gon' get swole now...big changes ahead at the store...Arby's is gross

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Today wasn’t such a bad day.  It’s the end of November and the sun was out and the temp was up.  50s is not a bad thing this late in the year.  I did not ride my bike but I got a good run in and took the bearded one with me.  He lasted about seven miles before he called No Joy and demanded to be released so that he could retire to the comfort of his leather chair, which he has commandeered from Beth and I.  I got another three in for a total of ten today.  That’s three ten-mile runs this week for a bike rider.  

I hate riding bikes this time of year.  It’s difficult for me to get motivated to ride when it’s cold and dreary outside…and it’s only gonna get worse.  So, I usually just run a lot and maybe do three rides during the week, most of them on the trainer, followed by my brutal and masochistic leg routine that includes many sets of different movements, all to failure.  This has been my routine for many years.  It seems to work just fine for me and also serves the purpose of making me actually want to ride my bike when January comes and I stop running so much and start riding loads of miles.  If I only rode my bike during the fall and winter I would hate the damned thing and probably give up riding and racing, all together…Chorus: If I only rode my bike during the fall and winter I would hate the damned thing and probably give up riding and racing!  

And so it goes with maintaining fitness during the off-season.  If anyone wants to come and try my leg routing, we have a pretty complete set-up in the basement.  I promise you will know hors category suffering.  

So Beth leaves Tuesday for Japan and I will be a de facto bachelor here at the homestead.  That means the pups will be present at the shop a lot for the next couple weeks.  Also, Chris Carr’s giant “dog” may joins us also.  Leo is a Rhodesian Ridgeback who weighs about 140 pounds.  He could probably kill anyone or anything he wants to but, in fact, he is as gentle as a baby fur seal and mostly just wants to sleep a lot.  This is the time of year, from now until about the first of February, that we can have the pups in the store.  It’s pretty slow and I don’t have to worry about Bella jumping on people or Walter yelling his head off whenever the door buzzer goes off.  Should be a good time.  Maybe we could start a dog daycare in the winter for supplementary income.  Yep…That idea has some legs.  

And speaking of supplementary income and business diversification…we have six computrainers and are starting to teach classes now!  Chris Carr is leading that initiative and we already have a couple of people who have bought packages.  We used to do trainer sessions in the store a few years ago when we didn’t have so much inventory and bike racks all over the place; we sometimes had as many as twenty people riding trainers in the store on weekend mornings and week nights.  That was a fun time…a really great memory of the store when we were younger and just wanted to build a community.  I think we did.  We have such great customers and Pals of the store.  I met many of my good friends through the store and those trainer sessions.  That is one of the most important, and treasured benefits of owning the place.  

The computrainer sessions, though, are much more structured and we can display and record so many metrics now.  This makes training much more effective and enjoyable.  Chris and I will split teaching duties this winter so come on in and try it out!  

And enough about business…for now.  There are some very big and very exciting things about to happen on that front.  I cannot say exactly what right now but change is coming.  I’ll do an update when our plans are more solid.

And holy shit that Arby’s guy is blabbering on about meat and things that sizzle and how much money does that company spend on advertising?  It’s ridiculous!  Where did this guy come from?  I imagine they found him in some hole in the wall barbecue place in a filthy bayou down south.  Just gnawing on a half-dead hog and screaming for more hot sauce and sweet tea.  His voice acquired that rich, deep, resonant pitch by being stretched and stretched by swallowing great hunks of smoked meats until his larynx became thin enough to vibrate like a tugboat horn.  They display images of huge mounds of what looks like perfectly smoked mastodon thighs and expertly crafted sandwiches with fluffy white baguettes and layers of sliced meats.  When we all know (and they do also) that what you really get at Arby’s is a soggy yellow bun with a pile of grey spongy crud that smells like feet.  But that dude…what a trip.  “What kind of sheep…is a beef?”  I love it.  But I will never eat it.  

This is too long and running on fumes now because I am sleepy and the games are boring today.  I did get to ride the moto around the block, though.  That was pretty fun.  And I polished the wheels and body work so she is all sparkly now.  Good stuff.  Beth put up a ton of Christmas decorations today and they look great.  She is a dynamo.  So much energy.  We decided today that she is definitely an overachiever and I am…well…not an overachiever.  But I appreciate her natural inclination to be productive because if she was not, we would live in a house devoid of decorations, or pictures on the wall, or even furniture.  My natural environment mirrors my brain: rows and columns and NOTHING ON THE KITCHEN COUNTERS!!!  Oh, and clean floors.  

That’s all for now…I can hear the underpants gnomes singing in the other room so that means it’s bed time.

Man, how about this weather?! The end (of the race to the white house) is near.

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Election day is Tuesday!  That is only two days from today.  It is a terrifying thing to think about.  It is embarrassing, actually.  Were I in another country I would feel compelled to apologize for America and her ridiculous and atavistic political system.  I am also ashamed of the media.  Networks taking sides, tongue in cheek style, encouraging blood-lust in this dirty rat fight.  Terrible political ads running non-stop in a frenetic attempt to undermine and assassinate the opposing candidate’s character and even their family and religion.  it is truly awful, yet weirdly entertaining at the same time.  I cannot watch the morning news right now because of all the political ads.  They are mostly attack ads.  As a result, all ll I know about any of the candidates (especially for minor offices like governor, senator, or any of the state offices) is that they are terrible people in general, cheat on their taxes, eat most of their meals with lobbyists, and murder children for sport.  Tennessee Trey, Shell-Game Shelly, the Mustache, Orange Julius Caesar…it’s all so silly.

So, what then?  What do we do?  Just a question…I have no suggestions.  If I could write in Samuel L Jackson, I would.  Wait…that’s a suggestion, but can I?  I bet he would be a great prez.  He certainly would not take any crap.  And because he is a Jedi he would also be morally incorruptible and firm but fair.  I’m betting his IQ is at least twenty points higher than either of the current major candidates.  Yep…that’s who we need to lead our country into this funeral procession for the american dream.  Samuel L Jackson.  I can visualize him on the White House lawn at a pulpit screaming at journalists…his fist slamming the thing and his neck veins popping as his head stretches forward in a show of dominance… makes me laugh.  We should load him up with Starbucks and tequila and give him complete authority to do whatever he wants to do as it pertains to the leadership of our country and the protection of our fundamental ideologies.  Haha just kidding…our ideologies were quietly buried long ago in a moonlight funeral while we were sleeping.

And enough about that.  We’re in deep doo-doo and we all know it.  No matter who wins this twisted joke of an election, we are all in for a life-changing surprise.  New precedents will be set in almost every aspect of our lives.  There is a permanent shift in our paradigm coming and it will be very gloomy and very mean and disguised as empty promises and an inflated stock market.  A sociopath or a real-life banshee will inhabit the white house and gorge themselves on our remaining hope and for the most part, we will lay down like captive dogs and take our beatings and be grateful for the handfuls of kibble we are given.  All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.  And all that jazz.  Anarchy is really the only thing to do at this point but that is a difficult thing to arrange and it would really hurt.  Ach!  I am done with this topic now…I promise.  

The Colts just won in Green Bay!  Great game.  But now comes Sixty Minutes and the Zika virus and that goddam orange-skinned silverback cult-leader with a taste for human brains and dammit it is so very, very wrong and SHIT!!  I keep talking about the race to the throne.  i really mean it now…I promise I am done.  Done done done.

A British Tar is a soaring soul…as free as a mountain bird.  His energetic fist should be ready to resist…a dictatorial word.  HaHa!  I love that lyric.  You have to sing it, though, in the melody for which it was written.  Look it up.  Fitting, though, given our current situation.  

What great weather we had today.  I did a nice, long run and took Mr. Beard with me and he made it seven miles.  I dropped him off and did another six to make it a half.  Felt great and no problems at all, physically.  Knees are great and I’m lifting more weight than I have in about five years.  Maybe I can ride in the elite field again next year.  Though I have no business riding with First IB, now that we have the reigning USA Crits series champ riding for us.  FIB is way super fast now and I cannot believe how far we’ve come in only five years.  Makes me very happy to think about it.  We only have one rider left from the original crew but that’s natural, I guess.  But I can’t help but think about all the guys and gals who have been a part of this program.  From our first Cat 3 win with Tom Laser to our first Elite win with Benny, and all the other wins since then.  This has been a gut-wrench of a ride and I could not be happier with the creative aspect of the team.  Loads of help from a few very important people.  I will give shout-outs to them now:

Ryan Knapp-thanks for taking the offer and igniting this thing.  We’d never have come this far without you and your desperate need to win bike races at all costs…and also your influence on the rest of the team.  Everyone respects you like a godfather and that helps a helluva lot.

Bri Clark-thanks for your ability to create massive Excel spreadsheets with crucial data at warp speed…and also for your very long emails that address every concern i’ve ever had with the team and all the bullshit we have to deal with.  I really, REALLY appreciate it.  

Rachel Langdon-thanks for creating those gorgeous proposals for us and for your wholehearted commitment to the team from day one.  I’ve enjoyed your presence immensely and I am sad to see you go…but happy for you and the opportunity you have ahead of you.  

Benny and Becker-you guys are the foundation of the team and have been here from the start.  it has been my pleasure to see you both blossom into the excellent racers, but more importantly, the excellent men you are today.  I remember being able to kick both of your asses just a few years ago and now I don’t think i could even hold your wheel if you really wanted to bring the heat.  Man oh man how things have changed…

Beth Richter-thanks for coming to all the races and taking excellent photos and for always being available to help straighten out my brain when it becomes twisted and choked with all of my concerns and uncertainties regarding the team and life in general and how best to manage those things.  You are a calming force when I inevitably feel overwhelmed with everything.

I think that’s it for now.  I need to go to sleep soon and Walter is looking at me and I can tell he wants to say “dude!  let’s go upstairs already!  I am so done with this day…thanks for making me run seven miles when all i really wanted to do was run to that path with all the goose poop and have a feast.”  Gross…Walter is so gross.

Until next time!

A political post from someone who doesn't know anything about politics.

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This weekend is Hilly Hundred weekend and everyone is gone.  I am left here, alone, to defend the sense and mental direction of the common man.  And, as you can imagine, that is a very difficult thing in a time like this…which is to say, a very rotten time.  Rotten like a filthy, ten day-old dead possum rolled in Richard Nixon’s ashes.  

People like to say things like “I normally don’t like to make political posts.”, but they really do.  The problem with a common man or woman making a political post is that the poster cannot possibly know enough about the subject about which they are posting to be accurate or at least appear so.  Oh…when I refer to “common” people, I simply mean the regular folks you see walking or running or riding bikes with their kids around the zillion square miles of suburbs around Indianapolis.  Anyway…political posts are a vile and vain thing to do so please stop doing it.  Except for me, right now.  A person from either the Republican party or the Democratic party will win the election and life will go on as it has for hundreds of years here in the good ole’ U S of A.  

As it stands, currently, it appears that Hil-dog will be the champion in this grotesque race of ten-faced monsters.  It is inevitable.  Both candidates are cut from the same bloody cloth and both of them have armies of Disney Imagineers working twenty-six hours a day to come up with the ridiculous, yet highly entertaining sentences that they gut-squeeze from their putrid mouths.  Who would have thought that a so-called human being could both eat and shit from the same orifice?  I certainly didn’t think it was possible.  But then I heard that yam-colored wack-job wander like a punch-drunk idiot through that question about Obama’s birth certificate and I decided right then that only a highly-practiced freak-show manager could mumble that ineptly, yet supremely-confidently through something so important.  And, so, all Hillary has to do is be reasonably coherent when answering those softball questions from whichever neutered moderator is presiding and she will appear, at the very least, sane.  And that word has never much cared for the Donald.   

But sanity is not very important in a Presidential race, in case you didn’t know.  What really matters to me and most of the reasonable people I know is a person’s character.  True character (haha just kidding…what really matters is how deftly a candidate can sell false providence).  And that word, character, envelopes and gives depth to another word: honesty.  And one need not be sane to be honest.  That is the word that I wish I could assign to one of the candidates for President from which we currently have to choose…to lead our nation.  They are both nasty caricatures of the fading idea of the American Dream to which so many members of our country’s lower and middle-class desperately cling.  A snake-oil tycoon with the overbearing confidence of an enraged Silverback versus the quiet sort of scheming evil that would scare even an archangel to the core.  Rocky Infinity.  Shakespeare himself could not properly put this tragedy on paper.  Maybe something like “Much ado about a Whole Lot of Bullshit.”  Or maybe one of the newer writers would do it better.  Trump would make a great Frankenstein’s Monster with his soft intellect and ferocious appetite for human souls…due to the lack of one of his own.  And Hillary…

…I just spent about ten minutes trying to think of a character in modern literature who has similar characteristics to Hillary.  i failed.  She is so obviously vicious and filled with hatred toward anything which may threaten or stand in the way of her rise to Ultimate Power that you can clearly see a blackish sort of aura around her when she bumbles around the stage with those practiced little steps.  Maybe she is a little like Charon…ferrying people across the Styx to the underworld.  Yeah…that is probably the most accurate analogy you could cull from the past 5000 years.  And that should tell you something about what motivates her.  Give her a few coins and she gives you safe passage across the river and deposits you in the land of the dead.  And that is pretty much what the federal government does, right?  Death and taxes and all that crap…  Whoever came up with that phrase was pretty smart, I guess.  

Ahhh well…we’ll either have a transplant from the Hall of Presidents or the personification of evil  as our next president and either one will work feverishly toward the same goal, albeit in different manners: the procurement and retention of power.  I think that there are some politicians who are genuinely concerned about the state of affairs in this world (or country, or state, or city or county) but I believe they are few and far between.  The two buffoons who are running for president (actually three buffoons…let us not forget the CEO of Cannabis Sativa, Inc. who does not know what Aleppo is) are certainly not.  Power is the chief motivation of both of their campaigns.  It’s a very animalistic thing, this presidential race.  Hungry rats.  

Enough!

I sort of wish I had gone down to the Hilly.  I have seen a bunch of tweets and FB posts with cool pics of my buddies riding around B-town and eating fried chicken and pizza.  What did I do?  …a semi-long run today with my dog and then a bunch of lunges and pull-ups in the basement.  I think that maybe I will compete in the Crossfit games next year.  I do so love to rip out a bunch of clean and jerks as fast as possible and then run up a hill as fast as I can.  I may even go paleo while I’m at it.  Give up pizza and Little Debbies and Pringles and all that awful crap that makes me so happy at four in the afternoon when I’m starving at the bike shop.  Zebra Cakes.  They are the best.  Zebra Cakes are actually the same thing as any other Little Debbie cake-type food, only with stripes.  What makes them so good is the wax coating.  It’s like the wax they use in those huge, grotesque wax lips you see around Halloween-time.  I guess they flavor the wax with some sort of artificial addictive substance which causes you to eat an entire box of the things before you are even aware that you are chewing.  Zebra Cakes…the heroin of the retail professional.  They rank only slightly lower than Bob Evans biscuits and gravy on the grand scale of foods that I may or may not have eaten since I was five years old.  

And to hell with this blog entry.  I spoke too much about politics without actually stating a position and now The Deer Hunter is on and I need to concentrate.  The Deer Hunter is probably my favorite movie.  Very heavy stuff.  A brilliant study of character and the evolution of friendship…especially in the 1960s.  The final scenes always make my eyes wet.  I will do another one of these in a couple days.

One Shot,

C

Wedding season and moon-crazed coyotes

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I have not written for a while so I thought it might be time.  I am not sure I have anything interesting to say but let’s see here…

How about we start with some one or two-sentence scenes from a book that has never been written?  I was thinking about that on our way home from a wedding in Louisville.  So, Beth’s cousin was married at the Speed Museum on the campus of the University of Louisville.  It was a very, very cool wedding with a great ceremony and a kick-ass reception complete with wild dancing, huge amounts of loud music, and broken glasses…and just about the cutest little flower-girl ever, who also happened to be my wife’s cousin’s daughter.  I have no idea what title that gives Beth and I…second cousins?  second Uncle-in-Law?  No clue.  No matter, though.  Amelia was the bestest ever and we made some super-rad artwork in the kiddie art lab just outside the reception area, in the museum.  

Louisville is a pretty cool town, incidentally.  I did a couple of runs along the riverfront and they were very scenic and very humid and I was Very glad that I found a port-a-potty near Eva Bandman park, which was the venue for Cyclocross Worlds a couple of years ago.  The last time I was there (at Worlds) I was stomping around in the mud and yelling at madmen riding bikes around in the mud and trying not to become deaf from all the screaming and whatever was making that awful horn noise everywhere.  Also I was three or four sheets to the wind and my wife was not happy with that.  But, I digress.  Let’s get back on track with those scenes, shall we?  Here goes: 

The angry Swede muttered something ridiculous about getting a tattoo of Wonder Woman’s airplane on his left arm and then strode off like a drunken baboon in the direction of Tombstone.  I never saw him again.  

Remus had never seen a hot air balloon up close.  And why would he have?  He had lived in that stinking bog all his life and never had much interest in pointing his eyes skyward.  One must be vigilant in an environment like his.  Piranha are always hungry and Remus knew all too well about their vicious appetite.  He had lost his first toe when he was only three years old.  

For a leaf, Fall is always a very suspenseful time.

Banjo Fred had fished along the same stretch of river for nearly thirty years.  Sometimes he caught a fish…and sometimes he caught ringworm.  

“I told you not to do that!” said my brother.  He was always the careful one.  And I respect that quality immensely.  But there are times when you must override the conservative nature of a trusted companion.  And this was one of those times.  “You went too far!  You went way too far, JB!”, he said.  He was wrong though.  Well…he was right and wrong.  And my career as a giraffe trainer was about to take a very dark turn.

That was fun.  But I am tired now and in desperate need of a soft pillow and the drone of my fan.  And darkness.  So maybe one more stupid long paragraph.  

The moon is nuts this weekend, by the way.  Huge and brilliant and probably drawing out the crazies and the coyotes.  The crazies all descend on the bike shop and want to talk about how good they were at BMX back in the 80s and “Can you guys still get Skyway mags?”  Dingbats.  Sometimes they are fun, though.  But sometimes they just want to murder our bathroom.  The coyotes just eat all the voles and mice and poop all over the walking paths that criss cross the neighborhood.  Everyone hates them and wants to shoot them with 45 Magnums and shotguns (probably 90% of the population around here own a gun) but I sort of like them.  They control the rodents and generally just do what they were programmed to do, which is eat and make little baby coyotes.  I’ve seen them wandering around the county roads near cornfields and once i even stopped and watched one not twenty feet away from me.  He just sat there watching me for a few minutes and then lazily strolled off into the field.  They look like miniature versions of Soma, my shepherd-husky mix who left for the Happy Hunting Grounds three years ago.  That’s probably why I like them.  Soma was the best.  But I do wonder why they insist on pooping on the walking paths.  That part is annoying.  You have to constantly watch where you are running or walking or whatever.  Why don’t they just use the grass?

Right…that’s it for this one.  I am going to attempt to start doing these more often.  They will get better.  I need to write about the team soon.  Very exciting stuff on that front.  First IB Cycling just keeps growing and we are set to be a dominant crit team next season.  I’ll get to that very soon.  

Oh yeah…the Colts just shot themselves in the gut.  Nice giveaway, guys….

Remember the 80s?

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Yesterday was the Heroes Foundation Gala and Beth and I attended.  We were invited by the Bose McKinney crew and had a great time.  I ate most of the cake on the table and the steak and salmon were top of the pops.  Had many weird conversations with slurring people about things that they will not remember today.  I like that stuff.  It makes me laugh…it MADE me laugh last night.  I had a lot of fun seeing a lot of bike people outside of the shop.  I needed that.  I’m hopefully at the tail end of a rough couple months.  Happens every year.  No need to talk about that shit, though.  Suffice to say that I know I have a great group of pals that are very supportive of me and the shop.  And that is what is most important at times like this.  

I guess I’ve always been a bit high-strung.  My nerves are jumpy and I usually live a month or two in the future.  That part is difficult.  An atom will only materialize if you look at it.  And I look at them a lot.  Probably a thousand times a day.  But it does not matter because when I look away, the atoms disappear again until I look back at them.  But then they are in a different place.  And that is frustrating because all my plans were based on the previous locations of those goddam atoms.  My nerves quickly realize this fact and start jumping around like demonic slinkys and then I cannot sleep and my eyes start twitching and darting and my feet move around and I end up in the state in which I am at present…which is to say—I am Nutter Butters.  Ask my wife.  Or my dogs.  Or especially the guys who work for me.  “Who is this guy?”  I am silent today…I jabber incessantly and inconsistently about who knows what tomorrow.  I may build a few bikes and get my hands dirty one day or sit and stare at my computer the next.  it all depends on the atoms and where they are when I observe them.  

Maybe there is some force that attached itself to me back on Wainwright Boulevard when I was 8 years old that times my observations just right so that I always find myself in this thick cloud of uncertainty and holy shit I’m tired of talking about it.  

You know what was fun back then (in the eighties)?  Riding bikes around Sunblest and racing each other on our homemade BMX tracks.  We all had BMX bikes and we all could ride.  It was always sunny and 85 degrees.  The neighborhood was not yet complete and there were loads of construction sites on which we could build our tracks.  Ride, ride, ride all day long and maybe go to the pool.  The old Sunblest pool with the clubhouse with the awesome lollipops and Payday bars.  The locker rooms with the super hot showers.  The chain-link fence that ran around the pool and the wooden privacy fence at the deep end.  The foot-deep kiddie pool…the shallow end for the moms and littl’uns and the Deep End for us.  No one came to the deep end but us.  That was our domain.  We played Sharks and Minnows and Josh Petty pioneered the splash-dive off the diving board at the South end of the pool.  Wooden benches lined the edges and when we were tired of thrashing ourselves in sharks and minnows we just laid out and turned brown.  No sunscreen back then.  Only sun and chlorine and bleached hair and that radio that always played 99 and a half, WZPL (I think it was called The Apple back then).  Always blasting out 80’s hits from Huey Lewis, Michael Jackson, Depeche Mode, the Bangles, Phil Collins, hot damn that was a good time.  I forgot my pool tag man!  Pass me yours through the fence so I can get in!  No worries…John Miner knows me and it’s all good.  If he called you a Stud you knew you were cool and you knew everyone else in the world knew you were cool.  And we were there for a good portion of our grade school and middle school years and we grew and got stronger and before long I could jump almost to the other side of the deep end when we played sharks and minnows and it wasn’t any fun any more.  We all learned to do a Full Gainer off the diving board and sometimes we hit our heads on the thing but who cares?  Because it’s sunny and the temps are always hot and I don’t ever want to leave this place.  Can we just take a good long look at all of these atoms and force them to stay where they are?  Everyone do it right now!  Just concentrate and look at them and maybe we can all stay young and tan and have chlorine-bleached hair forever and ride our bikes around the neighborhood and have BB gun wars and…damn…we all liked each other!  How many girls did you kiss last summer?  Who is “going with” who?  So funny.  

I got the Honda 50 back then also.  Chad had a Garelli and Petro had a Tomos.  Our first experiences with motorized vehicles.  Mine was a dirt bike so I could jump things a bit batter than them.  But we all lived pretty close to each other and I built trails right behind our house in the open field with the peacocks and coyotes.  That field is now a shitload of retail with a Marsh supermarket at 116th and Allisonville.  But back then it was nothing.  I could ride my bike down 116th to Shell to fill up my gas tank and sometimes I wouldn’t even see a car.  And maybe I would stop at Hooks to get some Chewy Sweet Tarts and some Laffy Taffy.  I’m 12 and I make $100 a week mowing lawns in the neighborhood and I buy a lot of candy.  And I ride my bike.  I ride my bike a lot…for hours sometimes.  And it’s always hot and sunny and I think we must have had about a ten year drought back then because I don’t remember any rain…just hot, sunny days and skateboards and bikes and pavement and homemade quarter-pipes and I destroyed my ankles so many times on the launch ramp trying to be Christian Hosoi.  Bon Jovi did Slippery When Wet and I had that cassette tape and my jambox (that’s what we white suburban kids called our boom boxes).  Play it loud while we skate on the quarter-pipe and SHIT…I need more batteries.  About six D batteries.  The damn things are huge and I need them every other day.  And please make sure you take a good long look at the atoms so we don’t ever have to leave this place!

Fuck, I lost them.  I tried to concentrate but I have to blink sometimes and I must have blinked too often because now I am almost 42 and it is never quite that hot or sunny and the pool has been demolished and they are building a Primrose school there and I took a piece of concrete from the demolished pool.  They can’t have it all.  I took a piece of that place and it will always be hot from that sun and there are still some molecules of chlorine in that chunk of concrete and maybe even a couple cells of our skin from when we walked around the deep end to get to the diving board.  I’m sure this piece of concrete is from the deep end.  That’s the area from which I got the chunk.  I’m sure of it.  And if anyone wants to see it or touch it…it’s in my truck.  I may have been away from that place for a few years but I will always remember.  I know I suffer from a severe case of nostalgia-induced melancholy but what the hell happened to Fishers?  It just is not Our Fishers anymore.  Too many people decided they wanted that sunshine and they took all the fields and trees and hills and made them into giant neighborhoods made of vinyl and baby Bradford Pear trees.  They even re-routed some of the roads.  I hardly can remember some of the views we used to have.  I have to concentrate very hard to remember the school and my locker and how to get to the wrestling room.  

Do the kids at HSE now see the things we did back then?  Do some of the atoms rearrange themselves, spontaneously, into me talking to Petro to distract him while he was backing up in his Escort until he bumped into the school bus?  That one was one of my favorites.  Left a little dent in the rear bumper that stayed there until that car was sold.  Mark was furious.  I laughed my ass completely off and jumped into my Camaro and sped off with my Bazooka tubes booming some Mix-A-Lot…back to my house for some one on one with Wirtz and those were some good times.  But those atoms whirled around and turned into something else…probably a “device” or something.  It’s okay.  …They tell me it’s okay.  I should concentrate on being present in this moment.  I should not over think things.  I should not be so reactive.  I know.  I realize that the atoms are subject to EVERYONE looking at them, not just me.  And sometimes I am okay with that.  Sometimes I am not.  And those are the times in which I find myself right now.  I just….lament…progress.  

I put in a basketball goad at the house a couple weeks ago.  Most of my friends live pretty far away now and I know that I will have to shoot around by myself most of the time.  But I can still shoot.  And I can still jump pretty high.  McCauley would still make fun of me if we were playing 21 because I would still be easily baited by a fake shot.  I would still jump up to block it and he would still laugh and just dart around me for an easy layup.  I would still say “shit” and be pissy for a few minutes but I would start laughing also because Scott is the best in the business at the art of the sarcastic mimic.  And I can’t help it.  I want to punch him but I’m laughing too hard and the game goes on and I love my friends and maybe someday we can play again for real.  Someday before we are too old to run and jump.  But even that is okay because Scott could make fun of that also and I would helpless laugh at us and maybe growing up isn’t so bad.  Maybe it’s not so bad.  Maybe it’s not so bad.  Sometimes it’s not so bad.  Just focus on today.  Keep that piece of concrete but don’t touch it too often.  Call the two Marks more.  Text Scott and laugh when he tries to mimic Don Fischer’s voice via text.  

My wife indulges me quite a bit.  She loves me and I know it.  Last night i told her a lot of what i just wrote and she listened and encouraged me to be more active in my friendships.  I isolate myself so much.  I will attempt to do better.  I know a lot of people need me to be more present in my affairs.  As I mentioned before…it’s all about the arrangement of atoms.  They will manifest when you observe them.  And to do that you must be present in the moment.  You cannot be in the future…which is where I am most of the time.  I just have to grab my eyes and stick them back in my head and look just in front of me instead of way the hell off over the horizon.  I know it can be done.  I’ve seen other people do it.  My wife does it.  She is pretty happy most of the time.  It seems to me that most people who focus on the here and now are a lot calmer than me.  

Not really sure how to wrap this up.  I was just trying to think of a transition and some clever little anecdote to end the thing but nothing is coming to mind.  So…uh…goodbye.  

-C