Friday, June 10, 2011
Thursday, June 09, 2011
Monday, May 09, 2011
gonna bitch about it
I almost don't wanna even bother. I haven't posted in ages, and I haven't even been online on the ol' trusty desktop in days. I even turned the damn thing off a few days ago knowing I wouldn't see it for at least most of two days, and then I managed to add at least a day to that.
I do have my fancy new phone, however the battery life has left something to be desired. Finally getting near the desktop however may have fixed all that for me. I googled my problem and visited some forums and went via the phone to the Android market for what I hope is a fix.
I also took the boys out for dinner tonight, and this why I actually sat down to write. The experience was one of the worst and the best I've had out in a long time.
It was the worst because my food was ruined. The server put our food down, I didn't quite look at it, though I did make sure we had everything and it was all in its proper place.
And then I looked at the plate in front of me. Immediately I saw that my sweet potato chips looked mostly burnt, though picking through them later I realized that not more than about thirty percent were REALLY burnt. Most of the rest were merely overdone.
I pointed this out to the server, and he brought me a new unburned order as quickly as he was able. And here's a little sidetrack that's sorta helpful.
Over the years I've taken part in a useless battle that occurs in far too many restaurants, a battle that pits the front and back of house against each other. It's usually the kitchen that makes this battle ever happen at all, but then the servers are forced to deal with it the best they can.
And often this might mean that the server would rather face an unhappy customer with food that's obviously not right than mention to the kitchen what he/she can too easily see. Or maybe they're used to seeing the food that way and don't get that it's burnt, or maybe they see it and don't give a shit.
Worse is that someone in the kitchen was willing to send this out. They cooked food for too long and made it suck, but rather than throw it away and do it right, they tossed it on the plate and sent it out. They couldn't have not know that they made bad food.
I put my chicken sandwich together and cut it in half. It was a whole boneless, skinless breast, both lobes, and they were still attached via the bit of cartilege between them. That bothers me, but I'm not going to be a dick about that. It's a matter of taste.
I bit into the sandwich and once again knew immediately that it too was over done. I hoped that it was just a little tough because I started at the thinner end, but too soon I was into the thicker meat and was having to rip bites out, and the chicken was pulling out of the bun, and the sandwich was essentially inedible. If I'd cooked it for myself, and if I suddenly forgot how to cook and made it this bad, I'd have eaten it. I'm not really one to waste food.
But I'm not paying for food that is so poorly done. I couldn't eat the sandwich, and I really tried. After not catching the server's eye for far too long I was finally able to lodge my complaint. He took the plate of over done food away and spoke with the manager who was kind enough to not make me pay.
He didn't talk to me. He didn't offer to do anything to make me feel better, and I don't really know what I would have wanted of him. I didn't eat the food, and he didn't make me pay for the bad parts. I left the store unsatisfied, having not gotten anywhere close to what I wanted despite my willingness as a customer.
And now I'm hungry, and I shouldn't be, and because I haven't been at the house much for a couple of days or so there really isn't anything here to eat. That's entirely my fault.
By this point the kids were done eating. I wasn't going to make them sit and wait for me to get and eat a new entree, and I wasn't willing to sit and wait and then pay for food when my experience had been so marred.
But then we sat at the table. I munched on the bowl of not burned chips and the extra side of fries I let The Boy get since we were out for his birthday. He didn't like his other side, black beans, but because it wasn't what he expected, but I enjoyed them and brought them with the other leftovers.
We had a really nice time as we sat and waited. I had to pay the bill and finish a beer, and they were both not quite impatient and sooo ready to go just yet. And it was a really nice time. The munching had taken the edge off my hunger, so my mood had been helped by that, and the boys were both full and happy.
And we just hung out for a little bit. We chatted. I saw pictures that Big Brother took with his phone at his school's cultural fair. I even got to see a picture of some kid's rendition of Abraham Lincoln leading the Hebrew people out of Egypt.
It was cool in the end.
I do have my fancy new phone, however the battery life has left something to be desired. Finally getting near the desktop however may have fixed all that for me. I googled my problem and visited some forums and went via the phone to the Android market for what I hope is a fix.
I also took the boys out for dinner tonight, and this why I actually sat down to write. The experience was one of the worst and the best I've had out in a long time.
It was the worst because my food was ruined. The server put our food down, I didn't quite look at it, though I did make sure we had everything and it was all in its proper place.
And then I looked at the plate in front of me. Immediately I saw that my sweet potato chips looked mostly burnt, though picking through them later I realized that not more than about thirty percent were REALLY burnt. Most of the rest were merely overdone.
I pointed this out to the server, and he brought me a new unburned order as quickly as he was able. And here's a little sidetrack that's sorta helpful.
Over the years I've taken part in a useless battle that occurs in far too many restaurants, a battle that pits the front and back of house against each other. It's usually the kitchen that makes this battle ever happen at all, but then the servers are forced to deal with it the best they can.
And often this might mean that the server would rather face an unhappy customer with food that's obviously not right than mention to the kitchen what he/she can too easily see. Or maybe they're used to seeing the food that way and don't get that it's burnt, or maybe they see it and don't give a shit.
Worse is that someone in the kitchen was willing to send this out. They cooked food for too long and made it suck, but rather than throw it away and do it right, they tossed it on the plate and sent it out. They couldn't have not know that they made bad food.
I put my chicken sandwich together and cut it in half. It was a whole boneless, skinless breast, both lobes, and they were still attached via the bit of cartilege between them. That bothers me, but I'm not going to be a dick about that. It's a matter of taste.
I bit into the sandwich and once again knew immediately that it too was over done. I hoped that it was just a little tough because I started at the thinner end, but too soon I was into the thicker meat and was having to rip bites out, and the chicken was pulling out of the bun, and the sandwich was essentially inedible. If I'd cooked it for myself, and if I suddenly forgot how to cook and made it this bad, I'd have eaten it. I'm not really one to waste food.
But I'm not paying for food that is so poorly done. I couldn't eat the sandwich, and I really tried. After not catching the server's eye for far too long I was finally able to lodge my complaint. He took the plate of over done food away and spoke with the manager who was kind enough to not make me pay.
He didn't talk to me. He didn't offer to do anything to make me feel better, and I don't really know what I would have wanted of him. I didn't eat the food, and he didn't make me pay for the bad parts. I left the store unsatisfied, having not gotten anywhere close to what I wanted despite my willingness as a customer.
And now I'm hungry, and I shouldn't be, and because I haven't been at the house much for a couple of days or so there really isn't anything here to eat. That's entirely my fault.
By this point the kids were done eating. I wasn't going to make them sit and wait for me to get and eat a new entree, and I wasn't willing to sit and wait and then pay for food when my experience had been so marred.
But then we sat at the table. I munched on the bowl of not burned chips and the extra side of fries I let The Boy get since we were out for his birthday. He didn't like his other side, black beans, but because it wasn't what he expected, but I enjoyed them and brought them with the other leftovers.
We had a really nice time as we sat and waited. I had to pay the bill and finish a beer, and they were both not quite impatient and sooo ready to go just yet. And it was a really nice time. The munching had taken the edge off my hunger, so my mood had been helped by that, and the boys were both full and happy.
And we just hung out for a little bit. We chatted. I saw pictures that Big Brother took with his phone at his school's cultural fair. I even got to see a picture of some kid's rendition of Abraham Lincoln leading the Hebrew people out of Egypt.
It was cool in the end.
Monday, May 02, 2011
kilt the sumbitch
I have a few thoughts on the apparent killing of Osama bin Laden. And I'm going to share.
I got off work yesterday (Sunday May 1, fwiw) about four, got a beer at the bar, and sat on the patio in front of work. I drank a couple of beers and hung out with various other work and/or downtown people waiting for the evening and a surprise going away party for a coworker.
The party was held in the upstairs of a bar a few feet away, so I didn't really get too far from the same place all day. I may have ridden from one parking garage to another and back to reorient my senses, but that really has nothing to do with Osama or his recent death.
Later on in the night, the party had gone from SUPRISE! to the band playing and people milling about, many of us having moved to the patio as the upstairs is non smoking.
At some point, after having walked down an alley for no good reason I returned and heard chatter about our having killed Osama bin Laden.
My first thoughts in the random number generator that is my head involved, who care? are you sure? and then I went off on some other tangents that have solidified more today as I thought about it all less drunk.
Some of the fun last night was just messing with people, and some of these people, generally sane seeming in normal life, were growing a little upset that I was willing to attempt to detract from the gravity of the situation. Other, possibly drunker people, cheered on when I shouted, "Hell yeah! We killed Obama bin Muslim."
I tried it today and everyone got it immediately, so it could have been late night at a bar, but it still makes me laugh.
I also don't attach a lot of importance to some brown guy with a beard and a long white shirt from the other side of the world. I just can't accept that he has that much power over us. Sure, if the new stories are correctly presenting the situation, Osama got a few good licks in. The the US got serious about hunting him down, and since then he hasn't able to do too damn much, though his organization has apparently kept several country's military arms fairly busy.
And finally, the things that solidified in my head over the course of this morning. I truly believe that people like Newt Gingrich and Mike Huckabee pose a far greater threat to our liberty than any Islamic terrorist.
solidified thing no. 2-There are people who look to Osama as a hero and likely now a martyr. Perhaps they do hate us freedom loving Americans. I don't hate them. I don't know them, and I think if I were to meet them they might rethink their own feelings. Or maybe they don't really hate us. Maybe they look at things our country has done, or perhaps they feel as if they've been mistreated by our country. I can't know what's in their hearts, but I have to assume they are generally sincere in their beliefs. Perhaps if we talked we could find a middle ground. I don't know. But certainly they hurt when we kill them just as we hurt when they kill us, and neither side seems to have fixed anything even now. There may well be better news tomorrow.
I got off work yesterday (Sunday May 1, fwiw) about four, got a beer at the bar, and sat on the patio in front of work. I drank a couple of beers and hung out with various other work and/or downtown people waiting for the evening and a surprise going away party for a coworker.
The party was held in the upstairs of a bar a few feet away, so I didn't really get too far from the same place all day. I may have ridden from one parking garage to another and back to reorient my senses, but that really has nothing to do with Osama or his recent death.
Later on in the night, the party had gone from SUPRISE! to the band playing and people milling about, many of us having moved to the patio as the upstairs is non smoking.
At some point, after having walked down an alley for no good reason I returned and heard chatter about our having killed Osama bin Laden.
My first thoughts in the random number generator that is my head involved, who care? are you sure? and then I went off on some other tangents that have solidified more today as I thought about it all less drunk.
Some of the fun last night was just messing with people, and some of these people, generally sane seeming in normal life, were growing a little upset that I was willing to attempt to detract from the gravity of the situation. Other, possibly drunker people, cheered on when I shouted, "Hell yeah! We killed Obama bin Muslim."
I tried it today and everyone got it immediately, so it could have been late night at a bar, but it still makes me laugh.
I also don't attach a lot of importance to some brown guy with a beard and a long white shirt from the other side of the world. I just can't accept that he has that much power over us. Sure, if the new stories are correctly presenting the situation, Osama got a few good licks in. The the US got serious about hunting him down, and since then he hasn't able to do too damn much, though his organization has apparently kept several country's military arms fairly busy.
And finally, the things that solidified in my head over the course of this morning. I truly believe that people like Newt Gingrich and Mike Huckabee pose a far greater threat to our liberty than any Islamic terrorist.
solidified thing no. 2-There are people who look to Osama as a hero and likely now a martyr. Perhaps they do hate us freedom loving Americans. I don't hate them. I don't know them, and I think if I were to meet them they might rethink their own feelings. Or maybe they don't really hate us. Maybe they look at things our country has done, or perhaps they feel as if they've been mistreated by our country. I can't know what's in their hearts, but I have to assume they are generally sincere in their beliefs. Perhaps if we talked we could find a middle ground. I don't know. But certainly they hurt when we kill them just as we hurt when they kill us, and neither side seems to have fixed anything even now. There may well be better news tomorrow.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
learn where you can
The title of this post may be misleading to any long time readers. This post is not about homeschooling or school or anything like that, and it isn't about children learning.
It's about me, and you may already know that I've joined the dark side and purchased a pair of Crocs to wear to work. If I'd gone to the cool shoe store in the mall first I could have saved some other store visits and some time spent at the mall, a place I generally loathe.
I've been anti Croc for some time now. When the damn things first showed up a few years back I hated them and swore I'd never darken a pair with my feet. Having worked in kitchens I'v been around my share of clogs, and then Crocs started showing up there as well.
I swore by a good pair of boots for years as my kitchen shoe of choice, and then I realized that a stout shoe worked as well and that I didn't miss the whole ankle support thing. I've been through my share of both over the years, wearing out more pairs of shoes than I care to remember.
And then recently I may have spent some time pacing in circles in a sort of detention facility, and my current home county may provide inmates with orange, fake crocs to pace circles in.
And while I hate to admit that my epiphany happened here, I didn't hate the shoes. In fact I started to understand why so many coworkers wore these type of shoes.
And then I had some foot issues for the past week and change, and my latest kitchen shoes made the problem worse. They are also slowly falling apart, wearing through at each intersection of stitching that holds the different pieces of leather together. I've been in the market to be in the market for new shoes for a couple of months at least, but I've put off actually looking because of time and because I can be cheap and want to get every last bit of wear out of a pair of shoes.
The shoes I'm currently wearing are old Converse that, when new, were my all time faves, and which have been worn solely while mowing the grass for the last four years. They're also loose and forgiving of the aforementioned foot issue while my newer non work shoes will likely be the last pair of narrow Converse I ever buy. I just can't deal with them anymore, and they were also not friendly to the foot issue.
So that's my story. I work at nine in the a.m. tomorrow, and I'll take the Crocs on their initial run then. I may hate them seven to eight hours later when I get off work, or I may have fallen in love with these things I so derided such a short time ago. Maybe I'll bore your asses off with that tale tomorrow night.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
wouldn't it be nice
The following was posted on Facebook as a friend's status. I started to make my own points about each of these fond memories, but I don't have it in me to be that guy to this particular person. So I'm calling blog fodder and bitching it out here. Also, it's not about bikes for the most part.
Yes, I rode a bike with no helmet, and though I've begun to wear one there was some small amount of wanting to fight it on my part. I hate bike helmets that look like some sort of alien's skull on top of your own. I feel like I look like a douche in them, and I put off buying a helmet for some time. Big Brother had a helmet in time to start riding his bike to school, and I'm glad he wears it. I'm not sure how I feel about the law, but where we live the helmets-on-bicycles law applies to those sixteen and under.
But I do wear a helmet. I finally visited the skateboard shop and bought a helmet I don't loathe. I even put one of the stickers the shop guy gave me on the side to attempt to get back some coolness points. I can heal from a broken arm or leg, but impact induced loss of what little mental accuity I still have because I chose not to wear a helmet is likely a slightly worse blow, no pun intended.
As well as I remember the house I grew up in was not especially child proof, but sensible precautions were taken to care for any children and to guard against the likelihood of dangerous items reaching their hands. And my own house has been the same way. I don't have any intention to leave harm lying around in the path of my children, but I also understand that some lessons will be learned the hard way, so I make sure those lessons aren't the truly threatening ones.
You got a whippin? How do people still glorify this sort of behavior? I certainly got plenty of them myself, but I've worked really hard not to bring that into my present. That I've turned out as well as I have in spite of being struck as a child as punishment for misdeeds does not make it okay to continue the tradition of striking kids.
We had more than three channels, and for a few years we did have to get up to change channels. It involved turning a knob, and sometimes you had to adjust the rabbit ear antenna while barely turning the UHF knob to try to find the kung fu movies. I appreciate technology and am more than happy to change channels by pushing a button while staying comfortably on the sofa.
Most people I know don't have a problem with the pledge of allegiance, but I do know people who have a problem with the phrase "under god" being a part of it. I have a problem with that phrase. It's a way of excluding people, and I think that it's unAmerican. I don't like it, and I don't think it should be there.
Stores can close on Sunday or any other day. The place I work at closes early on Sunday, and a restaurant down the square closes early on Monday. No one should have to not open on Sunday, and I'll go so far as to say that blue laws should not exist that require certain businesses to not open on Sundays. The only reason this exists is as a vague nod to religious traditions that many people don't necessarily follow, and it feeds into the system that allows exclusion of people based on religion.
I would probably still drink out of the water hose unless it tasted like water hose, and if I were thirsty enough even that wouldn't matter.
Other things that I like about progress is that there aren't colored water fountains and white water fountains, and you sit on the bus wherever you damn well please. I like multiple television channels as well as the internet and smart phones and off buttons. I like that I don't pretend I'm not gay any more. I also like bobbers, decidedly low tech, as well as vintage bicycles, even older tech. I like Sriracha a whole lot, which I haven't talked about lately, but I could easily do a blog post on that lovely little bottle of chili sauce.
There's nothing new there really for anyone that actually knows me or has read here for a while. It's all standard stuff, and I do get why that misty eyed view of the past is so powerful. I also get that progress for the sake of progress isn't always worth shit. Maybe it's just me, because this little paragraph shows up periodically, and I hate every time, probably a little more each time than the last. Hell, why don't we just go back to when we were banging rocks together, when our only real fear was getting gored by the wooly mammoth we planned to hunt as soon as we found one. That's the life, no traffic, no screaming kids in restaurants, no tail winds from the Mexican we had for lunch, nothing but banging these here rocks and wondering whether I'd ever see the sun again every time a cloud covered it for a moment.
If you grew up on home cooked meals, you rode a bike with no helmet, your parents house was not "child-proof" , you got a whippin' when you misbehaved, had 3 TV channels you got up to change or went outside to turn the antenna, school started with the Pledge of Allegiance, stores were closed on Sunday, you drank water out of a water hose and still turned out okay, re-post this and show that you survived.I grew up on home cooked meals for the most part. My mother's repertoire was varied somewhat, and for the most part I'd say it was basically basic American (USA edition) with a strong southern bent. I may well know how to cook a lot more things than she ever needed, but what she cooked was always good. Her own mother apparently was never much of a cook, so my own mother was essentially self taught. Other than liver night I have no complaints about her cooking.
Yes, I rode a bike with no helmet, and though I've begun to wear one there was some small amount of wanting to fight it on my part. I hate bike helmets that look like some sort of alien's skull on top of your own. I feel like I look like a douche in them, and I put off buying a helmet for some time. Big Brother had a helmet in time to start riding his bike to school, and I'm glad he wears it. I'm not sure how I feel about the law, but where we live the helmets-on-bicycles law applies to those sixteen and under.
But I do wear a helmet. I finally visited the skateboard shop and bought a helmet I don't loathe. I even put one of the stickers the shop guy gave me on the side to attempt to get back some coolness points. I can heal from a broken arm or leg, but impact induced loss of what little mental accuity I still have because I chose not to wear a helmet is likely a slightly worse blow, no pun intended.
As well as I remember the house I grew up in was not especially child proof, but sensible precautions were taken to care for any children and to guard against the likelihood of dangerous items reaching their hands. And my own house has been the same way. I don't have any intention to leave harm lying around in the path of my children, but I also understand that some lessons will be learned the hard way, so I make sure those lessons aren't the truly threatening ones.
You got a whippin? How do people still glorify this sort of behavior? I certainly got plenty of them myself, but I've worked really hard not to bring that into my present. That I've turned out as well as I have in spite of being struck as a child as punishment for misdeeds does not make it okay to continue the tradition of striking kids.
We had more than three channels, and for a few years we did have to get up to change channels. It involved turning a knob, and sometimes you had to adjust the rabbit ear antenna while barely turning the UHF knob to try to find the kung fu movies. I appreciate technology and am more than happy to change channels by pushing a button while staying comfortably on the sofa.
Most people I know don't have a problem with the pledge of allegiance, but I do know people who have a problem with the phrase "under god" being a part of it. I have a problem with that phrase. It's a way of excluding people, and I think that it's unAmerican. I don't like it, and I don't think it should be there.
Stores can close on Sunday or any other day. The place I work at closes early on Sunday, and a restaurant down the square closes early on Monday. No one should have to not open on Sunday, and I'll go so far as to say that blue laws should not exist that require certain businesses to not open on Sundays. The only reason this exists is as a vague nod to religious traditions that many people don't necessarily follow, and it feeds into the system that allows exclusion of people based on religion.
I would probably still drink out of the water hose unless it tasted like water hose, and if I were thirsty enough even that wouldn't matter.
Other things that I like about progress is that there aren't colored water fountains and white water fountains, and you sit on the bus wherever you damn well please. I like multiple television channels as well as the internet and smart phones and off buttons. I like that I don't pretend I'm not gay any more. I also like bobbers, decidedly low tech, as well as vintage bicycles, even older tech. I like Sriracha a whole lot, which I haven't talked about lately, but I could easily do a blog post on that lovely little bottle of chili sauce.
There's nothing new there really for anyone that actually knows me or has read here for a while. It's all standard stuff, and I do get why that misty eyed view of the past is so powerful. I also get that progress for the sake of progress isn't always worth shit. Maybe it's just me, because this little paragraph shows up periodically, and I hate every time, probably a little more each time than the last. Hell, why don't we just go back to when we were banging rocks together, when our only real fear was getting gored by the wooly mammoth we planned to hunt as soon as we found one. That's the life, no traffic, no screaming kids in restaurants, no tail winds from the Mexican we had for lunch, nothing but banging these here rocks and wondering whether I'd ever see the sun again every time a cloud covered it for a moment.
Wednesday, April 06, 2011
adding to the list
At some point last night I wrote a post. As is my usual habit I walked outside to smoke before editing and fixing and posting, and I never got around to posting it. And now I probably never will.
But I will tell you some of what it said. Also, are you tired of bike talk yet?
Leaving work yesterday I stopped in at the downtown bike shop to learn that my new stem will be in today, that I can bring the bike in today and likely pick it up tomorrow with new handlebars. They didn't have any helmets that I like.
I rode a few minutes down the road to the next nearest bike shop and also didn't find any helmets that I liked, but I did find the bike that I thought might be just right for Big Brother, so I continued riding to Momma's house where I locked my bike to her front porch rail and took The Boy and Momma's car to go pick up Big Brother from school.
From there we went back to the bike shop so Big Brother could voice an opinion and perhaps choose from the available models within our price range. The one road bike they had was really sweet looking and too small for me and sort of pink looking. It actually looked like it had once been red but had faded to pink, as Big Brother pointed out, also mentioning that he nonetheless still didn't want a pink bike.
He did like the Schwinn mountain bike that looks an awful lot like a slightly smaller version of mine but in black, dark gray, and yellow. While the back tire is knobby, the front tire is the type I'd considered looking at for my mountain bike before letting the mania talk me into the road bike.
Our next shopping adventure was to Kmart for a helmet and bike lock and a pair of inner tubes for the bike we already have that I hope The Boy will learn to ride on. He has a pretty cool big wheel that he's loved riding the past couple of years, but the bike mania is at least a little contagious it seems.
This morning, as the boys were eating breakfast, I handed Big Brother the instructions that came with his helmet so that he could adjust it properly for his head. He was working on that when I drove The Boy to school, and was wearing it and ready to go when I arrived back home about ten minutes later.
The weather was a bit chilly, and though he rode the bike a bit both before we bought it and after we brought it home, it's a bit new to him still. It's a great fit for him, but he's used to a BMX bike and also hasn't ridden since before winter.
I trailed him to school and did that thing I do where I probably talk to much and try to help too much. He was a little skittish facing downhill and didn't want to go too fast. I kept having to slow down and not run him over. And overall it was a really nice way to start the day. Google maps is telling me it's 1.3 miles and should take me six minutes. We easily doubled the time, but that's fine of course.
And now I'm off to run errands. Deposit a check, bike stuff, something to eat, home, laundry that needs to be folded, pick up The Boy from school, look out the window for Big Brother riding by himself. I'm sure I've forgotten something.
But I will tell you some of what it said. Also, are you tired of bike talk yet?
Leaving work yesterday I stopped in at the downtown bike shop to learn that my new stem will be in today, that I can bring the bike in today and likely pick it up tomorrow with new handlebars. They didn't have any helmets that I like.
I rode a few minutes down the road to the next nearest bike shop and also didn't find any helmets that I liked, but I did find the bike that I thought might be just right for Big Brother, so I continued riding to Momma's house where I locked my bike to her front porch rail and took The Boy and Momma's car to go pick up Big Brother from school.
From there we went back to the bike shop so Big Brother could voice an opinion and perhaps choose from the available models within our price range. The one road bike they had was really sweet looking and too small for me and sort of pink looking. It actually looked like it had once been red but had faded to pink, as Big Brother pointed out, also mentioning that he nonetheless still didn't want a pink bike.
He did like the Schwinn mountain bike that looks an awful lot like a slightly smaller version of mine but in black, dark gray, and yellow. While the back tire is knobby, the front tire is the type I'd considered looking at for my mountain bike before letting the mania talk me into the road bike.
Our next shopping adventure was to Kmart for a helmet and bike lock and a pair of inner tubes for the bike we already have that I hope The Boy will learn to ride on. He has a pretty cool big wheel that he's loved riding the past couple of years, but the bike mania is at least a little contagious it seems.
This morning, as the boys were eating breakfast, I handed Big Brother the instructions that came with his helmet so that he could adjust it properly for his head. He was working on that when I drove The Boy to school, and was wearing it and ready to go when I arrived back home about ten minutes later.
The weather was a bit chilly, and though he rode the bike a bit both before we bought it and after we brought it home, it's a bit new to him still. It's a great fit for him, but he's used to a BMX bike and also hasn't ridden since before winter.
I trailed him to school and did that thing I do where I probably talk to much and try to help too much. He was a little skittish facing downhill and didn't want to go too fast. I kept having to slow down and not run him over. And overall it was a really nice way to start the day. Google maps is telling me it's 1.3 miles and should take me six minutes. We easily doubled the time, but that's fine of course.
And now I'm off to run errands. Deposit a check, bike stuff, something to eat, home, laundry that needs to be folded, pick up The Boy from school, look out the window for Big Brother riding by himself. I'm sure I've forgotten something.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
and i'll eat out of containers while standing up
I should warn you now that this yet another post about bikes. I've been taken over with a sort of mania, but there's also something about this that just feels right. It's like I've gone back to something I never should have let go of.
I flirted with bikes three times over the years since my childhood when riding my bike was a nearly daily occurrence. When Momma and I lived in Charlotte I was able to retrieve the last bike I'd owned in Atlanta, and I was soon riding quite a bit. Then one night, after riding home fairly drunk from somewhere, I forgot to lock the bike outside our apartment door and never saw it again.
The next bike I owned was purchased from a coworker about six (maybe, time is a blurry sensation at best for me generally) years ago. It was a cheap bike from a big box retailer. It rode like shit and sucked then and still sucks now sitting in the garage with its rusty shit wheels. I rode it around the house approximately ten total times over the course of a week and then never again. I wish I had that twenty bucks back. Fuck!
The next bike was last summer when I lived in the Fort. It was also a big box bike, but my mindset then was in a different and more biking places friendly sort of place. I used the bike a lot and then sold it to my ex landlord as I moved back to the house I'm now in. While I'd enjoyed riding the bike to work from the Fort I didn't think I'd ever ride a bike from this house to downtown assuming it was just too far.
And finally my sweet red bike that I love but might replace tomorrow. It's actually today by the time you are likely to read this as it's after eleven o'clock here. Regardless, I do now ride this bike that far often enough, and I've ridden it plenty of other places too. And I actually love riding this bike even though we're on city streets and it's made for narrow trails and dirt berms and jumps over the rough spot
Since I've begun riding the bike I've slipped into the edges of a thing that could be mania twenty years ago with no Momma, Big Brother, and The Boy. But that's not the world I inhabit, so I'll gladly enjoy the tease of it and try to be smart about stuff.
And apparently I'll start contacting some guy on Craigslist about his early '80's Schwinn with the newer "comfort" handlebars, and I'll have asked if he has the original set. And that whole tomorrow thing, yeah, I'm gonna wait for him to call and go look at the bike in the evening.
With any luck Momma will be there, because really the bike would be for her. If it's a good size for her and is in good condition and she wants it she gets it. In the day and a half since I found it and thought about her wanting a bike (she's mentioned it before) I've tried to have her in mind, but I keep looking at it. It's kinda like seeing a boy at a party that you like, but you know he's straight and interested in your friend.
It's really not like that at all, but I want the bike now that I've been looking at it and thinking about it, and I feel bad because I don't want the bike I already have to find out. That can't be good. And I still want to ride him on the street tires I might also go look at tomorrow, but then would I ever ride him how he's meant to be ridden? Would I ever take my beautiful mountain bike mountain biking?
Maybe I'll just keep buying bikes until I'm crazy early '80's Schwinn guy. Yeah, that's the best idea yet.
I flirted with bikes three times over the years since my childhood when riding my bike was a nearly daily occurrence. When Momma and I lived in Charlotte I was able to retrieve the last bike I'd owned in Atlanta, and I was soon riding quite a bit. Then one night, after riding home fairly drunk from somewhere, I forgot to lock the bike outside our apartment door and never saw it again.
The next bike I owned was purchased from a coworker about six (maybe, time is a blurry sensation at best for me generally) years ago. It was a cheap bike from a big box retailer. It rode like shit and sucked then and still sucks now sitting in the garage with its rusty shit wheels. I rode it around the house approximately ten total times over the course of a week and then never again. I wish I had that twenty bucks back. Fuck!
The next bike was last summer when I lived in the Fort. It was also a big box bike, but my mindset then was in a different and more biking places friendly sort of place. I used the bike a lot and then sold it to my ex landlord as I moved back to the house I'm now in. While I'd enjoyed riding the bike to work from the Fort I didn't think I'd ever ride a bike from this house to downtown assuming it was just too far.
And finally my sweet red bike that I love but might replace tomorrow. It's actually today by the time you are likely to read this as it's after eleven o'clock here. Regardless, I do now ride this bike that far often enough, and I've ridden it plenty of other places too. And I actually love riding this bike even though we're on city streets and it's made for narrow trails and dirt berms and jumps over the rough spot
Since I've begun riding the bike I've slipped into the edges of a thing that could be mania twenty years ago with no Momma, Big Brother, and The Boy. But that's not the world I inhabit, so I'll gladly enjoy the tease of it and try to be smart about stuff.
And apparently I'll start contacting some guy on Craigslist about his early '80's Schwinn with the newer "comfort" handlebars, and I'll have asked if he has the original set. And that whole tomorrow thing, yeah, I'm gonna wait for him to call and go look at the bike in the evening.
With any luck Momma will be there, because really the bike would be for her. If it's a good size for her and is in good condition and she wants it she gets it. In the day and a half since I found it and thought about her wanting a bike (she's mentioned it before) I've tried to have her in mind, but I keep looking at it. It's kinda like seeing a boy at a party that you like, but you know he's straight and interested in your friend.
It's really not like that at all, but I want the bike now that I've been looking at it and thinking about it, and I feel bad because I don't want the bike I already have to find out. That can't be good. And I still want to ride him on the street tires I might also go look at tomorrow, but then would I ever ride him how he's meant to be ridden? Would I ever take my beautiful mountain bike mountain biking?
Maybe I'll just keep buying bikes until I'm crazy early '80's Schwinn guy. Yeah, that's the best idea yet.
don't never mind the bollards, srsly
Alas the rain again could also be a title for this post. As promised, the rain has once again moved into my stormy little slice of heaven.
To be honest a weather forecast isn't the same as a promise, but lately, if it involves rain, it kinda seems like it is.
I find excuses not to ride in the rain. With a few adjustments I could take most of the issues out of the problem, and I know that at some point I'm going to have to just do it. I've done it before, and other than a wet butt for a while it wasn't so bad.
My newest fixation is bike tires. One day, when I can actually have a nice day off, while the kids are in school and I have the time, I'm going to look into a new pair of tires for my bike. It would be a great joy to me to take the bike out and ride to the bike shop and ride away with tires made for asphalt.
Have I mentioned that it's a mountain bike? It's older, but it's a great bike and it rides well, but I can't deal with these tires anymore. I have knobby mountain bike tires, and that makes perfect sense for a mountain bike. But right now, it isn't really a mountain bike. It sees the ridges that make this town so much fun to bike through, but that ain't the same.
What I need is a tire built for the asphalt, and companies are apparently making tires specifically for people turning mountain bikes into commuter bikes. That's what I'm doing. Apparently I'm not starting something new.
I just love the way this bike works, and I love how he and I work together. I also decorated him tonight. That's right, I just called the bike he. Whatcha gonna do about it? The only other thing I've done to the bike was to add lights and adjust the seat. I did also put a reflective sticker on the front before riding home from work one night at the insistence of a coworker, but that thing is gonna have to come off. It's probably a not bad idea, but it's ugly, and I need to have a real light up there anyway if I'm riding at night.
I also mentioned a decoration. Two days ago, preparing for an all out grocery procuring blitz, I was sorting through the shopping bags to see if they were all there when I discovered the skull. It's a small metal skull that was part of a skeleton that has hung from the rear view mirrors of the last three cars that Momma and I shared. It stayed with me in the Honda when Momma moved on in her own car world.
I found parts of it when I cleaned the Honda out after the "accident" and didn't remember finding the skull. I seem to remember some other random parts, but I'm not sure now what I would have done with them since. I grabbed the shopping bags when I went to the impound lot that night and apparently didn't completely empty them out when I finally sorted through the bags later.
I'm kinda excited about the tires idea. I can feel the knobbies working against me I think. Also I want the rain to quickly fall and then move along. I get that it's spring in east TN, but seriously, I've kinda had enough this year. I'm ready to move along.
To be honest a weather forecast isn't the same as a promise, but lately, if it involves rain, it kinda seems like it is.
I find excuses not to ride in the rain. With a few adjustments I could take most of the issues out of the problem, and I know that at some point I'm going to have to just do it. I've done it before, and other than a wet butt for a while it wasn't so bad.
My newest fixation is bike tires. One day, when I can actually have a nice day off, while the kids are in school and I have the time, I'm going to look into a new pair of tires for my bike. It would be a great joy to me to take the bike out and ride to the bike shop and ride away with tires made for asphalt.
Have I mentioned that it's a mountain bike? It's older, but it's a great bike and it rides well, but I can't deal with these tires anymore. I have knobby mountain bike tires, and that makes perfect sense for a mountain bike. But right now, it isn't really a mountain bike. It sees the ridges that make this town so much fun to bike through, but that ain't the same.
What I need is a tire built for the asphalt, and companies are apparently making tires specifically for people turning mountain bikes into commuter bikes. That's what I'm doing. Apparently I'm not starting something new.
I just love the way this bike works, and I love how he and I work together. I also decorated him tonight. That's right, I just called the bike he. Whatcha gonna do about it? The only other thing I've done to the bike was to add lights and adjust the seat. I did also put a reflective sticker on the front before riding home from work one night at the insistence of a coworker, but that thing is gonna have to come off. It's probably a not bad idea, but it's ugly, and I need to have a real light up there anyway if I'm riding at night.
I also mentioned a decoration. Two days ago, preparing for an all out grocery procuring blitz, I was sorting through the shopping bags to see if they were all there when I discovered the skull. It's a small metal skull that was part of a skeleton that has hung from the rear view mirrors of the last three cars that Momma and I shared. It stayed with me in the Honda when Momma moved on in her own car world.
I found parts of it when I cleaned the Honda out after the "accident" and didn't remember finding the skull. I seem to remember some other random parts, but I'm not sure now what I would have done with them since. I grabbed the shopping bags when I went to the impound lot that night and apparently didn't completely empty them out when I finally sorted through the bags later.
I'm kinda excited about the tires idea. I can feel the knobbies working against me I think. Also I want the rain to quickly fall and then move along. I get that it's spring in east TN, but seriously, I've kinda had enough this year. I'm ready to move along.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
the ill
When I mentioned my interview today I neglected to have the future vision that would tell me that today would not be a good day for it. I had no way to know that The Boy would wake this morning sick.
He's actually been at least a little sick for the past week. He's had days that he felt fine, and we assumed he was over it.
After school yesterday he ate a snack and did his homework, but then he lounged on the sofa complaining that he was tired. He fell asleep and wasn't hungry when I got pizza, and he only woke to watch Big Brother play Zelda.
He asleep now, his arms pulled inside his shirt. He's just cold enough for that, but he doesn't want a blanket.
I've tried to call hoping to postpone the interview, but no one is answering the phone just yet. The Grandfather is here finishing up some of the plumbing begun yesterday, and I'm sure he'd be willing to be here for the time I needed to run, but at the same time I feel bad not being here should something arise.
There's also the part where I haven't yet told my current employer that I'm looking elsewhere, and in fact I wasn't looking elsewhere. This interview fell into my lap, and if I didn't think it was likely to be a good opportunity I wouldn't bother. I also did not pick up a few hours today when the current employer called earlier to ask if I could come in at noon. And with my luck someone from work would very likely see me across the square at the other restaurant, and that would surely begin some tiny amount of drama. Restaurants are fueled, to some small extent, by drama, and I'm not willing to fan those flames just yet.
So I have just over an hour before meeting the people, and I'm not really sure what to do. I'll probably wait till noon and hope someone answers the phone then. Or I might ask The Grandfather for the favor.
He's actually been at least a little sick for the past week. He's had days that he felt fine, and we assumed he was over it.
After school yesterday he ate a snack and did his homework, but then he lounged on the sofa complaining that he was tired. He fell asleep and wasn't hungry when I got pizza, and he only woke to watch Big Brother play Zelda.
He asleep now, his arms pulled inside his shirt. He's just cold enough for that, but he doesn't want a blanket.
I've tried to call hoping to postpone the interview, but no one is answering the phone just yet. The Grandfather is here finishing up some of the plumbing begun yesterday, and I'm sure he'd be willing to be here for the time I needed to run, but at the same time I feel bad not being here should something arise.
There's also the part where I haven't yet told my current employer that I'm looking elsewhere, and in fact I wasn't looking elsewhere. This interview fell into my lap, and if I didn't think it was likely to be a good opportunity I wouldn't bother. I also did not pick up a few hours today when the current employer called earlier to ask if I could come in at noon. And with my luck someone from work would very likely see me across the square at the other restaurant, and that would surely begin some tiny amount of drama. Restaurants are fueled, to some small extent, by drama, and I'm not willing to fan those flames just yet.
So I have just over an hour before meeting the people, and I'm not really sure what to do. I'll probably wait till noon and hope someone answers the phone then. Or I might ask The Grandfather for the favor.
i dunno, maybe
Writing a much different post I suddenly realized that my bike is in the trunk of Momma's car which is at her house with the rest of the car. And I'll see her and the car before I need the bike again.
The Grandfather Who Owns The House did some plumbing and some lawn mowing today. I did a small amount of mowing and told him I'd finish tomorrow. I should have time, assuming I can get either of the mowers to work. I know he'll get them working, but he's uncanny that way
I wish my bike was here. Even though it doesn't matter.
I also have a surprise interview tomorrow. A guy I used to work with works across the square at a much different restaurant which is apparently about to lose a couple of people, so they're looking for someone, and this guy remembers me from about a year ago.
There's a whole love/hate relationship, hopefully entirely one sided, between me and my current place of employment. I've been underpaid most of the time I've been there. At the same time I've been passed over for all sorts of perks that I think could have at least been offered to me.
My availability has been fairly limited the entire time I've worked there, though I have ample hours that I can actually work. For what it's worth, I was also the only one with kids most of time that I've been there other than the owner who has both kids and grandkids. There is now another employee, not too bad of a guy, who easily skated into the job of other main kitchen person second to the kitchen manager. I'm not sure of his exact title, and I don't know what he makes. He also has kids, but I won't get into his story. I am, however, glad that I only parented children with a single other person.
I really don't know much about the place I'm visiting tomorrow. I know a little, but I've actually never been in. My going out to restaurant time has kids in it 90% of the time with the other ten being bar food when that's all that's open. I did treat myself to Mexican recently, but that was lunch one day before beginning the picking up of kids from school.
The guy I know talked as if I could show up and have a job, but I have to keep in mind my availability as this place isn't open most days, and that's been my schedule for a couple of years. I've gotten more hours while Momma gets nights which have been better for her. It's worked, and one of us is almost always able to be with the kids. She's willing now to switch her own availability some, and that would certainly help if I decide to take the job.
Of course this does nothing to help my getting-out-of-restaurants-maybe thing I've been thinking about, but maybe it'll be good until I get to that point for reals.
The Grandfather Who Owns The House did some plumbing and some lawn mowing today. I did a small amount of mowing and told him I'd finish tomorrow. I should have time, assuming I can get either of the mowers to work. I know he'll get them working, but he's uncanny that way
I wish my bike was here. Even though it doesn't matter.
I also have a surprise interview tomorrow. A guy I used to work with works across the square at a much different restaurant which is apparently about to lose a couple of people, so they're looking for someone, and this guy remembers me from about a year ago.
There's a whole love/hate relationship, hopefully entirely one sided, between me and my current place of employment. I've been underpaid most of the time I've been there. At the same time I've been passed over for all sorts of perks that I think could have at least been offered to me.
My availability has been fairly limited the entire time I've worked there, though I have ample hours that I can actually work. For what it's worth, I was also the only one with kids most of time that I've been there other than the owner who has both kids and grandkids. There is now another employee, not too bad of a guy, who easily skated into the job of other main kitchen person second to the kitchen manager. I'm not sure of his exact title, and I don't know what he makes. He also has kids, but I won't get into his story. I am, however, glad that I only parented children with a single other person.
I really don't know much about the place I'm visiting tomorrow. I know a little, but I've actually never been in. My going out to restaurant time has kids in it 90% of the time with the other ten being bar food when that's all that's open. I did treat myself to Mexican recently, but that was lunch one day before beginning the picking up of kids from school.
The guy I know talked as if I could show up and have a job, but I have to keep in mind my availability as this place isn't open most days, and that's been my schedule for a couple of years. I've gotten more hours while Momma gets nights which have been better for her. It's worked, and one of us is almost always able to be with the kids. She's willing now to switch her own availability some, and that would certainly help if I decide to take the job.
Of course this does nothing to help my getting-out-of-restaurants-maybe thing I've been thinking about, but maybe it'll be good until I get to that point for reals.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
dirty water legs
Other than the distance from my current home to work, I'm loving riding a bike. There are those times, however, when Momma's car is available, and I take it.
I can't easily move around with the kids on a bike. Big Brother has a bike in the garage that needs to get pulled out and dusted off. One good thing about this house is that we're really close to his school, so whenever we get around to getting him to do it he can ride his bike.
Sunday night saw me making my first ride for the hell of it. I toured a local greenway with a couple of coworkers, we even forded a stream, but we weren't supposed to be there, so don't tell anyone. I rode approximately twenty miles that day.
I don't know if that's a lot for people who ride bikes, but right now it's a lot for me. I'm used to doing ten at most, the distance to and from work, and I wonder if it's a lot or if it feels like a lot jumping from a car to the bus to the bike in such quick succession. My last drive in my much beloved Accord was 1/9.
And I'm also wondering lately if there are more people riding bikes lately, or am I just now noticing so many because I've suddenly joined them. I've always seen them and been a little jealous. Riding my bike stands out as the best times I ever had growing up. I don't know if that has anything to do with it, but I've missed having a bike since the last time I really had one.
I have to congratulate myself again on such a great purchase in a bike, though I'm already wanting to do some slight modification. What I actually want is a new pair of wheels and more roadworthy tires, though I don't want a skinny tire by any means. And I want to be able to slap the mountain bike tires on at a moments notice.
Speaking of which, I want to actually put those mountain bike tires to their intended use as my weekend is upon me. There's a local park with three loops designed for different levels, and though I haven't see it yet I'd like to think that beginner one has my name written all over it. I'm not yet convinced it's within biking distance, and I haven't really tried to find anyone that would/could ride who would also have a car with bike toting capabilities. Also, it's possibly supposed to rain again tomorrow. Again.
Okay, it can't yet rain again tomorrow, but it can rain again, and I think I heard to expect it to do so tomorrow.
And with that I should probably just stop. I just noticed the time and thought that it's a good time to be riding. It's beautiful out right now, and just cool enough to be really nice. I'm going to go stand in it and enjoy a cigarette.
I can't easily move around with the kids on a bike. Big Brother has a bike in the garage that needs to get pulled out and dusted off. One good thing about this house is that we're really close to his school, so whenever we get around to getting him to do it he can ride his bike.
Sunday night saw me making my first ride for the hell of it. I toured a local greenway with a couple of coworkers, we even forded a stream, but we weren't supposed to be there, so don't tell anyone. I rode approximately twenty miles that day.
I don't know if that's a lot for people who ride bikes, but right now it's a lot for me. I'm used to doing ten at most, the distance to and from work, and I wonder if it's a lot or if it feels like a lot jumping from a car to the bus to the bike in such quick succession. My last drive in my much beloved Accord was 1/9.
And I'm also wondering lately if there are more people riding bikes lately, or am I just now noticing so many because I've suddenly joined them. I've always seen them and been a little jealous. Riding my bike stands out as the best times I ever had growing up. I don't know if that has anything to do with it, but I've missed having a bike since the last time I really had one.
I have to congratulate myself again on such a great purchase in a bike, though I'm already wanting to do some slight modification. What I actually want is a new pair of wheels and more roadworthy tires, though I don't want a skinny tire by any means. And I want to be able to slap the mountain bike tires on at a moments notice.
Speaking of which, I want to actually put those mountain bike tires to their intended use as my weekend is upon me. There's a local park with three loops designed for different levels, and though I haven't see it yet I'd like to think that beginner one has my name written all over it. I'm not yet convinced it's within biking distance, and I haven't really tried to find anyone that would/could ride who would also have a car with bike toting capabilities. Also, it's possibly supposed to rain again tomorrow. Again.
Okay, it can't yet rain again tomorrow, but it can rain again, and I think I heard to expect it to do so tomorrow.
And with that I should probably just stop. I just noticed the time and thought that it's a good time to be riding. It's beautiful out right now, and just cool enough to be really nice. I'm going to go stand in it and enjoy a cigarette.
Tuesday, March 08, 2011
and doggone it . . .
One of those things happened tonight on the ol' Fb as I was reminded why I deleted so many friends so long ago. A teacher from my high school years made a comment that was slightly politically charged, and I said something to disagree.
He said something about Obama being our first black president and being half white, and I corrected him that Clinton was actually our first black president.
He of course then pointed out that both were bad people and wrong, so I commented that I was rolling up my pants.
I took myself away from the debate, but I made sure to do so in a slightly passive aggressive way. Now maybe I'm prejudiced when it comes to me, but I think that shows a touch of class.
He said something about Obama being our first black president and being half white, and I corrected him that Clinton was actually our first black president.
He of course then pointed out that both were bad people and wrong, so I commented that I was rolling up my pants.
I took myself away from the debate, but I made sure to do so in a slightly passive aggressive way. Now maybe I'm prejudiced when it comes to me, but I think that shows a touch of class.
Friday, March 04, 2011
more forced trip greening
I can't believe it's taken me this long to realize, but I've been doing it wrong. I shouldn't be surprised that once again I've been missing the obvious.
Honestly, it's not necessarily a sudden realization. I've been a little bit stubborn about, and it's kinda stupid when I admit to it.
My bike ride to work is about five miles. I don't ride that everyday, and I don't make the round trip every day that I do ride. The day that I bought the bike is the last time that I rode the bus and the only time the bike has ridden the bus that I know of. Momma has been generous with her pity and her decisions to give me a ride to work, and depending on our schedules, sometimes we're both going to and coming from downtown that it just makes sense to take the ride.
My average time to or from is about thirty minutes. The bus also takes about thirty minutes. It stands to reason that a combination of bus and bike would be the best way to go rather than to add a five mile bicycle commute to a body that isn't really that used to the exertion.
But for whatever reason I didn't reason it out quite like that. I saw a savings of the fifty dollar for a month bus pass. Also, there isn't a bus on Sunday that will get me to work on time, and most Sunday's I'm scheduled at either eight or nine.
I don't dislike either the bus or the bike. I appreciate the usefulness of the bus and will begin using the service again. I love the bike, and I love riding, but I really am not in the physical condition to chew that big bite I bit. Sunday's will have to be my suck-it-up-and-take-it day, and honestly, I'm going in to work brunch, which I truly hate, so I'm already sucking up and taking.
Perhaps I'll work some other deal to make my Sundays less hurtful. There has to be a way. But until then I'm going to make my other days slightly easier if not as cheap. I'm going to find the balance between where I get on and off the two conveyances, trading each for the other at my whim.
There's also some thought about moving closer to town. Everything I want or want to do is that direction, so it only makes sense. But that's another post for another time.
Honestly, it's not necessarily a sudden realization. I've been a little bit stubborn about, and it's kinda stupid when I admit to it.
My bike ride to work is about five miles. I don't ride that everyday, and I don't make the round trip every day that I do ride. The day that I bought the bike is the last time that I rode the bus and the only time the bike has ridden the bus that I know of. Momma has been generous with her pity and her decisions to give me a ride to work, and depending on our schedules, sometimes we're both going to and coming from downtown that it just makes sense to take the ride.
My average time to or from is about thirty minutes. The bus also takes about thirty minutes. It stands to reason that a combination of bus and bike would be the best way to go rather than to add a five mile bicycle commute to a body that isn't really that used to the exertion.
But for whatever reason I didn't reason it out quite like that. I saw a savings of the fifty dollar for a month bus pass. Also, there isn't a bus on Sunday that will get me to work on time, and most Sunday's I'm scheduled at either eight or nine.
I don't dislike either the bus or the bike. I appreciate the usefulness of the bus and will begin using the service again. I love the bike, and I love riding, but I really am not in the physical condition to chew that big bite I bit. Sunday's will have to be my suck-it-up-and-take-it day, and honestly, I'm going in to work brunch, which I truly hate, so I'm already sucking up and taking.
Perhaps I'll work some other deal to make my Sundays less hurtful. There has to be a way. But until then I'm going to make my other days slightly easier if not as cheap. I'm going to find the balance between where I get on and off the two conveyances, trading each for the other at my whim.
There's also some thought about moving closer to town. Everything I want or want to do is that direction, so it only makes sense. But that's another post for another time.
Wednesday, March 02, 2011
the bf's
First I should point out that none of what I assume about this couple can be proven without talking to them, and I'm far happier making assumptions than getting to the truth.
Second, we do in fact refer to them as the "bathroom fuckers." And, keeping point one in mind, this might be totally inaccurate.
There is a couple that visits the place I work. They came in regularly for a while before taking a break, but we've been seeing them again. They always ordered the same sandwich that they want ready at a certain time. They meet in the very back dining area, the one that's essentially in the kitchen, at the farthest table from the front.
My guess is that they are cheating on their spouses with each other. I can't prove it, but there's a certain something about them that gives them that air. Do I suspect cheating because I've developed a sense, an ability to recognize it? Or am I just an ass that likes to assume the worst.
After several months in which we didn't see them we nearly forgot about them. Sure, occasionally someone would remember or mention them. Perhaps they'd be the butt of some joke or the topic of a "remember when" sort of conversation. Restaurants change rapidly on the inside, and something that you've grown so used to that you completely take it for granted can disappear and be forgotten in a moment.
This couple, while ordering and sharing the same sandwich each visit, doesn't want it split and put on separate plates. According a to one server the separate plate thing was tried, but the bathroom fuckers put the sandwich back onto one plate and disregarded the attempted good deed.
And now they're back. He dresses sort of normally, but she dresses a bit nicer than you'd expect for an office drone. Yesterday her tight top and fairly short skirt seemed to beg for attention. They sat with their heads together, and then, when no one was looking, the couple was gone.
They weren't too far gone, as they'd left stuff on the table, so we knew where they were. They were in the bathroom again.
We discussed in low whispers what we could do to learn about them. I suggested someone try the old ear to the glass to the wall trick to see if we could hear anything, but no one really wanted to be that guy.
Eventually she exited the bathroom and retrieved her stuff. She pulled on a jacket and left wearing a look that was difficult to read. Had she just been penetrated in our bathroom? Had she performed for him? We waited until he made his exit a few minutes after her. He had a whole other look about him, and he walked away with what I'd describe as a forced nonchalance.
I can't say for certain that they fuck in our bathroom. I sent a server in as soon as the man left, ordering the server to do smell check "for spunk." Yeah, I know that's nasty, but it made me laugh both then and now, so I'm sticking with it.
Apparently there was no spunk odor, and we still can't prove anything, but we'll still call them the "bathroom fuckers."
Second, we do in fact refer to them as the "bathroom fuckers." And, keeping point one in mind, this might be totally inaccurate.
There is a couple that visits the place I work. They came in regularly for a while before taking a break, but we've been seeing them again. They always ordered the same sandwich that they want ready at a certain time. They meet in the very back dining area, the one that's essentially in the kitchen, at the farthest table from the front.
My guess is that they are cheating on their spouses with each other. I can't prove it, but there's a certain something about them that gives them that air. Do I suspect cheating because I've developed a sense, an ability to recognize it? Or am I just an ass that likes to assume the worst.
After several months in which we didn't see them we nearly forgot about them. Sure, occasionally someone would remember or mention them. Perhaps they'd be the butt of some joke or the topic of a "remember when" sort of conversation. Restaurants change rapidly on the inside, and something that you've grown so used to that you completely take it for granted can disappear and be forgotten in a moment.
This couple, while ordering and sharing the same sandwich each visit, doesn't want it split and put on separate plates. According a to one server the separate plate thing was tried, but the bathroom fuckers put the sandwich back onto one plate and disregarded the attempted good deed.
And now they're back. He dresses sort of normally, but she dresses a bit nicer than you'd expect for an office drone. Yesterday her tight top and fairly short skirt seemed to beg for attention. They sat with their heads together, and then, when no one was looking, the couple was gone.
They weren't too far gone, as they'd left stuff on the table, so we knew where they were. They were in the bathroom again.
We discussed in low whispers what we could do to learn about them. I suggested someone try the old ear to the glass to the wall trick to see if we could hear anything, but no one really wanted to be that guy.
Eventually she exited the bathroom and retrieved her stuff. She pulled on a jacket and left wearing a look that was difficult to read. Had she just been penetrated in our bathroom? Had she performed for him? We waited until he made his exit a few minutes after her. He had a whole other look about him, and he walked away with what I'd describe as a forced nonchalance.
I can't say for certain that they fuck in our bathroom. I sent a server in as soon as the man left, ordering the server to do smell check "for spunk." Yeah, I know that's nasty, but it made me laugh both then and now, so I'm sticking with it.
Apparently there was no spunk odor, and we still can't prove anything, but we'll still call them the "bathroom fuckers."
Monday, February 28, 2011
dirty basement water legs
I feel like I've written about the flooding that sometimes happens in my basement. If so I've explained that the pump is in the farthest corner from the door, and I've probably described the crate walk.
Because the pump is in the far corner there are two milk crates in the basement. When it floods I use the crates to move above the water. Standing on one crate I move the other ahead of me then step onto it. I repeat this process until I reach the pump then jiggle the pump until it starts pumping. Sometimes I have to dig around in the hole to break loose the collected flotsam, and I have a stick that stays in the basement for this very reason. Once the pump is working I turn and do the crate walk back to the door.
Rain has been falling throughout the day, and I was even lucky enough to get to bike in some light rain this morning. I arrived at work thoroughly damp, though my butt was nearly soaked from the spray off the back tire. I won't even attempt a description of my hair, but it needs to be cut and was the combined crazy of rained on and wind blown.
I left work an hour early and met Momma and The Boy near the square. She needed to be at work earlier than usual, and I was able to leave work in order to take her car and meet Big Brother at his school. She warned me to avoid our usual driving route due to flooding, and as we travelled I saw plenty of flooding around town. Our town is a very hilly town, so between the hills and the paved surfaces and the low places we can see lots of rapids down road ways as well as a number of 24 hour ponds.
I knew of course that the chance of my basement being flooded were very good, so upon arriving home my first goal was to check. I could tell the basement was flooded more than usual, but I couldn't really see how deep it was. I could see one of my crates, but I needed a long stick to get it close to me. I try to leave them near enough the door, but sometimes they get pushed out of the way on dry basement trips.
I found a long stick and braced myself against the brick doorway and leaned as far as I could and just could reach the crate. I wasn't sure how easily it would move, so I wasn't expecting instant cooperation. I also wasn't expecting for the crate to be floating and to slowly roll over when I did reach it.
But it did.
I ended up changing into shorts and donning my flip flops. I was dreading my adventure into the cold, brown water, but it exceeded my expectations. The water is in fact cold and brown and reached just above my knees when I was finally brave enough to step out into it. It's so cold in fact that it nearly took my breath away, almost like that first jump into the pool.
I'm sure the boys above in the house heard me as I made my way to the pump. I was singing loudly, "Oh my god it's sooooo COLD!" a little ditty I made up trying to keep the water temperature from driving me over the edge of sanity. I could only move so quickly as there are plenty of dangerous and invisible things in the brown water ready to trip me or worse.
Thankfully I did finally reach the far corner, and thankfully the pump didn't take too much jiggling to start working. Now I've got coffee steeping and another trip outside to peek into the basement. I hope to hear the pump still working, and I hope to see a noticeable drop in the water level. And I hope to relight the water heater's pilot soon. The boys already needed baths tonight, and now I'd really like a shower.
Because the pump is in the far corner there are two milk crates in the basement. When it floods I use the crates to move above the water. Standing on one crate I move the other ahead of me then step onto it. I repeat this process until I reach the pump then jiggle the pump until it starts pumping. Sometimes I have to dig around in the hole to break loose the collected flotsam, and I have a stick that stays in the basement for this very reason. Once the pump is working I turn and do the crate walk back to the door.
Rain has been falling throughout the day, and I was even lucky enough to get to bike in some light rain this morning. I arrived at work thoroughly damp, though my butt was nearly soaked from the spray off the back tire. I won't even attempt a description of my hair, but it needs to be cut and was the combined crazy of rained on and wind blown.
I left work an hour early and met Momma and The Boy near the square. She needed to be at work earlier than usual, and I was able to leave work in order to take her car and meet Big Brother at his school. She warned me to avoid our usual driving route due to flooding, and as we travelled I saw plenty of flooding around town. Our town is a very hilly town, so between the hills and the paved surfaces and the low places we can see lots of rapids down road ways as well as a number of 24 hour ponds.
I knew of course that the chance of my basement being flooded were very good, so upon arriving home my first goal was to check. I could tell the basement was flooded more than usual, but I couldn't really see how deep it was. I could see one of my crates, but I needed a long stick to get it close to me. I try to leave them near enough the door, but sometimes they get pushed out of the way on dry basement trips.
I found a long stick and braced myself against the brick doorway and leaned as far as I could and just could reach the crate. I wasn't sure how easily it would move, so I wasn't expecting instant cooperation. I also wasn't expecting for the crate to be floating and to slowly roll over when I did reach it.
But it did.
I ended up changing into shorts and donning my flip flops. I was dreading my adventure into the cold, brown water, but it exceeded my expectations. The water is in fact cold and brown and reached just above my knees when I was finally brave enough to step out into it. It's so cold in fact that it nearly took my breath away, almost like that first jump into the pool.
I'm sure the boys above in the house heard me as I made my way to the pump. I was singing loudly, "Oh my god it's sooooo COLD!" a little ditty I made up trying to keep the water temperature from driving me over the edge of sanity. I could only move so quickly as there are plenty of dangerous and invisible things in the brown water ready to trip me or worse.
Thankfully I did finally reach the far corner, and thankfully the pump didn't take too much jiggling to start working. Now I've got coffee steeping and another trip outside to peek into the basement. I hope to hear the pump still working, and I hope to see a noticeable drop in the water level. And I hope to relight the water heater's pilot soon. The boys already needed baths tonight, and now I'd really like a shower.
Monday, February 21, 2011
loose pad
Fortunately my back brake is tight, tight as in works well enough that I can skid without too much trying. Also I was fortunate in not having been moving very quickly when I hit my front brake which suddenly wasn't really working in a way that was even a little bit helpful.
It probably wasn't really nice or proper of me to refer to the kid as a sack of shit, but either one or both of his parents are a sack of shit for letting him play with my bike.
Entering the restaurant where I work through the front door you pass between our bar area to the left and a separate dining room on the right. Continue through and you reach the courtyard which is essentially fenced off inside the greater room, separating it from two walkways on the outer edges of the room. These walking areas lead to the doors that lead to the stairways that lead to the condos on the floors above. Continue your walk from the front door to end in the kitchen, where we have more dining, but if I start talking about the tourists I might start to rant a little.
Only one of the two doors to the upper living areas is used often, so the walkway leading to the less used door has become parking for those of us who ride our bikes to work.
At some point today, as I was moving between the kitchen and somewhere else in the restaurant, there was a family seated in the courtyard. Only the parents were actually seated at the moment I walked through. The two young girls and young boy that were also part of the party were in the less used walkway. While the girls admired the horrid painting of crap that takes up nearly a twenty by thirty foot area of the wall there the boy could be seen fucking with my bike.
I have no proof that the kid fucked with my brakes. One of my pads on the front was loose when I left, and I didn't know this till I was pedaling away and tried to use the brakes. I tend to use the front brake more for control and the back for stopping or to slow myself more quickly. In a sense I kinda rely on them a lot.
And it's not as if the kid was off somewhere, unattended and unwatched. The parents were seated at a table facing the exact direction of my bike and their kid and were not more than five feet away. Looking at their child would have confirmed that his bike was not in fact the one leaning against the divider fence and that he was in fact fucking with a bike not his own.
Perhaps they just didn't realize that the machine their child was treating as his own is in fact my main mode of transportation, much like their car is for them. Maybe they just don't realize how dirty my bike probably is. And it's not that it's so dirty so much as that I ride on regular ol' city streets where anything can and likely does go. Bikes also hold potential dangers for small children, not the least of which is that they could easily pull the bike over on themselves.
Maybe the kid didn't loosen my brake pad, but it was working when I arrived in the morning, and it wasn't working when I left. I easily found and fixed the problem, but that didn't really help when I first attempted to use that brake and it wasn't really there suddenly.
My front brake works, but it isn't as tight as the back. The back is my stopping brake or my sudden need to decrease speed brake. My front is a more delicate sort of control of speed. That doesn't make it any less essential, but it also doesn't make it the point.
So, I saw the kid fucking with my bike, and I wanted to approach the parents and say something. I'm also a restaurant employee and have been trained for years to not piss off the customer. I also know how some parents can be when approached about something their kid is doing but should not be doing. It's almost as if you're questioning their entire ability to parent as well as the general goodness of the children.
And I'm still not sure what I should have done. Perhaps the simplest thing would have been to push my way into their little zone and remove my bike. There are a couple of places I could have moved it to, and without having talked at all other than to excuse myself there'd be no reason for the parents to turn douche, though some people never need a valid reason.
The best idea really would be for people to control their kids and teach them that fucking with other people's stuff is really never cool. They aren't special, and my bike should be understood to be off limits. More than anything, the fact that parents didn't already get this idea is just baffling to me. And that's part of my reluctance to say or do anything. What can you really say or do to people like this?
p.s. Is the post title an homage or just a coincidence that made me think of this?
It probably wasn't really nice or proper of me to refer to the kid as a sack of shit, but either one or both of his parents are a sack of shit for letting him play with my bike.
Entering the restaurant where I work through the front door you pass between our bar area to the left and a separate dining room on the right. Continue through and you reach the courtyard which is essentially fenced off inside the greater room, separating it from two walkways on the outer edges of the room. These walking areas lead to the doors that lead to the stairways that lead to the condos on the floors above. Continue your walk from the front door to end in the kitchen, where we have more dining, but if I start talking about the tourists I might start to rant a little.
Only one of the two doors to the upper living areas is used often, so the walkway leading to the less used door has become parking for those of us who ride our bikes to work.
At some point today, as I was moving between the kitchen and somewhere else in the restaurant, there was a family seated in the courtyard. Only the parents were actually seated at the moment I walked through. The two young girls and young boy that were also part of the party were in the less used walkway. While the girls admired the horrid painting of crap that takes up nearly a twenty by thirty foot area of the wall there the boy could be seen fucking with my bike.
I have no proof that the kid fucked with my brakes. One of my pads on the front was loose when I left, and I didn't know this till I was pedaling away and tried to use the brakes. I tend to use the front brake more for control and the back for stopping or to slow myself more quickly. In a sense I kinda rely on them a lot.
And it's not as if the kid was off somewhere, unattended and unwatched. The parents were seated at a table facing the exact direction of my bike and their kid and were not more than five feet away. Looking at their child would have confirmed that his bike was not in fact the one leaning against the divider fence and that he was in fact fucking with a bike not his own.
Perhaps they just didn't realize that the machine their child was treating as his own is in fact my main mode of transportation, much like their car is for them. Maybe they just don't realize how dirty my bike probably is. And it's not that it's so dirty so much as that I ride on regular ol' city streets where anything can and likely does go. Bikes also hold potential dangers for small children, not the least of which is that they could easily pull the bike over on themselves.
Maybe the kid didn't loosen my brake pad, but it was working when I arrived in the morning, and it wasn't working when I left. I easily found and fixed the problem, but that didn't really help when I first attempted to use that brake and it wasn't really there suddenly.
My front brake works, but it isn't as tight as the back. The back is my stopping brake or my sudden need to decrease speed brake. My front is a more delicate sort of control of speed. That doesn't make it any less essential, but it also doesn't make it the point.
So, I saw the kid fucking with my bike, and I wanted to approach the parents and say something. I'm also a restaurant employee and have been trained for years to not piss off the customer. I also know how some parents can be when approached about something their kid is doing but should not be doing. It's almost as if you're questioning their entire ability to parent as well as the general goodness of the children.
And I'm still not sure what I should have done. Perhaps the simplest thing would have been to push my way into their little zone and remove my bike. There are a couple of places I could have moved it to, and without having talked at all other than to excuse myself there'd be no reason for the parents to turn douche, though some people never need a valid reason.
The best idea really would be for people to control their kids and teach them that fucking with other people's stuff is really never cool. They aren't special, and my bike should be understood to be off limits. More than anything, the fact that parents didn't already get this idea is just baffling to me. And that's part of my reluctance to say or do anything. What can you really say or do to people like this?
p.s. Is the post title an homage or just a coincidence that made me think of this?
Thursday, February 17, 2011
food war? srsly?
Apparently two brothers in DC have competing pizza restaurants, and now they're "jumbo slice" is going to be on tv as they compete to see who has the best.
Food competitions sorta bother me. I watched and enjoyed Top Chef when I had the good cables, but the competition aspect always bothered me a bit, and sometimes it irritated the shit out of me.
On a personal level it's not uncommon for cooks/chefs to have to feel like they are the best. It's part of the thing, and it's probably completely natural. Maybe it's just a guy thing because many of the guys I know are like this while few of the girls are, and by guys and girls here I mean those with whom I've worked in various kitchens.
The only reason the tv and show are even on behind me is that I'm just too lazy to go turn the damn thing off. The remote works mostly, but the power button doesn't tend to. Sometimes if you mash the button hard enough and enough times in quick succession the tv will turn off and then back on, but generally it's just easier to walk the couple steps to the tv.
Everyone likes different foods in different ways and for different reason. And there is no single food that every single person on the earth is going to like. Cilantro is a great example of how we taste. I personally love it. I feel like too much is almost enough. But many people don't like it, and in fact they will often taste is as having a chemical like flavor.
Do you win by pleasing the greatest number of people? or do you win a food competition by having the best food? or do you win by being happy with what you've made?
Maybe there's my real problem. I'm my biggest critic, and if I'm happy with something I've made then I'm satisfied that I've created what I wanted. I don't always feel like I've created what I set out to accomplish, but I'm also a good enough cook that I can make people happy while not feeling like I got it right.
Here's another example, chicken and dumplings. Momma and I both make really good chicken and dumplings, but we make the dish somewhat differently, and we end with fairly different versions of the same thing. We've also put some amount of time over the years moving our own personal chicken and dumplings recipes into our own territory where we play with the different variables to further create the dish as we imagine it.
As a side note I didn't really grow up with chicken and dumplings. It just wasn't in my mother's repertoire, so it wasn't something I ate a lot. If anything this just means that I'm less wedded to an ideal that I'm trying to recreate and/or perfect.
How about a final example? Take a pound of green beans and trim them then steam them just right so that you've just brought out that lovely shade of green. Half of that pound goes into an ice bath to stop the cooking while the other half gets tossed with a bit of butter and some sea salt. The plain cold bean will have a nice crispness and sweetness to it. It will almost seem to pop in your mouth, tasting just like itself. The other bean has that bit of salt and butter, the salty and fatty being two things we tend to crave as humans. Which is truly better?
Food competitions sorta bother me. I watched and enjoyed Top Chef when I had the good cables, but the competition aspect always bothered me a bit, and sometimes it irritated the shit out of me.
On a personal level it's not uncommon for cooks/chefs to have to feel like they are the best. It's part of the thing, and it's probably completely natural. Maybe it's just a guy thing because many of the guys I know are like this while few of the girls are, and by guys and girls here I mean those with whom I've worked in various kitchens.
The only reason the tv and show are even on behind me is that I'm just too lazy to go turn the damn thing off. The remote works mostly, but the power button doesn't tend to. Sometimes if you mash the button hard enough and enough times in quick succession the tv will turn off and then back on, but generally it's just easier to walk the couple steps to the tv.
Everyone likes different foods in different ways and for different reason. And there is no single food that every single person on the earth is going to like. Cilantro is a great example of how we taste. I personally love it. I feel like too much is almost enough. But many people don't like it, and in fact they will often taste is as having a chemical like flavor.
Do you win by pleasing the greatest number of people? or do you win a food competition by having the best food? or do you win by being happy with what you've made?
Maybe there's my real problem. I'm my biggest critic, and if I'm happy with something I've made then I'm satisfied that I've created what I wanted. I don't always feel like I've created what I set out to accomplish, but I'm also a good enough cook that I can make people happy while not feeling like I got it right.
Here's another example, chicken and dumplings. Momma and I both make really good chicken and dumplings, but we make the dish somewhat differently, and we end with fairly different versions of the same thing. We've also put some amount of time over the years moving our own personal chicken and dumplings recipes into our own territory where we play with the different variables to further create the dish as we imagine it.
As a side note I didn't really grow up with chicken and dumplings. It just wasn't in my mother's repertoire, so it wasn't something I ate a lot. If anything this just means that I'm less wedded to an ideal that I'm trying to recreate and/or perfect.
How about a final example? Take a pound of green beans and trim them then steam them just right so that you've just brought out that lovely shade of green. Half of that pound goes into an ice bath to stop the cooking while the other half gets tossed with a bit of butter and some sea salt. The plain cold bean will have a nice crispness and sweetness to it. It will almost seem to pop in your mouth, tasting just like itself. The other bean has that bit of salt and butter, the salty and fatty being two things we tend to crave as humans. Which is truly better?
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
something about a hill or something
I really should have gone to bed before two o'clock this morning, but I was up by seven, and I did wake the boys up and get them moving toward clothes and breakfast, and I did get The Boy's lunch. Big Brother is opting to buy lunch today because they're having barbecue trukey and/or pork.
Yes, the menu does say "trukey," and yes, we have resorted to calling it that. It's kinda like when your very young, not quite speaking clearly/correctly child refers to granola bars as "goobahs" and it sticks so that years later you say it without quite thinking. I'm sure my mother still sometimes refers to "bibbits."
I could have gone back to bed, but I seem to have just as much trouble waking up after that little bit of extra sleep, so I made my first cup of coffee of the day and decided just to stay up.
As our weather turned cold and business dropped on the square my place of employment ditched one of the day shifts. This weeks sees us getting warmer weather, and with that there's every chance we'll have busy-ish lunches, or at least busy enough to need that third person back.
I should be off today, but I'm going in at eleven to be the third person for a couple of hours. And since I'm up I can leave the house by ten. I won't feel like I'm having to pedal so damn hard just to be at work on time, and I can finally explore some alternate routes that may or may not be almost just as bad as the basic route I've been riding to get to work.
Also, I really need to get my ass in gear and move closer to town, but that's really not the point at all right this moment.
I am slowly getting the hang of proper gear shifting, or at least shifting that feels proper. But in this town it seems like a true art, because we have lots of hills. Mostly I'm doing fine, avoiding most of the worst hills, but I'm also learning that there is always going to be at least one big hill between me and my destination.
I shouldn't complain, though I will, because the ride has to be good for me. I'm sure I'm going to be in decent shape before too long, but I also need to get in the habit of eating better. The machine can't work properly without enough fuel, and my eating habits have sucked so much for so long that it's difficult to change.
And now I have another hour before I want to be rolling down the driveway. I'm feeling the sleepiness that wants to push me back under the quilt. And I'm fighting the voice in my head that's telling me I could sleep for an hour and be up and ready to go on time. I'm fighting that voice because I know better.
Yes, the menu does say "trukey," and yes, we have resorted to calling it that. It's kinda like when your very young, not quite speaking clearly/correctly child refers to granola bars as "goobahs" and it sticks so that years later you say it without quite thinking. I'm sure my mother still sometimes refers to "bibbits."
I could have gone back to bed, but I seem to have just as much trouble waking up after that little bit of extra sleep, so I made my first cup of coffee of the day and decided just to stay up.
As our weather turned cold and business dropped on the square my place of employment ditched one of the day shifts. This weeks sees us getting warmer weather, and with that there's every chance we'll have busy-ish lunches, or at least busy enough to need that third person back.
I should be off today, but I'm going in at eleven to be the third person for a couple of hours. And since I'm up I can leave the house by ten. I won't feel like I'm having to pedal so damn hard just to be at work on time, and I can finally explore some alternate routes that may or may not be almost just as bad as the basic route I've been riding to get to work.
Also, I really need to get my ass in gear and move closer to town, but that's really not the point at all right this moment.
I am slowly getting the hang of proper gear shifting, or at least shifting that feels proper. But in this town it seems like a true art, because we have lots of hills. Mostly I'm doing fine, avoiding most of the worst hills, but I'm also learning that there is always going to be at least one big hill between me and my destination.
I shouldn't complain, though I will, because the ride has to be good for me. I'm sure I'm going to be in decent shape before too long, but I also need to get in the habit of eating better. The machine can't work properly without enough fuel, and my eating habits have sucked so much for so long that it's difficult to change.
And now I have another hour before I want to be rolling down the driveway. I'm feeling the sleepiness that wants to push me back under the quilt. And I'm fighting the voice in my head that's telling me I could sleep for an hour and be up and ready to go on time. I'm fighting that voice because I know better.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)