Flandis sounding kinda weak

so said Floyd:

This is yet another in a series of malicious actions by USADA that tramples my right to have my case heard in fair and just way... I’m infuriated by the behavior of USADA and the LNDD. Together, they have turned this proceeding into a full-scale attack on my civil rights and a mockery of justice.

... persecution complex, anyone?

It's not your civil rights that are being attacked, buster. You're engaged in business arbitration. You haven't been arrested or charged with a crime, bound into slavery, or been prejudged based on race, gender, religion... you've been accused of cheating in a competition. There's a difference. I for one really hope he didn't do it, not because I care about Floyd, but because I want cycling to be a clean(er) sport (than it seems these days).

I do indeed hope the USADA arbitration comes quickly so this can go to the CAS... and then it'll be over. How much possible flailing about can there possibly be over a couple of cups of piss? Test it, confirm it, guard against error and fraud and technician bias... these are not difficult concepts.

post-bonk Orange-gasm

What is it about oranges these days? I am obsessed. Some days, I have 4 or 5 of 'em. And when I eat them, it's not pretty. It's an orgy of sweet juicy orange pleasure. I can't imagine what I look like (an expression of crazed mania? a dark and predatory glare? glorious and thankful delight?) but I know that I don't know how I seem. All my attention is on the orange. And how quickly I can shuck the rind and get it stuffed into my pie-hole. Like pistachios - the rate-limiting step is the peeling more than anything.

Take today for example. I rode the Waterloo route this afternoon, and even though I took food and tried to eat smart on the way (yes, I've run out of gas on that route before), I still bonked and suffered the last 15 miles. But when I got home, eyes dry and burning, I was all about the oranges. 1 was good. 2 was better. 3 was damn fine. I had to stop myself because it tripped my "this might be a bad thing when it goes too easy and too quickly" sensor.

In other news - I was on the way back home on HRD and I passed what looked like the Tuesday AAVC group ride heading out. It was nice to see tons of folks out rollin' along, but I'm thinking that 30-35 people bunched up is not exactly a good way to go. Sure, take your space on the road and roll strong in traffic, but with that big of a group, on that 2-lane, no-shoulder/no-escape-route, potholed-and-cold-patched road? Safer to split up a bit, don't you think? When the bunch is 4-abreast in a random diamondy shape, when cars pass... maybe they're gunning it? Kinda makes it sketchy for whoever is riding on the left side, no? I'm just sayin'. Bigger than 20 people: maybe split it up. Now if only the route would change by 3 blocks to avoid that dude in Dexter who yells at everyone rolling through that stop sign. Or, maybe just change the route to avoid rolling through the stop sign to begin with? Call me crazy...

Everything Falls Apart

... and no, I'm not talking about the Hüsker Dü song (but thems some fine, fine tunes that I haven't listened to in a long damn while).

Everything is just... falling apart. Yesterday I was utterly incapacitated by what I thought was food poisoning. Basically, I was unable to stand or walk for most of the day in between the 7 vomit and 4 diarrhea episodes. (how do you count it when you have to puke in the wastebucket because you're still sitting on the toilet? Count one each? Count it by who got there first? Or by volume?). I recently on a lark bought a raw honey spread, and thinking it might be food poisoning, called my county health department to report it. The kind and understanding health professional suggested that my symptoms sounded more like Norovirus than food poisoning. (and apparently there's a Farmington strain too! Named for Farmington Hills! right here in Michigan! how proud we all must be...[sigh])

Since I'm much better now, I'm guessing it was the virus, but I'm not having any unpasteurized anything any time soon. I do like Louis Pasteur and his invention. I think it has saved a lot of people from pain and early death. Not only did he develop/refine the germ theory of disease but he discovered chirality too. How frickin' cool is that? I LOVE that. So to all you raw-milk-drinkin' "cherry-juice-is-a-cure-for-cancer" homeopathy crazy-talkers: keep that crazy talk at home. I got no tolerance for ya, and if you start in with it, I'm gonna share my feelings with you in an enthusiastic way.

So yeah... not only was I hurtin' furious yesterday, I come home today to find the floor lamp with a blown bulb.

And then the desk lamp has a blown bulb.

While I'm changing the desk lamp, it breaks off in my hand. What the hell - two in the same day? Coincidence? You think I should stay away from the computer for a while?

SRAM-alama-ding-dong

I finally just decided that the forces of Want exceeded my financial prudishness. Gimme, Gimme, Gimme, and I plunked down my dollars.

The SRAM Force build kit is coming in about a week, and soon, grasshopper, soon, I'm gonna be all DoubleTap™ey-ish. More with-it in the 21st century, yes I am. I've been a proud retro-grouch with a fetish for Italian parts, but I think I'm gonna give the boys and girls in Chicago (and Taiwan, or India, or wherever they manfacture) a chance at my velo-pleasure-receptors.

In other parts news, it seems that there's rumors of carbon fork breakage. In this, I'll remain a retro-grouch for a while. Stems? Bars? Steerer tubes? pretty damn important to keeping your ass upright and on the bike. Granted, in the famous Hincapie wreck in Paris-Roubaix due to a broken steerer, it was an aluminum steerer (and not carbon) that probably was compromised in a previous crash... but still. I'm just not there yet. One day maybe, but not just yet.

This Film Is Fucking Wonderful

I don't know how to start this... Well, ok, how about this: You should see This Film Is Not Yet Rated.

Seriously. Move it up to the top of your Netflix queue, go see if Blockbuster has it, watch for it in your local independent theaters.

(Thanks to Pete and Laura for recommending this movie to me, by the way...)

It's this really surprising and illuminating documentary about the MPAA and specifically the ratings system that movies go through (you know, that G, PG, PG-13, R, NC-17 thing). The secrecy involved, the arbitrary and inconsistent way ratings are handed out, the ties to the movie industry and government lobbies.

Some of my favorite parts:
- The glaringly uneven treatment that the ratings board gives to sex vs. violence. (Lots of violence and killing is ok as long as there isn't blood on-screen, but a glimpse of pubic hair is indecent?)
- In a phone conversation between the head of the ratings board and the director of TFINYR , the ratings board person says (paraphrasing) "We [the ratings board] don't create values, we reflect the values of the culture we live in"... which would mean that if the culture was predominantly racist incestuous pedophiliacs, they would reflect that and defend their decision on "cultural values" grounds?
- Uneven treatment of hetero sex vs. gay sex. Great scene where they split-screen show identical shots from different movies. The camera angle is the same, the amount of clothing is the same, the depicted motion is the same, but if the people on screen are the same sex it gets an NC-17 rating and the hetero scene gets an R rating.
- The "surprising" revelation about industry connections (and presence of christian clergy?!) in the supposedly independent ratings appeal board.
- Interview with Matt Stone about South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut where a scene was replaced and it changed the rating... the part where they find the tape of Cartman's mom in a German scheisse film. Previously the tape was of her fellating a horse. Though nothing was actually shown, talking about bestiality is apparently worse than talking about coprophilia. Horse cocksucking is indecent, but shit-eating is OK? How they came to that conclusion baffles me too.

And a curious devil's advocacy thought about censorship and libel though... if you make a documentary about an organization that is hidden from the public eye (and will not comment or reveal anything about themselves) does that mean you can essentially print/publish anything you want about them? If you make slanderous or libelous statements, the aggrieved party would have to sue you to stop you, and then in court there's the question of proof of whether the statements are true or not (and thus malicious libel, or just reporting the facts), which would reveal the hidden information. So they can't really sue because then they wouldn't be able to keep their secrets... wacky, hunh? I'm not saying that TFINYR is a work of fiction or that it's credibility is in doubt, but the nature of the secret organization means that the investigation of the secrecy itself cannot be verified for accuracy or bias.

GPS disruptions and your DNA

While it probably didn't affect you, me, or our respective GPS receivers, a solar flare/eruption back in December probably messed with somebody who was doing some surveying work that day (and they probably couldn't just call a Solar Flare Mulligan...). But what really caught my eye in the article was the seeming common sense in contrast to many other irrational exuberances of technology dependence.

"... society cannot become overly reliant on technology without an awareness and understanding of the effects of future space weather disruptions," said Anthea Coster, Ph.D., MIT Haystack Observatory.

... and golly, what will be do if global warming extends into space and starts [gasp!] affecting space weather? Will Al Gore make another movie - this time about how many times he's given a presentation about Universal Warming?

Seriously though... in related irrational exuberance, now that the human genome has been sequenced, we blaze forward into a new world swimming in biotechnology. The question becomes: will we be able to maintain privacy and not have genetic prejudice in society, the workplace, the health care system, or the courts. Often, science and technology advances faster than policy and law do. Problematic, but understandable - speculating about the potential vs. actual difficulties and then codifying in law, while uncertain of the result, is a bit dodgy.

Perhaps this is where the imagination of science fiction comes into play... I mean, what exactly DO you do about manned space exploration when the length of the trip is measured in years? Why, one solution is to train astronaut families, right? Stable family units that are a self-contained emotional support system, with deep-seated loyalty among the crew already built in? Obviously, one thing we've learned is to not have treacherous non-family member Dr. Smiths on the crew. And be careful of robots that might temporarily go evil too. And you definitely gotta be careful about accidental astronaut love triangles among the crew too. 'Cause we all know how that ends up: space diapers and pepper spray.

who in their right mind DOESN'T like goatcake?

In honor of spring thaw, Stacey had a little shindig yesterday that I was really sorry to miss the beginning of. Why? Not the scavenger hunt, since my style of scavenger hunt is the city-wide version. Not the dancing - I'm not so much with the dancing - I'm more of a twitcher.

But mostly, I'm so sad to have missed the Goatcake while it was still intact. Who doesn't like sculpted cakes with blood-sacrifice neo-pagan symbology? I mean sheesh, yah gotta be a baby-eatin'-commie or somethin' to not like that.

I don't bake much, but next potluck I go to, I'm bringin' artfood, dammit. Rye-crisp Taj Mahal with Hommus reflecting pool? Maybe a Feta cheese Venus De Milo? Or perhaps something a little more modern?

And if the pot of coffee I just finished has its way with my nervous system, my mind is going to start dreaming up animatronic light-and-sound-show edible beverage fountains.

wherever did my memory go?

If anyone finds my memories, would you mind returning them? Thanks.

I say this because I was browsing a friend's Netflix queue. I was adding comments about things that I liked and didn't like, hoping to spare them the pain of bad/unwatchable movies and wasted time. This led me to wonder and poke around in their history and see what they rated how.... which led me to wonder and poke around in my own history to see things I had watched (sort of a reversed cinematic ego-surfing).

While there's lots a remember watching, and even enjoying... did I even watch The Longest Yard? I don't remember it. Was it because beer was involved? And what the hell possessed me to get Mean Girls? For some reason, I can't remember the plot of Seabiscuit, though there sure was enough media buzz at the time that I should know it by osmosis.

But I am happy to report that I remember, enjoyed, and am happy to recommend: Crash, Secretary, Audition (caution: squirmy Japanese horror), 21 Grams, Oldboy, Traffic, and the new Battlestar Galactica series, to name a few.

tacky and obnoxious... a night at The Majestic

It all started off well enough... going to see The Ragbirds and Bump last night at The Majestic.

Ragbirds started off and were OK, but honestly? I've seen better shows of theirs. A fairly short set and a small early crowd. Nice enough, but not exactly ass-kicking, either.

Bump was new to me and didn't really grab me much. Sure, there were some interesting blends of electronica, groovish funkness, and (oddly) shred-like guitar, but it was far to much in the middle. Might have been mixed badly? Or my expectations were different? A steady wall of sound with no distinctive anything I could latch on to. No consistent groove, no noise sculpting, no driving bits... nothing I could grab hold of. Guitar/keyboard guy had lots of keyboards but didn't do much with them (which says to me that he's spending more time with gear than with sound). Bass guy was in the background and MIA, sonically as well as physically. Guitar dude with his astronautica-schtick was off somewhere else. Drummer was punchy, tight, but knows how to take a step back too ... definitely knows what he's doing.

I don't know if I'd pay much money to see them again, but technically we didn't pay to get in this time (yes, tickets were bought, but unused - anyone want some tickets? "I got two! Two tickets! Who needs em?!"). G and I walked into the wrong part of the bar-megaplex at first, so we had been "carded" and already had wristbands when we walked into the theater lobby. I just flashed it and kept walking, expecting the ticket-taking to be further up the way. I guess they assumed by either my decisive striding or the wristband that someone else had gotten our tickets. (Note to self - next show at the Majestic, get wristbands down the street and try this trick again. Gate-crashing helps offset overpriced skunky beer expense.)

Knowing that there was a middle-band (second opening act? or is the first band the opening band for the opening band?) Midtown Underground didn't seem like it would affect the other band experiences at the time, but I can't lie to you, dear readers... they stunk it up like a fart in an elevator. An elevator that's stuck between floors, with the fire department on strike and no hope of a rescue anytime soon. For the record: I don't need to hear any more shouts-out from the 8 white boys on stage about how they're gonna get the pahhty stahhted and kick it old skool, nowhahumsayin'? When the drummer doesn't realize he's got a bridge or a solo and he doesn't notice that we noticed that he didn't notice, and the sax player spends more time flailing and posing one-handed playing a single note, and the frontman's obnoxious ego is so large though he has no actual skill... yeah, they were that aggravating.

BUT, not nearly as aggravating as all the chippies about in their bar skank uniforms. What IS it about the oh-so-original black heels, jeans, black knit top, floozy hair and optional mini-purse over the shoulder and under the armpit? They were everywhere. And each and every one with a plastic cup in one hand, the other in the air, whooping it up in a half-constipated shuffle-dance to keep ridiculous shoes, unflatteringly tight jeans, a drink, a purse, and "whooo!" all in play, somehow still just "needin' to cut loose and get my groove on cuz it's Fri-dayyy! whoooo!".

Hey you - yes you... white girl with a stench of desperation about you - let's not kid each other. You're not actually having fun. You're pretending to have fun because that's what you think you're supposed to do and all your other blackshirtbluejean friends are here. But it's so much work, and I can see the strain it's putting on you. Put down your burden. It's OK, really it is. Take a rest.

I promise I'll still pretend to think you're cool if you just give up and... be yourself.

"there's no such thing as bad weather..."

".... there's only inappropriate attire." And guess what? My attire is particularly inappropriate for riding in this weather.

It was 60 degrees just a few days ago, so when my eyeballs saw this, I thought "bah, 33 degrees ain't so cold... I'll just layer up and tough it out. Besides, if I'm heading off to the trail, once I get in the trees it won't be so cold, will it?" Well, not noticing the wind gusting to 30 was a serious failure of attention on my part. From my hands to my waist, I was toasty. Even my head was warm. But my cheeks (all 4 of 'em), thighs, and toes were feeling tingly, chill, and numb, in that order. Oh yeah, and as soon as I dropped off the pavement and onto trail, two other bad things happened... (1) "ouch, that hurts" (2) [squish] goes the muck.

Looks like I won't be riding on dirt for a while - not only is wet, mucky, and erosion-ey spring here, but my shoulder still ain't feelin' right 95% of the day, I'm fine. But when I do certain things, it's clear I ain't 100% yet. Seeing as how my only bike for the dirt is hard nosed and hard tailed, blasting around on the bumpedy-bump is just gonna have to wait a while.

oh, meeeoooww.

Oh, how I loves the bike porn. It's not just the glamour shots and the shiny bits and the juicy paint jobs... Over at Vanilla, they sure do some pretty stuff, and it's the subtle little things that are making me goosebumpy today:

Not only the little red details on the seatstay bridge, but the fender attach points inside the fender under the seat stay bridge and on the back of the seat tube. Subtle, meaningful, nice.

And then the sexy-as-hell seat stays, with the schweet cable routing. [mmph] (bites lip)

And who isn't a sucker for chrome? It's not just the cutouts on the lugs, the polish and paint detail at the edges, just all together it just... works.

ok, cold shower time.

You don't have to *solve* the mountain

A little revelation I had last week about the nature and effects of problem solving...

I'm an engineer. By inclination, education, and experience. I have this tendency to solve problems, come up with widgets that address this or that shortcoming. When something is difficult or inefficient or wasteful, I start thinking that there's a better way of doing it and want to do it right. I think of problems and the need for solutions.

So what's the revelation? There's a difference between a problem and an obstacle. Sometimes in life or in work, there's an obstacle, and sometimes it's a problem, but regardless, it's an impediment to moving forward. The distinction though is that a problem (a design flaw/defect, dependent factor, puzzle) is something that needs to be changed to be able to go forward, where an obstacle (long slow tedious work, sensitive personalities, deadlines, high-cost tooling) is something that really just needs to be gotten past. It doesn't always need to be fixed because once you're past, you might never have to deal with it again, and "fixing it" is a waste of time if it doesn't ever recur.

Just get past it. You can't fix the mountain, and you don't have to. You just have to get over the mountain.

'Tucky Travels

Got back from Mammoth Cave Kentucky last week... a fun enough adventure, but not exactly life-changing experience either. On a scale of 0 to 10, I'd give it a 6.5, maybe 7. No catastrophes, no ecstasies either.

Got kind of a late start on Sunday, leaving around 11-ish, and for the 6-7 hour drive, that unfortunately meant setting up camp (and then cooking dinner) at the park in the dark. This would become a theme for the week: being too optimistic about time, and thus perfecting my skills at pitching a tent and cooking/cleaning without the benefit of sunshine. And while camping is certainly a cheaper way to travel than hotel, I wasn't exactly happy to pay $17 per night in the main campground. $17? For what? A plot of dirt? Sure, there's running water and toilets, but no showers (gotta pay $2 at the store for that). Whatever.

Monday was Cave Day, and I, surprisingly, got an early start. (whenever I'm sleeping somewhere new, I usually wake a dozen or so times in the night). And thus, began my second disappointment. The Wild Cave Tour is weekends only, and sells out months in advance. Crapola. Instead, I picked the Grand Avenue and Historic tours. And this is where I have henceforth solidified my new policy about trails, routes, tours, and vacations. If it is a "wilderness" area and it DOESN'T have safety warnings... it's probably pretty boring. Anything that has paved trails, is stroller-accessible, and has bathrooms nearby is likely to be jammed with slow-moving groups of retirees and children bouncing all over the place. I'm not hatin' on your sprogs, I just happen to be child-free, healthy, and adventurous. When I'm looking for grandeur of nature, I would rather it wasn't corrupted by constant yelling of 5-year-olds. It wasn't just me... the kind, gentle, mother-of-two who couldn't get her point across to the non-parenting parents of the uncontrollable child, even after resorting to shouting over her shoulder at least five times "Kid! I can't hear...will you SHUT UP!"... she wasn't enjoying the distraction, either. It is also, I found, very difficult to take casual photos in caves. Flashes wash things out, or fail to illuminate the nifty dark recesses. All I was left with was random shots of the backs of heads of my fellow tour-goers. If you want to see pretty photos, buy the postcards.

The Historic Tour was pretty interesting - about how the cave was used as a residence 4000 years ago and then more or less abandoned 2000 years ago by Native Americans, then re-discovered explored back in the 1800's by settlers, how it went from being a tourist destination to an industrial saltpeter operation, then becoming a tourist destination again, imagining exploring massive chambers by the light of a feeble oil lamp, etc. After 7 hours of tours, I realized that sunshine wasn't going to last forever, so I got the bike together and went on a quickie ride. Half hour out and back... then dinner and sleep.

Tuesday was Bike Day and Backpacking Day 1. The whole point of going to Kentucky, along with the 80-degree temps and one-day drive, is that it has a few hills (ok, more than SE Michigan). So in the morning I pack up my tent, organize food for 3 days of packing, organize bike stuff, and head off to the trailhead where I'll park my car, go for a long-ish ride, then come back and hike off in to the wilderness. The ride, she was a decent one. As I was rolling away from the car I thought "hmm, planning to be out for at least 4 hours... should I have put on sunscreen? Nahh... I'll be fine..." Well, I crisped a little bit, but the good news is that my teensy-bit of sunburn is turning into a very respectable start to my tan lines for the season. A decent ride was had. I was fortunate to find that the area around the park has rather smooth roads, with fairly light traffic - probably due to there being no heavy truck traffic and fairly mild winters. The shoulder ain't none too wide, but what with all the plants budding and whatnot, it was a pretty ride. Most all the car/truck traffic was easy to get along with - with the requisite one asshole shouting something out the window as he passes in his jacked-up Ford penis-substitute. (why is it that assholes on the road always seem to be driving Ford vehicles? GM, Chrysler, Toyota, Honda, none seem to attract the Asshole Gene quite as much as Ford Trucks).

So nothing gonzo about the ride, just putting in base miles with some of them uphill, and after getting back, stowing the bike, and a brief snack/rest put on the pack and head off on the trail. While it was nice that backcountry permits at this park are free (compared to out West - where I'd imagine the backcountry fees help offset the occasional cost of having to rescue someone injured, lost, or stranded) the trails themselves aren't that interesting. Unfortunately, I neglected to register on the map that there are occasional dirt roads through the area, and after hiking 5 miles with a full pack, crossing a road is aggravating. "If you can drive to this spot, why am I hiking it?" This gets back to my new policy about accessibility - a.k.a. "If It's Easy, It Can't Possibly Be Interesting"

Anyway, I got to the first backcountry site, and lo and behold a spring flowing out of the side of a hill, right next to the campsite. The last time I went packing was in the desert. Where getting water was sketchy. This was luxury. All the water you could drink, and not having to worry about whether there will be water anywhere near the next campsite. Heck, I crossed stream after stream on the hike. So why was I carrying 4 liters? Habit, I guess. Better safe than sorry.

I got there in just enough time before sunset to gather some firewood, so after cooking dinner I had a cheery little fire, stared at the sky for a while, and went to bed. 4am rolled around and the first few pitter-pats of rain was joined by "oh, shit... my gear is outside", but after some quick barefoot half-clothed pack-grabbing, I was back in my tent with gear safe and dry, when the pouing rain lulled me right back to sleep. After a leisurely breakfast the next morning, off I go to the second site by the river, and though it was pretty, it seemed that the further you get from the trailhead, the more likely people are to leave garbage all over the place. I ended up packing out 2x more of other peoples garbage than I created myself. Aggravatin', lemme tell ya.

I really wanted to go for a swim. I hadn't showered in a couple days, plus it was hot and a little sticky, and I hadn't gotten all of the road grit from the ride off me. But the Green River is... opaque. And, it seems, I'm a pussy. Apparently, when I'm alone out in the wilderness, I have an attack of age and responsibility. As in - when the edge of the river has rough and sharp rocks on the bottom that I can't see, and then suddenly the bottom drops away, I get a case of the willies. Imagining spraining an ankle, or stabbing my foot on something when I'm miles away from anything other than a basic first aid kit kept me close to shore. I guess I need to find a Cross-Country Adventure Buddy for these trips... it's nice to find solitude, but it's also nice to share the load, tell stories, and have backup in case one does something stupid and injures ones self.

I had gotten to campsite #2 mid-afternoon, so I spent the whole afternoon lounging about. I made some tea, sat and watched the river, constantly fussed with the little ThermaRest chair I got last year (it's more comfortable than rocks, but never quite right), and read the last half of In A Sunburned Country which, while humorous, started to grate on me with the same funny story/revelation over and over again. Yes, Australia is full of poisionous critters that will be happy to kill you. Yes, Australia has a huge and desolate interior. Yes, modern Australians are on average an amazingly warm and generous bunch of folks. We heard it in the first 100 pages... get on with it. In contrast with those two product disappointments, I'm very happy with my new MSR Dragonfly. After borrowing Jake's Whisperlite last year, I realized I really need to get my own stove. A stove that can reliably burn white gas, kerosene, gasoline, diesel, or jet fuel? Works for me.

Heading out the next day on the way back to the trailhead and the drive home, I passed by the strangest little cemetary. Yes, it was old, but why do some of the headstones just look like just a plain rock with no engraving? And why are they all spaced so closely together? Turns out to be a children's cemetary. Very few of the headstones indicate a life longer than 4 years. Some even have dates of birth and death the same day or only a few days apart. And they're all in the mid-1920's. Just kind of odd at the time to stumble onto this. Was is an illness that swept the area in that time? There's a regular cemetery at the historic church near the trailhead - why are the children's bodies buried 2 miles away up in the hills? Ah, mystery.

And in the end, a non-climatic journey home. I decided not to stop in Fort Knox (can't take a tour anyway), Louisville (don't really care much for baseball bats), Cinncinati (I'll see it some other time), or anywhere else. So here I am. Home again, home again, jiggety jig.