Is It Me You're Looking For? Or Charlie Sheen?

Ah, Facebook.

It's a lonely person's smoke signal. It sends your gray depression up into the blue sky, "It's 2pm, I just woke up. I don't feel good. I'm not sick, really, but I do not feel good. This song by [whoever] makes me feel [better, or self-satisfyingly worse], please check it out."

Then a voice from out of the ether says, "Wow, I like that song too."

And you've had some kind of interaction with what you have to assume is a discerning intelligence, maybe human, hopefully not an algorithm--at least not an inorganic algorithm--and you feel a little better. It's almost as though you had a human interaction, but, mercifully, you were spared the sturm und drang, the tension in your heart muscle that signifies the possibility of failure.

There's no failure in Social Networking, silly! You throw out whatever desperate, aching, misanthropic solipsism you want, and someone will validate you: "Hey, all right. I like this. I like you. We are lonely and aching in much the same way. What medication are you on?" Facebook makes it okay for a grown ass man or woman to say, "I need attention." All, miraculously, Jesus Hall-eh-fuckin-lujah!, without the contaminants--both emotional and microbial--of mouth to mouth, eyeball to eyeball communication. All smoke signals, thick black tendrils of ash, the particulate of a slow burn, twisting 'round one another before blowing away.

Well, after the avalanche of FAIL that has swallowed me up of late, it's no wonder I slipped in oil from my upstairs neighbor's car and blew my fucking ankle up:
Looks like there's a fuckin' baseball under there.

Then shit got colorful:
Until, finally, my toes turned black, which is hot, in a quasi-gangrenous kind of way:
All this right before the Swans show. I've been waiting to see Swans for, I don't know...forever? I made it, of course, with some help from Miss Laura. Here's an artist's rendering, via iPhone:
That is kind of what that song felt like, so it's not too bad a rendering.

The idea, I suppose, is to fake it until you make it. And, "make it," I mean bangin' seven gram rocks and finishing them because that's how you roll: WINNING! You have one speed, you have one gear: GO!

Yes, folks, in the words of my friend Cheryl Eddy, illustrious film writer for SFBG, Charlie Sheen "transcended celebrity status and is now a folk hero." So a guy likes to carry a briefcase full of cocaine and party with porn stars until he has to be hospitalized--and, really, then only occasionally--ain't no reason to fire the man. And can you honestly find me one human being who gave a fuck about Two and a Half Men? That show was a cocktail of pure failure--the only reason it stayed around so long is that, to quote Thoreau, "most men lead lives of quite desperation."

Charlie Sheen's post-shitcanning interviews, on the other hand, have been a smoothie of unadulterated WINNING (with a free seven gram boost of pure Columbian flake). I call upon TBS, or MTV, or VH1, or FX (that'd be an easy fit) to give Mr. Sheen a half hour a week to get coked to the gills and rant. The ratings would make those mild-mannered panty-sniffers at CBS weep into their Metamucil. Quiet desperation is a bore: give me the Sheenie One and his loud, self-obsessed desperation.

Sheen vaulted over folk hero status to the immortality of a god, from whence he will no doubt slide into the pit of unmemorability. He became an internet meme. Now, don't tase me for saying this, bro, but while he's clearly the meme of the moment, if not of 2011, two months from now all of us--those who didn't buy the T-shirt, at least--will be asking "Charlie who?"

But for now? Send in the clowns! We need a good, honest hedonist now and then to remind us of life's folly. Did you see that bitch squirm when he mentions doing coke? It's like he was saying "moist panties" over and over. And you know he did a bump off her nipple as soon as the interview was over. Hollywood is full of faceless hypocrites. Sheen is H.L. Mencken meets Rodney Dangerfield via a clapped out actor who reached his zenith in Ferris Bueller's Day Off (all right, Platoon, if you must). He tells it like it is while at the same time being perfectly willing to insult your wife.

He's been turned into a parody of Bil Keane's Family Circus, which, as everyone knows, only approaches the Galaxy of Funny when bastardized:
And his quotes have been substituted for the text in New Yorker cartoons, which, as everyone knows, only approach the Galaxy of Funny when read from an appropriately high tax bracket, and/or when they have Charlie Sheen quotes substituted for the text:
Finally, he's been turned into a disembodied, gacked-out talking head random quote generator:
Wait, I guess he did that last bit to himself, with the help of a briefcase or two of Peruvian Marching Powder. There it is, Charles: you haven't lived until you've been auto-tuned to the delight of thousands.

Speaking of delight, am I the last guy in SF to notice the awesome Jeremy Fish Silly Pink Bunnies sculpture on Laguna and Haight?
Radical.

Moving right along, I've turned my house into a secret workshop for diabolical two-wheeled wonders. Well, it's been like that for a bit, but I'm making a big thrust to build up some cool rides for sale.
Man cannot live by bread alone--especially when he can't afford bread.

The first of these (hopefully) salable rides I like to call the Purple People Eater:
It's an Raleigh Technium frame and fork with some bitchin' '80s graphics:
It's like Don Johnson got so mad at Charlie Sheen for taking his throne of Has Been Celebrity Cokehead that he threw up the Miami Vice logo all over a bike frame:I don't know if you can get your head around this, but the name of this model is "The Chill." I made it with my girl Monique in mind, but she felt it was a little too Punky Brewster for her tastes.
Everybody grows up, I guess. Even Punky B. I like to think of it as the technicolor embodiment of an Epoxies song--check the Hoffman grips and purple annodized Tektro levers:
But I suppose that's pushing it. Especially when it's got this vintage Persons Yellow Submarine seat:
Teapot bell, Wald basket:
Purple brick pattern Duro tires, dice caps:
Purple bear trap pedals, Chopsaw sprocket, and KMC chain:
One speed is all you need:
Frame is actually American made. "Technium" was Raleigh's process of fitting aluminum tubes into steel lugs. I believe it's pronouncerd "really strong glue":
Sweet SR drop stem:
Wishbone ass end:
The best part: you can fit a quality sixer or a shitty 12'er ("half rack," in hillbilly talk) in the basket:
This peach is still for sale, so get at me, and I'll hook you the fuck up.

This next build is another American made hardtail that got some customizing along the way. It's a Trek 8000 made with Easton tubing, and my homeboy Brad already bought it. Nevertheless, I'll post some pictures anyhow.

The idea behind this bike was to make a jumbo BMXer--Brad is 6'4"--with some gears for the city or the trail:
Hoffman bars, Supercross forks:New versions of the classic Dia Compe MX 1000 brake. Had to have the forks drilled for these:
Tangent X-Loc stem:9 speeds are all you need! (Unless you want more. Or less. I can do that.)
Spot cranks, Azonic ring, and my new favorite part, a Paul Chain Keeper:
Swobo seat:
Plenty of room up front:
Tektro Oryx cantilevers, Kenda Short Tracker dual purpose meats:
New set of super tough Vuelta wheels with bladed spokes:
Ready for curb-cut commuting or Golden Gate Park roosting:
My first real BMX frame was a Mongoose Motomag, after I broke my department store AMF in half. Nowadays, kids think Mongoose is a Walmart only brand. Sadly, like famous American BMX brands GT, Schwinn, and SE Racing, they're now owned by an overseas companies. However, Goose has always made non-toy bikes, including some awesome full suss mountain bikes. Plus, they've got the raddest mascot ever, Maurice the Mongoose, and the most bitchin' slogan:As a great philosopher once said, "Hello? WINNING!"

The last legit steel race frame the built was for this cat, however: The Craig Reynolds Express, made for Dr. Smooth himself. Built this up for my homey Ethan:Always thought black and blue was a tough color combo. Custom 8"x28" Slam bend Solid bars, with the extra cross bar, a la Boss. (When I first moved to Nor Cal, I almost got my ass beat for not riding a Boss. I was riding down the street and this crew of guys in a car yelled, "What kind of bike is that?" When I answered "Robinson," they yelled back "FUCK ROBINSON! BOSS!")
Tektro magnesium Talon lever, Mongoose lock-ons:
Bars are clearcoat over raw tubing. Snafu Morgan Wade stem affords a nice view of the front tire:
TNT Retro Blade sprocket, FSA cranks, Vuelta 32 hole deep V rims, Maxxis tires, Avid brakes:
Snafu UL fork, old school GT sealed hubs:
My favorite build of late is this Univega Alipina hardtail monster. I call it the "Flyin' Eyeball." I built it with my friend Chris in mind, though I've got to build something like this for Hammerin' Hanke. The grips and seat are actually just about the same color as the tires, they just photographed weird with the iPhone:
UGP seat is a tribute to legendary Santa Cruz Skateboards artist Jim Phillips. Frame is OVERSIZE, bitches! (Back when "regular size" was pretty tiny.) It's also black chrome, which is rare and fully certified bitchin':
O.G. Araya rims. XT derailleur--6 speeds is all you need:
Loving the Chain Keepers:
Chopsaw American made sprocket, FMF ISIS spline cranks, Primo Josh Stricker plastic platforms:
Noticed this decal after I built it: designed by Mert Lawwill, the only motherfucker badass enough to be voted into the Motorcycle AND Mountain Bike Hall of Fames:
Don't fuck with Mert unless you can hang a Harley sideways like this at speed:
More eyeballs:
Dice too. Why not? V-brakes are Avid:
Shafted GT Piston stem, back when they were US made:
Okay, the A'me Cam grips are rad, as are the Tioga lever covers, but check the eyeball bell with the dinosaurs inexplicably wrapped around the outside:
Hunt Wilde number plate with Von Dutch's original Flyin' Eyeball graphic. Did you know that, much like Ed Hardy was a legit tattoo artist prior to being a universal sign of Guido-dom, Von Dutch was actually the godfather of hot rod pinstriping before his shitty progeny sold his name down the river to appear on Justin Timberlake's lame head? Well, you should have known. Chicks are by Vince Ray:The eyeball hot-rodder Big Daddy Roth send-up on the back of the plate is by Von Franco. Bars are anno green numbers with a bolt-on crossbar designed for XR50 type minibikes:
Catchin' a theme here? This one's by the Atavistic Avatar himself, The Pizz. Subtlety was never my strong point:Friction shifter, of course (though an 8 ball suicide shift would've been dope):
Steel is real:
Ready to kill:I didn't build the bike below, just saw it locked up in front of the Buck. It's made in America by a company called Bowery Lane Bicycles. The model is called the Broncks, and it comes with the rack and wood box. They list for $595:
Raw finish is awesome, as the brass brazing shows through nicely, though the lugs are from The Land Beyond Basic:Design-wise, I'm a little skeeved out on the 9 foot tall stem shaft, especially on a bike with what looks to be a 4 inch head tube. If you want your bars up that high, why not spec the bike with taller bars? You can't even lower them with that monster stem:Here's one I should've sent to the Bike Snob. Dude has no less than THREE chains securing his Brooks saddle. I know people steal them, man, but what are they going to do--steal the front half and leave the back two-thirds? Glad you've got that covered. May as well just carry a wrench and bring the seat in with you everywhere:
The same night someone parked their sweet Broncks in front of the bar, someone left this sweet ID. Same guy? The triple-locked hipster status symbol seat makes me think, "Hmmm...maybe." Not that I don't love Brooks or anything, though it's always funny seeing a seat that costs 1/6 of the total bike price. Your ass is sensitive, I know. Hell, Eric rocks a Brooks that costs MORE than the rest of his hoopty--he's just too cheap to let me build him a decent ride (ooh...ouch! Called the fuck out on the internets).
Anyhow, I had to take a photo of dude's license. The "Look Dad--I'm a Man Now!" 'stache and the wifebeater are too fuckin' good to pass up. Seriously, who gets their license photo taken wearing a wifebeater? How many cops have looked at that and said, "Oh, tough guy, eh?" Too bad you can't see the tattoo of an anchor on his bicep. Or the pot leaf on his ass cheek. Maybe it's a good thing he left this ID.

I guess it's better than wearing a fez in your DMV pic. Or not. Here's the kid and I at the SF Bike Expo:
See no evil, hear no evil, moustache no evil.

Maybe I'll pull my head out and post some pics of that event...think it happened four or five months ago. Some cool chops, Stingrays and rat rods, though.

Freak Magnet: Yesterday's News Today.

Really, though--"Pedal Panties"? Seriously? I hate to harsh on someone running their own thing, but are these really necessary?
"Pedal Panties are a sexy, highly engineered, quality piece of athletic clothing with a thin breathable cushion that provides a more comfortable ride for women."

I've run into the woman who makes these, Ms. Panties, I guess, and she's super nice. And I do see the value in saddles and even frames designed specifically for women. But biking lingerie? That's what they're billed as. How is this better than the basic lycra maxi-pad short that keeps dudes from rubbing their asscrack raw?
I guess the secret is in the "sexy." Because when you feel sexy, you ride sexy, and when you ride sexy, I want to ride with you and eat your swampy twat at every available water break. Pedal Panties, ladies?
If you bedazzle 'em, I guarantee I'll tap that ass... [Please pronounce "guarantee" with a cajun accent.]

Well folks, thanks for bearing with me on this one. Been busy, I don't know--limping, trying to turn my luck around, so you're left with another ultra marathon of a blog. At the very least I hope it's diminished your productivity at work.

Until next time, stay strong:
And by all means, stay rad:
Oh, and buy a bike from me, huh?