When EN stood for something

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Or, “did EN ever stand for anything?”

Shit. Back before blogging, when I kicked this site off, people would categorize everything in their daily existence. There is some need to categorize in us human beings. There has always been a need to categorize. I’ve no idea why, really. But, it happens all the time and with all manner of things. This band is hip-hop. This band is trip-hop. This guy writes satire, that cat writes prose. Put this in one box, that in another.

Some websites had no real category. Or, no easily discernable category. This is a website about English literature. This is a website about barbeque. What is your website about? What is your niche?

Where you are a fine brush for detail work around the edges, I, on the other hand, am wielding a paint roller laden with Kliz primer. Just. Because. I. Can.

Sites like this one were “EN.” Everything & nothing. All at the same time.

We were EN because the concept of “blog” hadn’t yet settled in.

“Blogging” as a term of art did not yet exist. No one “blogged.” No one “gave a shit” what you did today. Now, with Twitter, Facebook and the explosion of the “social network” site, everyone really, really cares to know exactly what you did today.

I’ve been blogging since before there was such a thing as “blogging.” I pre-blogged blogging. I’ve logged more blogs than a woodchuck could chuck wood. Which brings me to this race report from the Redland’s Bicycle Classic:

From: Snake
Subject: Redland’s Bicycle Classic, 2010
How much could a wood chuck, chuck, if a wood chuck, could chuck wood? A fucking forest that’s how much.

RBC…. I was just feeling good that’s all. Training had been going good and if I was just smart I figured I could at least make it to the crit and go for broke there. But I made it all the way. To be honest with you Redland’s has changed big time from when we did it. Only 4 days (1 day a 10 min TT) so it was honestly easy. Very easy compared to what we went through back in the day. Either that or the moto pacing really paid off?? Not sure but if I can make it though and 7 out of 8 of our guys made it then it was easy.

I just figured that this is the probably the last run of big time racing that I will do for me. I want this to be a good Leadville year. So I start picking my spots to race. It’s been good 2 weeks of solid training/riding then race. Then rest and then back at the wood pile. I think we get to a point where we know the pain is coming, we get it and we just hold on. Sometimes I wonder if I’m addicted to the suffering. What does that make me? I have to feel pain in order to feel good about myself? How fucked is that? This is just messed up.

But RBC was everything that it’s cracked up to be. Fast, fast and faster near the end. I did however finally figure that crit out and was surfing the back of that bitch with Floyd. Man he gets yelled at a lot from spectators. I feel bad for him. People constantly heckling him and yelling at him. That guy’s life is ruined.


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About big jonny

The man, the legend. The guy who started it all back in the Year of Our Lord Beer, 2000, with a couple of pages worth of idiotic ranting hardcoded on some random porn site that would host anything you uploaded, a book called HTML for Dummies (which was completely appropriate), a bad attitude (which hasn’t much changed), and a Dell desktop running Win95 with 64 mgs of ram and a six gig hard drive. Those were the days. Then he went to law school. Go figure. Flagstaff, Arizona, USA

6 Replies to “When EN stood for something”

  1. I am currently trying to ween from the pain cycle. The weening is a kind of hurt too.

  2. yeah I feel really bad for Floyd as well. he totally doesn’t deserve to be heckled and chastised for cheating in the biggest race on the planet and then never admitting it despite the mountain of evidence and declining awesomeness of “explanations”.

    definitely a victim.

  3. Floyd should probably just stay in Europe where there isn’t as much of an arrogant stance on doping infractions. Half the pelican there is made up of former dopers. The american fan’s sense of entitlement is as good as the local bro’s sense of entitlement.