Tired

Corey Pein recommended me to write Land of the Blind when he left for the gloomier, but arguably greener pastures of Portland, Oregon. And when he did, man was I flattered. I mean, Corey's the man...before he's done he'll have a Pulitzer or two in his backpack (cause I'm pretty sure they don't have mantels at whatever youth hostels he's staying at). Now, I'm starting to think he either doesn't like me very much or is just kind of a sick bastard that finds some pleasure in inflicting misery on his friends.

Because this column is becoming a burden of Atlasian proportions.

OK, it's not that bad, but I'm in a hyperbolic mood today, so humor me. I should have seen the signs, though. Before he left, when he was still writing the column, he told me more than once that he hated it. I thought he was kidding, because, c'mon...a forum where you get to screw with the media establishment, and weekly at that?

Well, it sounded pretty awesome.

Corey never elaborated on why he hated writing it, and I never asked him. Mainly because I was afraid he was serious. I told myself that he was just overburdened, and needed to have some of the weight lifted. Nine months later, I know he hated it. Here's the thing. It was pretty cool, at least at first. Especially for an ordinary person with bare minimum qualifications (i knew that journalism minor would pay off some day). It was fun, taking the best of the worst Augusta Chronicle columns and shredding them to pieces. What no one told me was there was this reputation that went along with it. And while Joan Jett may not care about her bad reputation, turns out I kind of care about mine.

Lately, I've taken a whipping at the hands of the folks all over town. I've been called "sanctimonious" and "negative" by people who've never met me. And, normally, that wouldn't bother me a lick. Get to know me, and I might change your mind. But what does get me is when people who *do* know me tell me that what I write doesn't reflect the person I am. That may be a subtle distinction, but man. It hurts a little; it tells me I'm not being true to who I really am.

I mean, I know I've got this sarcastic streak, but I swear I try to use it in a good-natured way. In print, though, it's hard to pull off sarcasm in a good-natured way. You can't see the upturn of my mouth into a half-smile. You can't see my eyebrows raise as I try to get a rise out of you. You can't hear me laugh a little. If we're having a beer together, you get to take my words in context with my tone, inflection and gestures. You don't get those luxuries when reading my words.

I've heard that tone is set by the writer, but I believe that's only a half-truth. Yes, you can try, and probably better writers than me can pull it off successfully. But, ultimately, unless you're having discourse, tone is set by the reader. You make of the writer's words what you will. You bias them with your experiences or expectations. If you didn't, there wouldn't be classes in school where you try to get at the writer's true meaning. There wouldn't be debates about what Melville's whale really symbolized. Not that I'm putting myself in that category, but if the true meanings put forth by good writers are constantly in question, why would it be expected that I would do any better?

So, Like Atlas and Ahab, I have this burden.

LotB #27

It’s no secret that the Augusta Chronicle has a conservative bent, and that’s of course readily apparent on the editorial pages. You can find evidence elsewhere in the paper, but you usually have to dig. That wasn’t the case, though, on the Dec. 30 front page, amidst the “Faces of 2007” collage. Amongst the 38 photos represented, the republican and democratic presidential candidates were all there, but the placement was questionable. I’m sure it was just a coincidence that the republicans were at the top left, right under the banner, while the democrats were relegated to the very bottom right, below the fold. On a positive note, they actually did represent Ron Paul.

Along those lines, there’s a lot of buzz about how the media is not only ignoring Paul, but that they are actively suppressing information about him. Charges have been levied both against Fox News and ABC, for example, for ignoring polls in which he has done well, and he’s being left out of debates left and right. All of this despite his evident popularity and the fundraising records he’ setting. A quick check of the Chronicle archives shows that Paul has been mentioned in stories in the paper exactly twice in the last month: once in the above-mentioned “Faces of 2007” and once noting that he actually won a straw poll in Aiken county. And where was that presented in the paper? Way down at the bottom of the “Across the Area” section. By comparison, Rudy Giuliani (who Paul beat handily in the Iowa caucus), showed up in five stories. Time will tell, of course, whether all this will hurt, or possibly actually help Paul. He was strong in Iowa, and it seems like the more he’s ignored by the press, the more it emboldens the Paulistas.

Bizzarely, the Chronicle webforums were taken down for a good two days after what seemed to be a robot porn attack. You’d think I’d talk here about how that break may have actually given Barry Paschal some time to devote to his actual job, but no. Because there may be something more insidious afoot. Now, I’m not normally much of a conspiracy theorist, but pornbots attacking webforums, coupled with a Houston Chronicle story about the future of sex and relationships with robots makes you think about the inevitable. Soon, robots will make us their bitches. Stage one: distract the humans with robot sex. Next: rule the world! The only question is whether it will be a benevolent or oppressive robocracy to which we will succumb.

So the R. Kelly show scheduled for at the James Brown Arena last week actually went off as planned, without one of the late cancellations that has been plaguing the venue of late. That’s good news, since it shows that the coliseum authority actually has the ability to pull off headliner shows. I haven’t heard, though, whether or not any underage girls on sitting in the front row needed rain coats.

Note to everyone: Jason Barron is not to be referred to by the name “Jason Barron”, without Jason Barron’s permission. Jason Barron must only be referred to as ”Suzuki Man.” Alternatively, you may refer to Jason Barron as “The Jason.” Never, ever call Jason Barron “Jason Barron”, unless you want to incur the wrath of Jason Barron.

Jason Barron.

Brokebike Mountain

SO I got a new bike, finally, to replace the one that was stolen from my garage a few months ago. And to be more precise, I got a bunch of parts that in the last couple of days came together as a bike. When I finally got it all assembled, I had a hard time adjusting the front gears (derailleur for you tech geeks). So I took it to Nate at Andy Jordan's, and when I picked it up--bad news. It wasn't the bike that was out of adjustment, but rather the frame that was, well, defective.

So yeah, that sucks. Especially since the guy I bought the frame from described it as "perfect." And not "perfectly defective," either.

So I brought the bike home, damned dejected and called the manufacturer to see if that bike had ever been warrantied before. It hadn't, but they had seen similar issues in "two or three" other cases. So then I fired off an e-mail to the seller, wondering if he had noticed the bent derailleur hanger when he had the bike. He hadn't, but he was really apologetic. Whatever.

So just to make sure that it was indeed the bike and not the derailleur itself, I put a different one on. And voila! It was fine. So I apologized to the seller for insinuating he had sold me a bad bike.

Flash froward a couple of days. I'm riding the trainer last night (that sounds dirty), and noticed that the front shifting wasn't working. Well, new cables stretch, so I get off and start adjusting...and I cant get it right. But then I notice it. See in the picture above, how the piece of welded metal above the front chainring looks bent? That's because it is. I'm thinking that it was bent slightly before, and the cable tension (again...dirty) made it worse and visibly noticeable. So I've got a call back into the manufacturer, hoping and praying that they'll warranty it. But I got voice mail, so stay tuned....cause if I'm gonna be stuck with a broke bike, well that's gonna be pretty gay.

Make that a long-winded pot-stirrer

"Nice column this week, Jim."

"Thanks...kinda short."

"Yeah, that's good, too."

Tom Grant can talk your ear off, and that's a good thing, I think. I learn a lot from the guy every time I get to sit down with him. But when he's on deadline, the conversations are always to the point. So that's how it went down when I stopped by the office last night. Sometimes, you get the most out of the fewest words.

Yesterday, prior to that conversation, I submitted a grand total of 411 words for LotB, easily my shortest column in the 20 weeks that I've been writing it. Usually, I throw down a good thousand words and have to literally back away from the keyboard to keep it that short. So either there's a lot to write about, I have a lot to say, or I just haven't learned the sentiment expressed above.

And it's funny. Talking to me, at first glance at least, you'd never get that i had a lot to say. My MO, I guess, is to sit back and watch, to take it all in. My thinking is the less time you spend with your mouth open, the more you learn. Listening is a gift I've been blessed with, apparently, although Amy may differ (I'm really am *always* listening, baby).

By being a good listener (at least in my own estimation), I end up having a lot to say, when I get around to saying it. That's why I like blogging, I guess. It's a great chance to take five or 10 minutes and just get it all out. Blogging's kind of like beer to me--the switch for the floodgates of thought, and it comes without the associated hangover and belly, as added bonuses. And in this format, there aren't any editor-imposed limitations or restrictions. I can take my time setting up a punch line or developing a story. I don't feel like I have to strip out all of the adjectives just to make a particular word count.

But I suppose being a bit more concise is a lesson I could learn. I'm lucky in the sense that I write for a weekly, where I definitely get more column inches then I would in different formats. But there's always a limit. If I were to submit the 2000 or more words that I could easily write every week, Tom would quickly find someone else with a lot less to say. It's hard, though. Constantly I find myself feeling stilted by the constraints of the paper. How can anyone possibly get their thoughts down, and more than that, across to readers in so few words? It's learned skill, no doubt, and one I'm working on.

But until then, I'll always have you, my beautiful blog.

Please, try this at home!

And not in your damn car.

I took this picture *after* this chick nearly drove into the median on Bobby Jones, doing 80. After correcting her swerve, she resumed applying her eye makeup. And she never noticed me taking her photo.

Don't feed the animals

A city that bases it's very being on drawing as many people as possible to it's attractions has suddenly developed a very skewed vision of humanity to go with it's pre-existing skewed vision of reality. I give you Orlando, Florida, ladies and gentlemen, a city of magical kingdoms, greenery and more lakes than you can shake a stick at. And a city where it's now illegal to feed the homeless. That's right. In a city where generally being nice to people should be the norm, you can get thrown in jail and put on trial simply for, well, being nice to people.

Giving aid to those in need is a most-cherished human quality. Or at least it used to be, apparently. So now are parks are like zoos, except I'd be willing to bet that in Orlando it's perfectly fine to feed squirrels. Just not the people. Well fuck that. You can't strip people of their humanity. Well, I guess you can try, but it won't fucking work.

Positive dope testing for make shame glorious nation of Kazakhstan

Man, is Borat gonna be pissed.

It was reported today Kazakh cyclist Alexandre Vinokourov tested positive for blood doping following his Tour de France time trial victory Saturday. He's been kicked out of the race, along with his entire Astana team. And this in the shadow of the race leader Michael Rasmussen's missing a bunch of out-of-competition drug tests. Which, had it been know at the start of the Tour, would have resulted in his being banned from the race.

Cycling sucks. I love the sport so much, but the continued doping issues all but render the entire peloton suspicious. It's like being a bodybuilder in the '70s: doping is so widespread that you have to assume everyone is doing it.

I have no idea what it would take for this sport, which has probably always been dirty, to become clean. But right now, I've lost all tolerance of it.

Normally, 3 lycra-clad women in the morning wouldn't tick me off...

It's girls like this that give guys like me a bad name. Look closely at the picture...what do you see? I see three women riding abreast (heh) on a narrow, single-lane road. They were travelling pretty slowly, 15mph tops in a 35 zone (I think) down Broad St. In Augusta, at about 8am, and there were a good 10 cars backed up behind them. I'm all for cyclists' rights, of course, being one myself. But sheesh, in order to get any respect, cyclists need to follow the law and be courteous to the folks they're sharing the road with.

Section 40-6-294(b) of the Uniform Georgia Code states "Persons riding bicycles upon a roadway shall not ride more than two abreast except on paths or parts of roadways set aside for the exclusive use of bicycles."

While the ladies shown are within their rights to ride two abreast, they certainly aren't allowed three. But really, in this situation, they should be riding single-file to allow for cars to pass safely. Those people stacked up being the cyclists were probably much more pissed than I was, and the situation no doubt reinforced any negative opinions they may have already had towards cyclists. We cyclists have a duty to be ambassadors of the idea of bicycles as viable transportation, now more than ever. We need to follow the laws, and this means not blowing through lights, signalling turns, running lights at night--things I see cyclists neglecting all the time. So when I see crap like that, yeah, it ticks me off.

Chuck Norris facts

Over on my triathlon website, about every couple of months or so, someone will invariably post "Chuck Norris Facts." I know you've seen them. There are entire websites devoted to them. There are t-shirts and coffee mugs out there with clever things like "Chuck Norris puts the laughter in manslaughter" or "Chuck Norris counted to infinity, twice."

God how I hate them. So whenever that jackass posts that thread, I rebut. And thus, here are the real Chuck Norris facts (unabridged):

"The only statistic Chuck Norris cares about is that with a 99.9% confidence interval, there is a 100% probability that Chuck Norris is a crying little girl who, when 24 comes on, has to hide in his closet with his favorite Teletubby plushie repeating "everything will be alright" over and over until the show is over, when he then has to change his underpants."

"Chuck Norris is Jack Bauer's makeup artist. But he's not allowed to look at Mr. Bauer in the eye, lest he wet his pants. Again."

"I thought Jack Bauer killed Chuck Norris by making his wee, girly heart explode by looking in his general direction?"

"Chuck Norris is a whiny little girl who once stayed in his dark room for a week because his shadow startled him when he turned his light on in the morning."

"I know another Chuck that would spend the entire swim cutoff crying on the beach because the water was too wet. Just like his pants."

"Chuck Norris' pick up line is "look, I didn't piss my self today. Uh...nevermind."

"Chuck Norris merely saw its shadow once and simultaneously vomited and wet his pants."

"Chuck Norris thinks 'cinco de mayo' is how hispanics order five servings of mayonnaise."

"Chuck Norris:Crying like a little girl::Jack Bauer: Killing terrorists"

"Jack Bauer challenged the President to a 'who has the most testicles' contest. Jack Bauer won by 5, and then pulled the Presidents 2 testicles off, slowly and with malice, and fed them to him. Chuck Norris, of course, has fewer testicles than Lance Armstrong."

"Chuck Norris has Herpes. He gets outbreaks on his wang and around his eyes, because when he churns his butter, he has to continuously wipe the tears from his eyes so he can see what he's doing."

"Chuck Norris Triathlon:
Cry for 30 minutes.
Get dope slapped by Girl Scouts.
Cry some more."

"What '5000' means to Chuck Norris:
Times he's lost a fight.
Nights he's cried himself to sleep on his pillow.
Bruises he gets just thinking about Jack Bauer.
Anti-defamation lawsuits he's filed against me (Chuck Norris can't fight, so he prefers to litigate).
Times he's crossed the street to avoid confrontations with "scary homeless people."
Letters he's received from the Wold Martial Arts Council pleading with him to take up arm wrestling, because they're tired of him giving them a bad name.
Doses of Prozac he's taken just to get through the day.
Doping tests he's failed due to elevated estrogen levels.
Employment tests he's failed to become a mall security guard.
Auditions he's been to for "Cabaret." (Chuck Norris dances surprisingly well, but unfortunately sings about 4 octaves too high for any of the male roles).
Slaps he's received from little school girls.
Times he's vomited at the thought of going outside alone."

"Little known fact: Chuck Norris was the one thing McGyver could do absolutely nothing with, because crying little girls are absolutely useless when you need to get yourself out of a jam."

"Jack Bauer killed 4 crying little girls today before breakfast. All of them were Chuck Norris."

"Everyone knows fluvial geomorphology kicks glacial geomorphology's ass. Chuck Norris doesn't know that glacial geomorphology is restricted by geography, whereas erosion from water can happen anywhere!"

"Chuck Norris has two cats, Fluffy and Mr. Puddin' Paws, or Puddin' for short. Puddin' got his name because whenever Chuck Norris makes pudding (and he makes it a lot--Chuck loves his pudding!), Puddin' sticks his feet in the bowl trying to lick the leftovers. Then, he runs all over Chuck Norris' house leaving little chocolaty kitty prints all over the place. Mr. Puddin' Paws is a little scamp. Fluffy routinely kicks Chuck Norris' ass."

"I told this joke to Chuck Norris once:
Chuck Norris walks in to a bar and orders a Zima. The bartender asks him for ID, but Chuck Norris says "I don't need ID, I'm Chuck Norris." The bartender says "I'm sorry, Mr. Norris, but I thought you were a crying little girl because of your red eyes and the tear stains on your collar." Chuck Norris says in reply "That's OK...it happens all the time." The bartender apologizes again and offers to buy him a whisky. Chuck Norris then says "thanks, but could I get it with some diet Sprite and a straw. And of do you have any of those little umbrellas?" The bartender, horrified, bitch-slaps Chuck Norris, who cries some more and sulks out of the bar.
Chuck Norris didn't get it."

"Chuck Norris thinks 'bird flu' is a new martial art, and that it involves ninja feather tickling."

"Chuck Norris doesn't trust chickens. He thinks it's their souless black eyes. Chuck Norris would rather starve than face down a chicken and then have to spend another year in therapy to get him back to his happy place (Chuck Norris' happy place is Bed, Bath and Beyond. So many useful gadgets)."

"Chuck Norris believes in intelligent design."

"Chuck Norris tried referring to himself in the third person, but he ultimately found it confusing and went back to calling himself Jenny. Chuck Norris looks prettiest in floral print sundresses. They hide his belly."

"Chuck Norris gets confused by complete sentences. They give him a headache, and make him want to kick things. But then Chuck Norris remembers what his mother told him: 'sugar and spice make everything nice, and if you misbehave I'm going to lock you in the closet for your birthday again.' And threats make him stutter."

"Luckily, Vin Deisel's little skirt is still plenty big enough for Chuck Norris to hide behind."

"In college, Chuck Norris tried out for girl's field hockey, but had to quit because he annoyed his teammates every time he shouted "owie" after getting hit in the shin by the ball."

"Chuck Norris likes Def Leppard, too. He also likes strawberry ice cream, sharing his feelings and crocheting intricate doilies."

"Sticks and stones don't break Chuck Norris' bones, but words make him curl up in the fetal position and shiver."

"When he's naked, Chuck Norris looks like an 11-year-old girl. With a full beard."

"If I see Chuck Norris pushing a stroller or riding his tricylce, I'll be sure and wave. You know, slowly, so he'll understand me."

"Chuck Norris only scares tiny babies, and that's only because he tries to steal their bottles, because Chuck Norris has only recently been weened from the teet."

"Chuck Norris gigggles like a schoolgirl when he hears the word "teet." When he listens to "Hash Pipe" by Weezer, he wets his pink panties every time."

"Chuck Norris drinks virgin Cosmopolitans. But only a couple, because they make him tipsy."

So many similes, so little time

It appears that Augusta State University is taking the novel approach of adding a game room to its Reese library. You know, like with pool tables and video games. Maybe one of those crane-thingies where you drop in a dollar and try to liberate Sponge Bob from his fluffy mass-grave with a grappling hook. This is a really bad. Libraries, and especially college libraries are scholarly places, for activities like research, reading and studying. And picking up chicks. OK, so that's not so scholarly, but give me a minute and I could probably convince you it is. Something like anything in the guise of research.

But I digress. Sarah Miller wrote recently in the LA Times about how the austerity is gone from libraries, and I tend to agree. She said "These days, libraries sound a lot less like libraries and a lot more like the line for the funnel cake booth at a county fair." And she's right. Just try concentrating for 5 minutes straight at any library today. I dare ya.

Libraries aren't what they used to be. They're less about research and more about socializing, and that's too bad. Well, except for the picking-up-chicks thing, but hey, I'm willing to bend a little. This new recreational center model that ASU is proposing just furthers it. I mean, a game room in a library is like a bacteria-ridden plot of dirt in an operating room. "You know what this surgical suite needs? A mud pit!" It's like a Big Mac stand at a playground, or Sasquatch on the beach.

It's like Stephen King books in a library.