Monday, February 28, 2011

Reply Hazy Try Again Later

Good thing the judicial system doesn't run off the Magic 8 Ball. I guess. My stint at Jury Duty didn't amount to much more.

Then I stood in line at the Giant and heard the cashier talking about how her brother was going to trial tomorrow, and I thought, huh, just missed that opportunity. And also, maybe you should be nicer to complete strangers? Just a thought.

But this isn't about that, it's about transportation. Fooled you, eh? Yep. The ICC is built and open for business. The Purple Line? A mere, faint shade of lilac. lie-lack

So much for moving away from petrol. As prices lunge toward 4, we fight back by guessed it...more roads. Forget your wars, oil dependency, sprawl...schmall. Smog and obesity? What? Did you say something? I couldn't hear you over the din of traffic. Note: Should have built that noise barrier a foot taller.

Sure. Cut pedestrian funding. Nix bike trails. Feud over tracks in backyards. Green-back-yards. ;) Not that I'm saying anything, but I think it depends on the price of your yard.

I was just noticing how awesome it would be to cut across on the non-existent Purple Line on my way home from the courthouse today. That's all.

Sunday, February 27, 2011


Long lost relative.

Saturday, February 26, 2011


I thought about jumping the train crossing today. I don't usually because I like to look at the graffiti. Nothing noteworthy today.

But the cargo was cool! Big ass Army trucks and trailers and gun stuff. It was worth the wait, for a while. Then I regretted waiting.

When the train came to a complete stop on the tracks it wasn't cool no more. I tried to wait it out, but when it started to go and stopped again...I was over it.

Just like my bike...over it! I picked it up and walked around, and felt sorry for all the two ton lizzies in queue on the other side. It was a regular ole traffic jam.

Later Haters. PS, the ICC is open. You should use it since I can't.

Sunday, February 20, 2011


A quickie search of the blog brings up about 10 posts, but I bet it's even more. The tire and it's impending flatness is a recurring theme here.

This is about the tire, not so yet, the flat. Should it ever come to that...I'm effinghamed.

The 35s on my rims have become affectionately known as my tank tires. But let me ask you, have you ever tried to pedal a tank? Right.

So I decided to drop to 32. But man, what a bitch to get them on! I committed the ultimate sin...I stuck a tire lever in there to wiggle the tire on the rim. It's okay, I managed to avoid pinching the tube. But right after I took this picture it broke. In the rim. Between the tire.

I then grabbed a metal screwdriver and dug at the tire, pinched at the lever, scratched up the rim. Begged to the wheel, prayed to whomever was listening. My dear sweet Catherine d'Arlington... Yes, I realize this wasn't the wisest of moves.

Oh but, I found success, and I think it still holds air. For now. But see above. If they ever go flat, someone special is getting a phone call. Hello, Cyclerescue service? Meet you in the usual spot? Great, see you then.

Funny, those measurements above, might actually be spot on.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Today's Special: FREE bike

There I was sloppin' through the CCT muck when I came upon a peculiar sight. An abandoned bicycle right there in the middle of the trail! I mean smack dab in the middle, blocking everything.

I thought about asking the guy rolling around in the mud about it, but he seemed preoccupied with his ankle. He was holding it and rambling on about an ambulance or something.

He wasn't overly interested in moving and I was even less interested in moving him. So instead, I stole his bike. What? It's not like he was using it or anything.

It was relatively easy, like taking candy from a baby. All I said was, I got a guy (or a girl as this case may be); I'll call her. We'll take care of that multi-thousand dollar bike for you. wink wink

Here's my card. Yeah, ignore the logo; I promise I won't send your bike overseas. We'll call you tomorrow. And away we went. No one even questioned the speeding Subaru going the wrong way, backward, UP Connecticut Avenue. Candy. Baby. Wheel SUCKER.

Sincerely, imagine a small fender bender on 16th Street. You're sore, maybe have some whiplash, and an ambulance shows up wanting to take you to the hospital. Sure, better safe than sorry.

Then off to your right, a stranger appears, hand outstretched. "Oh, you poor thing. Here let me take care of that for you. Sure, I can take your car, no problem. I'll bring it to you tomorrow. Here's my card. That's me there, ChopShop Specialist. I'll take REAL good care of your car. No worries...."

....and you willfully, thankfully even, hand over your keys...

Thursday, February 10, 2011

. Cycle

This is for all my ladies...and Doctor that enjoys a good medical entry. Don't let the picture scare you away, you might be surprised what the actual topic is.


I believe it is a common workplace activity. Typically someone is specifically hired to handle it. Assignment Editor, Administrative Assistant, Office Manager, Keeper of the Schedule.

No disrespect, it's a tough gig. Much of my time is lost manipulating a schedule. Taking countless patients or clients and juggling them into one 9-5 day is no easy feat. And everyone has a special need. If only there were some type of diagram.

The key is understanding what the doctor, technician, laborer, whomever, DOES. Take for example DirecTV. How often do they actually fall within their estimated window of service? Maybe because their scheduling department doesn't understand what is necessary for installation.

But here's the thing. I cancelled an appointment today. An OBGYN appointment. Let's just say my Aunt Flo came to visit and I had to reschedule. Here's what the scheduler offered instead:

"Okay, how about the 10th, exactly 4 weeks from now?" And I'd like to point out she is a woman.

"Great, but let me refer you to the diagram your people gave me when I was 12....I don't think that's any better."

"The 11th?"

"Really? Ma'am, the diagram,! 4 weeks, 4 days...sound familiar? Are you all offering a one day solution pill I don't know about?"

FYI...that thing up above, with the phone....don't try it at home.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

fArt Work

Hi. My name is Parker. And I am...a carpet muncher. This is to say, my belly, is Berber lined.

I am my own work of art. A burst of color where others produce a pile of pooh. Let's be honest, only elephants are really making it in the dung department.

Yes, she's a regular ole Picatsso. A grime capsule of daily activity. And really poppin' 'em out so to speak.

You could drive a matchbox car across the belly of a frog from what that darn cat has munched through! Eat your heart out Dan Rather.

And like any art-student daughter, she wants her pieces prominently displayed. Thankfully not on the mantle or from a magnet on the fridge, but rather, she's been hanging them off the lip of her sandbox. Precious Parker.

"Go on ask me what I did today...I double dog dare you!"

Sunday, February 6, 2011

Can I Get A Zamboni?

I do okay on ice. Usually. And I ride through anything. Normally. Else'n your feets get wet. But feets got wet.

I walked. Or skated. Or something. Walking my bike was a little bit like walking my dog...and we all know how that turned out.

When I got back up on the bike I played chicken the whole way in. Get on your own side with your wide knobby tires! Not to sound peahenny (that is to say, cocky) I can ride on ice better than some of these folks can walk.

But I'm late thanks to the off road luge track back there. It's bad enough my taxes do nothing to clear MY personal commute, but this freeze, refreeze routine? Over it! The bumps and ruts on my slicks, were, uhm, yeah, like that.

And if you think the road was any better, think again. Yo, Motorheads, a word of advice: give me room to make my own decisions, but please do not try to think for me. Chances are you are making it worse by guessing on how to make it better.

Truthfully, you can probably apply this rule universally in your covers a lot.

Saturday, February 5, 2011

Formally Known As Lucky

When I inherited my dog I was given a leash, a bowl, some food, and two very important facts: 1) he's furry and 2) DON'T feed him people food! The first was an obvious warning. The second an ominous Mogwai...don't get them wet and NEVER EVER feed them after midnight.

They weren't yanking my collar! Well, the first was fixed with a bath. Once his pesky fleas were evicted the hair stayed on the pooch and off the floor. What did not, was dinner, despite the heeded admonishment.

Eddy generously regifted his dinner on a somewhat regular basis. Not being a dog person I couldn't say with conviction that this was abnormal. After all, cats do it a lot. The difference is a cat produces dribble and a pup some pail sized puke. I CAN say with uber conviction I am NOT a fan.

January proved to be a whole new year. He ate, he ran, he played, of course he slept. Almost like a real dog! And then the puking returned with vengeance. This time he wasn't holding anything down but water. I stopped feeding him. An unfed dog is practically maintenance free. But maybe not a solution.

I did what any inherited dog owner would do....I deferred to my experienced girlfriend. I made her make the decisions. So here we had a dog wasting away, unable to keep food down, possibly fighting a cancer...REALLY, this all sounds disturbingly familiar. He doesn't have cervical cancer does HE?

His x-ray was…get this…apparently if you can see a dog's insides from the outside x-rays don't really work. In other words, he was too skinny to see much! Go figure. To make a very long story end, we sent him to find mom. And if there is some other world, Lucky Edd was running alongside a pedalin’ Eve before days end.