Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to each of you. Thanks for being around.
--Christian, Chloe, Noah, Reanie, C. Ezra
Saturday, December 24, 2005
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Gig 'em?
From today's Dallas Morning News:
Brown: Off-field issues 'handled internally'
03:50 PM CST on Tuesday, December 20, 2005
By CHIP BROWN / The Dallas Morning News
AUSTIN –
Texas coach Mack Brown said issues surrounding a police investigation into an alleged incident on Dec. 10 involving at least two football players have been “handled internally.”
Brown addressed the investigation for the first time since the Austin Police Department made it public on Friday. The probe appears to be centering around senior cornerback Cedric Griffin and sophomore running back Ramonce Taylor.
Their attorney, Ken Oden, says he’s been told police will not press charges in the matter, which Oden has described as a “testosterone-charged exchange of trash talk” with another group of men on Sixth Street at 3 a.m. on Dec. 10. Police say the investigation is ongoing.
“When we’ve had a very seldom incident come up, we’ve handled it firmly and moved forward,” Brown said. “Obviously we had a few guys who were out later than we would have liked for them to be a couple weeks ago. We’ve dealt with them within our team and we’ve talked to the team about it. The Austin Police Department has got an investigation going on. No one has been charged, and at this point, we’re moving forward.”
Brown said Griffin and Taylor are practicing and are focused as the team prepares to play for the national title against USC on Jan. 4 in the Rose Bowl. Brown described practices Monday and Tuesday as “great.” ...
But wait, there's more...
Attorney: UT's Griffin, Taylor not involved
04:57 AM CST on Monday, December 19, 2005
By CHIP BROWN / The Dallas Morning News
AUSTIN – ...Oden said the alleged incident was nothing more than a "testosterone-charged moment of trash talk." Police are investigating whether Griffin was asking people on the street for $5 for pizza and whether a group of men who came across Griffin took offense to it.
Oden, who met with Taylor and his mother, Ramona Clark, on Sunday to help provide more information to the police, said he believes Taylor was nothing more than a bystander in the exchange.
Griffin, a senior defensive back, and Taylor, a sophomore tailback, start for Texas, which will face USC in the Rose Bowl on Jan. 4.
Texas coach Mack Brown said Friday during a news conference, "I've told the players, 'If you get in trouble, you probably won't play.' And what an awful thing for you to make a mistake, a 15-second mistake, and cost yourself a chance to play or win a national title."
Brown: Off-field issues 'handled internally'
03:50 PM CST on Tuesday, December 20, 2005
By CHIP BROWN / The Dallas Morning News
AUSTIN –
Texas coach Mack Brown said issues surrounding a police investigation into an alleged incident on Dec. 10 involving at least two football players have been “handled internally.”
Brown addressed the investigation for the first time since the Austin Police Department made it public on Friday. The probe appears to be centering around senior cornerback Cedric Griffin and sophomore running back Ramonce Taylor.
Their attorney, Ken Oden, says he’s been told police will not press charges in the matter, which Oden has described as a “testosterone-charged exchange of trash talk” with another group of men on Sixth Street at 3 a.m. on Dec. 10. Police say the investigation is ongoing.
“When we’ve had a very seldom incident come up, we’ve handled it firmly and moved forward,” Brown said. “Obviously we had a few guys who were out later than we would have liked for them to be a couple weeks ago. We’ve dealt with them within our team and we’ve talked to the team about it. The Austin Police Department has got an investigation going on. No one has been charged, and at this point, we’re moving forward.”
Brown said Griffin and Taylor are practicing and are focused as the team prepares to play for the national title against USC on Jan. 4 in the Rose Bowl. Brown described practices Monday and Tuesday as “great.” ...
But wait, there's more...
Attorney: UT's Griffin, Taylor not involved
04:57 AM CST on Monday, December 19, 2005
By CHIP BROWN / The Dallas Morning News
AUSTIN – ...Oden said the alleged incident was nothing more than a "testosterone-charged moment of trash talk." Police are investigating whether Griffin was asking people on the street for $5 for pizza and whether a group of men who came across Griffin took offense to it.
Oden, who met with Taylor and his mother, Ramona Clark, on Sunday to help provide more information to the police, said he believes Taylor was nothing more than a bystander in the exchange.
Griffin, a senior defensive back, and Taylor, a sophomore tailback, start for Texas, which will face USC in the Rose Bowl on Jan. 4.
Texas coach Mack Brown said Friday during a news conference, "I've told the players, 'If you get in trouble, you probably won't play.' And what an awful thing for you to make a mistake, a 15-second mistake, and cost yourself a chance to play or win a national title."
Monday, December 19, 2005
Girls rule, Boys drool
This is me with my beautiful date for the ballet.
This is where we went.
Moments before the lights went down and the curtain went up.
It was a family tradition of sorts for my Dad to take us all to the Nutcracker. We'd get dressed up best we could, go out to s sit-down restaurant, and then take our places in the box seats for the ballet in Houston.
Mama made it possible for me to carry on this tradition with Reanie, and with no apologies whatsoever, I can say from the bottom of my heart that this was my second best Reanie day ever (the day she was born being the first).
During the drive to the Hall, we talked about the ballet, but I wasn't quite able to convince Reanie that she wasn't in this ballet, but instead, that we were going to watch it. At one point she almost got it when she said that she was going to watch me "ballet."
As we mingled among the patrons of the ballet at the Bass Performance Hall in Fort Worth, we saw a few other Daddy's with their girls. Making eye contact with those Dads, the unspoken word shared between us was that this really is as good as it gets.
Reanie was on the receiving end of so many "Oohhh's" and "Aahhh's" that is was almost uncomfortable, but one of the highlights for me was that she was holding my hand as we walked through the lobby because she took my hand, and not the other way around.
We went to the bar and ordered a Pellegrino and an oatmeal cookie. We shared the water and put the cookie in her purse, as we intended to break the rule of "No food allowed in the Box seats."
She spent most of the first act not in her seat, but instead, standing with her head resting on her arms on the brass rail in front of us. She turned to me at one point, and I thought she was going to say something, so to make sure she whispered I put me ear near her face so she could talk to me. But she kissed me on the cheek instead.
When intermission came, she wasn't ready for the performance to be over, and it was tough to explain that we still had the second act to go. So, instead of leaving to walk around a bit, we stayed put and munched on the cookie.
She was a little fidgety in the second act, but it was confined to climbing in my lap to watch, standing at the rail, and sitting in her seat. She very nearly stole the show for those in the boxes adjoining ours when about 2/3's the way through the second act that she moved her chair and started doing the ballet positions she knows, complete with whispering what they are.
I cried, because that was my girl.
Friday, December 16, 2005
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
(sound of someone sucking in their gut)
I've been back in the saddle some lately. Done an 80somethin' mile on each of the last few weekends. Done some sort of activity during the week a couplefew times. I'm not "back," but I'm not "over there" anymore either.
But today, I was riding the dirt bike out on a trail near here (Knob Hill for the locals), but I took a phone call (work) out there in the middle somewhere. Now, that's not important, but what is important is that while I was standing out there in the woods on the side of the trail, talking on a cell phone about bike riding, another rider approached (the only rider I saw in 2 hr, for what it is worth).
As this rider approached, I realized that my gut sticks out quite a bit. So I'm talking on the phone about getting someone else fit, while out on the bike myself, when someone comes along making me self-conscious about my belly fat.
So?
So I sucked it in.
But it still stuck out. Even with sucking it in, it still sticks out. As soon as I got home, I did 100 sit ups, and it STILL sticks out!
JR, how did this happen?
But today, I was riding the dirt bike out on a trail near here (Knob Hill for the locals), but I took a phone call (work) out there in the middle somewhere. Now, that's not important, but what is important is that while I was standing out there in the woods on the side of the trail, talking on a cell phone about bike riding, another rider approached (the only rider I saw in 2 hr, for what it is worth).
As this rider approached, I realized that my gut sticks out quite a bit. So I'm talking on the phone about getting someone else fit, while out on the bike myself, when someone comes along making me self-conscious about my belly fat.
So?
So I sucked it in.
But it still stuck out. Even with sucking it in, it still sticks out. As soon as I got home, I did 100 sit ups, and it STILL sticks out!
JR, how did this happen?
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Any Semblance to Actual Events is Purely Accidental
snow·ball (sno bôl )
v. snow·balled, snow·ball·ing, snow·balls
--To grow rapidly in significance, importance, or size: problems that snowballed by the hour.
A modern day action movie has something blowing up or someone being shot in the first three minutes. Novels of the same genre tend to be hefty reads, but nonetheless, page turners.
This is neither. This is a tragedy and a comedy, and the disservice is that I am the one writing it. Before we even get started, I must invoke several forms of poetic license in the names of brevity, responsibility, and because sometimes drunk bike racers just don't belong out in public.
To help move the story along, it is important to know the cast of:
Brad Thompson
Doc
The Prime Minister
The Beaner
UPS
The Coach
Pro Card
Featuring:
Whale Call
The story begins on a Friday afternoon as a Texas-based cycling team--nay, club, but heretofore referred to as ‚ "The Team," gathered for one of their annual training camps. And someone brought the Coors, coffee, cards, cash, Crown, Coke, and The Coach got the keys to the Chevy.
Fast forward (poetic license, you see?) to Saturday morning, where The Team left camp at 10:30 for the 10am ride. The Team completed 80-115 Hill Country miles, depending upon the individual rider and how much some of them are willing to lie about their mileage, particularly those who don't have a computer on their bikes. But I digress, because a lack of mileage does not bear any correlation to ass kicking or nakedness after the bars close on 6th street, whether one knows he's in Austin or San Marcos.
Upon completion of that ride, there was barbeque. And beer. And wine.
When all of that was gone, there were cards, Crown, Coke, cash, some more Coors‚ and by the time 11pm rolled around, much of The Team were in bed, which is where they all should have been. But hindsight is what it is when you have received mace in the eye.
As the card game came to a close, The Coach in his infinite lack of wisdom suggested that those remaining awake steal keys to a Suburban and drive into San Marcos (his college stomping grounds) to enjoy ONE beer before the bars closed there. Just for old time's sake.
The members of The Team who were awake and thought it a good idea, made offer to those asleep of much adventure. The Prime Minister was up for it. The Beaner told everyone to "Fuck Off" but he got dressed anyway and climbed into the back of the truck.
Just before the key was placed into the ignition, discussion regarding the closing time of bars in various cities was had. It was determined that it was somehow more efficient to go to Austin, where the bars close at 2am, than to go to San Marcos, where the bars close at midnight.
The Coach just wanted to get a beer in his old college town.
But Brad Thompson offered to buy the drinks for the night if The Team went to Austin.
Just as The Team pulled up to 6th street, Whale Call, who is sitting in the front seat, asks, "Are we in San Marcos or Austin?"
I'm not sure how familiar you are with the Error Chain Model, but The Team was well on its way to being a case study for some Economic/Management graduate class.
The Team bounced from bar to bar. Brad Armstrong fears no Chuck Norris, as Brad Thompson can get women to pose topless for eight bike racing dorks, outside, in 30 degree weather, by simply saying, "I've got marshmallows!"
The Coach never went to school in Austin, so he didn't drink, but instead, watched the shenanigans. He's not Irish either, but that's ok for this story.
To demonstrate just how far decision making skills had declined, it is worth pointing out a side incident, which will (if I may abuse literary convention) foreshadow just how ridiculous of a situation The Team was now fully entrenched...
The Coach was about 20 feet from the rest of The Team, as The Coach does not drink (like a fish, he does, but not that night), but instead was watching a talented woman dance in a modern dance form known to some tribes as "Stripper," while under the guise of watching and listening to a blues band.
Doc notices The Coach and wanders over to see what there is to see. Doc continues to smoke the cigarette that The Coach put out for him, but Doc does notice our favorite blues dancer.
The Beaner, not wanting to be left out, notices The Coach and Doc noticing something. He moseys up to the pair and says, "What are you looking at?" The Coach wonders just how bad The Beaner's vision really is, and gives the head nod to the dance flower and says, "That." The Beaner doesn't notice the talent of the dancing woman, but instead, the talent of a man, who is also dancing, and his world class mullet. "Look at THAT mullet,' says The Beaner with much enthusiasm. Doc and The Coach can only look at each other and wonder what it is about a mullet that has such power over The Beaner.
It is a sad note that at that bar, Brad Thompson's marshmallow trick met its demise when a mark ate one of the props. Bitch. At that point, Brad Thompson and his well attending straight man, UPS, then had to improvise. Which they did for another couplefew bars until closing time.
At the last bar, even with 80's music blaring and multiple talents dancing on the bar, Whale Call and The Coach opted out and went for pizza. As the remaining members of The Team fell later out of that place, pizza became the focus, and Doc was recruited to buy.
The Team, happy with their plight of the night, made way for the truck and made merry talk. Pizza and the boys. Life is good.
About a block from the pizza place, The Team crossed paths with another team from the opposite direction. The streets were crowded with people not particularly walking direct routes, especially at that time of the night, and if I dare say, there was something in the air that smelled like teen spirit. Or maybe I was just tired. Or maybe it was because Whale Call said to Pro Card as we left the pizza place, "Watch. It looks like there will be a fight. You can just see all the people around waiting for it."
Damn foreshadowing.
So, the two teams approach, having nothing at all in common or anything at all from such opposing view points or edicts that would warrant a declaration of war upon those who are without pizza on those who do, but nevertheless, it happens.
One of the opposing team says, "Gimme your pizza‚" as their group walks through and around ours and we through and around theirs.
The Beaner, who is the self-proclaimed protector of pizza and its integrity and pride, turns to confront the (now) opponent about his demands. Much chest puffing, yelling, and circling of the wagons and spectators ensues.
Whale Call, the Prime Minister (appropriately or not?), and others attempt to diffuse the situation, but the ass clown is quite obviously willing to see the situation approach level "Stupid.‚" Level Stupid is picking a fight at 2:15am when the streets are full of drunk people and lots of Police armed with mace. And picking that fight with eight actual teammates who, though they are dork bike racers, are still fit. Oh, and there's the one guy who is sober too, so the advantage is decidedly with The Team, though in fairness to ass clown, there is no way he could have known this. Anyway, ass clown #1 knocks The Beaner's pizza out of his hands.
Despite this, The Team, at this particular moment, looks like it escaped a physical confrontation when The Beaner had enough of ass clown's posturing, chest poking, spitting, pizza abuse, and all that stuff. That's when The Beaner went for the 10 foot head butt, connecting somewhat. Whale Call turns The Beaner to the direction of the truck and shoves. Ass clown takes aim at any target, which happened to be the Prime Minister, who was then bench pressed from approximately 6th and Trinity to 6th and Neches.
Whale Call and Brad Thompson, the closest Teamnuts to the Prime Minister, do not let this deed go unrewarded.
Brad Thompson catches ass clown in the mouth quite accurately. As Whale Call goes in to pay or collect (depending upon which team you are rooting for), Brad Thompson is caught with a strong connection to the ear by ass clown #2. Ass clown #1 is scampering away as Whale Call makes sure he stays away when ass clown #2 then connects with Whale Call's eye, from behind.
Though it was entertaining, and The Coach really, really, really did not want to go to jail, nor did he want to use the rest of Whale Call's poker winnings to get any Teamnut out of jail, there is a time when you, in the immortal words of Ferris Bueller, say, "What the fuck?" and just do it.
But The Coach was sober, and just as he was ready to hit and (more likely) be hit, he saw the police come around the corner. One or two were on foot. Two or three were on bikes (right on!) and three were on horseback. The Coach quickly figured they would probably have the situation more under control than he could, so he started throwing people.
He started throwing his teamnuts towards the truck.
The first few were easy, especially since ass clown #1 was resisting and fighting with the police, and that cleared up some room. It did not clear up ass clown's face, however. He was bleeding from more than just his mouth as he was escorted away by the Police, but to add injury to injury, his face was well-smeared with mace and tears from his crying and whining mess of self-esteem. Ass clown #2 and #3 were in the process of getting Whale Call's shirt up over his head...
We have to pause for a visual. Whale Call is pasty white. He claims it is something to do with being German, but I think he puts on lots of sunscreen and otherwise doesn't go outside much. But whatever.
He's in the middle of 6th St at 2:15am, in a big f'n crowd, with his shirt off, flaunting his honed bike racer upper body and pasty skin, while wearing camo pants and croc sandals. And Whale Call has a shaved head.
...but Whale Call is committed. He took a few shots before The Coach could get there, but he also put one of them (ass clown #3) on the ground. Ass clown #2, I kid you not, ran away. At this point, Whale Call really wanted a piece of ass clown #3, but as The Coach got there, the police on horses were circling and (as luck would have it) going after ass clown #3, first.
The Coach grabbed Whale Call instead, tried to dress him while shoving him towards the truck. Whale Call put up such resistance to The Coach that a circle of spectators began to form around the two Teamnuts. The Coach won out and Whale Call left.
The Coach sees another shirt on the ground and reaches to pick it up (it was near ass clown #3 and the clusterkick he was getting from the Police) only to catch some mace in the eye.
The shirt just wasn't worth it, so he quickly made for the truck with the rest of The Team. It was then that he realized Pro Card was unaccounted for.
The Coach turned around and went back into the melee fearing that Pro Card was either being beaten by more ass clowns, was being arrested, or was just plain lost.
Turns out he was just watching the ass clowns get arrested. Pro Card did have quite a grin on his face, but that may be because he was holding everyone's pizza.
v. snow·balled, snow·ball·ing, snow·balls
--To grow rapidly in significance, importance, or size: problems that snowballed by the hour.
A modern day action movie has something blowing up or someone being shot in the first three minutes. Novels of the same genre tend to be hefty reads, but nonetheless, page turners.
This is neither. This is a tragedy and a comedy, and the disservice is that I am the one writing it. Before we even get started, I must invoke several forms of poetic license in the names of brevity, responsibility, and because sometimes drunk bike racers just don't belong out in public.
To help move the story along, it is important to know the cast of:
Brad Thompson
Doc
The Prime Minister
The Beaner
UPS
The Coach
Pro Card
Featuring:
Whale Call
The story begins on a Friday afternoon as a Texas-based cycling team--nay, club, but heretofore referred to as ‚ "The Team," gathered for one of their annual training camps. And someone brought the Coors, coffee, cards, cash, Crown, Coke, and The Coach got the keys to the Chevy.
Fast forward (poetic license, you see?) to Saturday morning, where The Team left camp at 10:30 for the 10am ride. The Team completed 80-115 Hill Country miles, depending upon the individual rider and how much some of them are willing to lie about their mileage, particularly those who don't have a computer on their bikes. But I digress, because a lack of mileage does not bear any correlation to ass kicking or nakedness after the bars close on 6th street, whether one knows he's in Austin or San Marcos.
Upon completion of that ride, there was barbeque. And beer. And wine.
When all of that was gone, there were cards, Crown, Coke, cash, some more Coors‚ and by the time 11pm rolled around, much of The Team were in bed, which is where they all should have been. But hindsight is what it is when you have received mace in the eye.
As the card game came to a close, The Coach in his infinite lack of wisdom suggested that those remaining awake steal keys to a Suburban and drive into San Marcos (his college stomping grounds) to enjoy ONE beer before the bars closed there. Just for old time's sake.
The members of The Team who were awake and thought it a good idea, made offer to those asleep of much adventure. The Prime Minister was up for it. The Beaner told everyone to "Fuck Off" but he got dressed anyway and climbed into the back of the truck.
Just before the key was placed into the ignition, discussion regarding the closing time of bars in various cities was had. It was determined that it was somehow more efficient to go to Austin, where the bars close at 2am, than to go to San Marcos, where the bars close at midnight.
The Coach just wanted to get a beer in his old college town.
But Brad Thompson offered to buy the drinks for the night if The Team went to Austin.
Just as The Team pulled up to 6th street, Whale Call, who is sitting in the front seat, asks, "Are we in San Marcos or Austin?"
I'm not sure how familiar you are with the Error Chain Model, but The Team was well on its way to being a case study for some Economic/Management graduate class.
The Team bounced from bar to bar. Brad Armstrong fears no Chuck Norris, as Brad Thompson can get women to pose topless for eight bike racing dorks, outside, in 30 degree weather, by simply saying, "I've got marshmallows!"
The Coach never went to school in Austin, so he didn't drink, but instead, watched the shenanigans. He's not Irish either, but that's ok for this story.
To demonstrate just how far decision making skills had declined, it is worth pointing out a side incident, which will (if I may abuse literary convention) foreshadow just how ridiculous of a situation The Team was now fully entrenched...
The Coach was about 20 feet from the rest of The Team, as The Coach does not drink (like a fish, he does, but not that night), but instead was watching a talented woman dance in a modern dance form known to some tribes as "Stripper," while under the guise of watching and listening to a blues band.
Doc notices The Coach and wanders over to see what there is to see. Doc continues to smoke the cigarette that The Coach put out for him, but Doc does notice our favorite blues dancer.
The Beaner, not wanting to be left out, notices The Coach and Doc noticing something. He moseys up to the pair and says, "What are you looking at?" The Coach wonders just how bad The Beaner's vision really is, and gives the head nod to the dance flower and says, "That." The Beaner doesn't notice the talent of the dancing woman, but instead, the talent of a man, who is also dancing, and his world class mullet. "Look at THAT mullet,' says The Beaner with much enthusiasm. Doc and The Coach can only look at each other and wonder what it is about a mullet that has such power over The Beaner.
It is a sad note that at that bar, Brad Thompson's marshmallow trick met its demise when a mark ate one of the props. Bitch. At that point, Brad Thompson and his well attending straight man, UPS, then had to improvise. Which they did for another couplefew bars until closing time.
At the last bar, even with 80's music blaring and multiple talents dancing on the bar, Whale Call and The Coach opted out and went for pizza. As the remaining members of The Team fell later out of that place, pizza became the focus, and Doc was recruited to buy.
The Team, happy with their plight of the night, made way for the truck and made merry talk. Pizza and the boys. Life is good.
About a block from the pizza place, The Team crossed paths with another team from the opposite direction. The streets were crowded with people not particularly walking direct routes, especially at that time of the night, and if I dare say, there was something in the air that smelled like teen spirit. Or maybe I was just tired. Or maybe it was because Whale Call said to Pro Card as we left the pizza place, "Watch. It looks like there will be a fight. You can just see all the people around waiting for it."
Damn foreshadowing.
So, the two teams approach, having nothing at all in common or anything at all from such opposing view points or edicts that would warrant a declaration of war upon those who are without pizza on those who do, but nevertheless, it happens.
One of the opposing team says, "Gimme your pizza‚" as their group walks through and around ours and we through and around theirs.
The Beaner, who is the self-proclaimed protector of pizza and its integrity and pride, turns to confront the (now) opponent about his demands. Much chest puffing, yelling, and circling of the wagons and spectators ensues.
Whale Call, the Prime Minister (appropriately or not?), and others attempt to diffuse the situation, but the ass clown is quite obviously willing to see the situation approach level "Stupid.‚" Level Stupid is picking a fight at 2:15am when the streets are full of drunk people and lots of Police armed with mace. And picking that fight with eight actual teammates who, though they are dork bike racers, are still fit. Oh, and there's the one guy who is sober too, so the advantage is decidedly with The Team, though in fairness to ass clown, there is no way he could have known this. Anyway, ass clown #1 knocks The Beaner's pizza out of his hands.
Despite this, The Team, at this particular moment, looks like it escaped a physical confrontation when The Beaner had enough of ass clown's posturing, chest poking, spitting, pizza abuse, and all that stuff. That's when The Beaner went for the 10 foot head butt, connecting somewhat. Whale Call turns The Beaner to the direction of the truck and shoves. Ass clown takes aim at any target, which happened to be the Prime Minister, who was then bench pressed from approximately 6th and Trinity to 6th and Neches.
Whale Call and Brad Thompson, the closest Teamnuts to the Prime Minister, do not let this deed go unrewarded.
Brad Thompson catches ass clown in the mouth quite accurately. As Whale Call goes in to pay or collect (depending upon which team you are rooting for), Brad Thompson is caught with a strong connection to the ear by ass clown #2. Ass clown #1 is scampering away as Whale Call makes sure he stays away when ass clown #2 then connects with Whale Call's eye, from behind.
Though it was entertaining, and The Coach really, really, really did not want to go to jail, nor did he want to use the rest of Whale Call's poker winnings to get any Teamnut out of jail, there is a time when you, in the immortal words of Ferris Bueller, say, "What the fuck?" and just do it.
But The Coach was sober, and just as he was ready to hit and (more likely) be hit, he saw the police come around the corner. One or two were on foot. Two or three were on bikes (right on!) and three were on horseback. The Coach quickly figured they would probably have the situation more under control than he could, so he started throwing people.
He started throwing his teamnuts towards the truck.
The first few were easy, especially since ass clown #1 was resisting and fighting with the police, and that cleared up some room. It did not clear up ass clown's face, however. He was bleeding from more than just his mouth as he was escorted away by the Police, but to add injury to injury, his face was well-smeared with mace and tears from his crying and whining mess of self-esteem. Ass clown #2 and #3 were in the process of getting Whale Call's shirt up over his head...
We have to pause for a visual. Whale Call is pasty white. He claims it is something to do with being German, but I think he puts on lots of sunscreen and otherwise doesn't go outside much. But whatever.
He's in the middle of 6th St at 2:15am, in a big f'n crowd, with his shirt off, flaunting his honed bike racer upper body and pasty skin, while wearing camo pants and croc sandals. And Whale Call has a shaved head.
...but Whale Call is committed. He took a few shots before The Coach could get there, but he also put one of them (ass clown #3) on the ground. Ass clown #2, I kid you not, ran away. At this point, Whale Call really wanted a piece of ass clown #3, but as The Coach got there, the police on horses were circling and (as luck would have it) going after ass clown #3, first.
The Coach grabbed Whale Call instead, tried to dress him while shoving him towards the truck. Whale Call put up such resistance to The Coach that a circle of spectators began to form around the two Teamnuts. The Coach won out and Whale Call left.
The Coach sees another shirt on the ground and reaches to pick it up (it was near ass clown #3 and the clusterkick he was getting from the Police) only to catch some mace in the eye.
The shirt just wasn't worth it, so he quickly made for the truck with the rest of The Team. It was then that he realized Pro Card was unaccounted for.
The Coach turned around and went back into the melee fearing that Pro Card was either being beaten by more ass clowns, was being arrested, or was just plain lost.
Turns out he was just watching the ass clowns get arrested. Pro Card did have quite a grin on his face, but that may be because he was holding everyone's pizza.
Monday, December 12, 2005
Bees
We got in from NYC on Thursday at 1something AM. Later that same day, Peter, my friend/client from Wisconsin who rides for Monex, came in town to get some "warm weather" ride time. Friday, we dealt with a frozen pump, and then piled into the car (Peter, Noah and I) to head to training camp wih GS Tenzing in Wimberely. We rode lots. We did NOT get arrested on 6th street Saturday night. We stopped for a burrito at Freebirds on the way back on Sunday.
Today has been biz-ee. Mama is trying to get ahead at work because she has jury duty tomorrow. I'm still behind because I couldn't work while in NYC. Noah is behind at school because he was out sick for two days last week and school was closed for another. Peter and Andrew went out riding for 4+ hr today, but they didn't rub it in when they got back.
OK, back to work for me.
Today has been biz-ee. Mama is trying to get ahead at work because she has jury duty tomorrow. I'm still behind because I couldn't work while in NYC. Noah is behind at school because he was out sick for two days last week and school was closed for another. Peter and Andrew went out riding for 4+ hr today, but they didn't rub it in when they got back.
OK, back to work for me.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Photo-essay of our trip to NYC
From the window in our room. We looked out on the entrance to Penn Station and Madison Square Garden. 
They may or may not treat you like you are famous here. They may or may not take your picture with the owner. The customers there may or may not "recognize" you, and when you tell them your name, they may or may not say, "I knew it! I knew I recognized you!" It is still a good stop for espresso (or a few) and a canoli after eating at Positanos.
Friday, December 02, 2005
Thursday, December 01, 2005
Contributing to the Deliquency of Grown Ups Since 2000
Mama is bottling up the Christmas Limoncello. Have you been on Santa's "Good" list?
In case you didn't know
Reanie: We're jumping on the bed!
Mama: No more monkeys jumping on the bed.
Reanie: (continuing to jump)
Mama: What did I say?
Reanie: (continuing to jump) I'm not a monkey.
Mama: No more monkeys jumping on the bed.
Reanie: (continuing to jump)
Mama: What did I say?
Reanie: (continuing to jump) I'm not a monkey.
Hooky
Had to pick up Buddy early from school today since he's not feeling so good. My buddy JR says to check out this site: www.buddyleeguidancecounselor.com
I crashed this morning
Took the kids to school in the trailer. It has been chilly this morning, but we can bundle them up well in the trailer, so even though I'm shivering, they are cozy.
My fitness is quite lacking, so most of the riding is in the easier gears, such as 39x16-23. But that's ok...baby steps and all that. There and back gets me an hour or so of in-the-saddle time, counting the time I'm riding but out of the saddle too, of course.
I'd worked up a decent sweat, so once home, I unhooked the trailer so I could go ride a bit more. My first two pedal strokes sent me into a wheelie, where I promptly dumped it back and to the left, making sure the driveway was there to keep me from falling in the dirt. Good thing I had tights, jacket, gloves and such, because those high speed spills will rip the skin right off of you.
When returning with the trailer, I was in my easiest gear, so when I started, not only was there no resistance behind me of trailer or trailer and kids, I was also lacking resistance in gearing. Blooop, right on my rear end. Good thing we live where we do so nobody could see me do that.
Or, I have so much power in my legs and brute upper body strength that I nearly went into orbit. Yeah...I nearly went into orbit. And I have lots of girlfriends in Canada.
My fitness is quite lacking, so most of the riding is in the easier gears, such as 39x16-23. But that's ok...baby steps and all that. There and back gets me an hour or so of in-the-saddle time, counting the time I'm riding but out of the saddle too, of course.
I'd worked up a decent sweat, so once home, I unhooked the trailer so I could go ride a bit more. My first two pedal strokes sent me into a wheelie, where I promptly dumped it back and to the left, making sure the driveway was there to keep me from falling in the dirt. Good thing I had tights, jacket, gloves and such, because those high speed spills will rip the skin right off of you.
When returning with the trailer, I was in my easiest gear, so when I started, not only was there no resistance behind me of trailer or trailer and kids, I was also lacking resistance in gearing. Blooop, right on my rear end. Good thing we live where we do so nobody could see me do that.
Or, I have so much power in my legs and brute upper body strength that I nearly went into orbit. Yeah...I nearly went into orbit. And I have lots of girlfriends in Canada.
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