Alea iacta est

Nothing left to do but nervously embrace the -11 temps this weekend (without wind) and hope for the best Sunday night. People keep laying it at Rex's feet, but I believe Brian will determine the outcome for the Bears. Go Bears!

People around the office are telling me that even if the Bears win the Superbowl, they will nonetheless have last been beaten by the Packers, at Soldier(s’) Field nonetheless. I guess there is something to be garnered from having beaten the team that would go on to win it all. I suspect that it will ultimately ring hollow though, much in the same way it did for me in 1983 when the White Sox lost the ALCS to the Baltimore Orioles, whom would go on to win the World Series. I’m sure my father said something along the lines of, “Well, at least the Sox lost to the winner. They were beaten by the best.” It was a valiant effort, but didn’t help in the least. If the Bears win or lose they were in the Superbowl. The Packers are playing golf (like the Blackhawks always do). Simple.

…


There has been a bit of 52 explosion here lately. Well, DC has provided a nice, big image to further the endless silliness and speculation. Is that a flight ring on the bottom?

On my desk this morning, anonymously, was a note with the following scrawled:

The Bears Still Suck!!!

How much can I win from a hostile work environment lawsuit?

Multum in parvo

I try to constantly push towards unread books, unwatched movies, and unheard music. I'll never experience it all before I die, but I ought to make that effort. Yet, I am ceaselessly drawn back to an endless re analysis of books and music. Neil Young, Hemingway's "Hills Like White Elephants," Darwyn Cooke, and Grant Morrison are on tap this past week and the Matheson and Aquinas (both being read for the first time) are on the back burner. So I haven't digested much new this past while, but I've seen the old as new yet again.

Since I mentioned comic books in this post Wayne is more than encouraged to reply at length about 52. How 'bout Animal Man? And the multiverse? But we don't know what is going to come of Adam Strange's eyes...

This past weekend I reread The New Frontier, loving it more than ever. The original intention was to read an issue a day and let them sink in gradually. Once I made it to day 2 this plan quickly evaporated and I ended up reading the final 5 issues over 2 days. This series is so terrific – its seemingly simplicity in art coupled with its complexity in theme is perfect . I had always loved it the first two times I read it, but I hadn’t fully captured the sense of glory and purity at the advent of the Silver Age heroes. Cooke so fully captures this in his sharp, blunt pencils. The panel at the end where Lois is told that the injured Kal was asking for her and her alone is amazing and so expressive. I jumped right into Seven Soldiers #0 last night. This series will probably blur if I rush it though. One book a night is the plan. Anything more than that and Grant will cook my brain.

I devour comic books much in the same way I pour through movies and tv shows and usually have the same result -- most of it is either mediocre or poor. Its just the nature of reading a lot of comics. Most are forgettable, some are bland yet remembered for their continuity contributions, and a few knock you down with just how good they are. Many great comics are immediately great, thought most are dense and only appear great after being reread 6 months down the road. Its only January but I would not be surprised if All Star Superman #6 holds up as one of the best single issues of the year. So exciting and heartbreaking. The God of All Comics does it again.

Arduum sane munus

Here is my recipe for a great Tour da Chicago Prologue, albeit it one with poor temporal results.:

Go to bed at 2:30am on Saturday night, dream yet again of the Last Frontier, and get up at 4:30am. Drive to Chicago at 5:15am and stop for coffee at the Des Plaines Oasis, where you purchase a cup of coffee.

I never drink coffee (for no discernible reason – I drink Green Tea if anything) so the half dozen times a year I have a cup I really get a boost out of it. Sunday is the perfect example of a day when I needed that boost, so I opted for the most intimidating and interesting flavor available – “Dark Thunder.” I found this emasculating, but also the kind of raw power I needed. It was pretty much strong, dark coffee. Perfect.

I felt that I rode faster than in the past, and I know my fitness level is higher than in past years, but my result was pretty piss poor – even compared to past results. I only added on about ¾ of a mile of extra distance so that shouldn’t have been too much of an anchor to my time. Oh well. I had a good time, the weather was great, the vibe excellent, and I’ll be back for more.

My cell reception at work is terrible so I never answer it (though txting is fine), especially when the area code or number is unknown. Yesterday I received a voicemail from a 212 number, which turned out to be the Late Show with David Letterman offering me tickets. I had forgotten that I dropped them a note for standby tickets in January. I hoped that maybe I would get a call for Monday tickets (Friday's show is filmed on Thursday) as that would be easy to travel for, but they were for Wednesday, January 10th tickets. Too bad it won't work out, but it was interesting to get the call. Now that I know its possible to have something come from submitting that little form on their website I'll have to take it a little more seriously next time.

One of the more consistently creepy things I run across in my travels is any sort of forgotten or converted dance hall on the edge of a beautiful lake in Wisconsin. Its usually more than 50 years old at the least and though it probably has been converted to a beach house or restaurant a long time earlier, you can still see the structure of a large, open room looking onto a clear lake. You can still hear the music and picture the flappers dancing away on some long past New Years Eve overlooking a frozen lake. Its all so charming and sweet, but it really brings back The Shining for me. I can still see Jack Nicholson in that Black and White photo, transported back to 1921 for the July 4th Ball. I always felt this at the beach house at Devils Lake, but I recently had dinner at the Silvercryst and they had a photograph of a 100 year old dance hall on the lake that sat on the location the large restaurant currently does. It went right under my skin. The building and structure may be gone or changed, but those flappers dance on, eternally young and careless.

Doesn't anybody tape "Check, Please!" ?

Every now and again people ask me if I miss Chicago. It’s a valid question and one that I almost have a canned answer for, though I do try and give it a bit of dynamic thought each time. I know that I miss people -- certainly and without a doubt. The geography though strangely holds little allure for me. I love the skyline and will be the first to assert that Chicago is a world class city, one of the greatest in the world. However, I was amazed how quickly the connection with the tangible city vanished. I love racing there in the winter, but I love it even more when I’m driving up John Nolan Drive and see the Capital on the edge of Lake Monona. I guess I left at the right time, or rather I’m in the right place now.

All of that having been said, man I miss certain Chicago restaurants, and the show Check Please! in particular. I would even watch the reruns, swearing at goofball guests that have really strange ways of looking at dining. But that is the whole fun of the show – the mix of people. I hadn’t anticipated missing a silly tv show, but when I think about it I really do miss a silly tv show. The reason this popped in my head today is because Palermo’s was featured on the show recently, or at least I found out about it recently. I cannot illustrate in words how great Palermo’s sauce is. All of their food is great, but the sauce is the kingpin here. It is so sweet and aside from the obvious sugar involved, the rumor was always that beer made its way in. Knowing a handful of ex employees I can attest to the fact that sauce was always made by the owner, behind a locked door, with ingredients hidden before and after the process – though on one occasion there was a small amount of spilled sugar on the floor. I know every town has a handful of Italian places with secret sauces and the requisite secret recipe story, but this is my story and I say it’s the best. I wish I could see this segment, but youtube is not solving this quandary. They visited the 95th street location, which is near my old stomping grounds, yet I have never been inside oddly enough -- I lived 2 blocks from the original location on 63rd street. I have always wondered how the 95th location became a flagship when the 63rd street location predates it by quite a bit and has always had a large dining room. Maybe its as simple as my old neighborhood getting tougher by the day and Oak Lawn not. Who knows. The sauce is the same at either place. Well, with the Tour Da Chicago looming in the near future I’ll get my fix.

Being allergic to cats, yet having a profound fascination and love for all things Hemingway, I am confused as to which side to take in this story.

The Orbea has been reglued and reassembled, and saw some mileage in Indiana over the Christmas holiday. I was initially disappointed in having a repaired frame – one that I would always glance down at and wonder when the piece would crack again – but now I think all will be fine. I rode it a few times and it feels so perfect and smooth and clean that the whole experience has moved away from a disownment of a betrayer and loafer towards the now embrace of an old friend. All is forgiven and it rides again like a dream. If it breaks again it is still under warranty so no big deal. Take care of it as much as possible but ride it like you stole it till it falls apart. That is the plan.

Salma has graciously yielded and allowed a glimpse of the healed outline of her sleeve. It looks terrific. The design is no Mortiis riding a unicorn, but it looks wonderful nonetheless. Hopefully some of her sleeve incorporates a yin yang and a panther, preferably with the yin yang on the panther. All great tattoos do.

After organizing and bagging/boarding about 500 comics in Indy over the weekend I set aside a small pile for rereading. On tap: The New Frontier (haven’t reread it in a year – so wonderful), We3, Seven Soldiers (yep, I dug out all 28 issues plus the bookending issues 0 and 1 – I’ll blow through it all in a few days in the order Grant lists in the rear of each issue. The Filth read much better when time had passed and I was able to reread it in a flurry, though I loved Seven Soldiers to begin with), Darwyn Cooke’s Solo, and JLA:Classified 1-3 (yeah, the Grant Morrison arc). The net has been flooded with Seven Soldiers decompression articles and I really want to avoid their polluting effects before I reread it all again. Grant Morrison is very dense most of the time, but its always worth the time and there is really no way out of the tunnel but through the other side. 30 books here I come.


I am still living on applesauce more than I’d like, but I have resumed molar usage. No chewing of meat yet, but having made it through the experience without the horror of the whispered and threatened dry sockets I consider myself blessed.

Due to OSHA laws prohibiting the return of extracted teeth to patients, I do not have photos of my 4 wisdom teeth. They're gone, headed for an incinerator, and I left not as wise as I was Thursday night. I did photograph some strawberries, er, gauze pads. So at least I can offer some gore, if you want to click through.

Even at the height of my skating ability and lack of fear I would probably have a healthy respect for Burnside in Portland. Its such a tight and burly course that I would be pleased to have carved it. Unfortunately I had no board when I visited last month, otherwise I would have eaten shit for old times sake. It was without a doubt a religious moment -- just to be able to gaze upon its cement.. Not much more can be said.




I have a strange habit of being photographed with male friends and their children, while their wives are nowhere to be seen.

With any luck there will be bloody photos next week of the 4 wisdom teeth that are to be cut out of me tomorrow morning. Fun.

The Dahmer Dash was pure brutality, appropriately so given the subject matter. In hindsight it was a complete blast and very challenging, but at the time maddening and frustrating (mainly due the weather and my bad luck following different groups that didn't know Milwaukee as much as I assumed they did). I would expect it will gather some degree of legendary status for its weather challenges, though it was 10 degrees warmer than the 17 at the start of the Tour Da Chicago Stage 1 in 2005. That was brutal. I wore canvas vans on that race but wisely wore sambas in Milwaukee. Huge difference for my feet this time. Great race all around, and a disturbing shirt on top of it all.

Another Dirge

All things come to and end, and in this case, they have come to a sad, unexpected end. My Orbea is currently being warrantied at Machinery Row here in Madison. While talking on the phone a few weeks ago and glancing randomly around the room I noticed the seat stay on the non-drive side looked strange. After closely examining the carbon wishbone’s connection to the dropout I realized it had separated – the glue cleanly popped. No carbon splintering, but a clean break that explains the creaking I had heard the previous week. Annoying, but part of the allure of the brand is that it has a lifetime guarantee. That, along with the wonderful ride it affords, completely justified the price. Still it is sad to see the frame go. There is a slight chance that it will return reglued, but I am more confident that I’ll get the chance to pick a new color. At least it didn’t happen in the summer. So here is a picture from happier times. I’m sure a picture of the new ride will follow in a week or so. Hopefully every fall isn’t a time for a new color. Those 5000 miles were too few…



Dirge for a 9 Speed

Absit omen.
Beatae memoriae,
Consummatum est.
Hodie mihi, cras tibi.
Ego veho, semper!

May this not be an omen.
Of blessed memory,
It is completed.
Today for me, tomorrow for you.
I ride, always!

Skate Videos

I don’t want to become yet another of the uncountable hordes of bloggers that write something to the extent: “Wow, youtube is so cool. There are so many great videos there. Let me show you some” Suffice to say, I am yet again driven ceaselessly into the past, this time down the path of skate videos from my more flexibly-jointed youth. I tend to gravitate towards the videos I never owned and only watched endlessly in Pete’s basement. I sadly cannot find the Madcircle video out there.

Tim and Henry’s Pack of Lies – Blind Promo

Video Days

101’s Falling Down

Kris Markovic in the Color Video

Kris Markovic in the 101 Promo (I remember it either came in a sleeve advertising Golf Tips or Smoking Cessation tips)

Rick Howard in Goldfish

Ed Templeton in New Deal’s Useless Wooden Toys

The Walgreens on the Archer Ave of my youth never seems that far away. I still wear skate shoes out of habit. And youtube has facilitated another reason to endlessly look to the past.

(such a lazy, link ridden, post…)

In the past I have thrown a few (read: plethora of) good natured spears at Madison’s half-cousin-twice-removed city – Portland, OR. I stand by them, but since I have now visited that cool town I will likely temper my jabs while also defending them via a vague ‘Hey, I was kinda local for 48 hours.’

Portland had rain, as promised. But returning home to Wisconsin on Sunday night and approaching my truck in an external lot yielded different November surprises. It had snowed a few inches and with the sun and sub 32 degree nights I was given about 2 inches of ice in the entire bed of my truck. The top was a little slushy. That makes it very easy to come screaming off when you find an empty part of the lot, put your vehicle in reverse, hammer it, and then slam on the brakes. The snow is all gone now, not because the weather is back to normal, but because Wisconsin is being uncharacteristically kind this week. Portland’s rain may be the target of some jokes, but I only kid because I love. If there is going to be snow it should at least get cold enough to make some ice. Pond Hockey needs to begin soon.

Amazingly, Portland was rainy

It is very difficult to try and accurately capture all the interesting and new things I enjoyed in Portland, OR visiting Melissa and Paul. As much as I visited them purely out of our longstanding friendship, I can't help but feel that there is also some silly sense of electronic-blog visiting in the mix. I guess that's life in 2006.

Aside from being in the company of gracious hosts, I was shown:

-- The Pacific coast and Haystack Rock in Cannon Beach, OR, where I bravely ate a tasty fried oyster sandwich.

-- Burnside skatepark, which was the religious portion of the trip (Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages).

-- The mighty Powell's bookstore.

-- Downtown Portland along with overcast stolen glances at mountain ranges crying out for a summer return trip.

The trip was all too short, but wonderful nonetheless. In the above photo we can see that Sam is obviously fascinated by my superior verbal ability to caption photos before passing them on to others. I will hopefully be back soon in the summer with some camping and hiking in mind, along with the spelunking the rain robbed us of by washing out the road to Mt St. Helens.

...

For reasons I honestly cannot understand, Bigfoot keeps finding his way into my geographical life. I canoed in northern Wisconsin this June and overlapped in time and region with a Bigfoot expedition. I can appreciate that he dwells in the dense forests up north, but apparently he's moving south for the winter. In the first report, Bigfoot tried to snag a doe off of a pick up. In the second, he leaned against a tree and hung out. All within 60 miles of Madison -- close to Milwaukee actually. Its things like this that make me proud, while also offering a smile and a shrug, when telling people I have adopted Wisconsin as my home.

When I turned 24 I announced the beginning of my "Year of Fear" -- after Bob Probert, #24 on the Chicago Blackhawks. For quite a while Bob was the most feared fighters in the NHL, and to this day is easily one of the greatest fighters of all time, if not the greatest. People always seem to talk most about his reclamation of the NHL heavyweight belt in the Domi fight, but I am partial to the Marty McSorley fight.



The following year I chose to announce that I was a "Quarter Century Man." Silly, but something to hang your hat on. It seemed more interesting than just telling people I was 25.

The funny and quirky attempts have drifted into the ether as time has marched beyond my mid 20's. Anyone know a witty brand for 31?

Work being busy and not having a computer makes blogging slip just a bit from my grasp. All work and no play makes Homer a something something.

Halloween in Madison usually means some combination of dressing up, getting loaded, and standing on State Street till the cops tear gas you at 2am to send you home. For men there were many Borats, some pirates, a bunch of other misc things, and strangely more than a few 6ft-plus inflatable penises. The women had costumes far across the board, though it seemed that the overwhelming majority followed this simple formula:

Costume = sexy/slutty +

Sexy Cop? Many. Sexy Nurse? Yep. Sexy Wench? Check. Sexy Mechanic? Saw one. Etc, etc, etc.

Before all of that terrible sexiness in the 30 degree Wisconsin night, I raced the Scaredy-Cat alleycat race earlier that evening. We all met on picnic point, ensuring that the start of the race would find us all barreling down the dirt jogging trail to get back to pavement and city streets. There weren’t too many joggers or dogs on the path as we freight trained through the woods and if it sounds like a clusterf***, it is because it was. Its an alleycat and some confusion and non conventional cycling challenges at the beginning are to be expected. You roll with it. As much as we took off like bats out of hell, the race was clearly structured in a way where finishing order didn’t matter – it was all about hitting the stops in order and getting the most points. That was made crystal clear in the beginning, yet everybody still has to ride balls out, at least to the first stop. That’s how alleycats go. We bobbed for apples, scavenged for playing cards down a hill with optional weights(I went for 20lbs – Jason went for 50lbs – most went for none or less than 20lbs) loaded in our bags, told dirty jokes, put condoms on our bike seats, and other things that have drifted out of my mind at this point. Since the weather was nice and Madison isn’t as riddled with bike thieves as Chicago, I saddled the Orbea, hoping to finish higher than I usually do in these things. I’ll never win an alleycat, but I was pleased with my placement. All around it was an excellent time -- the stops were interesting and challenging, and the after party had great food and beer and hospitality. I only regret having to leave in the middle of the skid contest.

I rode home, finished a too short phone call, jumped in the shower, and shuffled quickly to Real Chili for my 10pm Halloween shift. In short, it was packed beyond belief, we were able to stay on top of customers and the clearing of tables, and in the middle of the blasting hip hop and vulgarity spewing employees we managed to survive. There was almost one fight, and yes it included an employee. At 2am the cops cleared State St and while that is an excellent idea for many reasons, for our little part of the world it meant that our customers dried up. That part sucked. So we slowed down much earlier than expected and I ended up walking in my apt at 4:10am – after the clocks moved back. All in all a fun night. Good costumes, good attitudes, and good tips.