schluff off

I love BSNYC for many reasons, not the least of which is that he saves me the trouble of expressing my feelings by saying exactly what I believe (except in the case of fenders) in a much more coherent, intelligent, and witty fashion.  

So, I will replace my long winded diatribe about how Sullivan does not represent me with a simple link to the always great BSNYC.

enjoy.

guess the price.....I dare you

RAIN JACKET

The new Rapha Rain Jacket is the perfect protection from the wettest conditions. The jacket combines fully waterproof and breathable panels to give great cover, without compromising on comfort.

New Jersey Nyets

Unfortunately, it seems that Ratner has been saved by one of Russia's wealthiest, a former basketball player.  Can I trademark the "New Jersey Nyets"?

eh, beaten to it by

http://www.nolandgrab.org/archives/2009/09/prokorov_to_buy.html

and I think SI as well.  

Bag it

About time...finally I can take people's suggestions.  After years of being told that I should really put a bag over my head, Fashion Week comes along and legitimizes it. 

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The morning commute

My commute this morning featured chilly rain, amazing traffic on Flatbush, a man pouring salad oil in the new bike lane at Allen St, and being behind a cop who blew through 5 red lights, no siren, to arrive safely at, yes, I kid you not, Dunkin Donuts.  Not to mention about every offensive driving move you can think of.  People are in midseason form!

The salad oil was certainly the high point.  Perhaps we was confused by the green color of the lane?

September Song

"Oh, it's a long, long while from May to December
But the days grow short when you reach September
When the autumn weather turns the leaves to flame
One hasn't got time for the waiting game"

Instamelancholy.....that's what September means to me.  Doesn't seem to matter how long it's been since I've been a student, always feels like going back to school, which is synonymous with sadness for me.  Not depression or anything, there were things I loved about school, and there are things I absolutely love about fall...leaves changing, smells, etc, always leave me feeling like taking the cliche trip through New England to see the fall foliage, or at least drinking some hot cider....but it can't help but feel a bit to me like the end of something, something fun....hmmm, maybe I should do cyclocross after all.

philly

The Philadelphia century is done.  Finished.  Cooked.  Speaking of which, I nearly flipped a guardrail after overcooking a turn and skidding a very, very long way.  

This past Sunday I rode a century, one hundred miles in the beautiful countryside outside of Philadelphia, ostensibly to raise money for cancer research.  I suppose that is overly cynical, but all I mean is that I, and I am sure there are others that participated who were similar, probably would have biked a fair distance that day anyway and were merely paying for the benefit of marshals, a mapped out course, and some nice little peanut butter and jelly sandwiches placed at various points along the way, waiting for me should I feel like pulling over and having a bite and a stretching of the legs.  Of course that paints an ugly picture, and I am very happy to raise money, and people seem very happy to contribute, and perhaps one (me) should look at it the alternate way, the flipside, and say that as long as I am going to be doing something so selfish as to spend my day pedaling, well then, I damned well better be helping someone other than myself. Competition is always a facet of most things I do, and no matter how many times people emphasized that this was a ride and not a race, I, and again I am very sure that there are others like me, can't help but want to do well, to do better than others, which is what drove me to ask inane questions like "how many minutes ahead is the lead group" to race marshals, and even to the nice Pennsylvanian mothers and daughters handing me my miniscule, square, PBJ's.  Much to their credit, they didn't even blink at the question, or the fact that it was asked while stuffing several of these mini-wiches into my mouth at once, or perhaps that simply kept them from understanding the question.  I believe this was the same stop (I stopped at 3 of the 9) where I kept scooping grapes out of the ice water, my hands like shovels, and giggling each time, asking the women if it was alright if I stuck my head in and bobbed for grapes. (Gamely, they did respond "no", but offered to allow me to accidentally be under it when they dumped it in a few minutes; I declined.)  

Since then, a race at Floyd Bennett and the following:  

What beats a root canal?  Well, pretty much anything.  There's a reason that it is the litmus test of bad, all else, except childbirth, can be waved off relative to this barbaric yanking out of nerves.  

Eric Revis at the Jazz Gallery, and "No Country for Old Men," and now, the US Open