Thursday, September 23, 2010
I'm going to buy a pair of K-Swiss, even though I don't need, nor want them.
If my dad sees a terrible commercial on TV, he boycotts that particular brand. I think Hardees or KFC had a commercial a year or two ago that just sucked, so my dad refused to eat at these places.
If he sees a great commercial, he's much more apt to support this company.
I, like my father, appreciate a great commercial. So next time you see me, I just might be reluctantly wearing an ugly pair of K-Swiss Tubes...just out of principle.
enjoy.
,
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
dude on a bike has a bad day.
On my way home from work today through downtown Denver, I noticed traffic backed up more so than usual in the far left lane. The closer I crept past stalled traffic, I noticed a couple cars stopped, thus backing up traffic immensely. What appeared at first to be a rear-ending--which is a common occurrence during my commute--ended up being a hit cyclist.
The road biker, clad in red spandex from head to toe, lay on the sidewalk next to his bicycle grasping his knee while a concerned party (presumably including the driver of the car with the now dented front bumper) of three or four leaned over him in a worrisome manner. It had to of just happened, I'm assuming, due to the traffic not being backed up near as much as it probably was 15 minutes after I drove past the ordeal.
The biker, whom I guessing was "sharing the road" with thousands of rush hour automobile commuters, more than likely got his back tire bumped by a Chevrolet and took a pretty healthy spill. Obviously the accident was moved from the road--unless the sidewalk was where the victim ended up landing after the bump. People weren't running around frantically, screaming or anything of an extreme nature. I didn't see any spleens or pancreases on the sidewalk, and there was certainly movement from the biker--albeit a squirming, writhing-in-pain, oh why me God!?-type of movement.
Now, I don't wish pain and suffering on anyone..... Let me rephrase that. Now, I don't wish pain and suffering on too many people. I surely don't feel any sort of satisfaction from seeing that poor person rolling around on the sidewalk, unhappy with the result of his bike ride. But it does make me ask a few questions.
Allow me to preface my questions a bit first.
In Colorado, we have an abundance of folks that really, really enjoy riding their bikes on the road. I have friends that ride almost everyday. With my job, I converse and interact with serious cyclists on a consistent basis. Shit, Lance Armstrong trains in Colorado. You've got the climbs, the switchbacks, the altitude. So needless to say, where I live is a mecca for road cyclists. I don't have a single problem with people getting joy from riding their bicycles. I have a bike, and more times than not when I ride it, I enjoy myself.
But there are a few things that do bug me.
Sure, the spandex is a given. But I think the main thing is the attitude that non-riding folk are given. If you are walking or driving, you had better get the fuck out the road biker's way because they are road biking and they are serious! They will yell at you to "Watch out!!" while you are walking on the sidewalk or pedestrian path through the park. They will give you the bird while darting around you and shooting through a stop sign if you don't give them enough room to pass.
It's difficult , too, at times to socialize with a cyclist if you, yourself, do not cycle. They constantly describe their rides as "long rides" instead of just "rides". They speak of them in terms of calories supposedly burned, as in "a 4600 calorie ride". No arguing, it's science.
Of course, these acts don't reflect all road bikers--I don't think.
It's funny to me, but understandable too, I guess. All like-minded groups of people or enthusiasts or subcultures all talk in their own language. They all share a common interest. They all encourage one another. But there is also always an unspoken competition. It's that way in climbing. It's that way in fly fishing. It's that way if you're in a band. And it's definitely that way in cycling.
Back to my questions on the downtown bicycle accident.
Why, why did this person decide it would be a good idea to ride his bicycle on perhaps the busiest road in the state during rush hour traffic? Speer Boulevard is laden with stoplights, traffic jammed in-between stoplights, and zero shoulder. Let me also add that there is a BIKE PATH that parallels Cherry Creek which Speer is built along. The Cherry Creek bike path was mere yards from where said biker was rolling around on the sidewalk, looking like The Flash just got his ass kicked.
I realize that this person may have just been commuting, but commute on the bike path--or even the sidewalk. Worst that could happen there is getting rear-ended by a bum. But you know what? Even if he was commuting--why the outfit? Why the spandex? To make you go faster? On Speer Blvd? During rush hour?
Wasn't a very long ride, was it?
I beg of you, road bikers claiming ownership of Colorado's paved by-ways--please stick to your climbs, and your switchbacks, and your altitude. I know I would if I were of the spandex-clad brotherhood. Please don't put us poor souls that are restricted to automobiles in a position of swerving to constantly avoid you on our hour-long commute home.
Friends and business acquaintances who regularly cycle the streets--please do not take offense. This has been an ongoing battle for quite some time with the "bad apples" in your circle. If you know of these few that ambush pedestrians taking a leisurely evening stroll in the park...that scoff at the thought of traffic lights, stop signs, and all rules and regulations of the streets...that decide to "train" on very major Colorado roads during the absolute worst times possible--please tell them to stop.
Cool. Thanks.
,
The road biker, clad in red spandex from head to toe, lay on the sidewalk next to his bicycle grasping his knee while a concerned party (presumably including the driver of the car with the now dented front bumper) of three or four leaned over him in a worrisome manner. It had to of just happened, I'm assuming, due to the traffic not being backed up near as much as it probably was 15 minutes after I drove past the ordeal.
The biker, whom I guessing was "sharing the road" with thousands of rush hour automobile commuters, more than likely got his back tire bumped by a Chevrolet and took a pretty healthy spill. Obviously the accident was moved from the road--unless the sidewalk was where the victim ended up landing after the bump. People weren't running around frantically, screaming or anything of an extreme nature. I didn't see any spleens or pancreases on the sidewalk, and there was certainly movement from the biker--albeit a squirming, writhing-in-pain, oh why me God!?-type of movement.
Now, I don't wish pain and suffering on anyone..... Let me rephrase that. Now, I don't wish pain and suffering on too many people. I surely don't feel any sort of satisfaction from seeing that poor person rolling around on the sidewalk, unhappy with the result of his bike ride. But it does make me ask a few questions.
Allow me to preface my questions a bit first.
In Colorado, we have an abundance of folks that really, really enjoy riding their bikes on the road. I have friends that ride almost everyday. With my job, I converse and interact with serious cyclists on a consistent basis. Shit, Lance Armstrong trains in Colorado. You've got the climbs, the switchbacks, the altitude. So needless to say, where I live is a mecca for road cyclists. I don't have a single problem with people getting joy from riding their bicycles. I have a bike, and more times than not when I ride it, I enjoy myself.
But there are a few things that do bug me.
Sure, the spandex is a given. But I think the main thing is the attitude that non-riding folk are given. If you are walking or driving, you had better get the fuck out the road biker's way because they are road biking and they are serious! They will yell at you to "Watch out!!" while you are walking on the sidewalk or pedestrian path through the park. They will give you the bird while darting around you and shooting through a stop sign if you don't give them enough room to pass.
It's difficult , too, at times to socialize with a cyclist if you, yourself, do not cycle. They constantly describe their rides as "long rides" instead of just "rides". They speak of them in terms of calories supposedly burned, as in "a 4600 calorie ride". No arguing, it's science.
Of course, these acts don't reflect all road bikers--I don't think.
It's funny to me, but understandable too, I guess. All like-minded groups of people or enthusiasts or subcultures all talk in their own language. They all share a common interest. They all encourage one another. But there is also always an unspoken competition. It's that way in climbing. It's that way in fly fishing. It's that way if you're in a band. And it's definitely that way in cycling.
Back to my questions on the downtown bicycle accident.
Why, why did this person decide it would be a good idea to ride his bicycle on perhaps the busiest road in the state during rush hour traffic? Speer Boulevard is laden with stoplights, traffic jammed in-between stoplights, and zero shoulder. Let me also add that there is a BIKE PATH that parallels Cherry Creek which Speer is built along. The Cherry Creek bike path was mere yards from where said biker was rolling around on the sidewalk, looking like The Flash just got his ass kicked.
I realize that this person may have just been commuting, but commute on the bike path--or even the sidewalk. Worst that could happen there is getting rear-ended by a bum. But you know what? Even if he was commuting--why the outfit? Why the spandex? To make you go faster? On Speer Blvd? During rush hour?
Wasn't a very long ride, was it?
I beg of you, road bikers claiming ownership of Colorado's paved by-ways--please stick to your climbs, and your switchbacks, and your altitude. I know I would if I were of the spandex-clad brotherhood. Please don't put us poor souls that are restricted to automobiles in a position of swerving to constantly avoid you on our hour-long commute home.
Friends and business acquaintances who regularly cycle the streets--please do not take offense. This has been an ongoing battle for quite some time with the "bad apples" in your circle. If you know of these few that ambush pedestrians taking a leisurely evening stroll in the park...that scoff at the thought of traffic lights, stop signs, and all rules and regulations of the streets...that decide to "train" on very major Colorado roads during the absolute worst times possible--please tell them to stop.
Cool. Thanks.
,
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
THE MOOD.
I don't get it. I was in the strangest mood yesterday--good strange. It's a mood that rarely visits me anymore, and I'm not sure why it decided to now.
I couldn't have cared less about anything at all yesterday. I wasn't to the point of endangering myself or someone else. I didn't drive with my feet or anything. But I very well could have lost my job, deeply offended a member of the consuming general public, or caused my wife to deck me in the jaw.
It was the type of feeling that is usually drug-induced (I'm assuming...), whereas there is a numbness and consta-smile attributed to it. Nothing at all was making me bristle, which is extremely odd. You see, I like to portray the type of cool individual that lets absolutely nothing get under his skin. But in all reality, I've got somewhat of a quick temper, a loathing and constant stewing for stupidity as I see it, and others would probably describe my daily persona as "grumpy", "cynical", or "always pissed at something". So this feeling that had come over me was obviously something to behold.
If you didn't already know, I work in the service industry--which is a nice way of saying "I deal with assholes everyday." Actually, I sell jackets...and other associated items. But yes, dealing with assholes is a daily occurrence in my profession. This is not only a contributing factor to my bitterness, but probably the root of it. Each day that passes, my employees place wagers on when I am going to snap, and who is going to receive the brunt of my well-thought out "I fucking quit!" exit routine. And sadly, it doesn't include an inflatable airplane slide.
So when I showed up at the store yesterday...whistling, singing, dancing to the muzak...people knew something was awry. I felt drunk, or high, or roofied. I actually had to address my mood to my employees just to cover the fact that I was NOT drunk, high, or roofied (nobody had access to any of my beverages prior to my arrival at work, therefore I dismiss being roofied). Customers would ask their same ol' ridiculous questions, and instead of staring at them, gritting my teeth, taking deep breaths through my nostrils...I laughed it off and answered their dumb questions--admittedly, with a touch of sarcasm though.
I laughed hysterically at non-hysterical things. I danced in front of employees and customers--not trying to be obnoxious, just felt like dancing. I did not bullshit one person the entire day, which is a very rare and gratifying accomplishment at my place of work. I was clear-headed and very aware, not cloudy or "off". If someone drugged me, please do it again.
The "mood" lasted the entire day. It was glorious. And I still can't understand where it came from or what triggered it. Did I have an amazing dream that had me waking up a new person? Was there some sort of residual effects from attending the Willie Nelson concert the night before? Was I just overly pissed that I had to work yet another Labor Day, and my psyche revolted? Did my stress level finally start an inferno and that was how my brain extinguished it? It's hard to say. All I know is, I want more.
Today was a different day. I still maintained a better-than-normal amount of perk, but nothing compared to yesterday. Today was back to reality. Back to fake smiles. Back to eyes that tell customers "My God, you're an idiot". Back to the mundane and the meaningless. Back to not much fun.
But I know that I've got it in me now. I just need to dig deep and harness the energy. And once I've learned to harness that power, I need to control it. Once I have the power and can control it, I've got to use it to fight evil. That's all there is to it.
.
I couldn't have cared less about anything at all yesterday. I wasn't to the point of endangering myself or someone else. I didn't drive with my feet or anything. But I very well could have lost my job, deeply offended a member of the consuming general public, or caused my wife to deck me in the jaw.
It was the type of feeling that is usually drug-induced (I'm assuming...), whereas there is a numbness and consta-smile attributed to it. Nothing at all was making me bristle, which is extremely odd. You see, I like to portray the type of cool individual that lets absolutely nothing get under his skin. But in all reality, I've got somewhat of a quick temper, a loathing and constant stewing for stupidity as I see it, and others would probably describe my daily persona as "grumpy", "cynical", or "always pissed at something". So this feeling that had come over me was obviously something to behold.
If you didn't already know, I work in the service industry--which is a nice way of saying "I deal with assholes everyday." Actually, I sell jackets...and other associated items. But yes, dealing with assholes is a daily occurrence in my profession. This is not only a contributing factor to my bitterness, but probably the root of it. Each day that passes, my employees place wagers on when I am going to snap, and who is going to receive the brunt of my well-thought out "I fucking quit!" exit routine. And sadly, it doesn't include an inflatable airplane slide.
So when I showed up at the store yesterday...whistling, singing, dancing to the muzak...people knew something was awry. I felt drunk, or high, or roofied. I actually had to address my mood to my employees just to cover the fact that I was NOT drunk, high, or roofied (nobody had access to any of my beverages prior to my arrival at work, therefore I dismiss being roofied). Customers would ask their same ol' ridiculous questions, and instead of staring at them, gritting my teeth, taking deep breaths through my nostrils...I laughed it off and answered their dumb questions--admittedly, with a touch of sarcasm though.
I laughed hysterically at non-hysterical things. I danced in front of employees and customers--not trying to be obnoxious, just felt like dancing. I did not bullshit one person the entire day, which is a very rare and gratifying accomplishment at my place of work. I was clear-headed and very aware, not cloudy or "off". If someone drugged me, please do it again.
The "mood" lasted the entire day. It was glorious. And I still can't understand where it came from or what triggered it. Did I have an amazing dream that had me waking up a new person? Was there some sort of residual effects from attending the Willie Nelson concert the night before? Was I just overly pissed that I had to work yet another Labor Day, and my psyche revolted? Did my stress level finally start an inferno and that was how my brain extinguished it? It's hard to say. All I know is, I want more.
Today was a different day. I still maintained a better-than-normal amount of perk, but nothing compared to yesterday. Today was back to reality. Back to fake smiles. Back to eyes that tell customers "My God, you're an idiot". Back to the mundane and the meaningless. Back to not much fun.
But I know that I've got it in me now. I just need to dig deep and harness the energy. And once I've learned to harness that power, I need to control it. Once I have the power and can control it, I've got to use it to fight evil. That's all there is to it.
.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Today.
The humidity seems to be gone. Of course it is 6:30am.
The water droplets on the grass, the morning haze covering the sky, the birds already busy. I step outside to load my fly rods into the car before heading to work and am greeted by a clean, briskness that I haven't felt in months. My cotton t-shirt isn't an efficient insulator for this morning. So I put my fleece on. That's when I smile. Brisk morning, hot coffee, soft fleece.
Let's put in a few hours at the office, then plan our escape. I'm thinking a three o'clock whistle, quick visit to the beer store, then meeting my wife and retriever at the lake in the mountains. Yea, that'll get me through the day.
It's going to be a swell Friday.
.
The water droplets on the grass, the morning haze covering the sky, the birds already busy. I step outside to load my fly rods into the car before heading to work and am greeted by a clean, briskness that I haven't felt in months. My cotton t-shirt isn't an efficient insulator for this morning. So I put my fleece on. That's when I smile. Brisk morning, hot coffee, soft fleece.
Let's put in a few hours at the office, then plan our escape. I'm thinking a three o'clock whistle, quick visit to the beer store, then meeting my wife and retriever at the lake in the mountains. Yea, that'll get me through the day.
It's going to be a swell Friday.
.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
I Almost Crapped My Pants Today.
I almost crapped my pants today. Literally.
Of course I immediately blame it on my morning commute. Each pothole, acceleration, turn, and brake magnified. Every stoplight seems like time is suddenly going in reverse. It’s been an hour since I left my house this morning – so it’s bound to happen one of these days. Neat, I manage to get behind the one person that decides to try parallel parking for the first time in their life this morning. “Jesus, hurry up!” Don’t lose your cool, man. You need to be concentrating. My toes are curling under and my feet start to go numb. I begin using muscles in my body that I didn’t know existed.
I try not to think about it. Go to your happy place, dude. Fishing. I think about fishing; how I’d love to be out on the water right now, alone, away from everything. The sound of the rushing water, cascading down… Stranded without facilities; bound by chest waders; paperless.
Okay, not helping.
I think of alternatives. A gas station? Man, I don’t know. I’ve been fucked one too many times by thinking that I’m home free at the 7-Eleven. My muscles start to relax the closer I get to the door. My sighs of relief and triumphant smile are suddenly washed away by the door being locked! “Occupied?? Shit! Hurry up, dude! Emergency!”
Or even worse, “Out of order?? Are you kidding me? S’cuse me, sir? Can I use it anyway? I’ll fix it! Shit.”
So no, I’m not going down that road again. I’d just be setting myself up for disappointment and possible disaster.
Okay, so what’s my game plan? We’re almost there….if this MORON would drive! Stay cool. Providing I can actually stand erect once deboarding my car, I’m thinking a swift, steady three and a half block walk to my employer’s front doors. Need to time the crosswalks perfectly so I’m not stopping. I’m walking, I’m walking, I’m walking. Don’t make eye contact with anyone. They’ll know.
Two blocks before, I’ve already got my key in hand, holding it exactly the way that I do when I unlock. I’m prepared.
An employee is waiting for me as I approach the door. When within earshot, I announce as a caution, “I’m two seconds away from shitting my pants.” He realizes the severity of the situation and gives me plenty of room for door unlocking.
Alarm off, briefcase down. My body knows what’s coming. The evil wants out. It wants out now. It can sense a john nearby. It has some sort of evacuational radar. I am actually alert enough to check the paper situation before the sit down. Focused.
The most difficult part is always the unbuckling of the belt accompanied by the simultaneous “pants-drop sit-down”. But it was executed flawlessly. Toes uncurled. Eyes rolling into the back of my head. My entire body quivers. And an over-vocal sigh to release every ounce of tension. It only takes a minute, then normalcy sets in. We did it.
I almost crapped my pants today. Almost.
.
Of course I immediately blame it on my morning commute. Each pothole, acceleration, turn, and brake magnified. Every stoplight seems like time is suddenly going in reverse. It’s been an hour since I left my house this morning – so it’s bound to happen one of these days. Neat, I manage to get behind the one person that decides to try parallel parking for the first time in their life this morning. “Jesus, hurry up!” Don’t lose your cool, man. You need to be concentrating. My toes are curling under and my feet start to go numb. I begin using muscles in my body that I didn’t know existed.
I try not to think about it. Go to your happy place, dude. Fishing. I think about fishing; how I’d love to be out on the water right now, alone, away from everything. The sound of the rushing water, cascading down… Stranded without facilities; bound by chest waders; paperless.
Okay, not helping.
I think of alternatives. A gas station? Man, I don’t know. I’ve been fucked one too many times by thinking that I’m home free at the 7-Eleven. My muscles start to relax the closer I get to the door. My sighs of relief and triumphant smile are suddenly washed away by the door being locked! “Occupied?? Shit! Hurry up, dude! Emergency!”
Or even worse, “Out of order?? Are you kidding me? S’cuse me, sir? Can I use it anyway? I’ll fix it! Shit.”
So no, I’m not going down that road again. I’d just be setting myself up for disappointment and possible disaster.
Okay, so what’s my game plan? We’re almost there….if this MORON would drive! Stay cool. Providing I can actually stand erect once deboarding my car, I’m thinking a swift, steady three and a half block walk to my employer’s front doors. Need to time the crosswalks perfectly so I’m not stopping. I’m walking, I’m walking, I’m walking. Don’t make eye contact with anyone. They’ll know.
Two blocks before, I’ve already got my key in hand, holding it exactly the way that I do when I unlock. I’m prepared.
An employee is waiting for me as I approach the door. When within earshot, I announce as a caution, “I’m two seconds away from shitting my pants.” He realizes the severity of the situation and gives me plenty of room for door unlocking.
Alarm off, briefcase down. My body knows what’s coming. The evil wants out. It wants out now. It can sense a john nearby. It has some sort of evacuational radar. I am actually alert enough to check the paper situation before the sit down. Focused.
The most difficult part is always the unbuckling of the belt accompanied by the simultaneous “pants-drop sit-down”. But it was executed flawlessly. Toes uncurled. Eyes rolling into the back of my head. My entire body quivers. And an over-vocal sigh to release every ounce of tension. It only takes a minute, then normalcy sets in. We did it.
I almost crapped my pants today. Almost.
.
Friday, August 27, 2010
K-Powers, Made in Calipornia
Best fake commercial ever.
enjoy.
I heart Kenny Powers.
.
enjoy.
Kenny Powers Gets Signed By K-Swiss - watch more funny videos
I heart Kenny Powers.
.
Blog Anxiety.
I can't get my shit straight, blog-wise, and it's turned into a catch 22. I feel like I've got so much to talk about that I need to have other blogs specifically geared towards these thougts (earljive and ramblin earl). But that overwhelms me, feeling like I have to keep up with all three of them. And I just ain't got time for that.
Well, the reality is that maybe ten people read this and it doesn't matter.
So back to basics. Earl's Brain is the only blog from hear on out. There will be a cornucopia of topics, a variety of writing styles due to my mood or alcohol intake at that time, and pictures ranging from beautiful, artistic shots that I'm quite proud of, to action photos of me drunk as hell.
Enjoy.
.
Well, the reality is that maybe ten people read this and it doesn't matter.
So back to basics. Earl's Brain is the only blog from hear on out. There will be a cornucopia of topics, a variety of writing styles due to my mood or alcohol intake at that time, and pictures ranging from beautiful, artistic shots that I'm quite proud of, to action photos of me drunk as hell.
Enjoy.
.
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