I sincerely apologize.

It's been a while. I meant to say something earlier. I didn't want to interrupt. Or to make this awkward. I've been busy. You'd like the other things. Maybe I should've told you about them. I mean. Maybe. You don't really mind, right? I had that bike job. I just got fired. Have been living at a space with people and shows and such. I just don't want this to be weird. Did a race. We got drunk instead of going to the afterparty. Yeah. Same old, same old. I mean, we didn't get drunk. We just had a couple drinks. Who wants to sit in a super-sized lot on the north side when you want to go home, slip into your sleeping bag infront of the space heater, and wait for a cat to find you? We're all caught up. Except, I'm leaving Chicago soon, and I want to see you before I go. There's a reading/show. I'll be reading from a piece. It's not about you. It's newer. See you then.


http://www.facebook.com/events/#!/event.php?eid=204220006312957

I was biking over the River and that guy by the Metra

station was drumming on a bucket something drum-buckety, hollow from the material but quick because that's how the drum bucket guys play, and he said something about Rahm Emmanuel. There were all these people herding toward the train out of the loop. I was with them. Not in a train car or on the sidewalk, but I was commuting out of the loop in the same direction that they were commuting out of the loop. And thought something wistful like, I live here, or, I'm here now. That feeling was short lived. I fall out with this place a lot. I need to work on the relationship. I try new things. I stay away from the things that make me stray. I even got a bike job. A job on a bike. And like other jobs, it pays. Also like other jobs, it pays poorly. Feel like I'm losing it to a thing that's not there, a sentiment, an idea of location. Feel like I thought I would come here and just be here. Instead I've been me and also here. The sun was shining yesterday. That was nice. There was a race last Saturday. That was nice. I got lost and unlost a lot. I placed second to last. Second to totally losing it. There is no valor in second to last. There's a race this coming Saturday, and I'm going to do it because eventually I will know where I'm going. When I know where I'm going, I'll be able to navigate myself out of here.

cool.

With the inception of the word fixie, came a twisted mouth and the loss of coolness. It was cool, right? Like slap bracelots in the nineties, pulled off the market because they were cutting writsts. Cool like pogo sticks, or neon, or powdered sugar flavored like a fruit. What makes cool, cool (I realize it is very uncool to investigate this. Although I'm pretty sure uncool is cool)? The Online Etymology Dictionary says the verb kele was used by Shakespeare, but has been assimilated to an adjective. Cool was used in 1728 to give emphasis to large sums of money. In 1825 it was used to mean "calmly audacious" (the website doesn't cite where this occured). This brings us to the current usage of the word cool, popularized by the jazz saxophonist, Lester Young, to mean "fashionable".

People who have fashion are noted by it. They are fashionable. They are able to determine if a thing or a person is also fashionable. Not everyone is fashionable. It is something to covet and something that lurks. The word fixie plops out of the mouth, and may come with spittle, depending on your palate. It is not secret or stealth or fashionable. It is commonly used. This does not make it fashionable. Rather, this makes it -un.

I bought a Mercier Kilo TT because it was cheap. I put my brooks on it, detaped and degooed the bars, and replaced the clipless pedals. I had to tape one of the nylon straps to prevent the buckle from hitting the crank arm. My whip is kind of sweet. It's also kind of hip. Whatever. I don't have anything to prove. I'll be the chick discreetly doing trackstands, pretending not to see who's looking.

And look at that beer! It's at walgreens with an abv of 4.5. Pretty sure that's cool.

new year, new post

I'm still here Chicago. Not going anywhere. Just waking up every weekday for my customer service job that I need to shower and wear clean clothes for. Then I answer five part questions presented as one part questions by someone who really couldn't give a shit how polite I am, but I figure, it's my job to be polite. I'm servicing the customer, which sounds elicit. It's not. I would make more money if it was. I wasn't making any money while I was stinky and terse and homeless. With the completion of 365 days, we call it a new year, and it is. It's a new year. Thank God and thank not. 2010 was the year that I would/wouldn't ever want to repeat. Too many firsts and lasts. I made amense with all my exes of the past couple years. It just happened. Who cares. I guess I do. Not about them being exes. It's just an example of beginnings and ends. I needed completion. I felt renewed. I feel renewed, but not like before. Again, I'm living in Chicago with my sister. That's her pictured. Imagine us getting ready to go out on a Friday night. I'm sitting somewhere in the small but nicely tiled bathroom with a setup similar to many others in Chicago. There's a shower/tub, sink, and toilet, with enough room leftover to fit shelving underneath appliances or stacked up walls. Hygiene products expose the tenet. Imagine that after my sister applies the last strike of blush to my cheek, she pronounces the word "perfect". Imagine that I look really pleased by this, but more delighted than just pleased. I look pretty and nice and ready. Wherever I am going, I have never arrived. We never do that. On Friday nights, we're on the couch watching a new sci-fi mini series from netflix broadcasting from the TV that Christina has named our "new brother". She says 'ew' everytime I fart, and complains when her cats sit closer to me than to her. I get a little drunk on cheap wine, but make sure to eat with the antibiotics I take for my skin. That's Friday folks. I still bike about ten miles a day. I still read a couple hours a day. I still think about the writing I should be doing daily. I still think about biking mountains. I'm fixing up a Mercier to ride fixed. I miss track stands and stinking and hills. I thought I'd get over that stuff. I thought I'd become someone who liked to wakeup and jog. Instead I think about calling someone to go out, but sit at home on the fart couch watching global domination by robots. I'm flying to Oakland in mid-March to sleep in a tent in my old backyard.