5.04.2006

Live fast...

Sometimes it feels pretty good being bad, but it always feels pretty bad going fast.

Ever since I was a kid I've loved motorcycles. There's this fascination I see in young kids staring at a bike, mesmerized. Maybe they realize it's not the norm and they can see that there's something taboo about it. Maybe they see danger or speed and are drawn to it in some kind of primal way. I can't tell you what I saw in a bike when I was young, but whatever it was, I still have it and need to feed it like a gas guzzling, fire breathing monkey on my back. I was hooked so many years ago and the feeling doesn't fade.

Parked in my garage is the big blue monster. A high octane, high performance, bad-ass, balls out competition off-road race bike. Why I thought to modify it for the street, and not just any streets, but the streets of New York City, I couldn't even begin to tell you. A momentary lapse of reason, madness, maybe that mangy mutt on the Berkowitz mail route told me to do it. Either way it makes no sense to do. The extreme danger and craziness of riding a bike like this through the streets of the city will either turn you into a hardend biker or scare you into never want to swing a leg over a sick machine like this again. The thump of the single cylinder four stroke, when given a good handful of throttle, is enough to set off car alarms on every block and make the average pedestrian feel like he's just been beat in the chest with a jackhammer. They call it a Supermotard bike in Europe, though the style has yet to really catch on here in the states.



An easy trip across town to the local Tuesday night biker hangout, right? Traveling the eight or so round trip miles should be easy enough, you would think, but this isn't a trip to the 7-11 in Boise. No, this is urban warfare on two wheels. These cabbies are out for blood. Two ton, bright yellow bull sharks swarm this sea of asphalt and as soon as you hit the pavement they can smell the oil on the road. As much as they're out to get you there are dozens of giant SUV's that could give two craps that you're even there. These giant buzz saw 25" chromed out Dubs can chew up and spit out the average rider with the slightest effort. Bouncing off of curbs and up on sidewalks are part of the ride, it's all fair game in this survival of the craziest. Racing from light to light, zero to 60 and back to zero in a matter of a city block or two. Just trying to keep the front wheel down is tough enough, let alone trying to grab enough brake to stop in time, but not so much that you end up butter side down. It feels wrong, I'm going to get stopped in a matter of minutes. Wait, how will they catch me? Do I have the balls to give it all it's got at the sight of flashing lights? Do I want to find out? This is the feeling I got as a kid riding a 1971 Penton around the streets at night. Outlaw bikers they call us. And they might be right.

But all I want now is to make it home in one piece. The last block is always smooth sailing. I pull into the garage, turn the gas off, take off my helmet and gloves. I'm a fighter pilot, a race car driver with stainless steel nerves and titanium balls. I made it through another ride through the jungle. I'm now home safe! This is when my knees start slightly shaking, my heart pounds the backside of my rib cage trying to break free. I wonder to myself why I would have just done such a thing as that...and when I can do it again.

9.26.2005

Tech-NO

I've given up. I can't keep up and I am man enough to admit that. I've become an old man, at 34, and I have decided that I can no longer keep up with technology. And I'm fine with that.

I have a cell phone that is 3 years old. I was one of the ones to hold out as long as possible before finally giving in to great wave of technology that eventually consumes us all. I was hesitant, but finally I broke down and got a cell phone. I can't say that even at this point three years later I can tell you all of the features it has. Once I figured out the basics, I was done. What more do I need, I call out, I receive calls, that's about all I need to know, and all I want. One night at 11p I was watching some TV and it was sitting on the table and began to vibrate, no ring, just vibrate. I was baffled. What do I do now? It says I have a message. Great, I have no idea how to retrieve said message. After spending the better part The Daily Show flipping through menus I finally managed to track down this even so important note. Some high school kids with a wrong number trying to find one of their friends. So much easier than "Sorry, wrong number" Thanks technology.

I will become a caveman in the world of today and I couldn't be happier. This ancient phone I have still works fine while I hear people complain about the $200 they just spent on a tiny flip phone because it takes crappy pictures. Do you know why your phone takes crappy pictures? Because it's a PHONE. Let's face it, 5 years ago, there were few people that wouldn't leave the house without a camera, all of the sudden everyone and their brother is Ansel Adams.

Creation vs. Evolution?

The Question: Should kids in school today be taught creation or evolution?

The Answer: Yes.

That's right I answered yes. Why, you ask? Because they are both THEORIES, are they not? Meriam-Webster defines Theory as: an unproved assumption. There are multiple entries for Theory, but this should give you the idea. Am I wrong? Are they Not just theories?

Not knowing is part of the fun. This is part of the magic of being alive and human, a little mystery is the world, especially a world such as this, at this point in time, is a GOOD thing. Relax, sit back and enjoy the ride. You're not going to be here nearly as long as you hope, and certainly not long enough to resolve this gem of an issue.

The creationists are far too deep rooted and faithful in their religion to even give the time of day to some crackpot scientist while the science world is far too analytical to view the world in anything other than quantifiable, finite terms. I don't really give a rats ass who is right to be honest. Neither point of view really eases my mind at all when I do rest my head on my pillow at night and try to get to sleep because I know that whoever we did get here, it looks like we a royally F*#k'd at the moment and I think this is what we should really focus on, at least for the time being.

Is this an argument that will EVER reach a conclusion? No, plain and simple. So let's agree to disagree and move on, like I said, we're not here for very long and there's much more to cover.

9.10.2005

The Great American Pastime

There are so many big time sporting events, you could spend about every Sunday of your life with your ass parked in your Lazy Boy swilling light beer, filling yourself with processed cheese covered crap and gambling away your kids college fund on a "feeling". March Madness, The Stanley Cup, The World Series and, of course, Superbowl Sunday just to name a few.

It's hard to deny the importance of Sports not only in the lives of Americans, but worldwide. The entertainment value is nothing short of immense. Out in the mid-west people decorate their homes in their home team colors, throwing any sense of taste or style to the wind to show their unwavering support for the home team. These folks are hardcore. I believe I had just read about a Pittsburgh fan who had died and had his wake set up like his living room and he was, no kidding, propped up in his recliner. God Bless him, let's hope they go all the way this year, if for no other reason than they've seemingly lost their biggest fan.

Sports bring peace. Let's face it, when can you get 50,000 people in one place, all with the same overwhelming enthusiasm for what they are about to partake in? For as jacked up as many of these fans get, there seems to be little incident, amazing. So an accountant from Cincinnati can tailgate on Sun., forget his cubicle for an afternoon and feel like his is part of something much larger and more important than himself. This is a good feeling for just about anyone.

So once the beer is gone, scores are tallied and bookies are paid, it's time to get back to work. The excitement of the weekends events often if not always, survive well into monday. Co-workers, friends and acquaintances' all reminisce, many times play by play, of all the weekend happenings. Mailroom clerks,mid-level manager, interns and and even the creatives from the art department happily converge to BS, collect bets, gloat and berate. But remember, next week is a brand new week and better yet, next weeks game is a brand new game.

9.07.2005

State of the Union

What can I say folks, pack a lunch and grab your SPF 1000 because the next three years are going to be a long and bumpy ride. It looks like we're going to hell in a hand-basket and we've got a madman at the helm.

Where to begin...We've got too many troops where we shouldn't have put them in the first place, not enough where we really need them, an administration being criticized for lack of response to one of own county's greatest natural disasters in history and that same administration taking little or no responsibility. Bob and weave, these folks are slicker than whale crap on an ice flow. We've gotten the run around for far too long. Time to own up, step up to the plate and let's give our own a hand. Because, let's face it, regardless of weather the "Have Mores" realize it or not, their polar opposite, the poor black south is still "our own".

You could say that these people should have known better. A Category 5 storm is creeping up on your city like a starved alley cat ready to pounce the first breathing morsel it sees, and these folks stay home. Survival of the fittest, right? This is just a healthy example of nature at work, natural selection thinning the heard. You could also say, what the hell were their options? The busses didn't arrive until days AFTER the floods. This being the case, holding up on your roof for a few days with a case of canned ravioli and a can opener doesn't sound like a bad option when you think that the Superdome dwellers has no air conditioning, working plumbing or food.

Why didn't all the residents of New Orleans just jump in their Beemers and head up to their cottage in the Hamptons?