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... 2004 |
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December 31 2004 It's the last day of a busy year and a good time to reflect. I ask myself where my guiding philosophy in life comes from and it can be easily answered as follows: Dead Poet's Society and The Brady Bunch. So that I don't squander my life, I often repeat to myself what Mork tells his class of young impressionables in Dead Poet's Society: Carpe diem. Sieze the day. As for The Brady Bunch, I will always remember Mike Brady telling Greg after he bought a clunker car, Caveat emptor. Let the buyer beware. These two Latin phrases have successfully guided me through four decades; it's not too late for you to embrace them and turn your life around. Might even clear up any problems you have with psoriasis or acne, because with these two important phrases, you will be healing yourself from the inside out. To my friends out there, make 2005 bigger and better. Sartre wrote that "Hell is other people" and being 90% existentialist, 6% secular humanist and 4% lactose intolerant, I believe that you have to do the best with your time here. Hell is you and your least favorite two people in a small room with no padding on the furniture. Do something fun before you get there... December 30 2004 Poll results have been posted and a new poll is up. December 29 2004 This blog has been way too much about me lately. I know you've been wondering about all those great Day In A Life pics I used to post, pictures showing other peoples' suffering. Well, I finally got something worth taking a picture of. You recall I talked about us Californians going apeshit over bad weather (October 27)? We had a monster storm (a "light sprinkle" to you east coasters) pass through last night and someone in the 'hood got to wake up to this. Notice the oversized toothpick the driver would've had shoved into his or her mouth, as well as cranium, had he or she been sitting there. I think I'd be mad if I had just installed new windshield wipers. December 28 2004 Reader Bill helped me answer my dioxin question of December 17. Re Viktor Yushchenko and his runner's up position in the Dioxin Derby. No name, but definitely more details on the winner: "Yushchenko has the second-highest level of dioxin poisining ever recorded," says Arnold Schecter, a dioxin expert at the University of Texas School of Public Health in Dallas. A woman poisoned in Vienna, Austria, several years ago set the record at 144,000 units per gram. "She was pretty sick for two years," says Schecter. "The average person in the USA has about 10 units of dioxin in their blood fat.'' Today's follow-up on the Sony laptop: I noticed today that the UPC sticker on my laptop box had been cut out but carefully taped back on. This mean they had previously sold this unit, took it back, and resold it to me without telling me about its checkered past (isn't there some consumer laws on this?). I take the unit back to the store and point out that I know they were shittin' me. The computer repair supervisor I had spoken to yesterday acted like he was shocked and said he'd go see if there was another one to replace it with (funny enough, he said there were no extras yesterday). I said, "I'm mad; you're buying it back." Without even the slightest hesitation he said ok. He knew all along I got a retread dumped on me and was hoping I'd live with it. Yes, the president of Fry's will be receiving a letter straight away. December 27 2004 Got many good comments about the chock (thanks!). I'm gonna have to do some rethinking. And for those of you who asked, I will not be transporting both bikes at the same time; it's one or the other. The reason I was thinking about using wood was so I could set it at the exact width of the tire. I want a little assistance keeping the bike upright while I try to strap it down. Keep in mind that you men have the "guy gene" which enables you to do things like load and strap down bikes as easily as if you were clipping your fingernails. As a female with no innate bike-loading sense, I'm trying to do whatever I can to get an advantage. I'm truly concerned about the first time I will have to load the Monster solo...I can see it flopping off the ramp now, which is something I managed to do once with my 900SS. So today's pain in the ass was trying to exhange a new laptop I bought because the screen has a nick in it. Fry's Electronics would not replace it or buy it back. They told me to deal directly with Sony. I called Sony and they're sending me a box to ship it to them. They will decide whether or not to fix it for free or charge me for it if they believe it's end user damage. Imagine how excited I am to get such good treatment from everybody after spending $2,000 for a laptop. I haven't even had the thing one week yet. If anybody has any advice on what to do in this situation, let me know. Maybe I should just call my credit card company and ask for a chargeback and then tell Fry's to stick the laptop up their arse. December 26 2004 Now that I have to learn to load and transport my own bikes, Chris suggested that I build a wheel chock that would help with stability. The original goal was to build something for the 125 since commercial wheel chocks are too big. While I'm building it, I decided to add a slot for the Monster. Here are the 2x4s all cut and ready. They aren't attached to the plywood base yet as I wanted to ask if any engineers out there can suggest improvements. The right slot is wider to accommodate the Monster while the left, smaller trough is for the 125. December 25 2004 Lucky gave me a gift on Christmas morning at 1:00 a.m. He puked up on the floor and I only woke up because he was really noisy about re-sampling his amalgamated stinkpile of gastric juices and dog food. Eating one's own vomit is pretty low class; just because it's Christmas morning doesn't make it any classier. I would like to report to my friends who worried about me that I was extremely well-adjusted today. I feel like I'm looking at a Brave New World, but not the dystopic Huxley version. Life is a bucking bronco and I have one hand firmly planted on at least one horn; the other horn tried poking my eye out a few times but I'm cleverer and fasterer than that and I'll grab the other one soon enough. December 24 2004 Thankfully I'm not overly sentimental about the holidays or I suppose my first Christmas eve alone would drive me to drink too much and then walk over to the neighbor's house to stab the inflatable snowman and rip the string of xmas lights off the palm tree. Instead, I microwaved leftovers and watched "Confessions of a Dangerous Mind," in which Chuck Barris asks, "Is romantic love an illusion?" Good grief, when I find my Big Question Of The Week verbalized by the creator of The Gong Show, I know I just need to go get a good hobby. December 23 2004 Got a call from my mom that my uncle died. We were never close since his English was thin but I think he always liked me because I made words my vocation. He was a Taiwanese political official living in SF and unless I was totally misinformed, one of his strengths was as a writer. You know us Asians: it's always about math and sciences; leave the arts to the Buddhist monks who are idle to begin with. After the Communists took over mainland China, he stayed there to perform covert tasks for Taiwan, his cover being that of a high school teacher. One day he received advance information that he was in immediate danger and fled for Hong Kong, unable to even bring my aunt with him; many goldenly greased palms later he got his family out. If I've been paying attention correctly, our family history has a decent collection of potential movie plots: spying, murder, suicide, torture, bigamy, gangs...more! And here I've been bitching about a divorce. Shame on me. Uncle D, rest in peace. I've never seen another Old Chinese Man hold a cigarette as inscrutably as you did. December 22 2004 My first ex-husband and I used to get in some excellent fights. Arguments often denigraded into me pulling out the cleverest two words in the world: "FUKC YOU!" One fight we had was so bad I just straight up fainted from the stress. We had problems throughout the marriage. He'd go on business trips and I was always hoping that his plane would just blow up so I no longer had to deal with him. Now that's really not nice. At all. The sad thing is that my attitude towards Chris had gotten so negative that I decided if I only had one Christmas card to send, I'd send it to my first ex. Whoa, this line of thinking made me sit down and check myself. It wasn't right. I had seven excellent years with Chris; he didn't deserve to get put on a ladder rung lower than my motorcycle-hating ex. Life is far too short to be bitter so I told Chris we were better than all this bullshit and invited him out to dinner. We resolved the one issue that had me mixing drugs and alcohol last night and we agreed to climb out of the trough of sadness we both had fallen into. Sometimes the benefit of being an adult is that there are moments when you can act like one. December 21 2004 Man, divorcing is hard work. There's revoking wills, documenting assets, separating policies, and, of course, trying not to grind your teeth flat over various things you find out that you really didn't want to find out (I'll leave that as a broad brushstroke). I'm gonna take a Benadryl with my margarita so I can sleep tonight. If I don't, I'm doomed to staring at the ceiling all night. December 20 2004 I have one fork now, and I shouldn't even have that. Dividing the spoils. Whatever Chris brought into the marriage, he gets back, and that includes all the flatware. But I was having some pasta tonight and the plastic fork was really lame so I dug one real fork out of the "sayonara" box to keep. It's one of those small ones (salad fork? appetizer fork?) we never used anyways so I doubt he'll care. I'm moving towards minimalism (worse, even, than I already practice). I don't want to own much right now. The house is getting stripped down to its basics. Symbolic, I suppose. I'm no longer someone's wife, race partner, best friend, so why not have the living space mirror the simplicity of my existence? Next thing I'm gonna do is shave the dogs so they can feel monk-like with me. Two naked dogs and a lady who talks to the garden hose: the neighbors are in for some property devaluation. December 19 2004 Divorce watch: Week 1. It's been a week since we called it quits. Now that I've had some time to digest it, in retrospect I should've seen the signs. They were kinda big, like billboards, or maybe like those banner adverts that prop airplanes pull behind them. So that you have an idea of the caliber of your fellow readers, here are some excellent comments I've received. In the event that Chris marries another Zina in the future, to avoid problems I'm reverting to my previously married name of Zina Powers. It's got a porn-superhero vibe that I always liked. December 18 2004 I had dinner with a friend last night and on my way home this drunk woman crossing the intersection yells at me, "Duuuude, loooove your hoooog!" As she's yelling it she's partly doubled over so it looks like she's communicating with my left footpeg. I'm not fond of loud drunk people and I'm especially not fond of those mistaking me for a dude while I'm going over a bump in the road of self-esteem; however, I must remind myself not to worry until I'm called "dude" without my helmet on. December 17 2004 A second round of "thank yous" to the Bloggy-Style voyeurs emailing well wishes. Very handy for mood maintenance. As one who enjoys exercises in relativity to never take what I have for granted, I have been staring at the car wreck that is Viktor Yushchenko (Ukrainian presidential candidate). They keep talking about how he has the second highest levels of dioxin recorded in a human being (100,000 units of dioxin per gram of blood fat), but they never mention who was the winner. If his dioxin level is 6,000 times higher than normal, was the winning number something like 6,152, or more like a field-crushing margin of 10,000? December 16 2004 Ok, I think I'm done feeling sorry for myself, at least for the next 24 to 48 hours. You all will be proud of me for pulling my weepy head out of my ass and making a move: I signed up for first semester Italian at a nearby community college. I started out my higher education at Santa Rosa Junior College (basically a high school with ashtrays), so I'll be quite at home when I return to my educational roots in the public system. Once I get dialed in I'll start my wardrobe of cropped tops, get a belly ring, and look for a sorority to join. December 15 2004 Some days are just harder than others. I was threatening to enter a morose jag today so I practiced being "on my own" and rode my moto over to a coffee house and did some reading. It seemed to go well. I didn't knock my coffee onto my book and not once did I walk up to a guy and ask, "You need a wife?" I would have to rate my self-control at a 10. (Please, no email about how pathetic I am or I will have to cut all of you off from the daily postings of someone entering a full-throttle midlife crisis. Given my nature to try anything once, I'm pretty sure you'll be missing out on some good stuff.) December 14 2004 Many thanks to all of you who took the time out to send words of support. I am saving them all so when I've had my fifth jug-sized margarita in a two-hour span I can sing your words to various show tunes in attempts to improve my mood. I've been divorced once before and while I admit that a pre-run does make it easier, the whole process still makes one's intestines tie a few knots. I'm prepared to live out my days as a spinster, talking mostly to my bikes, my dogs, and to the garden hose when it won't uncoil. December 13 2004 The good news: Chris and I didn't have kids. The bad news: After seven years of marriage, Chris and I are getting a divorce. Did I make you spit up your coffee? It's probably a bit of a shocker. It hasn't been the smoothest road to get to this decision, but you know me: life is one big, interesting exercise in character building, and at this point in my life I have enough character to supply the cast for a Broadway play. December 12 2004 Jewelers are clogging the airwaves just in time for Christmas. Men, I apologize for all those women who have been duped into believing that true love comes in the form of a clear mineral. My eyeballs are stuck in the upright position from rolling my eyes at all these diamond commercials. December 11 2004 Can anybody out there tell me if Mountain High is better than Snow Summit? I have a massive desire to return to the slopes. December 10 2004 I know I'm not the first person to ask this: Can you really trust a skinny chef? December 9 2004 I was at Chris's shop working on the new door. I'm outside the back roll-up door cutting drywall and I hear this PSSSSSSSSSSSSSS noise and some guy yukking it up with other guys. I don't think much of it since the business next door is a glass company and it's populated by XY chromosomes. Finally I decide to look up at the noise and what do I see but two totally flat rear tires on a sport ute. The guy is intentionally letting all the air out of the four tires, all the while joking, "He deserves it!" Fast forward to an hour later and the owner is out there surveying his melted tires. He pretty much suspects who did it and announces, "I'm gonna fukc up his truck like it's never been fukced up!!" He gets the air hose and starts to rejuvenate the very flaccid rubber. During his public rambling he does talk about how he had removed the other guy's tailgate from his truck and hid it. One can only wonder who launched the very first salvo. Did it start out with someone dropping a worm into someone else's coffee? The invective-ladened discourse is only made worse when a co-worker in the warehouse is pinching the air hose while he's trying to inflate the tires. At this point I make a note to myself never to play a practical joke on men in the blue collar category; I more clearly understand why workplace shootings occur. December 8 2004 And the bike's name is... Also, a new poll is up. December 7 2004 I just want to remind everybody that NOW IS THE TIME TO ALIENATE FRIENDS AND FAMILY. Christmas shopping is in full swing and if you want to avoid the hell known as Your Local Mall, you can trim your shopping list by fracturing all your relationships. If you insist on keeping a few, just do as I do and send an online gift certificate. Or, pick up a cash gift card from your local grocery store while you're out buying your pack of smokes and quart of ice cream. Nothing says I Love You more than a $25 shopping spree for dairy products, frozen foods and canned goods. If your friends are offended, then your friends are FUSSY. You don't need judgmental people like that in your life. In fact, I think a gift card from a grocery store is a good test of who your real friends are. If you gave me a $20 gift certificate to Vons, I'd be able to buy myself 8.37 bags of honey wheat pretzels and I'd think about you with great appreciation every time I ate them. December 6 2004 Worst shoppers = Costco patrons. They're always abandoning carts in the middle of the aisle to run and try a free sample of food. Or, a gaggle of them will cluster around a stand and impede cart flow. You'd think someone was handing out gold coins. With super-duper magical qualities. But these are the same people who wait several minutes for a parking space near the front of the store, causing back ups in the lot, instead of driving to a spot farther down and walking. People are intriguing annoying. December 5 2004 I helped Chris install a door at his shop. I'll eventually do a little write-up on door installation for my home remodeling section because while it's not exactly the hardest project to undertake, it is fraught with particular complications that you have to be very mindful of. At least if you want a door that works right. More on the evolution of Chris's shop here. December 4 2004 I stayed an extra day in Ojai so my friend and I could catch up on girl chat (extramarital affairs, plastic surgery ideas, restraining orders, town lesbian dramas, etc.). I had planned to head home Saturday morning once the temps climbed closer to 40, but Chris was all mentally prepared to have me back on Friday so he offered to drive up in the evening to collect me and the bike. I didn't dissuade him from making the three-hour trip. My fingers still felt weird, like all my fingernails were screwed on too tight, and rain was expected on Saturday so a ride in a cozy van was not an offer to reject. On the trip home we stopped to eat at Denny's. Let me give you one piece of advice: never order the "Meat Lover's Skillet" because that's code for "A Vegetarian Wants You To Burn In Hell Skillet." If you're on a diet and don't want to absorb all those greasy ham, bacon and sausage calories, by all means choose that dish because it's going to leave your system mostly unprocessed in a few hours. The only problem is that you'll need to repeatedly punch yourself in the stomach to distract you from the violent pain happening just on the other side. You decide if it fits into your diet plans or not. Since I want to get down to a race weight of 80 pounds without resorting to amputation, I'm going to have it for breakfast every day. December 2 2004 Sometimes I make stupid decisions in my life and today was an opportunity for me to make one. I knew I couldn't make it to San Diego before nightfall so I set my goal for Ojai, where a friend lives. I planned my route to cut over 166 so I could take 33 over the mountains. I knew it would be chilly, but since I'd be traveling in daylight and had my electric vest, I'd be ok. Halfway into my journey I changed my mind and decided to stay on 101. The trip had been cold � with the wind chill it was probably near freezing � and it wasn't going to get warmer so I figured it would be a bad idea to climb up to 5,000 feet when the sun would be behind the mountains. When I reached 166 around 3:30, the sun was bright and it was still early so I suddenly reversed my change of mind and jumped off the 166 exit. Well into 166 the wind was howling and I regretted my decision. The sun had become obscured by a white haze and the mood was one of winter defeat, where people retreated into their houses and shuttered the windows and waited for a better day to come. I wanted to turn around and go back to the 101, but I was so far down the road that I decided to suck it up and continue. The gas station cashier was to the point: "Cold enough for ya?" The answer was Yes and I underlined the statement by touching my bloodless hands to her warm hands as I gave her my money. I wanted to ask if I could sleep overnight at the gas station, but I quietly and sadly turned away and went back out into the cold. By the time I reached the base of 33, my hands were in such excrutiating pain (despite winter gloves with another set of cotton gloves underneath) that I jumped off the bike and grabbed the hot exhaust until feeling came back. I got back on the bike and within a mile or two my hands reverted to the sensation of having my fingernails slammed in a car door. A little later I reheated my hands, but my work was again immediately undone. It was even worse this time: it felt like my gloves were perforated. I decided to stop warming my hands. It was too much like jumping out of a hot tub and lying naked in the snow; it was better to just stay in the snow. I never exceeded 40 mph over the mountain. My muscles were rigid and there was no way I'd be able to make any evasive maneuvers so I rolled along slowly and the trip dragged on and the curves would not stop coming. I made it to my destination an hour after dark. I removed my jacket, my boots, my leather pants. I had some dinner. Then I went to sleep with all my clothes on because I didn't want to ever be cold again. I didn't even care that the Chihuaha with the Human Wang kept climbing all over me (see October 4). I drew the line at his attempts to french kiss me, but everything else was ok. You will rarely see this admission: I was happy to be off my bike. December 1 2004 I rode Laguna Seca for the first time today. It's a fun track and I would like to confirm that the Corkscrew is quite challenging at first. Not only is it a blind entry into a steep drop, but there's a pretty hard left leading into it. There were a handful of lowsides, including my friend who lost his 999R in the Corkscrew during a cold morning session (the day started out with freezing temps). His clutch cover smashed in and broke three clutch springs so he was out for the day. Randy doesn't curse all that much, but he was really emoting that morning. I let him ride my Monster for a session, but he wasn't comfortable on it and Club Desmo wouldn't let him transfer out of the A group into a mellower group so he opted not to ride it at all. I felt bad for him since he was also going to take his Honda XR650 but my Monster supplanted its position in the truck bed. I felt less bad when I realized that the XR650 might've been black-flagged for excessive noise. There's a 92 decibel limit at Laguna because all the rich people who built their mansions near the race track have enough clout to make someone listen to their bitching. I was sweating that my Monster with Staintunes would overshoot the sound limit, so I short-shifted out of turn five where the sound measuring shack is at. Near the end of they day, when I didn't care if they gave me a warning, I quit short-shifting and just ran up the revs. Still no black flag so if you have the same bike/pipes as mine, you can flog it at Laguna. I was the only Monster on the track and one of maybe a few other naked bikes. It was mostly superbikes, and there's a good reason why: they don't drag parts. My sidestand ground through turns 2 and 11, which might not have disturbed me so much if it weren't for the fact that I start my journey home tomorrow and a lowside could've damaged the bike enough to strand me. Of course, I'm assuming I wouldn't get hurt because that's how we completely delusional types are. November 30 2004 There's a new recipe in the Kelley Kitchen collection. November 29 2004 I was riding Pogo into San Francisco tonight. On Lombard a car alarmed me by cutting across my bow at a high rate of speed. I watched the car proceed to straddle and change lanes randomly. So at the red light I pull up next to the car and see a woman behind the wheel. I knock on the window, wishing for her to roll it down so I could suggest to her that maybe she'd like to park her car until her world stopped spinning. She wouldn't even look over at me. The light turned green, she took off, and at the next red light I pulled up beside her again. I figured she still wasn't going to talk to me so I just sat there miming someone throwing back a stiff drink and then rotated my arms in front of me like someone behind a steering wheel. "Drinky?! Drivey?!" I yelled over at her. Then I repeated the whole mocking routine but I couldn't get her to roll down her window to tell me to fukc off. She must've been very accustomed to her DWI routine and didn't want her warm, fuzzy, and happily distorted world intruded upon by anyone. I've got no problems with people killing themselves while wasted. I do have a problem when they take others down with them; me especially, since I'm pretty sure I don't deserve anything like that. Maybe I deserve an occasional bout of food poisoning for goofing on my mom, but I don't deserve an enema in the shape of a BMW. November 28 2004 Reader Clayton had written and mentioned how moms specialize in keeping food products well past their expiration dates. I have found decades-old packages in my mom's pantry; I'm sure there's even older stuff in the out-of-reach cupboards now serving as mausoleums for canned goods. The other key location for products well past their prime is the bathroom. The debonair helmet-haired guy on the early 80's Vitalis bottle made me smile, while the Dow decongestant did not. I'm no chemist, but I'm pretty sure this ancient medication is only 1 mg of Malathion away from being a government-regulated pesticide. I have to wonder if my malformed personality has something to do with getting double doses of this drug throughout my childhood. November 27 2004 My mom is a nice lady but she's not loner compatible. Every time she walks through the living room, where I'm typing away, she has to verbalize something: "Is there enough light?" "This picture is of Hong Kong." "Are you still working? Busy busy!" "It's hot in here. I'll turn off the heat." "How can you type like that?" "Do you want an apple? Persimmon?" "Why don't you open the curtains?" "There's still coffee in the coffee pot." I usually give monosyllabic answers so as to not encourage her chattiness. The funny part is when she walks by and wants to say something but knows that she really shouldn't bother me, so she just stares. I suppose this is just the way it is when your mom gets to see you once or twice a year, and you're her only daughter, and she's forever trying to figure out what she might've done to you during your formative years that resulted in you refusing to wear dresses as an adult. November 26 2004 Chris returned to San Diego today in a van loaded down with furniture, leftovers, and dogs. We carted my Monster up in the van so I will ride home some time next week. I signed up to do a track day at Laguna Seca next Wednesday so at the least I'm staying up here until then. November 25 2004 A million of my closest relatives were supposed to descend upon my mom's house for Thanksgiving, but there was a change of plan so it just ended up being a small dinner with the immediate family. I was quite glad it turned out that way because it saved me from having to repeatedly field questions from rarely-seen kin about the lack of progeny at my "advanced" age. My brother's kids were around so I shut the dogs up in my old bedroom since Cracker likes to fight things in her size range while Lucky likes to hump them. In the middle of dinner I hear a thump! thump! thump!, like someone's wrestling in another part of the house and slamming into the walls. I go to investigate the sound with a slight knot in my gut. I'm pretty sure I know what I'm going to find. Slowly I open the bedroom door, and as expected there are wood chips on the floor � the thumping noise was Cracker trying to rip the frame off the door. Yeah, I was a little mad. I yelled at her and slapped her about the head. Repeatedly. Then I dragged them both out of the room by their collars and put them in the utility room next to the kitchen so I could glare at them while I ate Thanksgiving dinner (unfortunately, Lucky is often assigned guilt by proximity even though I know his teeth are too blunt for woodworking). Every time they timidly ventured into the kitchen I'd start yelling at them and chase them back into the other room. My family was probably snickering at my choice to have dogs instead of kids. Let's just say a dog can be slapped around a goodly bit more than a kid before the law requires you to have a "time out" in jail. November 24 2004 Here we are in Petaluma, former Wrist Wrestling Capital of the World. We left San Diego at 9:00 p.m. and showed up here at 6:00 a.m. Except for the fact that one's mind and body wants to shut down between the hours of midnight and six � or maybe because of it � night driving is unbeatably relaxing. Even if you fall asleep at the wheel, you can wander around the lanes for a while since there will be no one around to hit. The bott dots will eventually wake you up. Or the sudden stop at the bottom of a ravine. Because you know I have a fascination for people on the losing end of the law, here's a picture from today. The cops took this guy out of the grocery store along with an empty baby carrier. I don't know about this guy, but when I shoplift, I always slip my booty into a baby carrier. So what if the baby under the pink blanket is shaped like a whole fryer and two boxes of Pop Tarts? In this politically correct climate, who's going to stop me and check? He must've forgotten to bring a baby blanket with which to cover his stolen goods. Dumb ass. November 23 2004 Last night I was eating beef jerky and watching Monday Night Football. Out of the corner of my eye I could see something white on the jerky but I knew it was just a little marbled fat so I kept eating. When I'm watching sporting events I tend to get a little transfixed so I don't look at my food, although later I see another white one and decide to hold it up to my face. Yep: furry white mold, not marbled fat. I can't say I wanted to wretch because this particular mold didn't taste like anything so it didn't negate the flavor of the beef. I did, however, stop eating them because there's a pretty big difference in culinary enjoyment when the status is not knowing vs. fully knowing your food is moldy. Tonight Chris and I leave for the long drive to Petaluma. We're going to do it during the night to avoid traffic. After we get to our destination I'll tell you about another moldy product that ended up in my mouth. Maybe I'll even save the story for Thanksgiving day so you can think about wanting to vomit just before you sit down for your big turkey dinner. November 22 2004 I've lived in California all my life so I'm accustomed to a high cost of living. Still, I was a bit surprised when I went to pick up a desk from a former co-worker's house. Earlier this year he bought a place about a mile from the beach that cost $580,000. Not so bad, right? Well, consider this: The house is a termite-damaged, insulation-challenged, 1400 sq ft fixer-upper that's situated next to a house occupied by a schizophrenic who sometimes skips his lithium and invites lots of homeless people to hang out with him. The sweet topping to all this was the recent police visit which revealed meth cooking activities. California real estate = total insanity. November 20 2004 The rental house down the street had another party last night (see July 30). Once again Chris had to go out and speak to a loud attendee* who had a Bud Light in one hand and a cell phone in the other. Chris said, "You need to quit yelling on your cell phone." The other guy said, "Come here and say it to my face." Chris stomped over and repeated it in his face and explained to him that he needed to take his public drunk ass back into a private place. It all ended with Chris coming back out with a phone and calling the cops. The other guy walked back to the party house when he realized Chris wasn't kidding around. I think another noise complaint has been officially lodged against the rental house so they're on the road to being capped. *This particular smartass was of the "wigger" variety. Can someone tell me how wearing a ballcap sideways came into vogue? Don't guys named Goober, Gomer and Charlie Brown wear their caps sideways? November 19 2004 Reader Jeff said he had read the pi�ata story a few too many days in a row now and asked if my inspiration had gone away. I am particularly worried about disappointing him because he works for a major bank and I continue to hold out hope that he will find a creative way for the bank to sponsor my racing. The reason for my absence is that I've been working hard these past few days to help Chris get his stuff moved out of the house and into his shop; on top of that my ears have been ringing so I've been busy, tired and fussy. To make up for not treating my readers out there in Bloglandia with proper respect, I'll finish the story I started in the October 29 blog about my food poisoning episode while living in Mexico... -- THURSDAY JULY 29 Today I went to see a "naturalist" in hopes of getting a cure for a particularly relentless case of "turista." The doctor worked out of his home. He ushered us through a doorway from which hung white, semi-opaque curtains, giving the impression that he doubled as a palm reader when patient traffic was low. His office was a converted den, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves still lining the walls. A wetbar in the corner doubled as the watering hole and the medical equipment storage area. In the center was family room furniture which constituted the waiting room/consultation area. Against the wall, sandwiched between the wet bar and one of the couches, was the examination table. After a few preliminary questions, Dr. Douglas asked me to lie down and rest my head on a dingy and frayed towel. After smashing parts of my body (welcome to acupressure), jamming needles into various places (welcome to acupuncture), and ripping my brain stem out of its base (welcome to chiropractoring) he instructed me to lay there until he and Bill returned. The two went out in the streets of Morelia to search for plants to be made into a tea that would help in the recovery process. According to Bill, they had scarcely left the house when the doctor crouched down and yanked a clump of weeds from a crack in the sidewalk. The plant, this object that has probably seen the underside of every local dog, was to be a part of my cure. For only 75 New Pesos (that's $25 U.S.!), I got the Eastern-Western smorgasbord of acupuncture, acupressure, chiropractoring, and a fistful of dirty weeds. Not only was Dr. Douglas a man of medicine, he proved to be a man of words as he showed us the columns he had written for a local newspaper on herbal remedies. Perhaps it was good medicine or perhaps I didn't want to have to return to his unsanitary house of horrors, but this renaissance man actually cured me. -- November 15 2004 Maybe you heard of the incident where someone tried to smuggle a girl stuffed in a pi�ata through the Tijuana border crossing. The method of clandestine conveyance did not surprise me as smugglers are a creative lot. What surprised me was the fact that the two U.S. citizens doing the smuggling were let go because there are far too many cases of people-smuggling to prosecute, so only the egregious cases end up in court. If you're desperate for some coin and have no skills other than driving a car, that's something you might want to get into since the worst that can happen is that your vehicle will get impounded. All this means is that you leave your black Escalade with bling wheels at home and use a piece of crap car for the border crossings. November 14 2004 I was at Chris' new shop talking to a friend on my cell phone when I heard a weird noise and I looked up. Suddenly I hear a bang! and all this garbage rains to the floor, followed by a hideous bark-scream. I see this brown and white thing flailing on the ground amidst broken acoustic tile and I hear myself yelling, "MY DOG JUST FELL THROUGH THE FUKCING CEILING! GOTTA GO!" and I snap the phone shut. Seems that Lucky had wandered up into the storage loft and walked out onto the section with no reinforced flooring; hence, his express delivery back to the next level of reinforced flooring. I am staring at him totally stunned; I have no idea what to do with a dog spit down from the heavens. I let him walk around to shake off the impact and then I feel him all over to see if anything's broken. No reaction. The Old Bastard had probably already forgotten he had just almost killed himself and was ready for a snack. I took this picture shortly after the landing; you can see the black hole above him and rubble at his feet. The vacuous look is pure dog. November 13 2004 Thanks to all the readers who suggested names for the racebike (sorry I couldn't reply to you all individually). November 9 2004 Reader Patrick asked why I didn't take pics at the Miss San Diego Leather contest. I sure the hell wanted to and it kills me not to be posting some very entertaining pictures for you. However, not everybody in this community is "out" so I didn't want to be the one who published the pics that got enlarged on the photocopying machine by a spiteful co-worker. No need to wonder why your middle management career stalled after your boss saw these sartorial choices pasted all over the lunchroom and choked on his bagel. November 8 2004 The new bike is here. He needs a name. November 7 2004 I had the occasion to attend the "Miss San Diego Leather 2004" contest last night. Having cut my cultural teeth on San Francisco (on Polk Street in particular, before the Castro figured out maybe gays weren't only interested in dark bars with names like The White Swallow, and that maybe they could indeed use a Pottery Barn to round out their lives), little surprises me. The speeches about "community" were a bit effusive, but then I need to remember that these are the people who get the shit kicked out of them, if not killed, for living non-traditionally. My only wish for this community is that the drag queens would choose better songs to lip-sync: as a general guideline, opera DOES NOT work. Stick with Abba or Gloria Gaynor. Watch "The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert" for ideas. What I've learned lately, and particularly after seeing this community interact, is that I'm a bigot � towards extroverts. I've always viewed people who require frequent social contact as weak; how can you not be your own best company? As my wisdom and gray hair count grow together, I understand that some people just need to constantly interact with other people, just like how I get this desperate need to go dirtbiking. If I replace dirtbiking with people, then I'm really no different from the extrovert. A need is a need. A craving is a craving. You didn't exactly request it. For those of you who deal with loners in your lives, read "Party of One: The Loners' Manifesto" and you get an idea of why we'd rather have a colonoscopy than attend a cocktail party riddled with air kisses and light chit-chat. You'll also learn that many people who end up in the news labeled as loners (e.g., Mr. Unabomber, Ted Kaczynski) were in fact failed extroverts, not true loners. Don't you extroverts try unloading all your law-breaking losers on our group! November 6 2004 Remember the good ol' days when your uncle could hand you a buck and tell you to run down to the corner store to buy a pack of Lucky Strikes for him and the old guy working the counter took your money in exchange for the cigarettes without a blink? If any adult tried that now, the kid would be dragged off to protective services. I sure wouldn't want to be a lazy smoker in today's politically correct climate; can't even use one of them noisy kids in your house to go get you some smokes so you can relieve the stress caused by all of them making so much noise running up and down the hallway playing Nerf basketball. And never mind the fact that you've already had seven Highballs as you enter your third straight hour of playing Mah Jong; nothing is as soothing as a long drag on your favorite tobacco product. November 5 2004 Sports fans, if you haven't taken time to sit down and watch Jim Rome Is Burning, you need to (unless you already know you hate him from his radio show). November 4 2004 Chris signed a lease on a new shop space not too far from home. He'll start pimping Ducati parts from there and he'll also start doing some service work. I'll be in charge of janitorial services. Pictures to come when the place is set up. I'm excited; not because Chris has his own retail business space now, but because I'll get to park my truck in the garage again. November 3 2004 The dinner that no one can bitch at me about because I'm an adult: sunflower seeds and a margarita. November 2 2004 It's Election Day and here's a Hank Hill quote for you: "With voting at an all-time low, not voting makes me more American." His powerhouse reasoning screams of long nights pouring over the writings of Plato. Actually, voter turnout is alleged to be very high for this presidential election. I mailed my ballot in about a week ago. By now it should've reached Florida, where it will be miscounted, and then returned to California, where it will be double-counted. Then we'll find out that Ralph Nadar won and although the country will be in disarray, we'll at least be safe from killer Corvairs. November 1 2004 The MotoGP season is over. I had a dream I was eating dinner with Troy last night. The bad news is that his wife, Kim, was there too, but the good news is she wasn't angry with me so maybe an Australian commune is in my future. I guess it's a sign that I should put the latest poll results up, already. October 31 2004 I made these guys a few decades ago. Even though the doll is brittle and I cracked his arm today trying to pose him, they all asked for a final chance to go on display before they found their way into the trash bin. October 30 2004 Does anybody really heed the warning on a Q-tip box where it tells you, in bold letters, not to stick the swab into the ear canal? How many people actually use a wax softener and a bulb syringe for ear hygiene instead of the roto-rooter technique? I'll wager that these people also don't like to use plastic shopping bags as toys. C'mon, lighten up...stick that swab in your ear and put that plastic bag over your head like it's a wrestling mask. Live a little! And while you're at it, let me know what antifreeze tastes like. October 29 2004 Reader Paul said that for my birthday I should go out and get wicked drunk, throw up, and then write about the contents of said purging in my blog. This suggestion reminded me that I had a food poisoning entry from my Mexico diary, in which vomit contents were, in fact, gloriously documented: -- MONDAY MAY 31, DAY 32. At six this morning, my stomach gave up. With the voluntary or involuntary help of my esophagus, the two went into a puke fiesta. The previous night's dinner of chicken with cream, chased down by an ample bottle of orange Fanta, spewed out in a thick, vibrant puddle. Throwing up was a tremendous relief, but unfortunately, the relief didn't stay. The nausea would build and an hour later I was once again doubled over the sink. Another episode hit several hours later, this one made worse by the fact that I had taken Pepto Bismol and now, instead of the puke being bright orange, it was bright orange with bright pink swirls. The sight of this rainbow sherbet made the act all that much more violent and urgent. Made the mistake of eating watermelon. I was so hungry, so thirsty, that I wolfed down several pieces. An hour later I was spraying bright red melon into the blue bathroom sink. To add insult to injury, the chunks of watermelon plugged up the sink and I had to sit there jamming my finger down the sink with the faucet running until the entire mess cleared. Tried clear chicken broth for dinner. An hour later there was clear chicken broth in the bathroom sink. -- The effects of the illness dragged on for months. I'll post the Mexican voodoo attempts to cure me sometime down the road. October 28 2004 Happy anniversary everybody! It's the second anniversary of my 39th birthday and also the first anniversary of "Doin' It Bloggy Style." Thanks to everyone who likes reading my blog, and to those who have taken the time to write and share their thoughts. I've had fun doing it the past year; it's fulfilled my need to pretend I'm an API correspondent of Weird News. May the next year be filled with even weirder news. Or at least more fun photographs of people being arrested (on this note, the other night I tried to take a pic of six cop cars descended upon one driver whom they had in handcuffs, but trying to get a digital camera to take a good night picture while driving through an intersection just didn't work). Here's to hoping my next year of life doesn't have a colostomy bag in store for me, but if it does I reckon I'll get a good story out of it. October 27 2004 Okay, I'm not alone about being slack-jawed when it rains. Here's the opening sentence from a news story in the San Diego Union Tribune: "Rain in San Diego isn't a weather pattern so much as an event, something for people to stare at and discuss, as if bearing witness to some strange cosmic occurrence." I have been so intrigued by our weather that yesterday I put on my rain gear, hopped on my enduro, and rode around in the rain to see if there was anything worth reporting on (meaning: I was looking for good car crashes or flooding to photograph). All I came across was someone who mismanaged an onramp and ended up facing the wrong way in the ice plant. I think the cop at the mouth of the onramp is there to keep others from entering too quickly and contributing to the "parking situation" in the ice plant. October 24 2004 If this guy was a real man, he wouldn't have removed the pedals and front sprockets. About shifting evil spirits from others onto yourself: WHY? If I had evil ju-ju, I'd smear it all over someone else and then run like hell. Don't forget to pronounce out loud where this activity is taking place, especially if you're working in a cubicle. October 23 2004 We rode up to Palomar and encountered many hunters parked alongside the road. I don't know what the demographics of these hunters are, but are they at least smart or caring enough to not shoot towards the road? I would prefer not to be shot dead by someone who caught a glimpse of me atop my Monster speeding amidst the trees and thought we were a 16-point buck in motion. One can only hope that the hunters didn't miss the class where they were told that deer do not wear shiny black helmets or red cordura jackets. It's not that the deer wouldn't try this bit of subterfuge; we just all know they don't have pockets to hold the money that's required to buy this stuff. Let alone the fingers to handle the bills. October 22 2004 A new poll is up. The results from the previous poll is here. October 21 2004 Chris got his latest tattoo checked out by the artist today and all looks well. While there, I found the most interesting tattoo (rated R) I have ever seen. Would I do this? For a million dollars, yes; anything less than that and I'd have to think about it over a few margaritas. October 20 2004 I've got my sponsor request page up for 2005. Feel free to forward the link to anyone you think might want to send me wads of money to be a mid-pack runner. I might not win, but damn it if I don't get blinded by red mist and give it all I've got. The poll is counting up nicely. I'll post the results in a few days. October 19 2004 Warm yourself up for the November elections and vote now in my new poll. October 18 2004 It rained for the first time in 182 days in San Diego yesterday � impressively heavily from what I've read � and I wasn't here to see it. We had beat the record of most days without rain, which was set last year at 181 days. I know you Floridians are shaking your head in wonder at how anyone could want to see rain. It's just been so long that I wanted to see it happen again from my own home. It's a little like having someone you know gone on a tour a duty and you weren't home to see them return. October 17 2004 I drove the trailer home from the track. I like the extremes of transportation: either free on a motorcycle or totally ladened down with the trailer. I don't like the in-between of just driving a car. With the bike, not even people parked in the fast lane can impede my progress. With the trailer, I'm among the slower moving vehicles so even the drivers who can barely handle the speed limit don't irritate me. In the U.S., if you have a pulse and a few dollars, you can get a driver's license. I'm amazed we have as little road rage as we do. October 16 2004 The regular WSMC races were held today instead of tomorrow since the Toyota 200 race will be on Sunday. Congrats to Chris, who put Claudio on the podium with a third. The bike is fun to watch on the track, and I don't know if it's because of a morbid curiosity of wanting to be there when he bins that beauty in a turn. The Staintune pipes do give it a great rumble so you always know when it's going by. For anyone who might think it's stupid to race an MH900e, it only cost $9,500 to buy which is nothing exhorbitant for a race bike. A new 125 would set me back ten large. October 15 2004 The bad news: The Toyota 200 qualifying changed the normal Friday practice rotation so there was no street class which meant I couldn't go out on my Monster. The good news: I was really pissed about it which meant I still have the desire to be out there. I used the day to detail Pogo, who was filthy from the trip to SF. October 14 2004 This weekend is the Toyota 200 at Willow Springs. Chris and I are loading up the race trailer and taking off tonight. Chris will run his regular races on Saturday and we'll watch the big race on Sunday. I'm just going to do Friday practice on my Monster since my race bike was sold off and I haven't replaced it yet (at the moment, the leading race bike candidate is a 450 single). I'm glad Pogo has frame sliders because even though Chris tells me to "take it easy," there's no talking to The Red Mist when it starts spraying. October 13 2004 I find it interesting that people put their candidate's bumper sticker on their vehicles. Do they think their decision will encourage others' decisions? The last driver that pissed me off had a Kerry/Edwards sticker and all I could think was, "Fukc you and your candidate, asshole." Then of course a Bush/Cheney stickered head-up-ass driver does something to even things out. I may have to vote for my president based on who has the fewer constituency of asshole drivers. Yep, when activists encourage their fellow citizens to vote, I'm not the type of voter they're trying to encourage. October 12 2004 After 9.5 hours of extremely pleasant autumn riding, I'm home. I wouldn't mind doing another roadtrip. Pogo really isn't the best touring bike to be had, but with enough painkillers and an mp3 player of enjoyable music, I'm convinced you can turn any bike a touring bike. So this morning someone knocks on my door. The dogs light off like the Armageddon is upon us. I trudge over and two nice young women are standing there. I smell me some Jehovah's stuff coming on. So I immediately say � with a smile � of course, "Is this religious stuff?" One says meekly, "Yes." With hand raised in the classic rebuff position, I reply, "I've got that all figured out so thanks anyways!" Door slam. You might want to try that next time them pilgrim-ish folks show up; it's pretty quick and effective. I don't go to their houses and talk to them ad nauseum about motorcycles (my religion) so why should they come to my house and talk to me about their religion? October 11 2004 I make the 504 mile ride home today. I'm not stopping in Ojai because I have a problem with my battery and if I let it sit overnight it'll probably completely discharge. So it's going to be a single-day humper. Wish me luck and see you back at the other end of California. October 10 2004 There was a Ducati event in La Honda today. It was a fundraiser for the fire department, for the folks who scrape up the riders who lose the traction wars. Randy and I stopped in and then after that we rode down towards Santa Cruz and through the mountains there. We encountered many folks who are destined to be future clients of the La Honda Fire Department and their counterparts throughout the area. My favorite one was this guy who couldn't handle his turns, but when he got to the straight he pinned his bike and kept us behind him instead of letting us pass. He got to the next turn and knew there was no way he could handle it so he slowed up and waved us by like he was doing us a favor. I shook my head as I went by him. By the time we had gone through another turn he was gone. I guess to his credit he let us go by instead of killing himself in the curve; I'm glad he saved it for another day so I didn't have to spend hours explaining to a cop how it looked when he was split in half by a guard rail. October 8 2004 Today I got my first chance to spend quality time on a super motard. My friend Randy rode his Monster S4R while I tried out the Honda XR650. I broke the first rule of riding a bike: don't ride something unless you're prepared to buy it. And now I want to buy one. However, the one key thing that stops me from running out and buying one is that I'm not strong/talented enough to get the kickstart to work. I tried many times but just kept repeatedly bruising my shin. Amazing how different trying to kickstart a four-stroke single is from a two-piston two-stroke. The former is about as easy as pushing an elephant off your couch. October 7 2004 You wanted to see Bootsy in action, so here he is. October 6 2004 First, let me apologize for not responding to those who have written me over the past few days. I'm a bit behind. I had to go to my mom's house yesterday. She made me climb onto her roof and clean out the rain gutters. And while I was up there she handed me a clipper and asked me to trim the tree branches I could reach. She has three kids; possibly losing one from a roof-height pruning incident didn't seem to disturb her. If you think only African Americans ate pigs feet, you're wrong. This was presented before me at lunch and I declined. I've done my time as the daughter of immigrants and I no longer wish to eat "exotic" foods (remind me to tell you the raccoon story some day). I had pigs feet a long time ago and I was not mightily impressed by it. I can't quite figure out what the appeal of puffy skin on bones is. October 4 2004 Do not click on this link if you are offended by animal anatomy. Bootsy belongs to my friend who lives in Ojai, where I stayed last night. Bootsy just got done making love to his girlfriend, a pink stuffed pig. I took this picture because Bootsy's unit is absolutely frightening a) for its size in relation to the dog, and b) for its very human form. If you're an owner of a male dog, I'm sure you've seen your pet's pink wonder come out (accompanied with the lip-smacking...what up wif dat?), but have you ever seen one that looks like it might belong on your neighbor Bob? Me neither, hence the need for the photodocumentation. If I get a flood of email requesting to see Bootsy in an action shot doubled over his gal pal, I'll post that pic. I figured the one pic I posted was enough to make you spit up half your dinner. October 2 2004 I'm hitting the road tomorrow for a solo ride on my Monster up to San Francisco. Tomorrow night I'll stay at a friend's house in Ojai and then on Monday I finish the ride up to SF. The thing that stood out while I was packing for this trip is that even though I don't own much clothes, I wished I had even less clothes because I couldn't figure out what few things to try to wear for a week. I'm thinking maybe I should just have a Zina Uniform that I wear day in and day out: black shirt, blue jeans, black shoes. I could be like Katherine Hepburn, who always favored white shirts and khaki pants. I think my fashion sense will just get worse as I get older. In ten years, look for me to sport nothing but a black muumuu and worn terrycloth slippers. October 1 2004 The police helicopter came around at 2:00 a.m. Doesn't matter to me, but Chris is a moderate insomniac and the sustained vibrating of the house from the hovering aircraft ruined his attempts to remain asleep. I did have a spike in consciousness when they panned the floodlight over our property, but not even the thought of a criminal jumping the fences through our backyard could interfere with my capacity to lovingly and immediately embrace sleep. In my world, sleeping is a timed Olympic sport and every night I'm a gold medalist. Insomnia...you may as well talk to me about three-eyed space aliens because either way I just can't comprehend. September 30 2004 Got a knock on the door from the neighbor. He said his wife had fallen and he couldn't help her up on his own so Chris went over to help. She's not a small lady; maybe 5'10" with a strong build. I think she wanted to teach phys ed in her younger days but faced some hurdles because it was a "man's job." I'm pretty sure she's had both hips replaced but is soon going back in for another replacement because the first one was done so long ago. We live in a neighborhood that started out with mostly old people who have been here for decades. Over the almost seven years we've lived here, they've been gradually shipped off to retirement farms and we eventually hear about their deaths not too long after. One neighbor told us he would've been surprised if he survived the trip to Utah, where his daughter-in-law lived. He survived, but died very soon after. I think they ended up shipping his body back out here for the burial. So has anybody heard if Roger Daltrey has changed his mind about the line, "Hope I die before I get old?" September 29 2004 On April 13 2004 I asked why anyone with the name Richard would allow himself to be called Dick. I was reading a news article today and it mentioned a councilman named Tom Butt. Wouldn't you do something with that last name, like maybe legally adding an "e" to the end so it's more like the town in Montana and less like the anatomical focal point of so many jokes? Tom Butt must be one self-actualized dude to not mess with that surname. September 28 2004 We did the moonlight rundown into Borrego Springs last night (see the June 3 entry for why it's good at night). We thought we'd be able to find something to eat when we got there, but I'd like to officially report that if you arrive in Borrego Springs after ten at night, you're probably fukced if you want food or gas. We stopped into a couple of the resorts to see if anything was available, but no luck. We decided to make the trek across the Great Overland Stage Route of 1849 (aka S2) out to I-8 and then head back west to stop at the Golden Acorn Casino for human and motorcycle refueling. The casino is in the middle of nowhere and their target market are truckers and weary travellers who need a break. I don't gamble and I don't give a crap about casinos, but I do genuinely appreciate the fact that this one exists because the pickings are slim at 2 a.m., and when you haven't eaten since lunch and home is still a cold 45-minute ride away, you think about naming your firstborn Golden Acorn while you're happily listing to starboard just after you've crammed your face full of warm pancakes and coffee. September 27 2004 The US Forestry Service closed down all of the Cleveland National Forest south of I-8 today due to the extreme fire danger. Knowing this was going to happen, we got our last jollies in yesterday before we're left with only the tamer trails to the north. Scoreboard: 1 broken lever, 1 bent lever, 1 exhaust burn hole in pants, 1 patch of raw flesh exacerbated by a gasoline bath, 6 crashes, and undetermined quantities of dirt eaten. September 26 2004 On Nov 19, 2025 I gave you a dog food report. If you recall, I simply had to sample some of it because the dogs were stupid enchanted by it and I wanted to know what the fuss was about. Along the same vein, I was brushing the dogs' teeth the other day with their beef-flavored toothpaste. Given the way they come running when I hold out the toothbrush, I had to find out what that tasted like. I didn't exactly expect to encounter steak from a plastic tube, but I was quite shocked by the misrepresentation. There isn't a shred of beef flavoring in it. About the best description I can give is "lightly sweet goop." I am now pretty sure dogs have saliva glands that are beef flavored, so everything they eat tastes like beef. September 25 2004 I should report that the Brisbane Lions did not win the Grand Final. I won't ask Mal if he's drowning his sorrows in Foster's lager, since I think the reason it's exported is because the natives would rather drink their own urine before they resort to Foster's. September 24 2004 A faithful reader asked that I show my public support for the Brisbane Lions, an Australian Rules Football team who are playing in the Grand Final this weekend (think Superbowl) for the fourth consecutive year. I like football so I thought I'd educate myself a little on this foreign sport that's akin to rugby. The upshot is that the guys don't wear pads and they manhandle each other. They may even paint their faces and ritualistically slaughter dingos before their games to enhance their ferocity; I'm not sure. I hear the people Down Under are "spirited." Interestingly enough, there is a United States Australian Football League and San Diego even has a team. Our team is called...The San Diego Lions. And the sister club is...The Brisbane Lions. This is what we call an "ironicalific" situation. The Australian Pub in Pacific Beach is having a Grand Final party today; I had no idea there was even an Aussie pub in these parts. (Mal, it's a good thing you made your request with a "very strong Aussie accent" because today's topic was scheduled to be a comparison of floor mops. BTW, do you sound like Troy Bayliss? I have an opening for an Australian boyfriend. Some day I want to be able to wistfully say, "We'll always have Phillip Island...") September 23 2004 On September 9 I asked if anyone had a jog stroller. Sure enough, a kind gent named Mike had an old one no longer in use so he sent it to me. If you are shopping for a bike in the southeast I'd recommend Sunshine Cycle because if Mike is kind enough to send me the jogger for free, he must be a straight-shooting businessman. I put the stroller together and stuck Lucky in it. His butt is a little supersized for it, but I can easily modify it so he can sit down. He didn't seem all that sure about having to be in it, but once he realizes it won't collapse upon him like a Venus Fly Trap, I'm sure he'll enjoy his limo rides. September 22 2004 Regarding the Genesis capsule that returned to earth on September 8, one of the Nasa eggheads described the crash as follows: "We have an unquantified science degradation." At first the comment made me snort, but upon review, it's an incredibly straight-forward way of saying, "The capsule cratered into the desert and it looks kinda fukced up, but we'll trowel the bitch out and see if there's anything left of the solar pixie dust we tried to collect." September 20 2004 Autumn is coming. Well, whatever version of autumn it is that we have in Southern California. The foliage doesn't really change. I think I'd like to visit the northeast some year and see this explosion of reds and oranges that allegedly occurs unto the leaves on the trees. Like Cracker talking, I can't really verify that it's true until I see it for myself. Autumn in San Diego means the sun starts setting earlier and there are fewer tourists on I-8 swerving across lanes to get to the Hotel Circle exit. Otherwise, everything looks and smells the same. September 19 2004 The Comedy Channel showed seven straight hours of Reno911! today. Did I move from the couch? Only to vacuum during the commercial breaks because my inner-Amish wouldn't leave me alone. As some of you already know, I am a huge fan of Lt. Jim Dangle's "plum smuggling" shorts. September 18 2004 I took my Suzuki out today in hopes of finding a few dirt roads to investigate. It's days like today that I don't like living in Kalifornia, where every last bit of land seems roped off. I had to get my jollies by riding back and forth on the dirt stretch of Proctor Valley Road. Sad. I did venture down one lonely road where the locals' dogs chased after me and then the locals themselves stared a hole through me. And of course, there was the obligatory weirdo parked in the middle of nowhere on the side of the road sitting alone in his car on the passenger's side. Time to start looking at real estate elsewhere? September 17 2004 What's wrong with this picture? Yes, that's a can of powder I'm stabbing into. Even though it was a brand new can I had just opened, the contents were as hard as a rock. Chris is going up to Willow Springs this weekend to race so I had to prep his magic Kool-Aid that keeps the effects of dehydration in control (it's not IF he'll get dehydrated; it's how bad it will get). This particular powder is called Cytomax and it works better than Gatorade. At around $30 a can, we refer to Cytomax as "Gold Dust Juice" because for that price it must have gold ground in it. I am convinced that the gold is right now collecting in Chris's lower intestine and that perhaps a few years from now he'll "create" � not unlike an oyster � a pair of gold earrings for me. September 16 2004 Thanks to yesterday's episode of King of the Hill, I learned the medical name for a condition I have: Diminished Gluteal Syndrome. Hank Hill had severe back pain so he went to the doctor and the diagnosis was that he had an overly flat ass due to underdeveloped gluteal muscles. He was prescribed a gluteal orthodic device: saline butt cheeks he could wear under his pants so he didn't sit directly on his tailbone. It was a touching story about self-acceptance when faced with a not-very crippling deformity. September 15 2004 Why do people wear ponchos? The only reason I would wear a poncho is because I needed to do something like roll a joint in public and didn't want anyone to see me doing it. Ponchos remind me of overstuffed chairs with blankets draped over them. Waterproof ponchos don't count; I can see the need for quickly throwing something water-repellent over all your gear when the deluge comes. Perhaps my attitude is too Amish towards ponchos? September 14 2004 Bit of serial killer trivia for you: As a youth, Jeffrey Dahmer loved to pick up road kill, take it home, and dissect it. Parents, if your kid has the same interest, I'm not suggesting he* will become a serial killer. I am merely suggesting that you may want to see if he has other interests to balance out that non-standard one. If the other hobby is soccer, maybe we have some balance. If the other hobby is lying on the train tracks and waiting till the very last second to move, maybe we have a problem. * I'm not even going to be politically correct and say "he or she" since it's almost always a guy. I am an amateur psychologist not yet licensed in any state and I have a theory that the Y chromosome has some funky stuff in it, particulary where rendering other people not alive are involved. September 12 2004 Check out Chris Walker's SBK speeding violation. September 11 2004 Much has been written about today; enough that I don't have anything to add except that I know many of you are in the military so I wish you well in these tough times when you're probably away from your loved ones longer than normal. September 10 2004 I took a pseudoephedrine decongestant this morning because I was itchy. It's a genetic thing. My dad was an itchy guy, and his daughter is an itchy girl. I got some weird histamine production that likes to occasionally kick in; maybe I'm allergic to the dogs and don't know it? Anyways, we call decongestants "Haga pills" because Nori Haga lost his SBK title in 2000 when he tested positive for ephedrine because he took some cold medication with said ingredient. I don't know if ephedrine makes you ride a motorcycle faster, but it sure does help my jogging. I should take it every day with my vitamins and coffee. September 9 2004 Anybody got a baby jog stroller they want to give away? Lucky has some problems with mobility and it's getting to the point where I'll need to bring a stroller with me because he's not going to make it on the longer walks. We still need to give Cracker her exercise so we don't want to short-change her because Lucky can't keep up. The first time Lucky lost use of his hind legs he literally tried to drag his ass across the room, as if he were trying to disassociate himself from the broken caboose. I don't know who was more shocked by the scenario, him or me. I rushed him to the vets and the diagnosis was that shit happens to old dogs and that when he can't seem to get up I should just help his ass end up. September 8 2004 Thanks to those who wrote about the booze. I ended up sampling one of the relics and I have not yet had to camp out on the can with violent cramps. Speaking about the can, I am reminded of a conversation I once had with someone about German toilets, which have a shelf in them, so instead of the excrement going straight into the water, it sits on a porcelain ledge. The toilets are supposed to save water but I've read that it takes multiple flushes to knock the stuff off. And even then sometimes you have to resort to manual assistance. Sweet. Oddly enough, there are more problems with peeing into these toilets than pooping. That ledge causes impressive splashing and those who have to deal with the clean-up have taken to nagging about it. And this is from a news story about a town in Germany: "Germany's reputation for precision has taken a knock, judging by a ban on urinating while standing that has been imposed on tenants in an east German apartment block, the daily Bild reported Friday. Landlords, complaining that misdirected urine is causing their radiators to rust, ordered male tenants to answer the call of nature off their feet." September 7 2004 Can anybody out there tell me if hard liquor has a shelf life? What happens if I dive into some rum or vodka that's been sitting around a few years? Will I get drunk and a stomach ache to go with it? September 6 2004 A privateer racer sent this email to a moto site: "It was recommended by my doctor for me to not race for another few weeks minimum due to the possibility that I might tear some stitches that are holding my stomach muscles and the patch together, which in turn are holding intestines in their place, which really stinks because last year I went pretty good at Road Atlanta considering it was my first time there, and normally I'd just say OK to the doc and go race anyway. But not this time..." This got me to thinking about how some of us like to ignore medical advice and push our bodies. However, I think this racer was prudent to pass on the race during his convalescence. In my opinion, you should always be cautious if you�re dealing with: � Intestines held in place by staples or fishing wire � A head glued or sewn back on by a non-specialist � Protruding bones with duct tape wrapped around the �free� ends � Blood seeping out from the ears or eye sockets Other than that, my general medical rule is: �If it doesn�t make you double over in pain and if it doesn�t smell necrotic, go for it.� September 5 2004 To finish yesterday's topic, earthquake insurance isn't cheap and there's like a $40,000 deductible. And you thought a $20 co-pay at the doctor's office was bad? I don't have earthquake insurance. When my house gets knocked off its foundation, I'm just going to live in the crawlspace until I've got the money to raze the entire house and replace it with a UFO. September 4 2004 Hurricane vs. Earthquake smackdown: Which one do you choose to face? I choose earthquakes for one reason: you can't prepare for it. I see those people jammed into those shelters in Florida while Frances slowly eats up the state. The people are waiting, waiting, waiting. They looked bored. They look unhappy. I heard about cops being called in to break up some turf war in a shelter between families. Earthquakes can scare the crap out of you, but I think I'd rather be scared short term than bored long term. Of course, never having been trapped under rubble with an I-beam across my chest, I'm sure I'll take back that statement some day. September 3 2004 Someone wrote to me who currently teaches at my former elementary school in Petaluma. It prompted me to pull up my old school pic and recall that I remember little about my youth. All I remember about this school year is that I peed in my pants and my dad had to come pick me up. I don't remember anybody laughing at me nor was my dad mad so I'm pretty sure I wasn't scarred by the event. September 2 2004 I've had this cheap little snowdome for about twenty years. For some reason it has followed me through multiple domicile transfers; maybe it's the pencil sharpener at the bottom that makes it case for not getting chucked into the trash. After a couple of decades, about a third of the fluid in it had evaporated so I tried to refill it. I learned today, as the water made weird swirl marks in the snowdome, that it's packing something other than water. In fact, the chemical smell that eventually blossomed from the overfilling was strong enough that Chris started complaining about the odor from the next room. I'll bet that this old-school snowdome has some highly carcinogenic fluid that was used because it suspended the snowflakes in the perfect way, or maybe because it didn't cause hundreds of tiny air bubbles like my snowdome now has. The snowdome makers were probably told by the EPA that this particular fluid only belonged in sealed batteries or reactor cores or something like that. So, if I die from something unusual in the next few months, someone please get a sample from the snowdome. If it caused some new form of disease, please name that disease "Captain Catfish of New Orleans" to give proper credit to the source. September 1 2004 We went on another midnight dirt ride last night. The night before there was a Border Patrol shooting where we ride so the law was quite visible. I'm glad to say that we saw no one on the ride except for what appeared to be the headlight of a lone enduro rider picking his or her way down a trail on a distant opposing hillside. When we went through the check point on I-8 to return home, the guy on the left had a spike strip in hand ready to deploy. I don't know if they were on higher alert than normal or if this is standard operating procedure when it's after midnight. August 31 2004 I never did do a write-up on my Laguna Seca trip. It wasn't really all that interesting, but today I did remember an incident that made me stop and stare. While there, I saw what had to have been one of the top ten worst jobs ever: Porta-Potty Toilet Vacuumer. So this poor guy is literally vacuuming the shit out of the stinkpot and what should he pull out but a beer bottle stuck onto the end of his vacuum, impeding his progress. He pins the bottle to the ground with his foot and yanks it off. He didn't seem annoyed at all; I bet he's sucked out bigger and weirder things. And like you, I sure hope he takes his shoes off before he goes into his house. August 30 2004 Chris thinks this is a little disrespectful but sometimes the truth hurts. C'mon, any of you who've been married knows that there comes a point where your mate's value is based purely on 1) income generation and/or 2) the skill to repair or clean things. I'll even add 3) the ability not to annoy you day in and day out. Basing a relationship on love and respect just puts way too much pressure on it. ;o) August 29 2004 On June 29 I talked about personals ads. I need to bring it up again because today's featured ad was this scary guy. I smell me a gent who's probably had a few restraining orders filed against him. August 29 2004 We were walking our dogs tonight when one cat was chasing another cat down the street. With a firm grip on our dogs' leashes we stop and wait for them to go on their way. But not being very astute in their moment of passion, they run straight towards our collection of 12 legs. The chaser realizes there's imminent trouble and ducks under a car while the chasee plows straight into Cracker, aka The Gaping Maw of Death. Clomp! Cracker has the cat in her jaws and she's shaking her head like a Great White shark. Having been through this drill once before, Chris knows that the only way to detach the two is to knock Cracker off her feet. So while Cracker is shaking the cat like a floppy mop head, Chris is running down the street, literally towing Cracker down the road on her back. Even when Cracker finally drops the cat, the cat isn't smart enough to run off but instead decides it wants to keep fighting and ends up in Cracker's mouth yet again. Chris sees that he's not getting ideal results and starts running faster, dog still in tow, legs still pointing straight up. I'm running behind all of them trying to toss Lucky into the mix so maybe he'll distract Cracker and she'll let the cat go. Chris then tries running in a circle � perhaps the swirling motion will get some results. Lucky and I continue chasing the two, with me half-heartedly kicking at them, knowing full well that if either mistook my leg as a combatant, I'd be in a world of hurt. Finally � and maybe only because Cracker now realizes she's been upside-down for a minute � the cat gets loose again and runs off. I don't know if the cat is ok or not, but I hope it does a better job of looking ahead from hereon out. August 28 2004 Chris took Claudio, his MH900e, up to Palomar for the first time today. In spite of recent reports of problems on the mountain, we encountered no cops, no accidents, no inflamed locals, and had a jolly good time. It's almost not worth commenting about the biker problem since it's existed for years and since it's also repeated on many excellent riding roads across America. Fun roads bring the bikers out of the woodwork and a percentage of them will be squids and stun-tahs who just plain piss people off. Inconsiderate people are in every part of society and if I want to get upset about them I may as well get upset about the sun rising. August 27 2004 I don't know how Taekwondo is scored in the Olympics, but it looks a little too sissified. Here's how I'd score it: grab, kick, and do whatever you want until one person drops and can't get up. Why does the ref keep stepping in to separate the combatants? If I want to hang onto someone's dobok while trying to smash her kneecaps at close range with my heel, shouldn't I be able to? What happened to keeping a discipline useful? Who's going to be the ref when you're in a back alley duking it out with some drunk guy after he pinched your girl on the ass? Don't even get me started on synchronized swimming. August 26 2004 Elena finally made it home late last night. She told me that the ceramic pieces that were bubble-wrapped didn't survive the trip home. At least the stained glass she carried on the plane with her made it intact. She said that during the trip there was a bit of hysteria on the plane. Not understanding what was happening, she was quite nervous. Turns out that some guy was having an epileptic seizure and the flight attendants were running up and down the aisle yelling for a doctor. They ended up making an emergency landing in Texas. Elena's return itinerary was: San Diego to unscheduled stop in Texas. Texas to New York. New York to Paris. Paris to UK. Overnight stay at Heathrow. UK to Rome. Rome to Bologna. This was the lowest cost flight she could get and it still cost 900 Euros because it's peak travel season for Europeans. In contrast, my last flight to Bologna was a couple hundred cheaper and it went from San Diego to Minneapolis to Amsterdam to Bologna. The first time I was in the Amsterdam airport, a woman's pre-packaged voice came of the p.a. and said, "Welcome to Shithole Airport." Huh? I kept hearing it over and over. Well...the name of the airport is Schiphol and with her accent she was saying Skeeep-hooole, and when my American brain filtered out the accent I thought she was saying Sheeet-hooole, which was finally mentally condensed to Shithole. Amsterdam, by the way, is not a shithole airport. It's a nice place and I prefer changing flights there over the UK since there are fewer terrorist-flavored flight disruptions. Who cares about Amsterdam, right? No reason to bomb people who just grow tulips and wear wooden clogs. August 23 2004 We saw Elena off at the airport. Security coming from her side isn't as strict as ours. I told her that they don't like locks on baggage and sure enough they ended up wanted to see the contents of both her checked-in bags so she had to dig out her little key. The TSA agent cut open one of the gifts she had wrapped up for her mom. She was surprised, while I was only surprised they didn't want to cut open more bubble-wrapped stuff. I also told her that they wouldn't allow her to carry on three things, even if one was a flat piece of stained glass. In fact, I had to run around looking for a TSA supervisor to make sure she wouldn't have any problems taking it on the plane, otherwise it would've been relegated to the cargo hold where it was guaranteed to be destroyed. While one agent had a bag open, Elena saw her toothbrush and went to grab it. You would've thought she was trying to pull the pin on a grenade. The agent snapped at her not to touch anything and then I asked politely if she could have her toothbrush. No problem; all you have to do is ask. Can't say I blame them for being skittish. August 22 2004 Yesterday was Elena's first ocean kayaking adventure. She doesn't like waves and was a bit nervous heading out, but I loaded her up and pushed her out and she made it past the waves without any problems. I don't think it helped her state of mind seeing leopard sharks (very docile) swimming all around. I wanted to paddle out into the great wide-open but she wanted to stick nearer to the coastline so that's what we did. It turned out to be a good idea because we got to see a lot of interesting things, including this seal relaxing in the kelp bed and pelicans who had crapped the cliff walls white. Today is Elena's last full day here. We have to swing by the airport to see if the stained glass she bought can be carried on the plane. It's just a little too wide to fit in her luggage bag. Not sure what we'll do if she can't carry it on. August 21 2004 Tijuana is Tijuana. What can you say about it except that if you've never been out of this country, it might not be the best first outer-U.S. experience you'll ever have? It's a bit of an armpit, but nevertheless an interesting armpit. There's plenty of crime due to the drug wars, but little crime is directed at tourists. Read about our day in more detail. August 20 2004 Elena took pictures of our barbecue dinner last night. She labeled the folder containing the pictures as "cocking" instead of "cooking." Beautiful. As with the gun shooting where she was required to discharge the weapon, we forced her to flip the steaks to complete the American experience. August 19 2004 Without a doubt, some of you will be anti-guns. I'm ok with that because I'm not a pro-gun nut (I've got other causes I'd rather get strident about first), but since they're legal and because Chris was in the military where he developed a fondness for them thanks to training from our government, we own them. Chris is a good marksman so I don't have a problem supporting him in this hobby of his, as long as it never interferes with motorcycles. If there's a question about spending limited funds on a WWII rifle vs a set of tires, he better make the right choice or my divorce lawyer will be drawing up papers once again. We took the .22 Ruger MkII, the .22 magnum revolver, the CZ75 9mm and the AR-15 to our secret proving grounds. The Ruger is a competition shooting pistol so we started with that. After Chris shot a clip and demonstrated how civilized the gun was with its lack of recoil, Elena shot off a clip. She seemed to enjoy it and ended up sampling the other pieces. I took some great pictures for her to send to people she didn't like as a note about her newfound skill. The AR-15 was the one I really wanted to try since I had never handled it before. For a semi-automatic, it turned out to be extremely easy to shoot and very accurate. It's a little heavy for my spindly arms so it was easier for me to sit and shoot. I managed to set ablaze a piece of computer equipment, much to the delight of the audience. Who would've thought that making Coke cans dance and knocking empty propane bottles off of their perches would be so entertaining? I'm a buck-toothed simpleton, I am. August 18 2004 Today we're driving Elena out to the desert and putting a 9mm in her hand so she can shoot at some cans, and then we'll do some offroading. It'll be the perfect redneck American experience. Well, maybe a 9mm is a bit refined; a shotgun would be more thematically correct, but we don't have one. I think if she tells her parents about this, they're going to have a cow. She told them about eating corn on the cob and her mom told her not to do it again because only hens did that. And by the way, with regards to the Olympics currently underway, what is up with the all the sparkly pixie dust on the gymnastic girls? Do the judges like the Disco Hooker look? August 17 2004 Elena rode my bike and I rode Pongo today. Pongo was tiring for me to ride because Chris swapped out the handlebars for clip-ons and the position fatigured my upper back. We spent a few hours out in the canyons and had a good time. On the way to dinner tonight, we were stopped at an intersection in the van. Two kids were just barely in the crosswalk but not doing anything. So as soon as I start through, one steps in front of me and says, "Hey! I'm walking here." Oh, I went off. I saw from a mile away he was going to do that to me and that's why I started rolling forward so slowly. Let him get away with that attitude? No way. I rolled down my window and started yelling at him: "HEY, you were standing there and the minute I start to go you start screwing with me!" And so we start getting it into each other, this punk of about 16. But his heart isn't in it as he's walking away as he's yelling at me instead of getting in my face. His buddy says nothing this whole time; I suspect he knows his friend is out of line. My final words to him were "Why don't you try to RELAX?" I think Elena was mortified over in the passenger seat. It probably didn't help that the kids were black and it probably looked like a bad inner-city movie was about to be played out, particularly since the one I was fighting with had a doo-rag, super baggy clothes and did all the exaggerated rap video hand gestures at me. Black, white, yellow or red: a punk is a punk. I'll scream at any asshole in any color of the rainbow. August 16 2004 What American experience could be complete without visiting Costco? She was bowled over by the place; she couldn't believe how cheap everything was, from eye drops to Gatorade to duct tape. With arms held wide open, she declared that she wanted to take everything home. I told her not to buy the duct tape; when we got home I gifted her with brand new rolls in silver and in red. (Racers are in constant need of duct tape.) One medium roll would cost her ten euro, while Costco offered four steroid-enhanced rolls for $12. I think she wants to move here now. August 15 2004 We drove up to Willow Springs today. Chris needed to get some signatures on a petition to allow the dualspark motor into the BOTT middleweight class so we made the 3.5 hour van drive up there with the MH900e (so he could show folks what he planned to race). Being a racer herself, Elena enjoyed being there. August 14 2004 We started the day by each hopping on a bike: me on my Monster, Elena on Pongo, and Chris on his newly acquired MH900e. First, my bike won't start. Battery was dead so we jumped it. Then Chris's bike wouldn't start; the batteries (yes, there are two) were dead. He didn't want to jump them since he knew they were getting long in the tooth and that they might leave him stranded up on Palomar. Rather than call the day a loss, Elena and I take off on the Monsters. A few blocks from home, Pongo bucks and stalls, which results in Elena dropping the bike. By the time I turn around, she's picked up the entire bike on her own. The shift lever is bent in but I tried riding it back home anyways; I end up ascending the super-steep hill in the wrong gear and smoke starts pouring out of the clutch basket. I park the bike and Elena and I return two-up on Pogo. Chris fetches his bike and brings it home. He straightens the shift lever and takes it on a test ride around the block and in spite of me trying to burn the bike down, it seems to be working ok at this point. We decide that rather than not ride at all, I'd ride my bike and Elena would be passenger on Chris's bike. After having the persnickety bike flop over on her, she seemed totally game for the arrangement. In spite of the extremely inauspicious start, the ride went well since no one crashed. We went to Palomar and had planned on going over Mt. Laguna in spite of the chance of rain, but when we got part way up the road we could see the lightning flash against the dark gray clouds. We tucked our tails between our legs and opted to go down by Lake Cuyamaca, but not too long into that route we started getting steadily rained on. Just to make sure that we weren't too comfortable with our current level of discomfort, one of Chris's cylinders started cutting out from the water. I could hear him revving the bike to keep it from dying. After we got down the mountain, the heat dried out our leathers in a jiffy and Pongo was happy to no longer be choking on water. The funniest thing about the trip: Elena getting excited about squirrels running across the road. They don't have them in Italy. Chris said he could hear her squealing with delight everytime they ran by and I can validate her excitement because she pointed at every one of them. August 13 2004 Elena and I crossed the border into Tecate today. There's a reason you don't hear much about Tecate: It's an armpit. When we tried to come back to the U.S. side, Elena got a serious third degree. They didn't like that she hardly spoke English and that her passport only had a New York stamp in it. I can't say I blame them: Why the hell would any tourist go to Tecate, let alone one all the way from Italy? I was trying to smooth the interview and answer some of the questions for Elena, but the official at the window finally told me to shut up, which I did, because I wasn't interested in getting stripped search for no good reason. August 12 2004 I took Elena out to La Jolla today. We met up with a friend who lives near the beach. After having been cut by a sting ray I refuse to return to the water so Elena took a dip on her own while I watched vigilantly from the beach. I am really glad to say that I didn't have to break the news to her parents back in Verona that their daughter met her untimely end thanks to a rip current or a great white shark, although the latter would've made for a somewhat interesting story. August 11 2004 I was sweating a bit last night because I was waiting at the baggage claim area and everybody had come and gone and there was no sign of Elena. For whatever reason, she was the last to show up and claim her luggage. Maybe she tried to go claim her luggage at the gift shop? She was tired from her two-day journey (she slept overnight at Heathrow) so we came back to our house and just relaxed. Her English is a little better than I thought so we're doing ok with rudimentary communication. August 10 2004 Elena arrives this evening. While we all wait patiently, have a look at my favorite flash animation. You may have seen it before; it's set to the song "Bang bang bang" by Group X. If the link is dead, just search on Group X and the title and you'll find it somewhere. While you're there, check out "Schfiftyfive," also set to a Group X song. Peurile and genius at the same time. August 9 2004 My Italian guest, Elena, arrives tomorrow. She's already had problems with the first leg of her flight so I hope all goes well after that, particularly since she's coming to a war zone. How so? Across the street is the house getting an addition and the hammering always starts at 7:00 am. Next to me is a major relandscaping project and the jackhammering has been going on all day; not sure how long that will last. The current level of noise pollution is impressively annoying. I hope I don't snap and take up a sniper position on the roof. August 6 2004 I checked on the bulb today and after cooling down, it just cracked away from the pipe. The pipe is undamaged except for the divet it now sports. Many thanks to those who wrote and advised me on the pipe. I had misidentified it as PVC (Polyvinyl Chloride) when, in fact, it is ABS (Acrylonitrile Butadiene Styrene). Upon doing some research, I learned that it's been standard to replace metal pipes with ABS for plumbing applications. Trivia note: From 1984-90 several ABS manufacturers were using plastic resin which caused the pipes to crack. And what happens when the pipe running up to your second story bathroom cracks? Yep, the teddy bear collection in the room below turns into a sponge collection and your daughter's tears only adds to the moist mayhem. A class action lawsuit was filed and a settlement of around $70 million was approved in California. I also learned that ABS pipe must be heated to over 871�F (465�C) before it will self-ignite. I can at least guarantee you from practical application that the heat generated by one incandescent light bulb is not that hot. And just so I can help you avoid work, if you're at all curious about light bulbs check out this fascinating page from the University of Virginia. And finally, I learned that ABS is much better than PVC if you want to build a cannon to fire potatoes with. Do an internet search on "spud gun" and you'll learn way more than you'll ever need to about turning a potato into a projectile. August 5 2004 I went down in the basement today to look for something and found that a light had been left on since Sunday (Notice I used passive voice to avoid outing Chris). The lightbulb had slipped and ended up coming to rest on a PVC pipe, melting into it. This pipe carries the exhaust gas away from the heater unit. So can any of you smart people out there tell me if this newly created venturi effect in the exhaust system will cause a flow problem with the egressing gasses? I can graft on a straight piece of PVC, but I'd prefer not to do anything if i can get away with it. Lazy? I call is "laborially selective." August 4 2004 If you were wondering if I sat down at 5 pm every afternoon and watched "King of the Hill," wonder no more. I do. I wanted to share some of Hank's insight with you today: "A circus clown is just a carney who's too stupid to flip a switch." If applying lipstick way beyond the boundaries of your lips is a part of your job description, you're probably a clown (or, possibly a female TV evangelist). Clown People, I have an announcement that may not surprise you: John Wayne Gacy did indeed ruin it for all of you. August 3 2004 Got my ass whooped by some death-plague yesterday. Spent most of it face down in bed. I am vertical today, and to celebrate that, let me share with you a quote from Tom Ridge, Secretary of Homeland Securty, when asked if he was worn out by his job: "I am not authorized to be stressed." Likewise, I am not authorized to get sick, but someone forgot to tell the bacteria and viruses all around me about that arrangement. July 31 2004 Chris came home from dinner last night and said, "Let's go dirtbiking!" We'd never done a night dirtbike ride before. Here's a write-up on that event. July 30 2004 Last night while Chris was up at around 2:00 am, a party let out from the renter's house. There were sounds of puking, shouting, and loud bass from someone's car. Chris got dressed and went outside to find another neighbor standing out there who was not happy. By the time they both got out of their pajamas and into their fighting clothes, the culprits were gone. So Chris and the neighbor are going to talk to the renters tomorrow. I think they'll get one more chance before their house is capped. Apparently, only five adult signatures are needed to get a cap. See the July 16, 17 and 19 entries for more on renters. I'm just glad I sleep like a chunk of concrete: dense, gray, heavy, lifeless. If the house ever catches on fire while I'm asleep, I'll get a free cremation. July 29 2004 Chris and I exercised our self-employment rights to not work and went dirtbiking yesterday. Out where we dirtbike, you can always find tons of footprints from illegal immigrants. I always wondered, "Why don't we ever come across one?" Well, I got my question answered yesterday. I was leading on a stretch of pavement when I saw two men bolt across the road. My first thought was "deer!" because of their unsure movements that were not unlike those of Bambi: They emerged from dense brush, saw me coming, hesitated a little, and then decided to race across anyways. They stayed hunched over, like maybe if they kept low to the ground I wouldn't see them out there in the great wide open. They were two black-clad, hat-wearing, backpack-carrying guys who needed to do a better job of listening for vehicle noises before they exposed their positions. My take on illegal immigrants: Being the daughter of one � err, make that two � I would be a flaming hypocrite to have any issues with them. Ultimately, I wish the countries that illegal immigrants wanted to get out of weren't screwed up to begin with. I've been all over Mexico and until you spend quality time in a third world country, it's hard to appreciate why the immigrants so desperately want our below-minimum-wage jobs. Yes, the Mexican government should help their own people but their system is so screwed up that I wouldn't hold my breath waiting for meaningful changes in my lifetime. I could go on and on, but this is just a blog, not a thesis on Political Policies and Their Impact on the Socio-Economic Structures of Third World Countries. I'm just goddamn glad that I'm not ankle deep in mud planting rice right now. No internet in my thatch-roofed hut? Sends chills down my spine. And a hearty congratulation to my late dad for taking a chance and going legal, otherwise we would've been this family (their dog even looks like my dog!). It's too late � ya'll can't ship me back to China: I got me a social security number and an Irish surname now. If that's not enough to stay in good standing, I can also do a flawless Southern accent and am prepared to use it 24/7. July 28 2004 The tattoo fans are chiming in and they say that the addiction has begun. Going into it Chris knew that he wanted another one so we'll see if two turns into twenty-seven. I think he wants HOWDY across his ass, but I told him that maybe he should move away from letters and onto pictures. As for me, I've decided to remain tattoo-free. I'm commitment phobic so I can't do it. You'll point out that I must not be that phobic since I got married, but having divorced once, I know dropping a husband is not all that hard. But removing a tattoo I no longer want? That sounds like a lot of work. July 27 2004 Here's why you marry them young: cuz they do stuff like tattoo your initials on their chest. Chris came to the prudent conclusion that the world revolved around me so he decided to have my initial tattooed on his chest. I told him the good thing about having a Z on his chest is that once I left him he could turn himself sideways and date girls whose names started with N. He was buoyed by my ability to see the positive in the situation, so we ended up at his friend's tattoo business in Imperial Beach. After watching Chris do his share of grimacing, I had to find out how the process felt. You can do an inkless tattoo where you get all the thrill of the needle but none of the permanency of the ink. So I asked Mike to just trace over some existing scars: a series of permanent hashmarks on my arm that I got from a fight with a tree I was chainsawing. Final report: Yeah, it feels like a whole lot of needles stabbing you with a good amount of force. How much you dislike it will really depend on your pain threshold. Mike was a two-time Navy Seal whose first go-around was in Vietnam. He said I'd look good with a bunch of tattoos. I said "Hmmm" because you just don't contradict a guy who has tattoos framing shrapnel scars. July 26 2004 I was watching the Jay Leno show the other night and they had a funny segment where they were at the beach and showed two guys with robes on. You had to guess which one was wearing the Speedo and which one had regular swim trunks on. So they both cast off their robes and the guy wearing the Speedo was plus-sized and had breasts that were at least a healthy size A, maybe pushing B. It just goes to show how arbitrary our social structure is: It's ok to show his ample-enough boobies on TV, but they couldn't do it if he were a woman. It's very interesting to me from an anthropological point of view what we accept in our society, like hairy armpits on a guy vs. a woman. Don't you just want to stand back sometimes and ask, "Who made these rules (and how did I get sucked into following them)?" July 25 2004 I don't know much about Mid-Ohio, but I'm glad I didn't have to go there this weekend to cover the AMA race. Here are some stories why (these are old but good): Kevin Schwantz and his lawless scooter; Suspension service guy gets hassled. Another, more timely reason: Massive communications breakdown. And finally, my most personal reason: I wrote to every single track this year requesting a picture of the circuit to use with our online stories. Every single one responded except for Mid-Ohio despite repeated requests. July 24 2004 News stations think we're stupid. If you watch news on early Saturday morning the news anchor will toss it to the weather or sports person like they're in the studio when quite often their segment was prerecorded the night before. The part that makes me shake my head is when they thank the nowhere-in-studio person. Errrr...I think I've seen that outfit on the weather lady before...like last night! July 22 2004 On July 15 I talked about my plumbing problem. To finish that story, I ended up having a plumber jet wash the sewer pipe. It was basically the equivalent of a blocked artery in need of some angioplasty. Sadly, after much scrubbing and bleaching, my shower did not recover from the staining. I think the main reason for the damage was that I had forgotten to use grout seal after I redid that shower (but I managed to remember with the other shower; go figure). I had to dig out my grout saw and redo the tiled shower floor. So a note to you do-it-yerselfers: Seal the grout unless you're cool with having it turn urine-colored one day. July 21 2004 Today is "Ride to work Wednesday." The AMA web site says, "Each weekday in the United States, more than 80 million cars and light trucks commute on American roads, but only about 200,000 of the more than 6 million registered motorcycles are regularly used for daily transportation." I work at home so I don't commute, but I'm thinking about honoring today by hopping on my bike, doing a few burnouts on the neighbors' lawns and going out on El Cajon Boulevard to wheelie back and forth in the school zone. I want to show solidarity. July 20 2004 Robert Redford was on TV and they used some massive vasoline-on-lens soft focus. I can understand fudging with reality, but soft focus says in all capital letters: THIS PERSON IS OLD AND WE�RE TRYING TO HIDE IT � AND NOT WELL. Hmmm, then again, I've got an idea of how I can look young again. July 19 2004 Here's the story about the drunk punk neighbor: Around 3:00 a.m. one night we're awakened by a loud crash and then some weird squealing. Chris flies out of bed and is outside the house in seconds. I come out and and a few other neighbors are milling about. Chris comes walking back up the street to report that a freshly-parked smashed-up car is in the driveway of the renter's house. One neighbor informs us that someone has crashed into his Honda. The force was strong enough to shove the car partially off his driveway and onto the lawn. Chris informs the neighbor that he knows where the perpetrator is. Seven of us walk down to the house and we're gathered around the car. The garage door is open; looks like somebody was going to move the current car out of the garage and hide the evidence before we all showed up. A college-aged guy eventually comes out of the house and asks us what we're all doing there. We inform him that that car has been involved in an accident. He says we're wrong, that all the tenants have been home all night, and to get the hell off the property or he's calling the cops. We do him one better: We call the cops for him. When San Diego's Finest show up they knock on the door. Nobody would answers. Oh, let me tell you, cops don't like it when you ignore them. One cop starts knocking so hard on the door that he's one knuckle short of breaking the whole door down with his hand. The cop realizes that the tenants aren't about to answer so we all go back to focusing on the perp's mangled car. That squealing? Yep, same as the May 20 subject: When you smash the front of your car and shit starts rubbing on the wheel, it'll sound like an angry pig is lodged under the fender. Finally a couple of guys come out of the house. They continue to deny that any of them had gone anywhere and that the seven of us concerned neighbors willing to stand around in our pajamas in the cold are full of shit. Maybe even more than people not answering their door, cops hate liars. It makes their job that much harder. Things seem under control so we return to our house. About half an hour later a tow truck comes to take the perp's car away. Rather than conceding defeat, the perp and one of his buddies decide they're not going to let the cops take the car. Okay, maybe more than not answering the door and lying, cops hate physical obstruction of justice. What's a cop to do? Hello handcuffs! The two morons are restrained and dragged off. It's a fairytale ending for homeowners in a quiet neighborhood stuck with one house full of stereo-blasting, tire-squealing, drunk-driving, party-hosting fukcnuts. They ended up moving away not too long after this incident. July 18 2004 I have to postpone the bad neighbor story one more day to give you something to ponder: Yesterday Chris and I were driving to Balboa Park. While sitting at a stoplight that's about to turn green for us, a car approaching perpendicular from the left comes to a screeching halt. The car behind that car rear ends it. But wait, there's more. The car in back accelerates once again and hits the car in front a second time. The guy in front gets out of his car and approaches the driver of the second car. He's pointing in a specific direction and yelling at the guy. Obviously, they're having some sort of dispute that started before they arrived at this intersection. The first guy could've made it through the intersection but I think he intentionally slammed on the brakes to catch the other guy out. Then the second guy was so mad I guess he figured since the damage was done he'd just shove the car up the other guy's ass again. Now I ask you, would you ever be so mad you'd do either? I have let things escalate to the point where I've gotten out of my car and had shouting matches (always with guys), but I don't think I'd use my vehicle as a battle instrument. What's the first rule of Fight Club? Correct: You get out of your vehicle before you pummel each other. And, of course, you never, ever talk about your car in the Fight Club. July 17 2004 Much to my surprise, the partiers last night were well behaved. At some point some drinking did go on in the street since there are plastic cups on the ground and a beer bottle in my plant recycling can. However, there's no urine on my garage door and my truck hasn't been hit by one of the drunks leaving, so all's well. I was going to tell you about a previous tenant who had been arrested but I have to save that for tomorrow. Instead, I need to report that at midnight last night we could hear a cop shouting something over his p.a. system. I look down into the canyon and see a kaleidoscope of cop lights. I can hear the cop clearly: "Put your hands on your head. Walk backwards towards me. Stop. Kneel down." While I'm enjoying my own live episode of Cops, the police helicopter flies overhead and the rotor blades drown out the action below. What's a crime junkie to do? That's right, once again Chris and I are forced to hop into the truck and go to the scene of the crime. Just a block away from the episode I documented on May 20, ten cop cars were wedged into the mouth of another no-outlet street. It seems that criminals don't understand that in a canyon-riddled place like San Diego, you will eventually drive into a dead-end street where the cops will gladly separate you from your vehicle. In this case, there was even a sign telling the Lawless Wonders to try another street as that one was Not A Through Street, but the driver apparently ignored it, or maybe he thought it said Not a TOUGH Street. The po-po had two men and one woman in handcuffs. Two were eventually uncuffed and allowed to sit by their van, but one guy, probably the driver, remained in custody. Chris walked up to a policeman in the periphery of the action and asked if there was some evading going on. It turns out that they had indeed tried to flee from SDSU campus officers, who in turn called in for city support, who in turn responded in droves, who in turn sucked the Kelleys out of their house on yet another restless night in America's Finest City. July 16 2004 A couple of sorority-sister-looking types came up to my doorstep yesterday. I and two flaming dogs greeted them. Like good trailer trash I screamed at the dogs to shut their yaps. Nervously, the girls introduced themselves as renters from a couple of houses down and told me that they were going to have a party on Friday (today) at their house and that cars will be parked all over the neighborhood. She said that she'd give me her cell number and if there were any problems I could call her. I told her not to worry, that if there were problems I'd just walk over and deliver my displeasure in person. My only request to her was, "I don't want anybody urinating in my front yard." She giggled and said, "Oh no, no urinating!" Background on partiers: I live near San Diego State University and disturbing-the-peace calls for out-of-control parties is a weekly event in our area. If a house gets more than one disturbing-the-peace call, it can be "capped," which means if the cops have to visit one more time, they can start issuing fines, arresting people, seizing property like stereo equipment, etc. The house where the girls live has been capped, but when different renters were there. Tomorrow I will share with you if I found beer bottles in my hedges, and also the story of a previous resident and how he got his dumb ass dragged off to jail at 3 a.m. July 15 2004 Something's wrong with my sewer pipe because when I wash the dishes in the kitchen, vile waste comes up through the shower drain in the guest bathroom. I can't wait for the 60-year-old iron pipes to give up the ghost and flood my basement with week-old urine, fecal matter, and rotting food. I accidentally knocked the plunger into the nuclear biofunk and I refuse to retrieve it, I am that disgusted. July 14 2004 I finally put up a web page about Daytona. July 13 2004 After a full day of riding yesterday we're home. I'll try to get as much writing done as I can as soon as possible, but it's really humid here in Sandy Eggo and my house has no air conditioning and my mind is not focusing well. Don't get too excited about any stories coming your way; I mostly sat in a press tent or slept in my hotel dealing with a cold I caught the second day I was at Laguna. July 06 2004 Friends, I'm leaving for Laguna Seca today. Stopping in Ojai overnight then we'll finish the trip tomorrow. See some of you there? July 04 2004 Here in Kalifornia, most counties don't allow fireworks. We live in a crispy state just waiting to go up in flames (again). I harken back to when I was a lass in my ancestral homeland of Petaluma; back in the day we were pretty much allowed to light anything we could get our pyromaniacal mitts on. One year I was playing with a sparkler. I liked to throw them in the air and let them flame down to the ground like a meteorite. Well, one errant toss and it landed in the ivy plants growing up the side of a neighbor's house. Oh well, it was gone so I walked away. Minutes later, smoke started creeping out from the side of the neighbor's house. Yup, I lit the dry ivy on fire. Not sure how my dad was alerted to it, but he ran over and put it out with a garden hose. To this day I'm not sure if anybody knew I was the culprit, particularly since I don't remember getting cuffed about the ears. What I remember most about my childhood: Avoiding responsibility whenever possible. It's a trait that suits me quite well in adulthood. July 03 2004 News from nearby La Mesa: "The minister of a small, home-based church was arrested yesterday on charges of inducing sex acts by fraud or force. He is suspected of inducing women to have sex with him to keep the devil at bay, police said." How bargain-basement dumb must you be to fall for the "sex to keep the devil at bay" line? How long must you have been kept in a dark room with only unsweetened Kool Aid to drink in order to believe that? I can see getting suckered into a liberal interpretation of "Love thy neighbor," but that devil line would've had me rolling on the floor. Actually, I take that back...I might've liked the line for its sheer audacity. July 01 2004 If you refer back to June 21, you'll see a pic of a pink house that would never be mistaken for The Center of Visual Moderation & Community Diplomacy. Interestingly, this showed up on the ground in front of the house immediately to the right of the pink house. Could a feud be in the works? There are teens in the pink house and I'll wager anyone a six-pack that one of them did it. June 29 2004 Personal ads fascinate me. I never had the opportunity to post one, to try to sum up my complete personality in a page so that the perfect mate would be drawn to me like a piece of loose clothing to a wood chipper. I enjoy reading them to see how people present themselves. This little featurette made me snort. He's been told he resembles Richard Gere or Keanu Reeves. Try Norman Bates. Mind you, this is not me being harsh on the guy, just realistic. Me? I just found out who my biological parents are. June 27 2004 Why is Sunday on the far left column of the calendar? Monday should be ordained as the start of the week, not Sunday. Saturday and Sundays are popularly viewed as the end of the week, your reward for slaving like a dog during the five days that preceeded it. Monday starts the hell all over again so why not put it at the pointy end of the stick where it belongs? June 26 2004 Quote from an episode of COPS: "Nobody gonna hit my sister unless he married to her!" Beautiful and from the heart. June 25 2004 There was some list on TV about "sexiest anchormen" and Andy Rooney's name was on that list. Whoa, people, people...a reality check here. Andy Rooney? The bull-dog-faced octogenarian with push-brooms for eyebrows? I didn't think it was possible for this world to make any less sense to me. June 24 2004 I'm totally against using fertilizers on my plants. I don't want my plants to grow thick and lush. I have many hedges that require trimming and it's a big pain in the ass and I want them to be stunted and grow only a few millimeters per year. To make cleaning up the trimmings much easier, I have to lay down old shower curtains or bed sheets around the base of them, and that's just the 13 round bushes in the front of the house. My lack of plant-care enthusiasm dictates that I probably should just let the shrubs die and spray paint them green. June 23 2004 On Palomar Mt at Mother's Kitchen there's a sign that tells bikers to park to the left of it so some spots can be left over for cars. I think it's reasonable; they give us a lot of room in the parking lot and we can park many to a stall. So explain to me why people can't or won't acknowledge the sign. I bet these people couldn't even queue up politely to buy a movie ticket. June 22 2004 I bought a new office chair from Ikea yesterday (yeah, after I spent all that time pulling hair out of the old one). It really stinks, but not as bad today as yesterday. It's got that weird "I've been hermetically sealed" synthetic smell to it. I wonder how long it will be before it stops giving me a headache. June 21 2004 Hate your neighbors? Why not choose a house color that says FUKC YA'LL - STARE AT THIS! I am completely in support of the non-traditional, but when I see evidence that Pepto Bismol has gone into the paint trade, and that someone has paid good money to lower their house value by ten grand, I simply must scratch my head (this might not look too striking in the photo; you just have to see it in person to feel the Shock & Awe). June 20 2004 I tested a theory today: I hypothesized that if I pass a sheriff on a rural road going in the other direction, it's ok to resume "sport riding" since logic dictates that they'd be spread out to cover more ground and I wouldn't encounter another one for a while. Well, my theory was wrong. I sped up after passing the black-and-white and a few curves later, while pretending I'm Ruben Xaus with elbows and knees pointing everywhere like tips on a ninja star, another sheriff appears and he's giving me the universal arm flapping sign for SLOW THE HELL DOWN. I don't know why he didn't just flip a u-turn and pull me over; he had me dead to rites. I remain convinced that two things continually keep me out of trouble: a naked sportbike with one big goofy round headlight, and flapping pigtails that signal me as the more harmless of the two genders. I normally don't ride on Sundays, and today absolutely reminded me why. Way too much active law enforcement. That second one wasn't the end of it. Only a few miles later was a third one. Maybe I caught them dispersing from an apple pie break in Julian. And later, when I got near my exit to go home, there were three sportbikers pulled over by two CHP with their helmets off, looking forlorn. Their mistake? Riding sexy, full-fairing 140hp bikes with exotic slanty headlights...and not having pigtails with pretty hairbands in them. June 18 2004 You ever lie about understanding something? I do it all the time. My accountant brother was telling me about his mortgage and said something about "negative amortization" and asked if I knew what it meant. Contrary to fact, I said, "Uh huh." May as well pretend I know and save everyone the hassle. As I've said before: "Never try to teach a pig to sing. You'll waste your time and annoy the pig." I am that pig. June 17 2004 You guys absolutely slay me with your answers: � A fondue pot? � Your George Foreman Health Grill? � Yikes. YOUR hair? Sorry, now I'm too grossed out to play anymore. � Is your hair brush considered office equipment? � Laser printer? I can�t imagine how you could shed that much in any piece of office equipment though. Do you keep it in the bathroom? The most guessed answers: vacuum and paper shredder. The vacuum is truly the most reasonable answer (you know if you've ever had to cut hair out of the rollers), but it's not a piece of office equipment. A paper shredder with that much hair in it meant a tragedy occurred. Ok, so what is all that hair from? An office chair. I always noticed that the rolling action on my chair wasn't that great, but the other day it just quit rolling altogether. I thought maybe the wheels needed a little greasing so I flipped the chair over to find out that the casters were simply locked into place with miles of hair. I had to use an Exacto knife and a set of needlenose pliers to pull out the hair, which was wound in so tight it took like half an hour to extricate it from one wheel (out of five). Did anyone guess? One person: Alex P, and he proceeded to follow up with an email that said "No! I take it back!" and changed his answer to an office fan. I should throw your answer out on that technicality, but the fact that you guessed it at all warrants a pin. As always, thanks to those who participated and I'm sure we'll have another game soon. June 16 2004 Nobody has guessed the hair source. Tell you what, first one to figure it out gets this San Diego Motorcycle Riders pin (I have a bunch of these left over from a defunct local group). It's extremely likely that you have one of these offending hair-hoarding items in your home. Hint: Removing the hair was very difficult and most of it was not from my dog, as I first thought. In fact, most of that hair is from my head. Yep, gross. June 15 2004 Guess what piece of office equipment I pulled all this hair out of? Answer tomorrow. June 14 2004 To follow up on yesterday's quote, here's one from Ruben after testing at Catalunya today: "We were planning to stop anyway when I had a slight �off� in the final set of laps. I lost the front and so we decided to call it a day." Ruben crash? Nooooo! June 13 2004 I love this Ruben Xaus quote from this weekend's race at Catalunya: "Before coming here it was �win� or �hospital�, but now I�m changing my outlook because everyone�s helping me to fight with the best riders in the world." Is he maturing or was that just the heat exhaustion talking? Ruben is not the fiery Spaniard we know and love because he's methodical and calculating. We love him because his testosterone travels straight from his nut sack to his brain and he's always one limbic-system-guided throttle twist away from turning his bike into a gravel toboggan. June 11 2004 The San Diego County Fair (formerly Del Mar Fair) opens this weekend. I ask you: Would you go on a carnival ride put together by people who, instead of going to class in high school, were in the parking lot smoking weed and bending people's car antennas? June 10 2004 This example of photo modification fascinates me. No wonder so many women have body dysmorphic disorder; we fail to remember that talented but horny men with Photoshop set the visual standard for us. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go make an Ipecac milkshake for lunch. (Side note to Paul: I think the woman is taking the cold shower you were asking for.) June 9 2004 A high speed car chase was on the tube yesterday. I won't lie to you: I love watching them. This guy was racing down the shoulder past 5 o'clock traffic, making evasive moves with the smoothness of a veteran eluder. You know what it was like? It was like watching the front-runner in a motorcycle race pass the backmarkers, except in this case the "lead bike" was a sedan with a surfboard strapped on top of it. They eventually spike-stripped him and disabled his car. He then casually jogged down into a ravine and onto a bike path. The police helicopter was on him soon enough. At one point it looked like he was threatening to kill himself, like he had a knife to his own throat. When they finally caught him, he had a paperclip dangling from his neck. Note to people who want suicidal drama: A paperclip � even one unbent with the pointy end sticking into your neck � is guaranteed to fail to evoke sympathy. June 8 2004 People are waiting six hours in line to view Reagan's closed casket. Wo fo? For an open casket I could understand; you get to look at a face covered in way too much foundation and say to yourself, "Hmm, I would've used a different shade." Clearly I lack the neurological mechanism that gives me the ability to feel compassion for dead strangers in boxes under flags. June 7 2004 Sometimes I fancy this a useful blog; maybe I can teach you a little something you didn't know. Read this title and then get ready for today's lesson on etymology: "Mallock to be reunited with Aston Martin Nimrod." I read the word "Nimrod" and I thought it was a joke, like the guy was being reunited with some moron who drives for Aston Martin. But the original meaning of that word is "hunter." Errr, when was the last time you used "nimrod" to mean that? According to the American Heritage dictionary, the informal meaning came about "probably from the phrase 'poor little Nimrod,' used by the cartoon character Bugs Bunny to mock the hapless hunter Elmer Fudd." I'll put a Benji Frank-hunny dollah bill down on the fact that Green Day was not talking about a hunter when they titled their album Nimrod. June 6 2004 Shinya Nakano needs to propagate his DNA. Did you see his unscheduled 190mph get-off at Mugello? He only suffered minor injuries. I saw his head meet the pavement nearly a dozen times. And did you see that reassuring wave he gave while on the stretcher? That one wave of the hand spoke volumes: "Hi Mom, hi Dad, hi Honey...I'm not dead. I know, I know, by all rights I should be really, really fukced up but � funny this � I'm conscious! I'll give you a ringy-ding as soon as they're sure my liver hasn't swapped places with my brain. Kiss kiss! Oh yeah, did anybody feed the dog last night?" I think whatever kids he has can be dropped off the top of a building and they'd probably just bounce and get up. There are some genetically superior bullets loaded in his bio gun. June 5 2004 Lt. Jim Dangle of Reno911! wears the greatest shorts. He and 1980s-era John Stockton (Utah Jazz) should start a "snuggy" clothing line that enhances the male in every man. June 4 2004 I forgot to mention something critical with last night's story: Never wear lace underpants when you ride. Normally I know better than this and wear smooth spandex shorts, but I forgot. After a couple of hours it felt like I was sitting on a cheese grater. Guys, if you want to sample what lace underwear is like, stick a sheet of coarse grit sandpaper under each ass cheek and then go work the canyons for a few hours. June 3 2004 I did a full-moon desert ride last night/this morning. Thanks to the U.S. Naval Observatory, I looked up the moon's transit time and saw that it would be at its peak at midnight so I left here at 9 pm. There's a road called Montezuma Valley that drops down from an altitude of around 4,000 ft to the desert floor. It offers a spectacular view in the daytime, but it's even more special by moonlight. I got to the top and cut the engine and started coasting down with only the silver light illuminating the road. It's an ethereal experience that always makes me feel like I've been dropped onto Mars. <disclaimer> Riding at night without your headlights on is illegal. However, if you're like me and have nine lives, of which six have been completely used up and the remaining three are as expendable as rolls of toilet paper, do this ride at the moon's transit time. Too early or too late and the road will be riddled with very deep shadows, which increases one's chances for "guardrail intimacy." But I'm not telling you to do this, and my future lawyer will also tell the jury I didn't tell you to do this, because I'm just a writer and we only tell stories; it's outside our control if readers attempt to replicate what they read. </disclaimer> The last time I did this ride, I barely made it home. On the trip out I noticed the bike's behavior was just a little off but it wasn't bad enough to warrant investigation. Just as I got home around 1 am, the rear tire had gone totally flat. Seemed I had picked up a nail somewhere earlier and the bike's weird behavior was due to being a little low on air. The scenario of breaking down in B.F. Nowhere late at night, alone, with no cell coverage and shod in cast-like Daytona boots is an interesting one; you can bet I noted every Call Box on my route last night. I also noted that the jackrabbits were darting in front of me more than ever before. I was suspicious that they were being sent out by the Head Vorpal Bunny to take me down so they could exact revenge on a human for all previously-runned-over bunnies. When one is the Lone Biker of the Apocalypse, one can see the hidden agendas of all living creatures. June 2 2004 The world's oldest person at 114 died on Saturday. Here's what her great nephew said about her: "Even when she was over 100 years, every time we took her out to a restaurant, she always liked to have a beer, a small beer, a 7-ounce beer with the food." I've noticed something about obits for the over-100 crowd: They were either into booze and/or stogies or, in contrast, they abstained from all vices. Just once I want to read someone credit getting laid every night for his or her longevity. I would pause for a moment of silence out of respect. June 1 2004 I don't smoke, so is it wrong to try a nicotine patch? Wouldn't that give me a nice rush, like maybe taking too many non-drowsy decongestants? May 30 2004 I rode out to Calexico yesterday. For those of you who know the border area, you're asking yourself, "For the love of God, why?" I was curious. Been a long time since I've been out there and I just like visiting different places, even if it's mostly straight slabbing. Anyhoo, I found a great place to take visiting relatives you dislike. Unlike the main Calexico border crossing, this eastern crossing has far fewer amenities around. Tell that caustic Uncle Bob of yours that ya'll are just hopping over the border to pick up some duty-free tequila and then when you're in Mexicali shove him out the car without a peso to his name. With any luck he'll make it back to San Diego just in time for him to catch his flight home. May 29 2004 The local news stations love to cover any story about the rising fuel costs and there have been reports about how motorcycle sales have gone up because people are looking for fuel efficient transportation. Buying a bike just to save money on gas will end in tears, and you can quote me on that. But if people want to learn the hard way why there's the saying "dress for the crash, not for the ride," then much luck to them. A new manual diesel VW Beetle gets 46 mpg on the freeway � that's better than my Monster! As I've said before, ride because the desire to do it burns in you like a herpes sore, not because you want to save gas. May 28 2004 Chris sent me this Dilbert strip about my life. I did stick in the Monster S4R because after my coffee bath, I would like to go for a ride. Then life would be quite complete. May 27 2004 This is why if your dog isn't rushing in from the backyard you should give him a few more minutes: We let the dogs out to pee last night. After a few minutes Chris calls them in. Lucky is taking his time so Chris yells some more. He finally comes into the bedroom, where I'm lounging, and proceeds to drop a turd from his mouth on the rug. Seems that Chris interrupted him mid-snack. Tonight, Lucky comes in when he's ready; specifically, when he's done chowing down on that heaping pile of excrement. May 26 2004 Here's the scene: You're enjoying a cup of coffee while surfing porn on the computer. You pick up the cup, take a sip, put it down, and repeat the process a bunch of times. Only on one particular sip, a lump passes down your throat. Yeah, that fly that was buzzing around the room? You know it landed in your coffee and was trying to drown when you swigged the dirty bastard. The question now is, do you finish the coffee? Personally, I'd check to see if there were any other floaters and continue. The damage has already been done, hasn't it? May 25 2004 On the stuff we publish online we often code circuit names by using just the first three letters of that track's name. Yes, everytime I use the code for Assen I laugh. I said it before: I'm a simpleton. May 24 2004 Cox Cable has a problem sending email in a timely manner and it's been going on for a week now. I wrote to them today because I was pissed off: "You guys are driving me bonkers. First, you REQUIRE us to use the Cox outgoing SMTP servers and then you can't fix the mail delay problem you're having. If I wanted my messages to get to the recipients a few days later, I'd use snail mail. Thankfully I have AT&T dial up so I can reliably send email without having to resort to web-based mail. What's worse is that the problem has been going on for a while now but your Network Status page says the approximate beginning time for this problem was 5/23. Has this date been getting reset on a daily basis? Or do your fixes last for a few hours and victory is claimed? If I didn't pay $82.18 per month for this privilege of having to use another internet service provider for email, I suppose I'd be less irritated right now." May 23 2004 Today's AMA Superbike race was the second-most stressful race I've endured. Make that third. The first two most stressful races were the ones at Imola when Troy Bayliss lost his title to Colin Edwards. I know they say hair just doesn't turn gray, but I swear those two races about turned me into a skunk. Today's race with Eric in the lead had me pacing and biting my nails and talking out loud about how my feet were sweating profusely. I don't know how racers' wives handle the stress race after race, year after year. I'd have such an ulcer I'd be pissing blood. May 22 2004 Buy my stuff. I'm cleaning out my tragically overcrowded basement today. You want something that I own? Let me know and I'll sell it to you. Except for my motorcycles and my computers, I don't like owning things. I like the idea of being unweighted by possessions, but somehow over the years all this shit ended up in my house. It bothers the not-quite-hippie-but-not-quite-gen-x spirit in me. I don't care if my life has no meaning or purpose; I just don't want all this crap around me while I flounder in existentialism. May 21 2004 Chris has had an "intestinal malfunction" for over a week. He finally went to the doctor and they requested a...um, okay, let's just get it out there, we're all adults...stool sample to which he complained about ("How are you supposed to drop it into that little container?!") but then complied. The test results showed that he has protozoa in his gut, which got there by him ingesting something contaminated. This is good to know because now I can quit treating him like a hypochondriac and actually be nice and supportive during his physically troubled times (like squirting out your weight in water wasn't proof enough that something was amiss). It's very Asian to not to coddle people; if I'm going to spend my time being sympathetic, you better show me test results that prove some microscopic parasite is trying to hijack your DNA. May 20 2004 Cracker peeled open the steel-covered door and ran off. Of course since the door was open Lucky ran off too, so I had two dogs on the loose. Normally, I can start up the Ducati and ride it around and they'll come running home to the rumble, but not this time. After a little while Chris decided to hop on the DRZ400 and ride around to see if he could spot them. A little while after he's been gone I hear jingling outside my front door. Yeah, the fukcers decided they were ready to return. Well, sort of. I went out and saw that they were trotting past our house so I yelled at them to come home. At least they're obedient to verbal commands because they both came right over and ran into the house. I didn't beat them; they wouldn't get it anyways and I'd just bloody my knuckles. Instead, they got a cold bath in the driveway, something I know they don't like. That's not the interesting part of all this. While I'm in the back room pulling out one of a dozen foxtails from between Lucky's toes that he had accumulated in his moment of reckless freedom, I hear this SCREEEEEEEEEECH... SMASH!... SCREEEEEEEEEECH. Seconds later I also hear a siren. Very weird. How can someone respond so quickly to something that just happened? I ask Chris in the next room if he heard the noise and he said no, and he asks if I would care to investigate. What a silly question. We hop in the truck with the dogs and drive towards where we're sure the collision occurred, at a three-way stop sign at the bottom of a steep hill. So we start down the hill and we see to our right this motorhome smashed up against two cars. But that accident didn't seem commensurate with the noise. Hang on...we also see cops and firemen yonder at the suspected stop sign. Very confusing. Were they related? One guy saw us parked and came over and started chatting with us. He said they were sitting there talking to a cop who had come to take their report (the motorhome was unoccupied and its brakes just gave out) when they all heard the violent crash. The cop jumped into his car and went to the scene (hence the siren that was immediate). The chatty guy went on to explain that one driver had plowed into the other and then fled...right into a cul-de-sac! Being the concerned neighborhood citizens that we are, we parked, leashed up the dogs, and walked over to the crime scene to evaluate how this incident would affect our community. Yeah, right. We just wanted to see some dumb bastard get his ass whooped by the cops. There he was, this young guy looking pretty relaxed for having just given someone a trip to the hospital. The front of his truck was smashed, which explained the second screech � his now-bent right wheel was howling from the friction as he was trying to flee. We briefly watched him get a field sobriety test and left before he got handcuffed. I had taken all the pics I needed to share with my loyal blog readers and short of pulling an Uzi out of his boxers and mowing everyone down, I think the excitement had peaked. Today's episode made me think of Chris Rock's excellent video on How To Not Get Your Ass Kicked By The Police. May 19 2004 San Francisco supervisors voted to increase the fine for cars parked across sidewalks. The change was narrowly approved; the supes were forced to choose between favoring the majority of beleagured drivers or the minority of physically challenged sidewalk users. One supe had the greatest line, saying that it was like "picking between your favorite Menendez brother." Sweet. Now having done time in a wheelchair, I can confirm how unhelpful it is to come across a car blocking your path. Then again, the number of people trying to park cars far outstrips the number of physically challenged people who could eventually get around those cars. Then again more people could ride parking-friendly motorcycles and not block sidewalks. Then again not everyone is coordinated enough to ride a motorcycle. Then again not everyone has to choose to live in such a crowded city. Then again... May 18 2004 The threat is on: My counterpart at Ducati.com in Italy may visit me in August because she wants to improve her English. She speaks very little of it and I speak very little Italian. Witness the conversation we tried to have on instant messenger (I was aided by systranet.com and a dictionary). The irregularities in Italian are really frustrating and nothing short of painfully rote memorization will work. Every day when I sit down with my Italian books is another opportunity for me to feel really stoopid. May 17 2004 The neighbor across the street is getting construction work done. I woke up to the sound of a Bobcat clunking about and beeping every time the damn thing was put in reverse. I'm not mad at the Bobcat or the driver, I'm mad at our litigious society because you know some guy got backed over by a Bobcat and then sued the company and now as a result every Bobcat has that ANNOYING beeping every single bloody motherlovin' time it's put into reverse. And when you're working in a small space digging out dirt, you're constantly going to reverse. BEEP BEEP! Clunk clunk! BEEP! Clunk! BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP! Clunk clunk! BEEP! Clunk! BEEP! Clunk! BEEP! Clunk! Ay fukcing chihuaha. How many more days of this? May 16 2004 Let's say you're Miguel Duhamel. You're a respected veteran AMA racer. Wouldn't you demand a better picture than this? And speaking of Duhamel, you will never hear a last name more mangled than his. I have heard all the following pronunciations: do-HAM-ull, DOO-a-mel, do-a-MEL, do-HUH?-mel. I know I've shaken my head at even more variations that I just can't remember right now. Someone told me that he heard Miguel's dad pronounce his own surname as do-HAM-ull, so I'm guessing that Miggy would do it the same way. Although as a possible felon, he might be changing it up for reasons known only to him and his parole officer. May 15 2004 Lots of racing going on this weekend: MotoGP, SBK, AMA and WRC (yes, cages on dirt!). I've been publishing racing news for three years now and that means in all this time, with very few exceptions, I haven't watched a race on TV without knowing the results. When people get upset about their race viewing being spoiled by someone divulging the results on a mailing list, about all I can say is Smoke a Fat One and Relax. Lots of bad things are happening in the world and going ballistic over a spoiled race seems like a proportional miscalculation. Racing is still fun to watch even when you know the results. May 14 2004 "It's Happy Bunny" makes me laugh out loud. Check out the packaging for their mints. I must be a simpleton. May 13 2004 Yesterday was another round of Cracker containment construction. Click here and scroll to the bottom to see the expansion of sheet metal. By the way, thanks to those of you who read this blog and write the occasional response. It humo(u)rs me greatly to get feedback. May 12 2004 So someone robbed a bank over in Clairmont Mesa and the teller dropped an exploding dye packet into the bag of cash. My question is, when that dye packet explodes � and sure enough it did � is the cash permanently stained? Even if it is stained, if I do my best to rinse it out, couldn't I still spend it? If someone looked at me funny I'd just tell them it accidentally got in the laundry with some colored clothes. Are there any bank employees out there who can tell me about dye packets so next time I'll know? May 11 2004 You know why actors are actors? Because they can act. There's a local television commercial for a credit union in which real-life employees only have to look at the camera and they can't even do that without looking like they swallowed live piranhas that are chewing their way through their lower intestines. I have to look away when that commercial comes on; it's easier to look at the Abu Ghraib pictures. May 10 2004 I was doing a little research on Barber Motorsports Park and guess what? The owner, George Barber, is single with no kids. He looks to be around 70. I wonder if he's lonely, I wonder if he has Yellow Fever, and I wonder if he's generous to a fault. If the answer is Yes to all these questions, then I'm on the next flight out to Birmingham with my snuggest halter top, my shortest pair of Daisy Dukes, and my box of Trojans. The Viagra is his responsibility, though. Mr. Barber, I don't need or want your entire fortune; just enough to stock myself up with maybe another half dozen motorcycles: BMW R1200GS, Monster S4R, 125cc race bike...I'll think up another three if you call. May 9 2004 Yesterday's street ride was one of those days you knew you were being tested. Only a few miles from home we ended up behind a truck spraying diesel fuel. Both Chris and I got coated so we pulled off at the first gas station to clean off the oily residue. Traffic also seemed extra bad heading up to Palomar; it could be because today is Mother's Day and everyone got in their ride because of obligations for today. The upside of the ride was that I got to sample my newly reshaped/reupholstered seat, to which I give a thumbs up. When we returned from our ride, Cracker was gone. Yup, escaped again. She left a blood-streaked mess on the sheet metal I recently put on the gate to keep her from chewing it apart. The breech point turned out to be the fence right next to the gate; I will be back at Home Depot shopping for more wood, wire, metal, machine gun tower, etc. to continue the fortress construction. Are we irritated yet? Yes we are. May 8 2004 With the low carb craze off the richter scale, I thought I would try a bagel at Einstein Bros being touted at low carb. Verdict: Nasty! I don't know how to describe it, but it offended my palate so I abandoned it in favor of cinammon raisin. If I have to single-handedly keep the refined sugar and bleached white flour industries in business, I will. May 7 2004 I've lost my motivation. Had my little vacation of motorcycle riding and slumming in a sunny San Francisco apartment and now I just want to ride my bike or surf the Internet. Wait a minute...that's all I do in San Diego anyways. Never mind. May 6 2004 I'm home again. Had a bit of a navigational error returning my rental car and ended up touring much more of Oakland than I needed to. In defense of Oakland, I like the place and would live there, except in the section where the Original Gangstas hang out. I don't think this Chink Bitch wants a cap popped in her ass. (Note to you OGs: If I'm ever staring at you, I ain't mad dogging you. I'm just staring because I can't believe anyone would really want gold caps on their front teeth.) May 5 2004 Took the S4 out again, this time through my former mountain bike stomping grounds of the Marin Headlands. The Marin Headlands is a particularly special place to me since that's where I got the concrete thought in my head that I had to go buy a motorcycle. I wanted two wheels powered by petrol for when my legs were just too trashed to do all that hill climbing. It's also the only place I've ever said to myself, "I want my ashes scattered here." But not the side facing the Golden Gate Bridge; go just around the corner at the top and you get a stunning view towards the Point Bonita lighthouse. That's where I want the leaf blower loaded with my cremains pointed when the On switch is thrown. Although, frankly, since I'll be dead, it doesn't matter if my urn is run over by a Muni bus on Market and Van Ness and then collected up later by a street sweeper. By the way, today, Cinco de Mayo, is not a Mexican independence day. It celebrates one battle where the Mexicans beat the French army in Puebla. Victory was short lived since Louis Napolean, nephew of history's most intriguing short man, was pissed off and opened a can of Whoop Ass on Mexico with a 30k strong military and ended up taking over the country for a few years. History lesson: Never fukc with short men or their relatives. May 4 2004 Went up to Petaluma to help my mom on a few projects around the house. She knows I really like crab so she purchased these sad looking buggers from somewhere. Actually one looks sad; the other looks like it's going over to kick the first one's ass. I told them I was sorry they would have to die soon and end up in my stomach, but that is the Circle of Life. Some day I may end up in a utility sink somewhere waiting to get chopped up and cooked. I hope not, but it's a risk we all take just by being alive. May 3 2004 I rode a Monster S4 in the south peninsula today. A friend took Monday off for his birthday and we had the roads all to ourselves. Randy has a 999R with the side fairings removed and it looked like a tough street-fighter; a half-faired matte black 999 would be extremely sexy. The bike was set up for a 185lb rider; far to stiff for me. I'd be leaned over in a curve, hit a bump, and my outer foot would come off the peg. We pulled off by Alice's Restaurant and made an adjustment to the rear shock and after doing that I at least brought the suspension down a little when I sat on it. That's one thing you guys probably never really pay attention to when you borrow a bike. Unless you or your buddy are really overweight or underweight, I doubt you have to deal with set-up differences that usually run between 60 to 100 lbs. I don't know if I was having a particularly "on" day or if the bike is just that much more capable than my Monster, but I was moving effortlessly through the curves on roads I didn't know. The bike really flowed, going from side to side almost on its own. I told Randy that when he goes to sell it, I'd be interested if he hasn't thoroughly ragged it out by then. Randy has a significant historical place in my life because 16 years ago, he was the one who helped me find my first bike, a Yamaha Radian. I didn't know how to ride at that time so he rode it home for me. This is what happens when you live in SF, have too many bikes, and don't have enough garage space. May 2 2004 The motorcycle police precision team is doing a drill on the track. I wonder how many times they've crashed into each other trying to do their little synchronizing swimming routine on dry land. It's entertaining to watch, but I must say it's a little stressful. It's been a helluva long time since I've been pulled over, but seeing all them ticket-writers is tweaking my blood pressure. May 1 2004 I can't malign the AMA about the seating chart that was created for Fontana. It appears that it's the track press relations that does it. Here at Infineon they don't assign specific seats, but they do assign areas to "flavors" of press. The Team Public Relations are given the least desirable seats along the window. All morning long you're staring at the sun. The first day it's really disconcerting and I tried hiding behind a pillar, but by the second day, I adjusted to the pain of constant glare and my pupils are now capable of constricting to .00015 microns. April 30 2004 You gentle readers know by now I have this thing for coffee. I really like it. And if they told me I had the choice between giving it up or having a heart attack, I'd get my affairs in order and wait for my ticker to explode. In fact, I might tempt fate and fill a pool full of coffee and then swim with my mouth wide open. This love for coffee, for turning my teeth dark yellow, does not mean I'm a coffee snob. I can drink and enjoy all varieties of it, including the burner-overcooked stuff in gas stations. However, today I met my match. Only a few times in my life have I rejected coffee. Whatever they're dispensing from the container here at Infineon is the worst tasting stuff ever. It's straight up sour and I seriously thought to myself, "So this is what it tastes like when some angry employee urinates in the coffee?" One word: Foul. No, make that two words: Foul and Putrid. April 29 2004 I'm at Infineon Raceway right now. So much to write, so little time. For now let me tell you this much: I'm staying at my mom's place in Petaluma and I made her iron my press shirts last night. That after she made dinner for me. I can see why adult children never leave home. April 28 2004 Kobe Bryant sex case: moral of that story – if you're married and you're famous, keep your apparatus to yourself because you know nothing good will come from letting strangers pet Junior. Use your wife. Use your hand. Use your dog. Use anything but a stranger. April 27 2004 I can't call Lucky "Hollywood" anymore. He went nutz again today and was ramming himself into various things so I took him to the vet. After a couple of x-rays, it was clear how advanced his arthritis was. There's also a bone spur in his neck that probably randomly presses on a nerve, which is causing his eXtrEme hYsTeria. Up till today he had a "regular" life of long walks and jogs. Well, the vet has formally put the kibosh on that. As of this moment he is Officially Decrepit and will start on doggy drugs for arthritis and will get short walks only. The problem with Lucky is that his mind tells him Young but his body tells him Old. Christ, he sounds like his mom. April 26 2004 At the tender age of 13.5, my collie has decided to become a drama queen. This morning I heard a blood-curlding AAAAAIIIII! come from another room. It's Lucky. He limps over to me and I check his paw. He has a pointy weed in it, same kind he always gets trapped between his toes, but has never felt the need to respond to before with eXtrEme hYsTeria. Fast forward to a few hours later: I've washed the dogs and I'm sitting on the floor combing Lucky. He starts screaming and waving his arm around like it's on fire (I wasn't even touching it) and after doing the Dance of the Lame he just plows into me like being on top of me will make it better. I check his feet again and I find nothing. I think he's being overtaken by a second personality named Hollywood and I fear Hollywood will be making more frequent visits. If he keeps up that madman howling, I'm going to have the vet amputate that leg. In fact, I'll have both his front legs amputated. Then I can build a special push-cart for his front end and I can sit at Balboa Park collecting dead presidents in an upturned hat because everyone will feel sorry for him as he slowly scoots back and forth on the promenade. April 25 2004 I went to the zoo yesterday. You should've seen the parents drag their kids off when this happened. Their mass exodus gave me the opportunity to move up close and get the great action shots. April 24 2004 Last night we went to dinner in Hillcrest. We walk by this skinny guy with no shirt. He mumbles something at us as we walk by but we pay him no mind because the world is filled with people who are not invited to speak their minds but do anyways. So we walk over to Pongo (we rode two-up) and turn around to see that the shirtless guy is walking over to us. I go on alert; I mentally prepare myself for a fight. The guy comes right up to us on the other side of Pongo. I assess the situation: He's got LOVE tattoed on the right side of his chest and HATE tattooed on the other side. He's skinny like he does meth. He's fidgety. Chris says "What's up?" but the guy doesn't say a word; he just jerks his hands around in some private sign language. I do not appreciate him invading my space (he's directly across from me) and I say, anger only moderately in check, "DO WE HAVE A PROBLEM HERE?" He steps backwards and starts walking sideways away from us with his hand up, kung fu style. I'm not done with him. I yell, "WHAT'S YOU'RE PROBLEM?" as I watch him and the ass crack sticking out of his low-slung jeans move on. (Chris disagrees with me on my comment; he claims I said something like "YOU WANT TO START SOMETHING?" He recalls a highly confrontational statement.) I reckon the real question is, "What's MY problem?" People get killed all the time for no good reason and I should never pull out my pointy stick and start poking at things. But this is my problem: As a female, and particularly being Asian, I have been a constant target of uninvited harassment. Just the other day I was walking my dogs and a van with college guys drove by and the passenger is hanging out his window yelling something at me. I listen to my MP3 player when I walk so I have no idea what he was yelling. However, not to be outdone, I mimic him by animatedly yelling BLAH BLAH BLAH! while his traveling mates stare at me blankly. If any of you guys think I have a screw loose just consider this: How many of you would put up with your wife, girlfriend, sister or mom getting harassed by a stranger? Methinks unless you don't like them much, you wouldn't stand for it. I make a stand because if I can get an asshole to back down, maybe he'll think twice about confronting some other innocent bystander, particularly a woman. I have no idea if it works, but it makes me feel better. April 23 2004 California necrophiliacs rejoice! Excerpt from a news story published yesterday: Mahdi Allah, 48, was allegedly discovered by an employee Saturday morning in the basement of the Hogan, Sullivan and Bianco funeral home on Ninth Avenue, passed out drunk, with his pants down, on top of the cadaver. But that apparently is not a crime in California. According to Assistant District Attorney Adrian Ivancevich, who is prosecuting the case, there are no laws in California that specifically address necrophilia. It takes a very special person to want to bugger a corpse, shitfaced or sober. Maybe, just barely, I could sort of understand if the corpse was a dead beauty queen, but it was an elderly lady, fercrissakes. If I were a guy, even a living elderly lady would not make my unit expand, let alone a dead one. April 22 2004 Today is Earth Day and it just goes to show you how people need to make events out of every last bleedin' thing. Do we really need a specially designated day to understand that you shouldn't pour your motor oil down the storm drain, or that burying nuclear waste in ziplock baggies by your neighbor's property line is uncool? Secretary's Day. Arbor Day. Flag Day. International Feng Shui Awareness Day. Do we need these? In the US of Z, only one event would be observed: National Workplace Napping Day. I believe sleep deprivation is the root of all evil and with enough sleep handed out to enough people, the world's problems would auto-magically be fixed. April 20 2004 English as a second language. I love it. A photographer took pics at Imola and here's his propaganda on how one can acquire a picture of him or herself on the track. April 19 2004 I'm only 2.5 years late, but I finally got the chance to see Band of Brothers, which they're showing on the History channel. The last episode of the ten-hour series is tonight, and I gotta say it's a phenomenal body of work. The most poignant part of the series to me was when one guy admitted to staying in a trench because he was scared. A hardass said to him, "You know why you stayed there?" The other guy says, "Because I was scared?" The hardass said, "No, because you have hope; you have hope you'll leave here alive. The sooner you realize you're dead, the sooner you can get on with being a soldier and killing the enemy." If I were on the receiving end of this explanation would I a) Continue to have hope and just wet my pants frequently, b) See the light and become a machine of destruction, or c) Go completely mental, and I do mean the kind where I try to dig a foxhole with my teeth because I can't figure out how to use my hands any more. April 18 2004 Quite by accident Chris came across a listing for the World Rally Car series on Speed. I wasn't paying attention so I missed the first three rallies of the season, but now I've made a note of the rest of them. What's odd to me is that I don't care about auto racing at all but WRC fascinates me to no end. Anybody else out there who's not cage oriented but gets a woody over WRC? Maybe you can explain to me why this is. Is it the capriciousness of the terrain and the sheer cliff drop-offs? And can someone tell me how the co-driver notes all the turns? I know they pre-run the routes: Does the co-driver just tediously note every road characteristic? Is there a fine art to this procedure? April 17 2004 Second MotoGP qualifying at Welkom.Troy finished 21st, ahead of only Fabrizio on the WCM. That got me thinking, would you rather finish the season number 1 in SBK or, say, never get higher than fourth in MotoGP? MotoGP is the premiere class, it's the ultimate nod to any racer's career, but would you trade that for being first in a "lesser" class? I know you readers are out there. (Poll results here.) April 15 2004 What else am I going to talk about today except for taxes? Congratulations to all getting refunds. We of the self-employed nation despise tax time because that's when we come face to face with the 15% bludgeoning on income, and whatever else we get monetarily bitch-slapped with all at once. The bill is always a shock, even though we pay estimated taxes throughout the year. I know the government needs money to run the country, but I need money to buy motorcycles and coffee. At the end of the day, who do you think I'm going to care about, the government or me? Welcome to the United States of Zina. In my country, no one pays taxes, but the trade-off is that it's a tad bit of a free-for-all. Hope your larder is stocked and the AR-15 has ammo because in the US of Z, survival favors the very smart or the very lucky. You pick which one you want to be. I'm picking lucky because smart sounds like too much work. April 14 2004 I went to the nearby Kmart yesterday to buy some miscellaneous items (Am I supposed to call it The Big K? Like no one will notice it's still just Kmart?). One was a jar of Noxema. This KMart is not in a fabulous socioeconomic area and to illustrate that fact, they have to keep the facial cleaners under lock and key. So to buy a bottle of face goop that costs under $4 required that I asked a salesperson to open the case. If locking up prophylactics and face cleansers are not enough to flag a downtrodden Kmart, how about this final insult: There were pigeons hanging out on the Big K sign even though they specifically used those anti-pigeon spikes. The pigeons just roosted inside the perimeter of the pointy things. I'm no engineer, but any half-wit could see that design flaw from a million miles away. April 13 2004 If your name is Richard, why would you ever use the nickname "Dick"? Ok, Dick didn't start out being slang for a pecker a few decades ago, so I can understand why the WWII generation is ok with Dick. But if I were under 40, I would insist on being called Richard, Rich, Richie, Rick, Ricardo, Rico...anything but Dick. If my name were Penelope, I sure wouldn't let my coworkers call me PeePee. April 12 2004 Why people annoy me: Reason 8,901: Chris and I were in our truck behind this woman. We're on an offramp going about 45 through a curve. At this point in time, she chooses to adjust the rearview mirror right at her face and look at herself. She proceeds to multiple apex this very easy curve about five times while gazing at herself. What is so hard about paying attention to the road when you're in the car? Why do so few people treat driving with any respect? I was just reading today about a nurse who was on trial for DUI in which she hit another guy head on and messed him up pretty good. The irony is that she was on her way home from celebrating having saved someone else's life. Her defense wants leniency for her because she has done so much good in her life. You know what? I believe that one very bad and wrong act negates the good a person may have done. Her blood alcohol was over double the legal limit. She's fighting her conviction and the 240 days in jail she got. I tell you what, if that was Chris she crippled for life, whose hopes and dreams she destroyed, I'd be more than glad to beat the shit out of her both before and after she got out of jail. April 11 2004 It's Easter Sunday. Read about the "resurrection" project that I did today. April 10 2004 Today, we have a guest blog entry from Chris. It's a write-up he did yesterday, which explains why we were supposed to ride together, but I ended up going solo. Guys, let this be a cautionary tale to you the next time you're at the gas pump... I just installed new Pilot 'Power' tires as well as some Cycle Cat clip-ons onto Pongo and was looking forward to getting out to a good ride today. I had an odd feeling going into the ride, but I attributed this to the fact that so much work was done and I needed to ensure all systems were ok. Like how Pongo got new brake lines, the bars were changed, so throttle and cables was changed. That kind of thing. Plus there are the new tires. Rolling out of the neighborhood, everything seemed ok, so we headed to the gas station. I thought the pump was acting up a little. I didn't remember having to hold back the stubby vapor shrouds in order to pump here, but I get it figured out soon enough. So I'm pumping along and think 'Huh, this sure is more gas than it should be taking.' Then I feel splash of cold liquid in my lap. 'Fuuuuck!' I've overfilled. Massively. Big-time stupid rookie error. Gas everywhere. When the burn started in, I realized I needed to get home in a hurry. I announced to Zina that I needed her to follow me home to let me in. At this point, I didn't realize she still needed gas, hung up the pump and hauled butt outta there. 2.6 miles never seemed so long! By the time I pulled onto the main street from gas station, it felt like an iron was pressed against my manhood. I managed to perfectly catch the first two stop lights. Now I'm howling in pain near the top of my lungs. Unfortunately, I am too distracted to appreciate the forward weight bias of the new riding position while going over our favorite turn/overpass. Nor do I remember that my tires are brand new. I kept some semblance of safety margin as I scream through the turn and howl up the hill exceeding the speed limit by at least 30 mph. The next light turns perfectly in time for me and there are thankfully no cars in my way. I'm home quickly and pull off my helmet and gloves and have the top of my one piece leather suit off and the garden hose into my crotch. Standing behind my van, I pull my privates out for inspection and they're red. RED RED. And hurting. Zina shows up about a minute later and opens garage door. I run inside and strip so as to get into shower and get the benzene off my groin flesh. Zina comes in, sees the situation 'Bye, I'm going on my ride.' I take a shower, get the immediate pain off my organ, then put my undies and tee shirt into a bucket of soapy water, and go out to assess Pongo. He's still dripping gas from the over flow, so I pop his QD gas fitting and drain fuel into a can. Once about a gallon is out, I hose off the bike then blow dry with compressed air. Now, I take my stinky gas soaked leathers and really hose out the groin area then hang up on the trailer to dry out. An hour later and other than the wet leathers, I'm pretty much back to my starting point. :P It's beautiful out, so I want to ride, but have no idea where Zina is to try and meet up. Oh well. maybe I'll write some checks and ride about town in this beautiful afternoon. :) That was my 5.6 mile ride. April 9 2004 You know which group of people age the worst? Professional athletes. Anybody seen the commercial for some medication with John Elway in it? He looks like he's 50. I couldn't believe I was looking at that once all-American boy who was hurling footballs on national TV oh-so-recently. Just about every time I've seen an athlete a few years post-retirement I'm shocked. It's as if they do everything extra fast: lose their hair, put on weight, get wrinkly and saggy. Take Larry Bird. He was never a traditional loin-moistening specimen in his prime, but he had an outstanding aura of vigor. After he retired, it's like someone waved the You're Now Officially Physically Unraveled wand over him. Is it a lifetime of having to stay in peak physical form that makes retiring such a pivotal moment? Is it like dieting all your life and then ten gallons of ice cream gets dumped in your lap and someone says, "Live it up"? April 8 2004 Condoleezza Rice is getting grilled today about Nine Eleven. Let me tell you something about my politics: I am a Republocrat, aka a Demublican. I believe in elements of both parties. I don't like the inflexible thinking of party hardliners. To me it's like saying "I eat meat, but only beef and never, ever chicken." About Dr. Rice: She's good, I mean really good. She is getting her ass pretty well grilled and she's unflappable. But she's not greasy. I'm sure she's being vague about certain things, but she's doing it in such a way that she doesn't seem evasive. If I were in her shoes, a few times I would've said, "You know, what part of the English coming out of my mouth don't you get, Commissioner?" She just smiles, maybe shakes her head, and says something like, "If you'll give me a chance to answer that..." and just forges on. Actually, I take back what I'd say to the Commissioner; I would've skipped the words and just jumped the desk, grabbed me a handful of white hair, and WWF'd his face into the table. One guy asked her what we need to do to make the part of the Muslim community that hates us like us. Kind of a big, amorphous question, isn't it? Why not just ask for the recipe to world peace? To paraphrase her answer: "I don't know. But whatever the answer is, it will be a long process because if you look back at our own constitution, the phrase about 'All men are created equal' did not include ME." I see me a fast thinker. I would've been daydreaming about riding Palomar and said, "I dunno. Anybody know the horoscope for Scorpio today?" April 7 2004 I was in the Ducati Austin trailer with Eric at Fontana. I knew Ben had lived in Petaluma so I assumed Eric did too. I asked him if he did and he said yes. He said he graduated from Petaluma High School and I said I did too. He said that maybe we had some of the same teachers. I asked him what year he graduated and he said 94. I told him I doubted we shared the same teacher since I graduated in 19-bloody-81. Eric was a little surprised. He said he didn't think I was that old. I told him: "Cut me in half and count the rings...I am from the old growth forest, buddy." He smiled and said it must be "that Asian thing." I told him that I did feel a little sorry for "you white folks" since our physical decrepitude wasn't quite as obvious. Eric, like Ben, is a genuinely nice guy. April 6 2004 Congratulations to Shell Oil for receiving The Slowest Email Response For A Corporation Award. I wrote to them on February 22 asking why Shell Advance oil isn't available for bikes in the US and I got a response on April 5 saying that they're considering making it available in the future. All that time to formulate a vague response? Maybe they need to shock the monkeys in the customer service department every now and then so they work faster. I think this bleary-eyed bugger was the one who wrote back to me. April 5 2004 A decade ago Kurt Cobain whacked himself. I will say that Nirvana's "Nevermind" album is one of the few albums I can listen to all the way through so I've always been in their camp. But here's an article about the Nirvana hype that's pretty harsh but very funny. I must disagree about STP, as "Interstate Love Song" is one of my all-time favorites and while I can't completely bond with the latest Foo Fighter album, I wouldn't define their work as "generic toss." April 4 2004 Chris said that Animal Control woke him up today. He said someone lodged a "food and water" complaint against us. Hah! Our dogs not only get food and water, but the old one gets a glucosamine tablet with his dinner. If that's neglect more dogs should be neglected that way. Chris showed the Animal Control woman our accommodations and she seemed impressed with our good parenting skills. Never mind the fact that Cracker did this to our gate while I was in Italy. She gets really weird when I'm gone and does things like dismantle gates with her mouth. Turns out that the Animal Control officer went to the wrong house so it seems our dogs were not the ones in question. April 3 2004 Well here I am at Fontucky (Fontana + Kentucky = Fontucky). As with Daytona, it wasn't really good from the start. I went up to the credentials window and showed them my media card and asked if I could get a parking pass. The answer was that they didn't have any more. You know what? Fukc the AMA. I didn't even argue, not after the hairpuller that was Daytona. I'm tired of anything that has to do with them. If I weren't concerned about my legal rights as a rider, I'd quit that organization. I got into the press room and noticed that all the seats were reserved. I looked for Ducati and what did I find? Nothing for Ducati. Imagine my surprise. Did I say fukc the AMA? Here's the seating chart. Don't you want to know who had the killer sense of humor and parked Dunlop and Michelin right next to each other? If they're not careful, someone's gonna get a valve stem shoved into the jugular before the weekend's done especially since there's only one phone line for every four seats. April 1 2004 I made it home. Yesterday was a total loss. I got up to publish some Jerez test news and then fell asleep for the rest of the day. I feel like the blood has been drained out of me. Tomorrow I have to go to Fontana for the AMA weekend. I am in need of a long rest. I'm so tired I can't even think of anything funny to say, so I'll pass on Hank Hill's commentary on ballpark nachos and their effect on intestines: "You don't buy them...you only rent them." March 30 2004 I left Italy with mixed feelings today. I'm glad to be going home, but I'm also going to miss the place I have grown to love. My Italian seems to be taking shape and with renewed effort at studying, I think I can have a decent conversation next time I'm there. The flight from Bologna to Amsterdam was uncomplicated. When I got to Amsterdam I did a little work, which helped kill some time. As I had fully expected, the 8-hour leg from Amsterdam to Minneapolis sucked. My meatless ass had to be shifted around a lot as soreness always dogs me during any sedentary event. When the drink cart came around I went straight for the wine. My plan was to render myself unconscious for as much of the trip as possible. As I drained the bottle of cheap chardonnay on an empty stomach my lips soon grew numb and that blessed high came over me. I closed my eyes and was out for a couple of hours. When we finally arrived in Minneapolis we all jumped up ready to get the hell out of our prison. But they wouldn't let us off. We waited. And waited. I looked out the window and saw that the airport police had pulled up. They had a guy in custody and patted him down before they threw him into the back of the car. Only then did they let us off the plane. I later found out that the passenger had been belligerent (over what, who knows) and the staff actually gave him a warning card (which he allegedly threw back in their faces). I guess that's like getting a yellow card in soccer. He must've kept it up during the flight since they decided to give him the metaphorical red card in the form of the po-po dragging his ass off to jail. So here I lay now on the floor at the Minneapolis airport with my laptop on my stomach, tired beyond all belief since it's like 5:00 a.m. for me now. March 29 2004 We spent the weekend working in the office because we needed to publish the SBK race news from Phillip Island and the MotoGP test from Catalunya. The work week pretty much started with us leaving Imola at 6:00 a.m. for Bologna and then leaving the office around 7:00 p.m. Painfully long days. On Saturday I was so tired I brought a pillow from the hotel so I could put my head down on the desk and sleep. Seemed to work well as I was interrupted from my deep slumber by DJ shouting, "Zina, Superpole is on now!" (Imagine Superpole televised on U.S. television. When that happens, I'm going to put on my thermals and my knit cap as hell has frozen over.) March 28 2004 I went to the store again last night, the one where the female cashiers have moustaches and because of this facial flaw take it out on the customers (look, I have one too but I tweeze mine and as a result treat people better). I wanted to spend some time in the cheese section as I was dumbfounded by the selection the first time I went there. I have never seen so many white cheeses that all looked identical and probably, within their particular genre, tasted exactly the same to the uninformed American palette. Unfortunately I showed up just before the 9:00 closing time and didn't get a chance to stand slackjawed over the refrigeration cases. They shut off half the lights in the store, which is the universal sign for "Feel free to get the f#ck out of our establishment." I grabbed a bag of M&Ms and headed to the checkout stand. I was behind a woman who didn't seem to have quite enough money to buy all her groceries. The cashier was really put out by this. She drummed her fingers, sighed heavily, and rolled her eyes. I was delighted to see that the employees didn't just dislike foreigners; they hate everyone. The cashier gave me a glance and I could see in her eyes, "Greeeat...this one's going to try to hand me some yens." In fact, when it was my turn I gave her my coins and was quickly my way. However, I must admit to not being so smart at another store earlier in the day: the cashier said the amount so quickly that I couldn't interpret it ("CinqueOttentaDicimoNoveSeiDiciBlahBlahBlah"???) and just dumped a handful of change on the counter and let her count it. She was nice though and smiled when returning me the excess. Perhaps she could tell I was not there to conquer her country, rape her men-folk or purloin her cattle so she was cool with me. March 27 2004 What I've learned in my European visits is that "bidet" is French for "drinking fountain." Being youngish and agile, I've got no problems reaching the spigot for a drink, but I'm not sure about other people so I left a plastic cup in reach in case any physically inflexible guests stop by my hotel room. March 26 2004 Working in an office this past week has been hard. You have to understand that I haven't reported into an office since I got laid off by The World's Largest Media Conglomerate. When you stick someone with loner tendencies into a commune-type office environment, someone ends up with a headache, and you get zero guesses on who that would be. The desk I was seated at faces someone else's desk and there's no partition between the two so I feel like someone's staring at me all day even though I know she's just looking at her monitor. And the desk is near the front door so people walk back and forth all day long. It's way too much sensory input for someone who works alone all day and has grown to operate only in that environment. I moved myself to a far corner of the office with fewer people and far less traffic. The saving grace from total sensory overload is that the people are speaking in Italian so I can't be irritated by some conversation about doing shots of J�germeister all night and then throwing up in a speeding Alfa Romeo after leaving the discoteca. March 25 2004 I rode Imola on a 999 yesterday. Bitch all you want about the looks (I happen to like it myself), but that bike handles like a facking dream. It wasn't even set up for my weight and it flowed through the corners like it was on rails, and it was easier to turn than my two-fiddy two stroke. I had my share of overly hard braking, overly enthusiastic downshifting, and overly whacky throttle control and that bike almost acted like it had a "stupidity override" feature. I would love one for a track bike. With regards to Imola, it was a stonkin' good time. It's a beautiful track with fun terrain changes. I had ridden the 999 at Misano and that track wasn't as engaging; maybe I'm just not as entertained by flat, featureless tracks. I'll eventually get around to writing more about this day. March 24 2004 I went to a grocery store on my own. Of course the cashier said, "Blah blah blah blah" to me and I just shrugged my shoulders at her. She gave me that "you foreign dork" shake of the head and rang my stuff up. I didn't really mind. Being in another country is one interesting and ongoing cultural experiment. March 23 2004 When you hear "Borgo Panigale," what do you think of? For you Ducatisti, of course you think of the "famous" street on which the Italian marque is located. When I hear "Borgo Panigale" I think of "Porno Panigale" because that street is lined with Working Girls. What I've learned is that there are some very attractive girls from Eastern Bloc countries who are willing to earn money the very old fashioned way. I took this picture of a couple of girls on a ciggy break. I think you can tell by the second panel that at least one of them doesn't much appreciate being a part of someone's journalistic endeavor. In this picture, an old Italian gent is wondering whether or not he'll get turned down because he's still packing lires instead of euros. March 22 2004 My boss got a dirtbike recently and he rented a van so he could transport it there. I went along just in case I had to drive him back should he have snapped both legs while negotiating the holy terror of a track that was carved into the hillside. Doesn't look step? You really had to be there to appreciate its severity. I wanted to ride it, but the steep drop in a couple of spots put me off. I'm very accustomed to having Chris pick me up after I crash my enduro; I don't know if anyone here would've stopped to help me as they all seemed very serious. How else do you describe a rider who gasses it hard when presented with airy oblivion beneath him? March 21 2004 Being a Californian and having no accent, I enjoy goofing on my British boss who not only "sounds funny," but mangles some words outstandingly. Take for instance, "everything." He pronounces it "everythink." Did I miss the alphabet bus while in school cuz I don't see a "k" on the end of that word. But the time for me to be a smartass about who says things incorrectly is over since I recently learned what an enunciating trauma I turned out to be. I was telling an anecdote to my boss's Italian wife about a turtle and she turns to him blankly, not understanding what I'm talking about. Mind you, this woman is fluent in English. I say "turtle" a few times a little surprised that it wasn't in her vocabulary. He says to her, "tur-tle, not tur-dull." Ha! I was snorting over this one. The self-proclaimed accent-free speaker was in fact not contributing to the neutrality of the spoken work. Next time you see me, ask me to say "little" if you want to hear more about where the letter "d" does not belong. March 20 2004 Italian coffee drinking in the mornings is in big contrast to the states. They stand at a bar and suck down a tiny shot of pure adrenaline from a vessel so small you can barely see it. We Americans order huge vats of it in disposable cups so we can keep the "IV drip" going for a good while. I've been unable to start my day with my usual 16 ounces; the biggest thing I can get is a cafe americano: they hand you a cup of espresso and some hot water you can add to it. Big whoop. I look at it and think, "How about repeating this five times for me?" The other day at a cafe I ordered two at once because the first one would be gone in three seconds and I was too desperate to wait for the second one to be made. I truly kid you not when I say I could've had five of them. My bladder is big and my will is strong. I am a corn-fed American and these little quantities are just killing me. Another thing is that they don't drink coffee at the work desk. When the workers want coffee, they walk over to the espresso machine (which happens to be by the crapper at Ducati.com), slug one down, use the conveniently located facilities if necessary, and then return to their desks. March 19 2004 Sheesh. 4:30 a.m. and I'm updating my blog because my internal clock is screwed up at the moment and I've got nothing better to do. I thought I had handled the time transition without a problem, but about an hour ago I woke up for no good reason and couldn't go back to sleep. You don't know how weird this is for a semi-narcoleptic who could sleep inverted in a trash can. I went on a walk this evening around Imola. Last time I was here and walking around I had this middle-aged guy pull over and start into the "Hey baby" routine and he wanted me to get into his car. I told him in English I had no idea what he was saying, offered a pleasant good-bye and then went on walking. He continued to follow me in his car even though I'd turn down random streets. One minute I'd lose him, next minute he'd show up next to me again. After a while he seemed to get a bit more insistent: more crisp with how he pointed down at the passenger seat and more curt in his tone. I had to get creative with the ducking down of side streets but I eventually lost him. When I got back to my hotel I checked the back of my shirt to see if someone wrote ABDUCT ME in Italian, but I saw no such thing. Fast forward to today and I had yet another middle-aged man drive by me, hit his brakes, put it into reverse and then pull up beside me. I'm not wearing silver hip boots or a fishnet halter top. I'm wearing geek white sneakers, not-tight blue jeans, and a white tshirt. Nothing about these items suggest, "Rent me by the hour!" But it was the same thing all over again, except this one didn't follow me around. Is it wrong to ask why I get the middle-aged pervs and not the cute young ones which I totally wouldn't mind being pervs? I guess I don't really want to know the answer, do I? I'll hear something about "age appropriateness" and it'll just ruin my day. March 18 2004 I almost missed my connecting flight in Minneapolis due to a long fog delay in San Diego, but I eventually got to Italy as arranged and, much to my amazement, so did my luggage. I'm at the Ducati.com offices today. Check out this excellent flower holder on my co-worker's desk. Guys, my co-worker is cute, races, and is recently single. The big drawback for you American cowboys? She only speaks Italian. Hmmmm...or is that a benefit? March 16 2004 I'm getting on a plane in a few hours to go to Italy. If you hear about a Northwest plane nosediving into the Atlantic ocean, check with Chris to see if there will be any more future blog entries. March 15 2004 Does anybody else out there have gray hairs coming in on only one side of his or her head? The right side of my head is going gray while the left side thinks it's 15. It would be very interesting to have one side of my head go completely gray; it might look very yin-yang. Nobody has called me "Miss" in a long time so I'm not sure there's much point in dying it. March 13 2004 A tragedy occurred this week. They quit showing an hour of Cops on Fox in the 4:00 p.m. time slot. I used to make my second cup of coffee of the day and put Cops on in the background as I worked. I'm in the fourth stage of grieving right now at Despair and Depression. The fifth and final stage is Acceptance, but I need to find something to replace Cops at 4:00 before I can get there. March 12 2004 I got a visit by two Mormon boys yesterday who wanted to share with me the relationship I could have with God. I told them that the conversation wouldn't go very far since I believed in a woman's right to chose. The bespectacled one of the two, and certainly the more dour looking, told me he didn't understand what I was saying. "Really?" I ask him, not believing his confusion for a second. "You must be kidding. You really have no idea what I'm saying?" He asked me to elaborate. I said: Abortion. He said, without a misstep, that that decision was between me and God and that Mormons did not have a policy on it. "Really?" I asked again. He said it's allowed in the case of rape, incest, and where the mother's life was in jeopardy. And I said, "But outside of those reasons, are you going to tell me it's still ok?" He said again that it was between me and God. I told him that I don't know much about Mormons, but that didn't sound right to me. The other teen chimed in and said, "That doesn't sound right to me either." I finally said, "Look, I don't know if there is a God. Maybe there is and maybe there isn't and if the way I think ends up with me burning in hell, well, that's the way it goes. But I appreciate your efforts and good luck to ya'll." March 11 2004 I'm a bit tired of all the low carb hoopla. If you want to lose weight, eat reasonably and get some exercise. How unfortunate is an ad that suggests that this hot bod needs some fat trimmed off it? Shame on the beauty propaganda machine that sets a standard most normal people will never approximate. If you're a protein maniac, be sure to do some research on kidney problems and osteoporosis before you continue a lifelong routine of turkey omelets for breakfast, chicken sandwiches for lunch, bbq'd cow parts for dinner, and fish puddings for dessert. Mind you, I am no vegan. My dad was a butcher and I was raised to appreciate a fine cut of moo. But unless you have a medical condition like diabetes or high blood pressure, just say no to restrictive diets. Dieting is a sure way to get fixated on food. Be smarter about what you eat and get out there for walks. Take it from a former overweight person. March 10 2004 Ok friends, I'm finally back. I don't have a Daytona story done yet and even when I do have it done, I might have to reserve it for publication after I leave this industry. I have some very unkind things to say about a couple of the non-Ducati entities I've had to deal with. I plan to behave until I'm off to my next version of life and can discuss things freely. In lieu of sharing the Daytona excitement, I'll give you something almost as good: I came home to a hive of bees living in my house. Chris had told me that while I was in Daytona, he had seen a swarm of bees outside the kitchen window so he called in a bee removal guy. The bee guy took care of that and all seemed well until I got home and noticed that they had taken up residence in another location. The bee guy came back and said things didn't look good. He had to cut a hole into the structure to see how much real estate the buggers had claimed. So he did and much to my journalistic delight but homeowner chagrin, they had a series of honeycombs built, indicating they had been around for a month or so. I'm all for trying to get my readers a good story so I hung around taking pictures while the bee man in his bee suit was angering the bees with his rooting around. About killer bees: Yes, they're here in San Diego, and what they've done is crossbreed with the docile European honey bees to create a version of semi-pissed-off miscreants, which were the very ones now squatting in our enclosed patio addition. A few of them dive bombed me, but none stung me. Having always wanted to be an adventure reporter, I was interested in having them come after me so I could describe to you what it was like to be stung 200 times and not see out of my swollen face for three days, but it wasn't to be. The bee man dropped the honeycombs down and I picked one up for study: they are structurally beautiful; amazing, really. Beeswax is just that; the honeycombs were as waxy as a candle. There was a decent amount of honey on them. As I was sniffing at it, the bee man said, "You can go ahead and suck on it if you want." Now, I haven't had a matter-of-fact offer like that since I was single. I told the bee man it was just too creepy and that I'd prefer to sniff. This week I get to patch the hole. I hope they're gone. Next time I'll save myself the money and just reach for the aerosol can and a lighter. March 3 2004 I'm at Daytona working. Trying to get my press credential sorted out was a full time task today. The AMA doesn't control who has access to the press room; Daytona does. And Daytona does not deem press officers for manufacturers as "real press"; only media like magazines or internet sites are allowed into the inner sanctum. They told me I could go back to my hotel and send my information from there if I needed a phone line. This policy is the NASCAR policy, which makes sense because there are so many media people they need certain rules for limited space. They won't bend the rules for non-NASCAR events so there's currently an underutilized press room. I was told to go to different locations on opposite sides of the track and it was a sweaty, tiring nightmare. I finally explained to a Ducati honcho my problem and he took me over to the credentials office where the Daytona guy lectured me about the policy but let me have a pass if I kept a low profile. My current life's goal is to never return to Daytona. March 1 2004 Gas prices have jumped and as usual San Diego has the highest prices in the nation, on average 20 cents more than LA. I'd be upset about it but a) I don't commute and b) You oughta see how bad things are in Haiti, which makes high gas prices seem like a luxury. Still, gas price gouging is not very nice and if you're an indignant San Diegan, I would recommend supporting the consumer watchdog agency UCAN. They provide a lot of extremely useful info; the anti-telemarketer script almost makes me want to talk to them bastards (time is money for them and they don't want to have to answer your non-income-generating questions). Feb 29 2004 I lost my wedding ring yesterday. Here's how the story goes: In spite of having a $1,500 cyclone fence built to contain Cracker, she still found a place to escape so I had to deal with a few of the potential security breaches. Somewhere in the backyard the ring just slipped off my finger while I was working on the fencing (more like netting for a driving range; if she jumps at it, she'll get wrapped up like a dolphin in a tuna net). So losing the ring was all Cracker's fault. It was a thin gold band with a design that looked like cubism-meets-tribal art; uneven edges, small stamped shapes, angled lines. I wore it for ten years and now it's gone. Warning to you: If you have a unique ring you like, remember to take a picture of it. Chris, knowing that I was a bit down over my loss, headed straight into the garage, and proceeded to machine a wedding band out of a bar of titanium. I polished the final product with Semichrome and now I feel like I'm wearing a piece of a high-end exhaust system on my finger. Very nice. Feb 27 2004 Guys must be smarter than women. You know why? Because they're always taking reading materials into the loo with them, and when you read you learn, and when you learn you get smarter. Sure, it might just be the sports section from the newspaper, but there are words in it, some bigger than others. Feb 25 2004 I've been watching the Jayson Williams (ex-NBA player) manslaughter trial on Court TV. After seeing his eyes look very glazed over, I thought about how much trouble I'd be if I were a defendant. Back in the good old days of college, I often nodded off in class and that didn't stop when I got a real job and sat in meetings. Of course, I'd pretend I was looking down at my notebook or PDA or do something else fake whereby I could avert my closed eyes. Given the stuffy nature of a courtroom with its hours of dull testimony, I think I'd just say, "Look, take me to jail now. I'm innocent, but by virtue of the fact that I'm going to fall asleep in the courtroom I'm going to look really guilty." Feb 24 2004 I towed a car for the first time on Sunday. I was in the lead car, our van, and Chris was in the disabled car, a truck. It's a bit of a fine art. The lead driver can't do anything sudden since the rear vehicle is effectively tailgating in a wicked way. Chris was blind; all he could see was the ass end of our van. We used walkie-talkies so we could communicate, which was really helpful since it was pouring down rain and the drivers on the freeway were extra spooky. When we got to our destination, Chris had to get shin deep in water to push the truck while I tried to steer it into its parking spot. Due to deafening heavy rains I couldn't hear his instructions properly and tried to steer it into the wrong space. Chris flung open the driver's door and both pushed and steered the truck himself. I just sat there mute because he was so pissed off. That's the good thing about being older and wiser; he could be as frothy as he wanted and I didn't take it personally as long as he didn't lay a finger on me in anger. Should that have happened, there's some decades old stagnant kung fu training that would have been recalled in the spirit of history's greatest whoop-ass Chinaman, Bruce Lee. Feb 22 2004 The rains have been heavy. We're trying to make up for being behind on five inches of seasonal rainfall in the next few days. To vehicles on the road, this means for the upcoming work week we will be required to run into each other because, as a county that gets only an annual rainfall of 10 inches per year, we feel compelled to huddle our cars together out of fear. Sometimes that huddling involves a rollover and the jaws of life. Feb 20 2004 Fellow countrymen of the Attention Deficit Nation, listen up! Oh, I guess you can't since you've got ADD and you're already distracted by tonight's dinner. Or how dry erase markers work differently from regular markers. Or how a Multistrada vs. a BMW R1200GS comparo would play out. I think most people struggle with paying attention on some level, but man, if you've got a sizeable case of ADD, it's a bit hellish. I'd much rather have ADD than most other disorders, but let's face it, it's no fun. It's like a mental room in which you really need to sit down, but there are ten inch barbs covering every inch of the floor. Where do you sit? You don't. You keep your steel-bottomed boots on and you clomp around until you're tired and want to sit down. Then maybe you sit down, but in short order the pricking gets to you and you're up, aimlessly clomping around again. What I really need are voices in my head that tell me what to do and when to do it. I think that would take care of the wishy-washy ADD thought process. Feb 17 2004 Yesterday I went to Starbucks to get some coffee. I picked up a bag of espresso roast and put it on the counter and asked that it be ground for a cone filter. The girl said, "But you know this is espresso roast." Yes I know. "Are you sure?" As sure as I've been drinking coffee for longer than you've been alive, honey. Now where is it written in The New Coffee Testament that espresso roast beans must be espresso ground? What if I just want to stick it in the one-cup cone filter I use every morning of my life and pour hot water over it? Just because I drive a Ford Pinto doesn't mean I can't buy 92 octance gas, you know? God forbid I ask a barista which blend goes best with Coffee-mate. Feb 16 2004 It's President's Day. I would like to use my favorite colloquialism to sum up my emotions towards this holiday: Whatever. I'll celebrate you if your face is on a currency in my pocket. Otherwise, have a nice day. Feb 15 2004 The problem with working at home is that you spend so much time alone you start doing stuff like belching out loud. Who's going to hear, right? Well, I'm waiting for the big miscue when I'm in public and let one go full song like I'm at home. Feb 14 2004 It's Valentine's Day and the Kelley's gift to each other was taking a ride to the mountains. Last night the weatherman said it might rain, but they've been off so much that we just ignored it as another sure misprognostication. So while we're up at Mother's Kitchen eating our pancakes, stuff starts floating all around. What the...snowflakes?! We finish up quickly and hope to get off the mountain before things get bad. Sure enough, we get down before it gets bad, but then we ride into something much worse a few miles later: a cold rain. This is when I learn the hard way that the waterproof jacket I have is, by jove, not waterproof at all. Pity, as it's getting increasingly miserable as the miles go by. If you're not a motorcyclist, you may have never experienced the special sensation in which your hands are so cold it feels like ten hammers are pounding on each digit. You can't tuck your hands into your pockets; you can't rub them together; you just have to keep your wet throbbing mitts pointed straight into the windchill machine. At one of the stoplights Chris flips up his visor and announces with annoyance, "There's water running down my crack!" I just shake my head with defeat as I know we have almost another hour of getting bitch-slapped before we're dry docked. The salt in the wound? As soon as we approach home, we see blue skies. And then it stayed bright blue the rest of the day. Moto penance? Methinks so. Just when we're getting sinfully smug about our year-round mountain riding, Mother Nature laces up her army boot and then proceeds to plant it up our soft asses. Well, neither of us crashed in spite of some squirting around, so we accept our lesson in humility. (See snow falling; one concerned rider in background; two cold Monsters in foreground. Hysterical San Diegan is intent on documenting the horrors of nature for the world to see.) Feb 13 2004 Friday the 13th. Here's how you test if you're superstitious or not: Would you take your $15,000 motorcycle to a track day today and ride it like you meant it? If you said "yes," then you're either not superstitious or you are in fact superstitious but happen to have a lot of disposable income. Feb 12 2004 It's Chris's birthday today and I got him a very sexy and personal gift: a paper shredder. It's sexy because it confetti cuts and also eats paperclips. It's personal because in many places on the box there are the letters C and K, which happen to be his initials. Chris, if you're reading this, Happy Birthday and good job on downing those 40 ounces o' beer at dinner. Feb 11 2004 What is up with Asians squatting? Is it because in the Old World there's no furniture and the backs of your legs are all the chair you'll ever get? I've never been to China so I've never hung around flocks of squatters, but I am a hardcore squatter in the finest tradition of the Guangdong province, permanently sunbaked peasants. If I can spread a project all over the floor and squat to work on it, that's how it'll get done. Not sure what I'll do when my knees are totally shot; probably knee reconstruction so I can go right back to my immigrant ways. Feb 10 2004 Thanks to Tom S. for sending this response: "Regarding your Feb 9th entry, smoe usivtrniey a wihle bcak did a sdtuy wrhee tehy fonud taht eevn tghuoh msot of the lrttees in a wrod culod be sblamcred, if the fsrit and lsat ltreets of the wrod wree meaaiinntd, yuor biarn cluod slitl eislay inidifety the wrod scine it deos not raed one lteter at a tmie but tekas tehm in gupors. Tihs copecnt deos not seem to enetxd vrey wlel to derpopd wrods in sneetcnes." Tom, you're right, dropping words sentences doesn't good. Tomorrow I back normal writing. Feb 9 2004 It's only February and look how long this page is getting. Maybe I should do an entry every few days instead. Or cut out every third word so it's shorter and more intriguing to read: Do you this would interesting? It is spy novel. Adjectives too many space wasted. Feb 8 2004 We took a short moto ride today so Chris could check out his new instrument cluster. We normally avoid Sunday rides. Too many sight-seeing drivers and way too many cops looking to pop squids. We came around a curve on Highway 94 about ten over the speed limit and a CHP just happened to be going the other way. He immediately pulls over and tries to do a u-turn, but there are too many cars in his way and he's in a dangerous spot so he gives up. Ten over is chump change on a country road so I'm sure he had a woody for bikers. There's a chance that after his initial response to catch us kicked in, he saw that the second rider had pigtails � sign of a girl. Now here's where sexism totally plays in my favor as I think it gets me off the hook for moving violations on the bike. I've been caught dead to rites a few times by the CHP, but I'm thinking that with my pigtails happily flapping in the wind combined with the perception that girls on bikes are non-aggressive, the cops let me go on my merry way. They want to catch Biker Boyz with attitudes, not silly girls with learner permits. My hypothesis could be wrong, but the one time I was actually pulled over for crossing a double-yellow, the cop seemed surprised at my gender and he let me go with only a gentle lecture. As added insurance, before I get on the bike I always put on lipstick just in case the helmet comes off for Officer Hatesbikerboyz. Feb 7 2004 More on dogs. When I went to the pound to get my first dog I walked by numerous kennels with dogs jumping against the fence begging me to pick them. I came across one kennel in which a dog, a lovely long-haired collie mix, was all the way in the back of his narrow pen, staring at me and shaking like he had swallowed a jackhammer. That did it. I had to take him home and help him overcome the tyranny of fear imposed by mysterious circumstances. It took years for him to get over a variety of neuroses and phobias. Now, he's a mostly well-adjusted lad whose main problem – to his owners, as he doesn't care – is excessive gas of a putrid nature. Matches are always nearby, and they are struck regularly throughout the day. I try not to be too irritated about it since he's 84. When I'm an octogenarian, I hope bad gas is my only problem. The best story I have about being a naive new owner concerns a tick I found on his belly. I heard that you could put some nail polish on it and the tick would start to suffocate and back out of the flesh. So I coated it with said product and waited. Nothing. Ok, so I went on to tweezers and did my best to pinch it off at the base and pull it out. Tug, tug, tug. Harder, harder, harder. Nothing. My dog is wriggling. He wants me to stop. After lack of progress convinced me to do a more thorough investigation, I realized there was another tick just across from it. Oops. That wasn't a tick. I had been trying to pull off one of his nipples. Apologies all around! Feb 6 2004 My dog is bad. She did this yesterday while we were out. Yeah, that's her looking guilty in the background. She will lick everything in sight, but it's a little unusual for her to undertake a destroy mission. Upon encountering the damage, my desire to violently discipline her was barely containable, but knowing somehow that the SPCA would hear about me twirling her around by her collar like she was on a carnival ride, I simply lectured her with The Voice of Death. I don't know how effective it was, but she was shaking and I didn't even lay a hand on her. Feb 5 2004 While I don't wish too hard for this, there are times when I see the merits of returning to the 1950s and being a simple housewife so I don't have to do or know jack crap about the family finances; my job would be just to have the cocktails and the canapes ready at 5:15 for Ward Cleaver to return home from a hard day's work of whatever he does out in The Big World. As the household's more financially robust resident and, as such, its bookkeeper, I have to deal with a lot of financial egress in the form of check writing. I'm sure as it is with all of you out there, it seems like I'm constantly paying bills for crap like insurance, mortgage, utilities, blah blah blah. I hate bills. And I hate tax season, too. I just received my tax worksheet from my accountant in which I have to enter info for the past year. Since I have to provide information for two self-employed people, it's a nightmare. Schedule C alone makes me want express my angst by climbing up onto a very high building and shoving large appliances off just so I can hear the monstrous crash below. Feb 4 2004 Six inches are gone. I was just fed up with my hair yesterday and hacked it off. It's still long, however; still yet another six inches past my shoulder. If you've never had long hair, you can't appreciate what a hassle it is. When you wash it, it spends the first half hour just dripping down your back. I have a small towel by my desk so while I'm working in the morning I can wring my hair out. Blow drying takes too long, especially when your hair is inching towards your ass crack. Two things helped seal the amputation deal: 1. When I picked up dog crap from the ground, my hair was long enough to fall on it, and 2. It was in frequent danger of being set on fire when I was taste-testing items at the stove. I have moments where I want to go to a hairstylist and get something visually interesting done to my hair, but reality always sets in: When you ride a motorcycle, your hair style is Helmet Head. Feb 3 2004 Chris dropped a new motor into Pongo this weekend and we went on a ride over to Mt. Soledad in La Jolla. For the first time ever, I could ride behind Pongo without sniffing burning dinosaur. For those of you who haven't spent hours behind a bike with major engine deficiencies of the leaky oil sort, you haven't experienced life in olfactory hell. Last year on our ride to Laguna, we rode up over Big Bear and dropped down into the desert (trust me, it was a navigation error). The temp was probably pushing 110 degrees and the painful temperature combined with an endless stream of half-burned oil had me nauseated almost beyond repair. When the veil of stupidity finally lifted from me, I took the lead from Chris. Anyways, back to Pongo...he also has a new set of Skorpion oval pipes and they sound much beefier than my Staintunes. The bike might look like a scabby glue horse, but it's got the heart of a stallion now. Feb 2 2004 They've been dragging Punxsutawney Phil out of his hole for 118 years and he* has seen his shadow for 104 of them, which means no early spring. That means throughout Groundhog's Day history there's been an 88% determination that winter would slog on for the six weeks it was supposed to. There's a saying that goes, "Never try to teach a pig to sing. You'll waste your time and annoy the pig." So why annoy the groundhog? Take a hard look at his chubby little rodent face: He really doesn't look like he's enjoying being manhandled by a guy in a tophat. Some of the people in the audience were even booing at the prognostication. What groundhog, who is already struggling with self-esteem issues in some regions where he's called a "whistle pig," deserves such negativity? Not fair, not fair. * It's doubtful that one groundhog has been alive for all 118 years. I'm going to step out on a limb and assume that, like Morris the Cat, a few versions have been enlisted for the role of Mr. Phil. Feb 1 2004 For those of you boys who envied your sisters as they played with their dolls, I have something for you. Jan 31 2004 The monster truck show is at Qualcomm Stadium this weekend. They expect to draw 50,000 people. Has anyone out there gone to a monster truck show? And if so, can you tell me what the fascination is? Deep in my heart I'm a gun-toting redneck myself, but I don't see what's so interesting about vehicles with cartoony balloon tires driving over stuff. Now, if they weren't allowed to wear seatbelts and the driver might get ejected when the truck rolled, that could be interesting. What is more magnetic of a draw than potential death? It forces us to look deep within ourselves and deal with the issue of mortality and why we're here. Yep, monster trucks could be the next vanguard in awakening existentialism in the Wal-Mart shopping masses. Jan 30 2004 Nearby National City also had a prostitution sweep last night, with the same draconian move of taking people's cars. The interesting thing is that of the eight men who were busted, the news said that seven were married. That means they had a real live human pincushion available at home, but for whatever reason it was unsatisfactory. Now that's quite unfortunate when you have such a dismal conjugal relationship that you have to spend your lunch money on a third party. And guys, do you really know your friends? It doesn't matter if the car the john was in is registered to him or not; it's taken, end of story. Imagine not only dealing with your significant other, but also telling your buddy or your company or your rental car agency that the vehicle went bye-bye. I think prostitution should be legalized. I might need an extra job opportunity some day when this writing thing falls apart. Jan 29 2004 The neighboring city of El Cajon recently enacted a law in which if you're busted for soliciting a prostitute, your car gets taken, and I don't just mean impounded. The city owns it and maybe they'll let you buy it back for bluebook value. Imagine explaining to your wife that the city took the family wagon cuz you were trying to get your freak on with a "professional." Between the risks of getting busted and/or getting a virus that will make your unit turn yellow and drop off like an autumn leaf, I'm not sure why guys turn to prostitutes. Anyone who's seen American Pie knows there are safe alternatives. Jan 28 2004 Here in San Diego we're way behind on the seasonal rainfall average. My question is: Does it matter? We import almost all our water from up north and from the Colorado river. In fact, every time I flush my toilet, another Northern Californian hears voices in his head to secede. Sure the local lakes gets low and aquatic recreation is affected, but we live in a desert region and if watersports is what makes one's loins tingle, then there are lots of other places to live, and as a bonus it's probably cheaper and has less congestion. The weather people talk about how high the fire danger is every single year. If it's a drought year then it's dangerous because it's been so dry. If it's a really wet year it's dangerous because there will be extra growth to fuel fires. This seems to be a no-win situation. Jan 26 2004 When you send mail to a foreign country, how are those countries compensated for carrying your piece of mail to its final destination? Is it just the originating country that gets the money for the postage? And if this is the case, how bitter are you if you're the institution delivering some Yankee Imperialist Pig's package to an ice hut on the northernmost Siberian border? Jan 24 2004 Do you love the smell of coffee when you walk into a place like [insert your favorite coffee institution here because I know some people hate Starbucks]? Along the same vein of beef-flavored gum (see Jan 4), why doesn't anybody make a coffee-scented air spray? I'd love for my house to smell like freshly brewed coffee all the time. Who made up the smells that go into ambiguous products like Mountain Meadow, Tropical Sea Breeze, and Spring Shower? If you sold me an aerosol can that had COFFEE stamped on the side I'd know exactly what I was getting and I'd buy it. If it didn't burn too much I might even point it right up my nose and push the nozzle (see Jan 6 to understand my relationship with coffee.) Jan 23 2004 If you ride a motorcycle, you probably know about Bill Janklow. He resigned as congressman of South Dakota after he was found guilty of second-degree manslaughter for running a stop sign and killing a motorcyclist. His sentence is 100 days in jail and he's likely to get work release priveleges after serving 30 days. To compensate for what is an absurdly lenient sentence, I hope he shares a prison cell with an angry bi-curious biker named Tiny whose name is, in fact, an unbelievably gross misnomer. Jan 22 2004 Few wives are lucky enough to have husbands who still bring home surprise gifts after six years of legal conjoinification. I just received a special treasure from Chris, who could never be accused of suffering from conventional thought where romantic overtures are concerned. Well-endowed mint, anyone? Jan 21 2004 Whenever I'm down, I always think about people who have it worse than me. Obviously, political prisoners strapped down on surgical tables top my list, but there are also the formerly high-flying, like Martha Stewart. Her company is (was) worth a billion, and she gets busted on a quarter million dollar stock transaction that yields her a feeble $40k. That's probably her home floral bill for the month. Whether or not that stop-loss order was true doesn't matter. The damage has been done. Damn the Domestic Enhancement Empire; if I were her I'd just want to keep myself out of the pokey. The girls in cell block A-6 might enjoy her insight on how a gray 10x10 room could be made more festive with magazine clippings artfully framed by beads of toothpaste, but then again they might just wait for nightfall and fill a pillowcase full of tampons and hairbrushes and pound her with it. Whenever you're blue, just think of who you're not and smile. Jan 20 2004 As you may have read elsewhere on this site, I'm working towards building a polygamist colony in which I have a stable of gents. As a part of my efforts, my hair is almost down to my waist, as it seems that most polygamists' wives have hair that hasn't been cut since Starsky and Hutch played pool with Huggy Bear. Although I'll be the Interviewer and not the Interviewee, I still thought it would be nice to have some Utah thematical accuracy and let my hair keep growing. The bad thing about long hair it is that it gets caught in a lot of stuff. I can't even sit against a chair without it getting trapped behind my back, which limits my ability to stare down at my lap, which I frequently do to check that my pants are still on. More on the roster of guys I want in my colony later. Jan 19 2004 After many years of trying, Nani Roma won Dakar. You know what I like about Nani? His real name is "Joan," and that's pronounced "Juan." So you know what? My middle name in Spain makes me a "Zina Juan Kelley" and the inner alpha male in me loves it. Jan 18 2004 I had a dream last night that Jimmy Fallon (Saturday Night Live) and I were robbing a convenience store. He'd get a little money from the store and come out. Then he'd go back in and demand more. Finally, I got tired of the piece-meal approach and walked in and cleaned the register tray out myself. I need a mental health professional to help me sort out some of these dreams. The repetitive dream I hate the most is the one where I'm on a motorcycle and I crack the throttle and nothing happens so I have to start pedalling. If that isn't some subconscious sign of emotional impotency, I'll eat my hat. Jan 15 2004 There's a house about a half mile away that was the scene of a SWAT standoff in which the guy who held the cops off for a while eventually killed himself in one of the rooms. We walked by it the other day and noticed that it had been redone and someone was living there now. My questions are: 1) How big of a mark down to you get on a blood-stained house, and 2) What should you do when it's 3:00 a.m. and the ghost of the dead man is hovering over your bed demanding that you make him a cheese sandwich, pronto... Jan 14 2004 At the start of every year the Dakar Rally takes place. I appreciate the road racer's ability to suspend (or totally ignore) fear, but the enduro racers in Dakar have my deepest admiration. You're racing balls-out on nasty terrain hoping you go in the right direction and hopefully not over any landmines or through hostile areas, and on some stages the top factory riders can finish in eight hours while the privateers drag in after twenty. If you've ever been lost in a large wilderness area, you know the sinking feeling of wondering when you'll ever find your way out. I don't think any of that core-penetrating despair happens at places like Laguna Seca, especially if you're within sight of the chicken teriyaki stand. Imagine if you will: It's pitch black, you're up to your kneecaps in powdery sand, something's wrong with your fuel delivery system, you fell earlier and your shoulder is painfully seizing up, and there's some animal out there making a really weird noise that sounds like "I love white meat." Jan 13 2004 I was watching the Forsyte Saga on Masterpiece Theatre and something dawned on me: I'm watching a glorified soap opera. It's "As the World Turns" in turn-of-the-century garb with charming accents. Bottom line is it's a drama that contains infidelity, financial ruin, death, people with shocked/angry/terse looks on their faces, etc. So much for feeling smugly highbrow about my viewing choices. There is obviously a romantically stifled and highly disenchanted housewife in me and the only way I can live is through thinly veiled soaps. Self-revelation is a cruel, cruel thing. Jan 12 2004 If you haven't caught the latest excitement from an avowed Ducati-hater, go here. Jan 9 2004 Last night I heard a bunch of sirens. This is not so unusual when you live a few blocks off of El Cajon and the motel nearest to you has been threatened with closure due to drugs and prostitution. But then a fire truck came rolling into our cul-de-sac obviously lost and I knew there was some outstanding action somewhere in the 'hood. So I told Chris we needed to walk the dogs and find out what was going on. What was going on was that two blocks away some dumbass had 100 pot plants growing in his or her house and the lights used to help the plants realize their financial and/or medicinal worthiness set the house on fire. My advice: If you're gonna be an indoor farmer with thousands of watts cranking away in the form of hot, hot incandescent lights, you better have the bathtub filled with water and a bunch of buckets ready. Jan 8 2004 My brother the CPA created a financial spreadsheet for me to help me understand what money I should have saved for when I'm old. He said to me, "Let's say you live till you're 90..." 90? I was horrified at the thought. I don't want to live that long. I don't want to be feeble with the nurse at the Old Folks' Home slapping me around and scalding me during the sponge bath because her husband's been cheating on her and her son has been expelled from school for drug dealing. When I'm unable to care for myself, I'm going to get a one-way ticket to Florida, smear myself with peanut butter, and then walk into the Everglades. Gators like peanut butter, don't they? Jan 6 2004 Chris has been knocked on his ass by the flu. Odds are very high I'll get it and right now I feel like I'm waiting for the firing squad to show up and put me down. He was puking so hard the other night it sounded like a mob movie was being filmed in the bathroom and he was the protagonist getting the shit beat out of him. Chris did point out that I love to sleep and that being smote down by the flu would offer a heavenly stint in bed for me. With that, I cannot argue. Sleep is one of the four basic food groups, right along with coffee, sugar and more coffee. Jan 4 2004 You like steak? Chicken? Ever wonder why there's no meat-flavored gum? I was recently chewing slowly on a rare steak and marvelling at the flavor. Then I thought about chewing gum that was steak flavored so I could enjoy the flavor for an hour or two. Why not? Makes as much sense as watermelon-flavored gum. Jan 3 2004 This isn't like finding out one fine day you were adopted, but it's close: my middle name isn't what I thought it was. At Christmas dinner my sister-in-law asked me what it was. I said, "Joan." My mom interjects with great animation, "No, it's Joanne!" Well, it's spelled J-o-a-n and I always pronounced it the way that "No Wire Hangers" Joan Crawford did. My mom insists it's pronounced "jo-anne." About all I could say was, "Look, not my fault if you immigrants can't spell." She's not too happy no one backed her up on the pronunciation; she's probably as traumatized as I am. Jan 1 2004 Big local sports news to start the new year: Padres signed David Wells, a 40 year old nearing the end of his career who has a 3 million dollar salary. Had I ever wanted kids, and had I ever had a boy, I would've forced him into organized sports in anticipation of him becoming a phenom and getting into one of the Holy Triads of American sports: basketball, football or baseball. Mama wants skybox seats so she can watch her son mint money right before her eyes. Thanks to the talent dilution brought about by expansion teams, all a kid needs is an arm that works. And, yes, if he wanted to play soccer I would've beaten him with a jock strap until he came to his senses. About professional sports: How does one garner loyalty for a team when players are constantly traded? I used to have the capacity to cheer on my local teams but for some reason that stopped a while back. Maybe as I got older I shifted to a predisposition for attachments to specific players and not to the greater entity that is the team. Don't Raiders fans think it's weird to have Jerry Rice there, and do the Niner fans see him as less shiny than before? And didn't Magic fans feel betrayed when Shaq left? And here's the kicker for fans familiar with the SF-LA rivalry: Orel Hershiser, who bled Dodger blue for so long, as a Giants pitcher? Maybe I look at team sports a little too much like relationships where one lover eventually abandons another. It's just a bunch of flippin' games with insane quanitities of money involved, after all. |
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