One time out on the road, a few years ago, when I actually rode a bike more than once every two weeks (yeah, it’s that bad), my man Philly told me “Take it easy on me. I’m an old man” or some shit like that.
I looked at him and said something along the lines of – you aren’t that much older than me.
He said, “You ain’t eight the hard way.”
And he was right. So I shifted up a gear.
I thought that might be a fitting little story for today, the eighth day of the eighth month in the year two thousand and eight.
Watch out for boys born today at 8:08am. They’ll only grow up to be blues players.
I’m not yet 44, but at I do have an eight in there somewhere. And it ain’t 28. Whatever. You’ll figure it out. Bottom line, this year is full of big changes. I’ve relocated to Phoenix, a town I never really thought I’d move back to.
That’s what I get for thinking.
We sold our house in Flagstaff, that lovely little hippy dippy mountain town where it snowed in May. And then we bought a house down in Phoenix, that massive metropolis where it is currently well over one hundred degrees.
Good thing I got a pool.
My wife and I quit our jobs, said goodbye to our friends and just did it. She starts her new gig in another week or so. Me? I’m going back to school. I start in a week or so. I’m going to study law.
Funny thing about getting the living shit knocked out of you by a car – it gives you a lot of time to lie in bed, stare at the ceiling, and take an inventory of your life. Why haven’t I gone back to school? Maybe a desk job isn’t so bad after all? Sit there and move paper around? Paper doesn’t weigh very much.
And so it goes.
Gnome is taking over the administrative duties for Drunkcyclist as I’m soon to be so busy I won’t know up from down. I hope to be able to contribute to the site, write funny stories and piss people off. Basically what I’ve been doing for much of the last eight years.
What’d ya know, another eight. Shit’ll freak you out if you let it.
And now, the email:
Subject: [from DC]
Seriously, what is this shit? Is there even such a thing as “too fit” to be anything?
Maybe we, as a country, would feel less ashamed of our individual selves if we had a sloth for pres. Or just maybe, we as a country, would be empowered by somebody who gives a shit. What are they getting at?
Or maybe, we shouldn’t ask too much of a prospective leader. Am I the only one that contemplates this crap? Should I even need to? Is it that tough of a concept?
Modern media outlets can lick my balls. And not because it’s Obama they are scrutinizing – because it’s time they start empowering the general public. Whose fucking team is the media on anyway? Who are they trying to impress? They’re like the new kid in town that will talk shit about anybody they can to gain notoriety.
You gotta love it when someone asks, in all seriousness, “could Sen. Obama’s skinniness be a liability?”
Yeah. He doesn’t eat enough fucking cheese balls.
I ran both these as links in a post a year ago. But they’re so tight, I just gotta link ’em again for your listening pleasure.
My Favourite Dj Premier Beats (Part I)
My Favourite Dj Premier Beats (Part II)