I just updated the design of the Unattached Rider kit for 2010. The original kit had a strong three-year run, but it was time to freshen up the concept.
I'm pretty happy with the new look, but featuring a typeface called Akzidenz-Grotesk on cycling aparrel may be a little ominous.
I saw Watchmen and it was not what I had expected. For a superhero flick it had remarkable depth and an impressive amount of blue genitalia.
Nice to see Moocher receive top billing in a summer blockbuster.
I just learned, at the age thirty-two, that pearl jam is a euphemism for semen.
I guess I really do learn something new everyday.
Pet peeve: receiving emails addressed to 200+ recipients. That's just retarded.
The email came from the owner the neighborhood coffee roaster, urging us to vote for his shop in some stupid contest. The irony? I had just explained to my wife, this past weekend, how much the email sign-up book at that shop would be worth, especially with demographics all narrowed down.
I should spam 'em.
For the Tamster's birthday we picked up some Indian food and pigged-out to episodes of Weeds. The low profile evening was fine, we'd already celebrated yesterday with tapas from Amada.
What wasn't fine was her present not getting delivered in time. It has been sitting at the local post office for seven days after a UPS hand-off. Mail within the city is usually delivered overnight. What the hell?
"I can't even focus on this," I disclosed as my eyes glazed over the dessert menu.
"That's because there are too many words under each thing," the birthday girl explained.
Yes... that. And the fact that I ate myself so stoopid that the food coma had already set in.
We saw today's stage twice: live online without commercial interruptions, and then later on Versus with the team.
I thought it was odd that there were more advertisements than there was racing on the premium cable channel; especially when compared to their free online coverage. I'm now glad I didn't order cable just for the tour.
I'd be satisfied with The Tour if just one of these scenarios comes to fruition: Contador cracks or Cavendish does something real stupid.
It's always amusing to watch Cav do something stupid.
I was going to say watching Dexter made me go out for doughnuts; but the truth is I almost always pick up doughnuts on "errands" day.
The new blender came today. It'll take the place of last week's new blender, which in turn replaced the blender with the burnt-out motor. Looks like I have a return to make.
I've gotten into the habit of buying things to try them, and then browsing online for either a better deal on the same item or a better item for the same price. It's not entirely frivolous; I don't do this unless the savings are greater than say $30 bucks, or the upgrade significant.
I think this stems form our Zappos method of shopping: order a few sizes (or styles) at once with the intention of only keeping one. There's a fine line between being a smart shopper and an abusive one. But at least I leave the mom-and-pops alone.
Who knew that a strategically placed zit could make my neck and shoulders ache? The fact that I'm trying to wean myself off of ibuprofen may not be helping either.
I noticed that, after watching me a whole lotta Firefly, I've been aiming to speak all western-like.
We caught today's stage at St. Stephen's Green. The team has been reserving their basement for crucial stages. I should've known that, even with the giant television showing the race in high definition, the day's developments would be hard to follow. It is a party.
I could've watched it earlier.
It took most of the hilly 50-miler to convince me that my chain won't snap (again) when I get out of the saddle. Now all I have to get over is the fear of my chain stay collapsing under my weight.
Now that the MacBook is hooked up to the television, we've been catching up on programming previously only available to cable subscribers.
I was pretty disappointed with the first shows I saw: low budget, poor pacing, boring. They didn't have the punchiness of the one-hour network TV episode that's distilled into 38 minutes to make room for the commercials that, in a circular way, generate revenue that keeps the production value of the show up.
I was beginning to think we haven't missed anything at all not subscribing to cable, but then I wend and got myself hooked on Weeds.
What is it with Starbucks baristas trying way too hard to show you they remember your drink? It's almost as bad as Trader Joe's employees pretending to love your grocery shopping decisions.
Please stop. You're just making it awkward.
I tried to make a post-ride fruit smoothie when the blender died; so I poured everything into a bowl and had a post-ride fruit salad instead.
It is all relative. After all the misery it caused, I didn't even notice my canker sore slip away now that I'm nursing an impressive piece of road rash.
Something I wish I knew: Tegaderm is available in 8 x 12" sheets.
In addition to the regular 5:59 am wake-up call, the dog has started trying to get me out of bed at around 4.
What the heck? The sun isn't even out at that time.
CRUNCH.
That's the sound it makes when my cuspids (fangs) bite through my inner lip. It's much like the sound of a gratifying pimple pop. It's just the sound I heard last Sunday at Pei Wei as I devoured my bowl Mongolian beef with gusto.
I get canker sores whenever I bite my lip and this time it's bad. I mean, my teeth almost met under the skin. It's so bad that I can't eat anything with flavor or brush on the left side of my mouth. There's a local anesthetic that works for about half-an-hour, but the sting during application kinda negates the purpose. I guess I can at least eat in peace if only for a half-hour.
I've thought about getting my teeth filed, but that's like me thinking about getting a nose job. I'm never gonna do it. As much as I complain, I know this is something I'll just have to live with. That's just what I get for eating with gusto.
For two days in a row, the dog rubbed her cold nose all over my face at 5:59 am. Her internal clock is dead on. Either that or she can hear the alarm coming from a minute away.
Edit: Ugh, that only makes sense at six in the morning.
The dog's dosing schedule is taking its toll. This afternoon I unintentionally took a two hour nap, only to be yanked from deep sleep by the alarm... for her next dose of Sucralfate. It took two cups of plunger coffee to lift my inner eyelids.
At least she doesn't make a fuss about taking her medicine. She thinks it's a treat. And all this may help in my attempt to become a morning person; though at the expense of this afternoon person.
I don't know why I ride so much faster when a thunderstorm looms overhead. It's not like I'm going to outrun it.
The electric kettle turned out to be a great purchase. I got it because I switched from a morning [tiny] cup of espresso to a morning [giant] cup of French press. It's great having that much more coffee to drink, though espresso is still the late-afternoon pick-me-up of choice.
I'm normally a one-good-pan, one-good-knife kinda guy; I can't stand gizmos crowding the counter. But this one, like the blender or the rice-cooker, is indisputably practical. The pot—we don't have a kettle—takes too long and produces too much ambient heat. And it's not like you can boil water with the mechanically identical rice-cooker. Well... I guess you can, but why?.
I considered turning around to grab my phone but decided against it: I wasn't expecting a call, I had no reason to go online, and I really needed to use to the Porta-Potty—the only one on the course was opposite me on the back stretch. So I continued on my way on foot.
Of course the one time I'm without a phone would be the one time I really needed it. I watched a teammate break a collarbone on a back stretch pile-up. Had I made a 911 call, we could've had emergency services there several minutes sooner.
Instead I stood around saying stuff like "I dunno what your supposed to do... maybe lift your arm up?"
The dog's drug regimen was so elaborate, I had to set her up a calendar just to keep track. Not only were there different dosing frequencies, but some of the drugs had to be taken alone, with two hours buffer. It was a feat trying to schedule everything so that I could get a full night's rest.
To add to this, one drug requires surgery to administer—okay perhaps not quite a surgical procedure, but it does require making a solution and squirting with syringe. Might prove to be quite a task at six in the morning. Interesting to note: the same drug can cause a pregnant woman to abort her fetus just from contact.
But in the end we're just glad the baby dog is back where she belongs. What a weekend!
'Seriously? This is all $2,500 gets us?'
I was disappointed by the dog's accommodations at the hospital. Sure, her cell was big enough to fit four normal-sized persons comfortably, but for some reason I imagined visiting her on a big, white hospital bed. I don't know why.
"Me too," the Tamster concurred.
I dunno how I'd feel if our dog had died tonight.
We've just returned from the animal hospital and I've already had several impulses to let her out for the night, or to feed her, or to check up on her. Oddly enough, she's not here. We had just admitted her for NSAID poisoning, which is to say she managed to snake out a baggie of ibuprofen from the Tamster's bag.
The last few hours were probably the most trying yet for our little family; the realization of what the dog had consumed, me screaming, my wife crying, and the dog overwhelmed by the commotion.
Then there's the frenzied drive downtown—me screaming, my wife crying, and the dog overwhelmed by the commotion. And at 11pm we got stuck in a traffic jam on I-76.
I think we'll be okay, if not a few grand richer. My wife hasn't divorced me and the dog's kidney seems intact. Which is all fine... but I can't help but wonder how many shiny new puppies you can get for a couple of grand.
