to them.

Let me explain. I will organize this discussion of pets by species, if you don't mind.

Fish

When I was a boy, I had several goldfish. But only two lived longer than a week. So, they are the only ones that count as living. Fish don't live, actually, they are just less dead. Anyhow, I bought two fish when I was in junior high school. I named them Cheech and Chong because pot smoking was popular back then. Cheech died when I was in high school. As a country boy, I was bored enough to hold a funeral for him with my friends.

We put the "fun" back in funeral, as you can plainly see.

Chong, on the other hand, lived a much longer life. I had to bring him to college with me. I remember looking down and noticing how his fish bowl vibrated, sending ripples through the water surface as his bowl sat on the floor of my car during the four hour car trek to college. In graduate scool, I woke up one day and noticed him lying on the bottom of his bowl while his belly was heaving in and out. If you own a fish, let me tell you, this is not a good sign because fish are not sophisticated enough to fake being sick for attention. I asked my roomate to end his life quickly because I couldn't bar do it. My roomate was a relatively brutal guy who was an antisemite and racist. He gleefully offered to take him outside and smash him with a stone. I took him up on this. So, Cheech had a very quick, albiet violent death. My former roomate is a lawyer now. He probably represents people who have had their heads smashed in with stones.

All in all, Chong lived thirteen years! He even lived through beer parties where people poured beer into his bowl.

But he didn't outlive a stone thrust into his head. Rest in peace, Chong.

Bunny Wabbits

Monty Python wasn't joking. Probably the meanest varmints that rule the Earth are rabbits.

"What, behind the rabbit? It is da rabbit!"

In high school, my brother's girlfriend bought him a pet rabbit. Weirdly, my Dad didn't object. Being the typical teenage country boys, we immediately began to ignore it's life sustaining needs and Mom took over as caregiver. She soon and fell in love with it. It was black and white. So, my brother named it "Zeb" which is short for Zebra. We were so smart and creative. Well, let me tell you something, Zeb wanted sex out of everyone and everything. He'd hump your arm, your leg, your head...anything. Naturally, he liked me the most. And, you know what really hurt? He never wanted to snuggle afterwards. Yep, Zeb was a horny little bunny. So, my Mom took Zeb to the vet where Zeb would undergo a special procedure causing him to return home without any balls! Not only did he not hump anything any more, he discovered a new part of himself that took a shine to interior design and fabrics.

Ultimately, Zeb didn't survive the surgery. I guess he couldn't face the world without any testicles. I remember very vividly on Christmas eve night; my Mom was playing the organ at midnight mass and we were home. I walked by Zeb's cage and noticed he was sleeping. But this time he was sleeping with his eyes open. I poked at him with something (probably a bunny poker) and he didn't move.

Zeb was dead.

My Mom came home and was sad. So, my Dad bought her another bunny.

This one was a female, her name was Missy. She was a bitch. She's probably in bunny hell right now. This little rodent bit me in the nipple and snorted at me.

Let's just talk about cats.

Ohhhh! No, wait! Missy almost killed me! I almost forgot that!

Missy's favorite hobby was chewing on electrical cords.

This is a fire hazard.

Because my Dad had deep objections to turning on the heat, I slept with an electrical blanket. Missy liked chewing on the cords that fed the blanket.

One night, I had a strange dream. In this dream, I smelled smoke and my feet felt hot.

I woke up immediately, where I smelled smoke and my feet were hot.

My bed was on fire.

Little hairy bitch chewed on my electrical blanket until the cords shorted out. This made my bed catch fire while I was sleeping.

Good thing I have sensitive feet.

So, I almost died in a fire while I slept. It didn't help that I was half asleep and tried to put the fire out by pouring water on it, which made it worse. I eventually gave in and barged in to my parent's room (which was only allowed if the house was on fire) and my Dad got up and smothered the fire.

So, the little bitch almost killed me.

I'm glad she's dead.

Now, we can talk about cats.

Cats

My wife wanted a cat. I've never had my own air-breathing pet before. So, I resisted. But eventually, I relented. Probably because I was as horny as Zeb.

I fell in love with this one. He was a grey male cat. Unfortunately, he lived 5 years longer than Chong the fish. Kidneys.

I remember taking him to the vet to put him down. I couldn't stay in the room. I elected to wait outside and have the vet's assistant hand me a shoe box with dead weight in it. I payed them 60 bucks for that. I didn't really make out on that deal.

Let's talk about other cats.

Now, I have kids. They wanted a kitten. My heart was broken with the last cat. So, I resisted. But guess what? I relented. Now we have this cat named Cocoa. My kids named him. He's black and white. Personally, I think cocoa is a silly name for a black and white cat because cocoa is dark brown. But, telling kids they came up with stupid names is not a very positive contribution to their self esteem. So, I didn't share my thoughts about the stupid ass name.

Instead, I call him Toonces. I want him to learn how to ride in a car. So, he's "Toonces the driving cat".

I now spend most of my time at home making sure Toonces doesn't drink out of the toilet or tip over drinks. This guy is obsessed with liquids.

Just like his old man!

You go, Toonces!

And that is all I have to say about pets.

So, bye.

I can make it happen...

On the morning of January 27th, 1991, I was kneeling in a Catholic church on Main Street in Buffalo, NY.

Among my normal prayers, I prayed that the Buffalo Bills would win Super Bowl XXV.

That's where my focus was in life.

Somebody's trying to tell me something, because they lost the next four Super Bowls.

I take responsibility, because I thought sports were important enough to pray about.

I don't care much about sports any more. But when I start to gain interest, I can guarantee my team of choice's failure. I don't even need to pray.

The NHL finals where the Buffalo Sabres got screwed on that goal in overtime? They even had a guy named Miroslav Satan!

The last two years, when the New York Mets choked at the end of the season to miss the playoffs? That was me.

Now tonight, my Alma Mater, The University of Buffalo Bulls, have a chance to make history and take sole possession of the MAC east. If they win tonight vs. Akron, they have their way paved for a bowl game this year.

But it ain't gonna happen. Because I'm now interested, and that makes the opposite thing happen.

So, just for the record: Buffalo losing to Akron tonight. I might go to the bar and watch so it'll happen for sure!

The University of Akron are the "Zips". A Zip is a Kangaroo. They are all over Akron Ohio, Kangaroos are, that is. And, there's no way in hell a marsupial can beat up an adult sized huge mammal the size of a bull. Have you watched PBR? Those things get pissed.

But I'll make it happen. You watch.

Please God, make the Akron Zips beat the Buffalo Bulls.

Ah, crap, He can probably read my mind and know I didn't mean that.

Buffalo going down tonight. 7pm on ESPN U.

I just made it happen.

Sorry Buffalo.

Bake Yo Ass a Chicken!

So, this whole economic crisis thing looks serious. Like, really serious.

We gotta pull together, folks. Americans are spending too much money. Lets reel that in.

And I can hear you saying: How, skinny guy?

I say to you...

Americans! Bake yo ass a chicken!

Do it for the United States of Spamerica!

Seriously, it's not just the three glasses of wine talking. I think we curtail our costs by cookin' for our damn self! If you already cook for yo damn self, do it more!

Dammit!

I took my family out to Applebees a little while ago.

'Dat shit cost us 65 bucks.

For less a quarter that much, you can eat like royalty.

Here's how you do it:*

• Go to the grocery sto'!
• Buy yo self a big ass chicken, a 10 pound sack a potatoes and a bag of froze up spinach!
  
• Sprinkle some salt n pepa an put 'dat bird in 'da oven
• Wrap dose taters in some foil and put dat in 'da oven too
  
• Bake all dat shit!
• Empty the spinach and nuke 'dat shit in a big ass bowl.
  
• After 90 minutes, take it out and eat dat shit!
• Leave 'da oven open to heat 'da house.
  
• Yum!
  

Holy cow. For the last hundred words I think I just channeled my grandfather. He grew up in North Carolina. Well, he didn't say "shit" much. That part was all me.

Shit!

I guess what I'm saying is...if things are really this economically shitty, don't you think we could stay in a cook for ourselves more? Don't you think it's just as easy, just as good and wayyyy cheaper?

Dontcha think?

Hah?

Whatcha think?

Shit!

*Please do not bake shit or eat chicken with your ass. Those are only euphemisms, or figures of speech. Thank you for reading my blog, have a nice day. Do not heat house with oven still going and door open when cat might jump in. Do not bake chicken while still alive. Side effects include clucking like a chicken and walking with your head wagging back and forth. Do not choke your chicken.

Here's another letter: Proctor & Gamble

First, some background:

I wrote Proctor & Gamble about Head & Shoulders shampoo. I told them I was Italian and because I had hair on both my head and my shoulders, I asked if it was okay if I used their product on both my head and my shoulders.

A woman named Kimberly wrote back and told me in so many words "yes".

I guess I wasn't satisfied with that. So, I wrote Kimberly another letter:

Proctor & Gamble
Attn: Customer Relations Ms. Kimberly Vinje

To whom it may concern,

I enjoy the use of your products Metamucil and Pepto Bismol very regularly. Since my diet consists largely of banana and peanut butter sandwiches on white bread, I use them to stay "regular".

I am also very inactive (another reason for my constipation) and I love to watch the MTV network all day. One day, while watching the show "Unplugged (a show where rock bands do special acoustic concerts) I had a thought: Metamucil and Pepto Bismol should be the official sponsors of "Unplugged" since that is what they do best!

I just thought I'd share my idea with you folks since your great products have made my life easier. Please write me back and tell me what you think of my idea.

Sincerely, Mike Colonaro

P.S. It would be most appropriate if you showed a bunch of ads when the band "Hole" (featuring Courtney Love) appeared on Unplugged.

Their response, which came with a coupon for a free roll of Charmin toilet paper:


Dear Mr. Colonaro,

Thank you for contacting Proctor and Gamble about Metamucil and Pepto Bismol. We appreciate your taking time to get back in touch with us. By the way, how's the shoulder hair doing?

Mr. Colonaro, I must say your letter, while informative, was on the verge of crossing the more-than-I-need-to-know information border. Although we don't accept any advertising suggestions from outside our company, we found your letter amusing.

In fact, I may consider my own line of game shows associated with the usage of Metamucil and Pepto Bismol. Perhaps the prizes could be Charmin toilet paper or Tide with Bleach, depending on how successful the contestant. I'll need a host, so prepare your resume.

Please, if you have any questions or comments in the future, call the toll-free number listed on our product packages. Thanks again for getting in touch with us, you made my day! Hope you enjoy the enclosed.

Sincerely,

Kimberly Vinje
Consumer Relations

How to talk to your children about the financial crisis

Today's children are more than just pint-sized little creatures we are legally obligated to clothe and feed.

They also make a lot of noise.

So it goes to say we should take time to inform them of the global state of crappy affairs in the world today.

As a father of at least two children, I have a vested interest. After all, our children are the ones who will have to clean this mess up someday. We should be gentle with them in the way we let them know we are a stupid society armed with credit cards. When breaking the hard financial news, you might consider the following techniques to approach your child or even the odd kid on the playground.

Sock Puppets

Children consider sock puppets non-threatening. Use them to create parodies of financial situations. Entertain your children by inserting your hand in a sock puppet and then pulling out a dollar. During which, make the sock puppet carry on and writhe in pain. That's pretty much the entire plot. My kids love that one. I call it "The man who did business with a sub prime lender".

Let them fail with their own plastic

Get your kid a debit card with $5 loaded on it. Then, tell them "This magic card can buy you anything you want...anything in the whole, wide world!". They will naturally go buy the latest Brat doll who is showing her belly button or a muscle car toy which easily exceeds the $5. After they cry for a while, tell them that credit cards only buy things $5 or less. When they turn 18 years old and get their own credit card, let them think no different.

Make kids partners in your cost-cutting

When you cut costs so you can retire, make sure you let kids in on your plan. While you are watching college football and the kids approach you and ask who you want to win, make sure you always tell them the team with the lowest tuition. Luckily, Ivy League teams don't even play football on TV. Tell them you root for every team that has low tuition with a high faculty to student ratio and a good success rate with public scholarships. Even if you have to root for a SEC team. It's for their own good.

In summary

Blame the financial crisis on the kids. They aren't old enough to know to defend themselves and you can justify a lot of things by blaming them. That way, when they inevitably fund the solution 20 years from now, they won't feel so disenfranchised.

Time to test some techniques by talking to my 5-year old daughter:

Me: "Hi sweetie! What do you think of the global credit crunch?"

Daughter: "I think it's crunchy! * giggle * "

Classic case of denial. This might take a while...

Sprinkler Rainbow Conspiracy!

"We as a nation have got to ask ourselves; what the hell is going on?"

I couldn't agree more.

Hoo boy...

My State is Blue

When I woke up this morning
my state had turned blue
one fell democratic swoop
has changed our hue

It might take a while
to adjust our Buck eyes
the electoral college
does not compromise

We blew right by orange
didn't bother with yellow
didn't waste any time
with green, young fellow

We all cast our votes
now Ohio is blue
just like my home state
and Pennsylvania too

When I drive north and east
to go visit my kin
things won't change red to blue
and red back again

It's monochromatic!
as of right today
Maybe I'll visit my friend
His state is still grey.

Son of Godzulla 2008

Welp, I put the racing season to bed saturday. Actually, it put me to bed. But no worries, it was somewhat gentle.

Let me blab a while about the last "unofficial" road event of the season: Son of Godzulla.

Scott Denny for President

So, non-road bicycle racer. You might wonder; what's the big whoop? Son of Godzulla (SOG) is run in an area south and east of Cincinnati along the river. This place is known for some of the steepest-ass hills man has ever dared apply asphalt. The grades reach 30% at points, which is 3 feet elevation gain for every 10 feet forward. For the average rider, this amounts to...ouch squared.

I tip the scales at about a buck fifty. I can manage roads that point up. Last year I stole 3rd and my fitness has been okay since August or so this year. So, I was looking forward to SOG. Scott Denny can take a lot of credit for this.

Scott Denny is SOG's promoter. He is by far my favorite in the area. Why? He emphasises something road racers need to be reminded of: This is for fun. He does this without compromising safety or the quality of the event.

Scott paints the road with special signals to alert the riders of upcoming climbs. This year's theme was "Mr. Bill" from Saturday Night Live Fame. As we approached Thomas Hill, which kicks up to 28%, I noticed an artist's rendition of Mr. Bill in spray paint with the caption "Oh No!" below.

This year, Scott broke out a new course. Shorter, but with more hills. You can't hide. The 61 mile torture session started from a beautiful vista at the top of a giant ridge on Grants Run Rd.

I arrived early to witness what the fog was goin' on in the valley below.

Lookie how pretty:

Not Diane in the blue jacket. The fog!

Race stuff:

We rolled out and spun along the first flat section of 9 miles. It's the only flat we'd see all day.

Well, not the only flat. More on that later.

I flatted.

Crap, I couldn't keep it to myself any longer. I finished 22nd, 16 minutes off the pace because my front wheel flatted. This has been the year of the flat tire for me. Until then, I was hanging in the lead selection of 10 or so riders. My legs were feeling spunky and on the climbs I heard the breath of others rasping behind me. At mile 38, I felt the vibration that accompanies road in direct contact with rim. I was toast.

I yelled something profane, raised my hand up to signal the group and watched the other 9 guys pass me get smaller as I whipped out my tube and replaced it with a fresh one. During which, some of my teammates in the chase group zipped by and told me they were sorry. They didn't sound like they meant it though. The bastards. :)

At least now, the pressure was off, literally. My mini-pump couldn't get much air into the tube and I was sponging my way along the road to finish.

There's a lot of material for dirty jokes here. I must be off today.

No good finish at SOG this year. This will be the third flat I've had this racing season. All on hilly courses.

Let's just talk about the party, dammit.

Post-Race Party

Scott holds a cookout/beer party after Son of Godzulla. I can't talk much about this event last year. I don't know why, but my memory is a bit fuzzy. I do remember sleeping in my car afterward. I recognized one of the volunteer cooks from prior years and assured her I would not be sleeping in my car this year.

"You were funny last year" She said.

I guess I was funny last year.

Scott held a "decathalon of events" which included a bounce the quarter competition, a hold your ankles race and a pig head shotput. Yeah, every year, they grill a pig head and a sheep head and these are somehow a source of amusement.

The women get to toss the sheep head.

You would be surprised how many people will touch a pig head after drinking a large amount of alcohol.

Not me. Geez, I hope I didn't touch it last year.

Anyhow, my friend Todd wanted me to camp. But, I didn't bring a tent. I don't like sleeping in my car from past experience, and I don't want to risk accidentally spooning with another guy. We're a close team. But not that close.

Nothing personal Todd.

I'm getting bored of typing this. I can only imagine how readers feel.

Let's just close by saying, I'm switching to Latex tubes. They cost $11, but they don't tear as easy. I didn't sleep in my car this year. And, I have a little fire in my belly to get me through the off-season. Last year, the fire in my belly was Jagermeister.

If you're in the SW Ohio area. Try SOG. There's a mini-SOG too. Warning! If you walk up the final hill, you will receive and be forced to suck on, a baby pacifier.

I miss racing already.

Word.

Halloweenie