Ads we'd like to see: 1-800-BLOW-ME

This post isn't what you think it's about. I got the latest issue of Velonews the other day, and during the cover-to-cover perusal I saw something I didn't expect.

I've been getting Velonews for over 15 years by subscription. My wife started it after we got married, and renews it every year. I enjoy the magazine, though it wouldn't break my heart if I stopped getting it. She buys it for me because she knows I enjoy it...She's good that way.

I've written in a few times, and been published twice. Once was around 1999 when usa cycling was going through all of its reorgs and I was commenting that they (usac) didn't really seem to be paying much attention to grass roots maintenance. Another time was when I called out lennard zinn for his comparison of a 29r vs a 26" wheeled mtb. He rode two different bikes from two different manufacturers with different gear ratios and different crank lengths and then sung praises of the 29r. I told him it wasn't a fair test since he had the 29r set up for him complete with 180mm cranks, the other bike was stock, and he didn't ensure the gearing was equivalent to account for the wheel diameter difference. He replied that I was full of shit, but didn't challenge any of my criticisms.

I wrote in again last week over this:


That's a scan of page 79 of the April 2010 issue. That's an ad for a gay chat line/dating service in the upper right. (Clickie makie biggie). Some bike shops carry the magazine, drop into your LBS and see for yourself.

Now, I'm as sufferably liberal as you'll ever see. I've never made a secret about my opinion that this country should adopt a much more open - european, if you will - attitude about sex and sexuality. I believe a persons sexual preference is as mundane as their anchovy preference. Hey, those little hairy stinky abominations make me want to puke, and any food that's been prepared with them in the near vicinity should be ground up and used as fertilizer. I can _not_ understand how anyone could tolerate them, let alone prefer them. Gays, I don't mind. Gay marriage, sure, go nuts, doesn't affect me in the least bit. But you _know_ what sort of maelstrom this ad is going to generate. I can't imagine Velonews didn't know it as well. The only criticism I could offer over the ad was that it wasn't cycling related, and even that, I didn't mind. Velonews often has ads that aren't cycling related.

This is what I wrote:

Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later. I'm surprised it took this long. I've been a subscriber to velonews since 1994 (and I have the library to prove it) and it seems to me I've seen a dating service advertisement 'geared' towards cyclists in the past. Something along the lines of a 'singles cycling weekend' analogous to a singles cruise strikes a tone , but I may have that wrong. The April issue of Velonews, however took it a step further. Just a generic dating ad sans the cycling component.....but wait. It wasn't _quite_ generic.....was it.... A dating service ad would have done little more to me than raise an eyebrow. This one made me raise _both_ eyebrows. No, 'eyebrow' is not a euphemism, they are the hair-covered ridges over my eyes (I do in fact have two). I have no problem with Velonews accepting and placing ads for relationship services, it just caught me a bit by surprise. I'm confident enough in my manhood and my marriage not to be threatened by such advertisements or openly gay men and women. It's not me you're going to have to worry about, it's the element in our society that finds such activities an anathema to nuclear families, the sanctity of marriage, and the will of whatever intolerant version of god they choose to worship. I can hear the complaints now: 'what's next? ads for NAMBLA?'. Be careful, some of these people carry guns.

In the early 90's I was the president of my bike club, and as such was afforded the opportunity to attend the USCF annual convention in Long Beach, CA. One of the proposals up for ratification was the modification of the anti-discriminatory bylaw to include sexual orientation language (this is currently intact under USAC bylaw D section 4). When I saw the proposal on the agenda, I didn't think twice about it. It really seemed like a no-brainer. Well, others in attendance thought differently, culminating in a 'gentleman' railing against the board of directors for "Promoting sexual deviance" (yes, that's a quote, I remember him red-faced and frothing to this day). Fortunately, Tolerance ruled the day and the change was overwhelmingly approved. Make no mistake about it, intolerance base on fear, ignorance and inbred prejudice are rife, not only in the general public, but even in the cycling world. You will undoubtedly suffer a few cancellations over this. I hope you don't, but you will, and I think you already knew that. Rest assured, I've been a subscriber for over 15 years, and what will be argued by the irrational fear-mongers as implicit support of alternative lifestyles on the part of Velonews will do nothing to change that.

I received a reply from Velonews editor-in-chief Ben Delaney saying that ad was permanently banned.

I'm just hoping it was done for the right reasons, and not for irrational prejudice. The ad didn't belong in Velonews because of the _type_ of service it offered - a chat line - not because of the target audience. They should perhaps put a policy in place prohibiting non-cycling related social networking ads, or social networking ads in general, or just say "yeah, how about this ad? 1-800-BLOW-ME you homophobic assholes".

_that's_ an ad I'd like to see.

(this one's just for judi)

History Rewritten

I was wrong about the date in my last post about the Poteen Massacre, it was in fact fall of '04.

Chronoman forwarded a picture of the poison, along with the comment "holy moly, what a night"

You'll see in the last post where he comments that he would still rather drink the whole bottle that go back to Iraq.

Then Solobreak responded with a picture Chronoman sent back from Iraq.

Begging the question - are you referring to the war or the booze?

("Hey, what was I thinking?" is a variation on "Hey, what were you thinking?", a phrase often interjected by Paul Curley in a race when someone tries a tactic that was particularly wise or successful)

The Poitín Massacre of 2003

Maybe I have the year wrong, it may have been 2004, but that's pretty much irrelevant.

Being immersed in cycling for the past 23 years has built strong friendship bonds for me amoung a select few individuals. One of these is the Local Legend Chronoman. Chrono knows everyone in the local cycling scene, from a significant number of local pros to scores of cat 3/4 pack fodder. He's considered by many to be The Nicest Guy In Cycling (though I have another candidate in mind, I mean, Ed Kross actually uses a handkerchief to blow his nose _while_ racing).

Chrono's sense of duty and honor is so great, that at the age of 41 he transitioned from his army national guard status to active duty in order to participate in Operation Iraqi Freedom. It wasn't because he supported the war, in fact he didn't. He, like most rational americans (proven to be correct in hind sight) knew Saddam was no threat, and the claims of WMDs was specious at best. No, Chronoman went active because he knew the kids that were in his guard unit, and knew they needed the guidance and moral support that a veteran such as himself could offer. He didn't have to go and was old enough to be ineligible. He placed himself at significant risk of life and limb in order to help his fellow soldier.

And so it was that season when, after the howls of protestation from his friends and family (including an offer from solobreak to feign a homosexual affair i.e. "who do I have to tell I'm fucking you in the ass to get you out of this") that the commitment was made, and the party was planned. It started with a rather large gathering at the Indomnitable Schofield Homestead with a group ride and a pot luck feast. Later that week, we had another small gathering at Chrono's little house the night before he was supposed to report, with a few friends, and select libations.

Chronoman is Irish. Wicked Irish. As such, he was given a going away present from a former professional cyclist and Irish immigrant that lives locally. That present was a bottle of Poitín.

Poitín is a white liquor of dubious origin. For centuries it was illegal to produce, and was only legal to import in the late 20th century. Licensed distilleries followed shortly thereafter. The present from the Irish Pro was a white glass bottle with giant letters screened across a banner proclaiming "NOW LEGAL". That should have been our first warning.

Now, we had been drinking that night, but not to excess. Chrono had to report for his fucking physical the next morning,

(Studebacher Hoch: Ya, well listen... listen you communist son-of-a-bitch... you better get your ass down there for your fucking physical or I’ll see to it that you get used for fill dirt in some impending New Jersey marsh reclamation... and your girlfriend there will wind up disguised as series of brooms, primitive ironing boards or a dog house... get the (cough, cough) get the picture?)

and I had a 30 mile drive home and had to work the next day, as did most of the other attendees. I had few beers, not enough to worry about, and when it was decided that it was time to wrap things up, we decided on one last toast, with the Poitín. As the glasses were distributed, I remember an odd smell. I had smelled that smell before, and I knew it had a specific connotation, but I couldn't place it. It wasn't a pleasant smell, distinctly chemical, with petroleum distillate over tones. It tasted bad. Beyond bad.

I'm a fan of tequila shots, and my first exposure to hard liquor was by my grandfather at the age of 7. He and my uncles were were sitting around the kitchen table over the holidays that year, drinking some clear liquid with Cyrillic writing on the bottle. My grandfather was the first member of his family born in the us after they immigrated from a 'disputed' region of eastern europe (somewhere around then-Czechoslovakia/hungary/poland), where Slivovitz is the cultural drink of choice. I was given a teaspoon, and the alcohol aromatics went straight through my hard palate and into my brain (yes, that explains a lot).

Poitín made me think of battery acid, and that's _compared_ to slivovitz or bad tequila. Quite possibly the worst alcoholic drink I have ever had. After downing the shot, comments ran along the lines of "BLECH" "people actually drink this shit?" and "it should _still_ be illegal". Years later, I remembered what the smell reminded me of. I used to work in a box factory after high school, and they ran small propane powered fork-trucks in the warehouse. Poitín smelled like propane fork-truck exhaust.

So, after a long near teary-eyed goodbye and shared bro-hugs for our friend off to war, I left. The drive home went steadily downhill. I remember my vision blurring, and it got to the point where I had to cover one eye to drive. This was after about 3 beers and the shot of death. By comparison, last saturday I had at least a six pack and was out till almost 1 am. I got up sunday and went for a 2 1/2 hour fixed gear ride. It wasn't that I had too much to drink that night, it was that I had been poisoned.

Taking the exit ramp to my house, I misjudged the corner I had been taking every day from work for the past three years and took out one of the small yellow reflector signs, leaving a small dent in my bumper and hood. The next day, I was none the worse for wear. I didn't feel horribly hung over, at least not as bad as I thought I was going to be when I went to bed. Chronoman isn't a hard drinker though, and rumor has it he had to pull over a few times on the way to the induction center to vomit. I don't know what was in that bottle, but it was certainly poisonous. I have never been that 'polluted' from drinking. I wasn't really drunk, I was just completely fucked up, painfully so. I saw the Irish Pro later that season while Chrono was still in Iraq. I asked him if it was his intention to just make chrono fail the physical, or actually euthanize him instead of risking his legs getting blown off. He wasn't amused, but I wasn't exactly trying to be funny.

Chrono made it back in one piece, albeit with an emotional scar that comes with seeing friends die in combat, which he occasionally still speaks of. The 'trauma' of a bottle of bad booze must pale in comparison.

UPDATE: chronoman forwarded a picture of the poison, along with the comment "holy moly, what a night"

untitled, part deux

(photo shoot here NSFW!)

DEATH TO YOU ALL!!!!!!!!

This post will piss many of you off. It isn't my intention to do so, but I feel the need to vent on a rather contentious subject, and make rhetorical statements regarding which I have no interest in any debate. Here it is:

I have a particular theory about pets. We own them. In exchange for food and a warm place to live, I expect the pet will obey me. I will give love, affection, and playtime to a pet that behaves like a pet, or I will train the pet to behave like a pet, and in return ensure the pets physical and emotional well-being through positive re-enforcement and and affection. I do not tolerate a pet that asserts an alpha role, and I never will. I am not cruel to my pets, but I do impart discipline and sanctions when necessary. I don't care how big/small or smart/stupid your pet is. I don't care if its a horse or a mouse. We, as pet owners, are the alpha characters in the relationship, and our pets must be subordinate to every member of our household. Cats do not respond well to beta-roles. They can be trained, but they are subversively deceptive, allowing you to think they've been trained, just waiting for their opportunity to hit you with a resounding "Fuck You You Fucking Fuck"

Cats suck. I've never been a cat person. I find them at once to be needy and clingy, yet arrogant and aloof. They only seem to show any sort of affection when they need to be fed, and any attempts to elicit any intimacy beyond their hunger-fueled patronization is met with at best an condescending dismissal and at worst clawed retribution. I don't like cats.

I have two cats.

They both suck.

I've never had a cat that I got for me. I've never wanted one. My ex-wife and I got a cat, it was hers. She left it with me when she split. I had it still when I met and moved in with my soon-to-be-current wife. It didn't get along with her two cats, and since it was her house, and I never really liked 'my' cat, to a new home it went.

Her older cat was cool as cats go, he was affectionate, and friendly, never shit/pissed anywhere besides the litter box, and tolerated the dog I had at the time. That cat died about 8 years ago. The cat she still has didn't like my dog, and never really took to me. He has this annoying habit of walking everywhere with his claws extended so he gets stuck on blankets, clothing, and furniture. His excursions onto a lap invariable end up with a claw being dug into clothing, and you need to be careful wearing shorts if you're sitting somewhere he wants to walk. He also has this nasty habit of jumping up onto areas where we have fresh food, especially cooked poultry. We've been pushing him off the counters and dining table, trying every deterent from a squirt bottle to actually smacking him upside the head, for over ten years. Still, he hops right on the table when we're eating and won't leave until forcibly removed. Seriously, yelling or shooing him doesn't work he just looks at you as if to ask, "what's in it for me?". Trust me, that cat is _not_ underfed.

We got another cat (kitten) a few years ago because my daughter wanted one. He doesn't cuddle with anyone in the house, and prefers to hide, not even socializing with the older cat. The only time we see him is when he needs to be fed or is making his way to the litter box.

We have a dog. She's the best. She's happy to see me when I get home, always greeting me with a toy in her mouth and a wagging tail. She comes when I call her, ready to play or cuddle, and is happy with either form of affection. When we're eating dinner, I tell her to go lay in the other room, and she does. I love our dog.

The older cat tolerates our dog, and the younger cat hisses and howls whenever he sees the dog. We've had the dog almost two years, and the cat still acts as if he's never seen the dog before.

One of the things I love about my dog is that she shits in the yard. Outside. She barks to go out, tail wagging, then barks to come in, seemingly happy to not have polluted our home with excrement.

My cats, on the other hand, require a litter box - sometimes. Other times, they use what ever corner of the house strikes their fancy at the time. When they _do_ use the litter box, they track litter in the surrounding area, and in the event that a little piece of kitty poop clings to their ass, it gets dropped somewhere around the house, and in the 'jelly side down' ethos (i.e. Murphy's Law), invariably ends up in a highly trafficked area of the house (where I'm prone to be shoe-less), or on the furniture.

This past weekend, one or both cats decided to relieve themselves in places other than the litter box. Yes, the box was clean. No, I haven't changed the litter, the box, or moved it. No, I haven't placed any new items in its proximity. It's in the same box, in the same corner, using the same brand of litter as it has for the past three years. Yet, one has decided to pee about two feet from the box, on an old wood floor so the urine soaks nicely into it. One decided to shit in the middle of the bath mat in the bathroom. It may be the same cat that did both, it may be one did one and one did the other. I don't know, neither will admit to the offenses. Waterboarding is not an option.

My dogs have always let me know who the offending party is. In the exceptionally rare occurrence where one of them ever did go in the house, and they let me know they did it by the guilty behaviour. Cats respond to such interrogations with an air of privilege.

Now, I can't kill the cats. Well, I could, but I won't. After the 3rd incident in two days of cat piss on the wooden floor I was heard to yell "FUCKING CATS". I was reminded of the title of this post - In the "And the Children Shall Lead" episode of the original Star Trek series. "DEATH TO YOU ALL" was ranted repeatedly by the antagonist Gorgon as he faded from existence (the episode was interesting metaphor for the power of god and religion, and the nature of its most ardent adherents).

No, it's left to me to figure out, through a combination of trial, error, and psychoanalysis, why it is that the new piss spot seems to be two feet from the litter box and what it was that drove one of them to shit in the on my bath mat. Now, I haven't had a repeat of the shit-on-the-bathmat since the one incident friday morning, though I may yet have a surprise awaiting me somewhere else. Yesterday I dug an old piece of rug with a rubber backing from my basement that I cut to fit the area where the cat has desired to pee. It seems to have worked, there hasn't been pee there since. However, I've been monitoring the litter box closely, to make sure it has been used for its intended purpose. It seems to me there should be more pee than there is, which would indicate that the offending feline has decided to pee somewhere else. Most likely it's in the basement, where the clutter makes it difficult to check every hiding space until it's revealed by the overwhelming smell of cat piss.

Lovely.

Untitled

Leave it to me to not find out what I really want until I'm almost 50, and then it's a fucking cartoon. "Hoochie-Mama Hoops" and "Iron Grip". Indeed.




Artwork by Mike Giant. Shamelessly lifted from the DoubleOhTwo blog. Check out his other blog, Diary Of A Grey Ghost. It has hot chicks.

A New Social Paradigm

I've always thought that we, as a nation, should take Casual Fridays to the next logical level. (not to worry, safe for work).

http://link.brightcove.com/services/player/bcpid1125919467?bctid=63259762001

UPDATE: It seems the link above doesn't work for alot of people. Try this: