It's really hard to find that special someone for, you know, the little things.Lately, it seems like everything's been difficult...broken cameras, boots on my truck, extreme broke-assedness. Then, about a half week ago on Saturday night, around 2:15 in the AM, when any self-respecting Dudley Do-right would be getting his salad tossed--with or without jelly--I had a jumbo fucking freakout at my job. I'd worked 60 hours that week between both of my gigs and I wasn't in the mood for taking shit just for the sake of taking shit. So instead of calmly saying, "Let's leave this for another time, shall we?" and walking out, I proceeded to throw my bike into no less than three doors on the way out.
I don't like throwing bikes. You know how some people miss a trick or wreck and throw their bike? Never done it. Never did that with a skateboard, either. But, for whatever reason, I snapped. Threw my bike into things, punched a wall or two:
Stupid. I don't know what it was. Usually, I can swallow anything. Just sort of shrug it off, "Yes, I see your point, thank you sir can I have another?" and I'm cool. The person who set me off I actually consider my friend, and I won't go too deeply into the situation except to say it struck me as a classic case of transference. You know, kicking the dog. He'd had a shitty night, and shit rolls downhill, and at the bottom of said hill is a turd-covered pooch to kick. Rather than lose my mind on an individual, I choked it back until, right as I laid a hand on my bicycle, throughout my life the very tool of my emancipation from the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, I had a psychotic episode. Lost my shit.On a Freudian level, it was pretty goddamned expulsive. I mean, it would've been less embarrassing had I went ahead crapped my pants, instead of whirling around like the Tasmanian Devil on angel dust. I could've claimed the flu and trundled home in my dirty pantalones to smoke a bowl in the bathtub with the remnants of my dignity.
Anyhow, yeah. Whoot--there it is. Ugly admission time.
The Buckshot is so fucking lenient, man. I like working there. I like my co-workers/bosses. I take full responsibility for my outburst, and I'm both stoked and amazed I have a job. Still wondering what exactly brought it on. Perfect storm of stress, depression, and, I don' t know...maybe the new meds. They' might not be working so hot. Who knows? It was a profound moment of dukkha, of off-centeredness, of dissatisfaction with the world and my place in it.
Speaking of perfect shitstorms...the Tsunami was some truly wild, Noah's Ark style shit:
And,no, I'm not Glenn Becking it and saying it was some kind of divine retribution for X, Y, or Z. But the it was definitely a deluge of biblical proportions. Looked like a Michael Bay CGI fuckfest, except it was real. My heart goes to all the folks in Japan who are suffering.
Some people have real problems, I guess.
Some people have real problems, I guess.
In terms of the added nuclear threat, let's not get hasty on the tripping out thing. According to noted expert, Nuclear Boy, the reactor has to take a shit, which reactors can never do, but it might only have to cut a fart instead:
During the day the folks at Shimano send me cryptic dirty messages via the codes, acronyms, and marketing hoo-ha they print on their parts. Have you ever had a "2-WAY RELEASE"? It's twice as good as a happy ending:
Saw Devo for the fourth time in my blessed, blessed, life:
De-evolution. It's a fact, monkey man!The night ended at Taqueria Cancun, as many of the best do. This is what it looks like after last call while you're waiting for tacos:
As if you didn't know that already, huh? It's always that blurry, but it's only in black and white if you're really faded.In other good news, the casting ponds in Golden Gate Park have been drained for cleaning:
The bad news is, it's been pissing rain. And there have apparently been people in the lodge until around 4pm. But it's daylight savings time, and it can't rain forever, so hopefully some sessions will go down before they get refilled. I'm wondering if the space between them can be gapped... Looks like it.Here's some pictures of Drob gettin' down. Photos poached from Dennis Dowling, as usual, since, well, you know what happened to my camera... Den takes better photos anyway:
Classic style right here, yo:
Young kids can't handle fastplants like this. It melts their fuckin' brains:
Curb Dogs Forever, Forever Curb Dogs.Before I head off to the Mouse to build some bikes, I'd like to show you what I currently have for sale. Let's start off with this beaut of a beach cruiser, branded for the Italian digestif, Fernet Branca:
San Francisco sells the most Fernet outside of Italy. Bartenders love it. I think this stems from "what should I drink?" type people. Your surly bartender will pour out this magically black Italian concoction of fermented herbs and mushrooms, and your half-ass bar orderer will cease to have "one of what you're having." Personally, I only drink Fernet for what it's intended: to help me digest. After a big steak, you really can't beat it.In any case, their branding is pretty fuckin' cool: very old school, art nouveau kind of vibe. Purty:
Don't want to get your pantleg dirty when you're riding your babe on the bars to the beach (or to the bar):
Ass magic:
Three speed Sturmey Archer internal hub:
Actually, you might want to ride two babes on these wide boys:
It's like you rode out of a poster, circa 1895:
Get your hands on this bike and you're guaranteed to have a heavenly time with your friends and lovers, even if they're not of your species:
Going with that old school, white tire vibe, we've got a city-cruiser Specialized Rockhopper single speed conversion. I call this type of set-up a "party bike."
You've got a Wald rack to haul your beer, and a big fat horn to make sure you get to the throwdown in on piece (worry about getting back later):
Stylish and reasonably cushy saddle:
New Origin 8 cranks and sealed Hoffman Sole Mate pedals:
Only one speed, as drunk people find shifting confusing:
Brand new 40 hole Alex TA19 wheel in the rear will take any number of accidental curb drop offs:
Fat Duro brick tires to help you with your balance. Tektro Oryx brakes with Cane Creek flat top levers front and rear:
Lightning bolts and shit:
This silver graphic outlined in yellow on the blue purple frame makes me want to grab my balls and yell "Hooo-hooooo!" in falsetto, a la Michael Jackson:
12 pack, comin' through! Yeah, you best get out of the way, sucka!
As an added bonus, she'll still get you to work the next day--and fairly quickly too:
Moving right along to a 57cm Pake Single speed with another Wald rack (what can I say? I love 'em):
Velo Orange levers, woodgrain (!) lock on grips, Nitto bars, and tweed brake housings (!!):
The grips aren't actually wood, so they feel good:
The vintage Middlemore saddle is made in Coventry, England, so it'll look great with your 14 hole oxblood Docs, Sta-Prest, and braces:
Loud, proud, and punk! Hell, one of the guys from the Business probably made this fuckin' seat:
He didn't make the sealed cartridge hubs, though, that's for sure:
Campagnolo cranks and ring, and a reasonable gearing (39-17) means you can get around expediently without busting your ass up hills:
Brown anodized bear traps look tough and keep grippin':
Maxxis Xephyr meats--long lasting and quick:
Tange Prestige tubing, yo:
Redline tensioners keep it tight, while White Industries freewheel just flat out rules. These freewheels retail for $80--this one is only lightly used:
Beauty, eh? You know you want her. (And yes, the rear wheel is a flip flop, so the bike can be turned into a fixie in about 5 minutes. You'll have to do that on your own, though...)
Here's a Dawes single speed I built my friend Patrick. He kept complaining about how heavy his old bike was and how much it made his pussy hurt when he rode it...
Okay, maybe not the pussy part. Har har. The thing was, his bike had drops and a 52-16 or some ungodly gear. This sucker has DH riser bars and a zippy 44-17 gearing. It's also aluminum with carbon forks, as opposed to steel on steel like his last ride.The brake cables do a yin/yang kind of thing. I dig that:
Cannondale brakes, Bontrager carbon fork:
Turvativ Holzfeller cranks--pretty much the only used part--Wellgo pedals, Chopsaw sprocket, some kind of Taiwanese painted chain where the company painted the rollers as well, causing a minor red flake snowstorm:
Frame is ball burnished with a clear coat. Super sweet welds: Kinesis, bitches! Made in Taiwan, of course, but what isn't these days? Your fuckin' mama was made in Taiwan, I heard...by robots.
Diggin' these seats, except for the "end zone" graphic, but that should wear off quick enough:
The best chain tensioners ev-ah!
Vuelta Zerolite wheelset, CST meats:
That's one happy black man with a super non-hurting pussy:
Well, that's enough of my builds for this installment. Buy something from me, you fuckin' bastards. I love you! But I mostly want your money.P.S. I love you!
Lotta people have sent me this graphic:
Pretty spot on, I'd say. I think Mike Giant did it...pretty sure I saw it in the Portland Upper Playground show he was in.Speaking of SF bikes, look at this wild ass frame I spotted at the Devo show:
It's hard to see, but there are twin top tubes. It's like an upside down Quadangle crossbred with a mixte.Let me throw down some graf and street art pics, then some randoms, then I've got to go to work again.
This was carved into the dirt in the concourse between the de Young and the Academy of Sciences. Fuckin' sooooo tough. Tuff, even. I think I might have to get a tattoo of this with the word "TUFF" below it:
Neckface?Clearlake, man. Place is the fuckin' 420 zone. Excuse me, the "420" zone. Though a dime bag of speed will get you a tattoo from a guy named Rusty and a blow job from your future (toothless) wife. Hell, a dime bag of speed will get you a tattoo from your future toothless wife...she might be toothless already.
Little notes, left on the street. Keep up your self esteem, okay?
I love random wheat paste shit like this. At the same time, I guarantee you it was pasted up by a 23-year-old art school student who recently broke up with her boyfriend, is thinking about dabbling in lesbianism, and whose favorite band is The Faint. And you just know that bitch is wearing a headband right now:
Ocean Beach seawall mural is the tits. CHING CHONG CHONG motherfuckers!
Not sure if this actually says anything, but the style is awesomely retarded--reminds me of the old "Dave" pieces. It's literally got everything. Gene Simmons, martini glasses, fuckin' ice cream cones:
Peter Criss smokin' a doobie:
Okay, if definitely says something--is the "M" throwing gang signs? Is that an "R" with the horns up?
DBL O P RYE UMR? Something like that. Who gives a fuck?
Geary. Cool sticker, even though it's obviously done by a 20-year-old girl who still shops at Hot Topic. Is that a Pac Man ghost?
Sidewalk. This is the name of a guy's goth band, no doubt. [Never call them "goth," though--he'll get pissed. Say "darkwave."]:
Hanging on a door in the Mission:
Loving yourself is important, especially if you're a Siamese space skullstronaut:
Fuckin' death machine!
One of these butterflies is doin' his own thing; one of these butterflies does not belong:
To the randoms! Or the Batphone--whichever is more handy.They don't call them blue bellies for nothing:
Male blue bellies, by the way, have two dicks. Who knew?Presidio:
Been hanging onto this for awhile. It's an Abu Ghraib Christmas tree:
Homeboy had a knitted Grateful Dead sweater. Yeah, seriously. When he caught me snapping a photo, he told me about all the time his mom spent on it:
Street justice:
Stay tuned for the crying of lot 49:
House doily:
Now, for the fam.Bo pretending he can drive:
Dolly and the pink Bug:
Lucas turned one a couple weeks ago. Already pimpin' the stunna shades:
Well, that's about it for this installment. Hopefully I'll get something up before I go to the Old School BMX Reunion at Woodward, April 1-3. If not, I'll talk to you then.
