Between the Giro d’Italia, deadlines and various household chores, I haven’t had much time for politics lately. That said, fuck Dick Cheney. This pustular pestilence is less in need of a soapbox than of the contents therein, though I expect it would take more than Ivory or even Lava to wash the bloodstains off his pudgy pinkies. Perhaps we should try napalm or white phosphorous.
But enough about Evil Dick. How’bout that Giro time trial, hah? Didn’t turn the GC all topsy-turvy the way some pundits had predicted, but it sure was fun to watch — until the Universal Sports feed went black in the final 3km of Denis Menchov’s winning ride.
A certain former Tour champ has ceased speaking with the working press, freeing reporters to actually write about the race for a change. And while my homeboy Danny Pate is not exactly a GC threat, it was nice to see Juliet Macur of The New York Times note the former U-23 world time-trial champ’s performance in this most recent race against the clock — seems he lost it on a descent and shot straight through a hospitality tent.
“I just rode into there, went around some tables and shot back out,” he said. “I didn’t have any time to grab Champagne.”
Oh, snap. Swing on by when you get back to Bibleburg, homes, we’ll pour you a little sumpin’-sumpin’.
Here in Pate country, meanwhile, we’ve been doing our little part to keep the economy humming along. Herself’s mother is coming to visit for a few days, and we have no spare bedroom, so we had to hunt up a love seat that folds out into a single bed. I proposed that Herself v1.0 camp in the back of the ’83 longbed, which isn’t getting any use right now, but that dog didn’t hunt with v2.0, so we’re out a few C’s that could have been spent on bike parts and beer.
Another substantial chunk of change evaporated when Herself decreed that our bedroom needed curtains after a half-dozen years getting by with some cheapo blinds. And those pricey new curtains do indeed look nifty, but not as nifty as, say, a week at the beach, quaffing colorful beverages with little umbrellas shading their ice cubes.
Then the fire blight is nibbling at the trees again, the decks demanded stain as protection against the elements and our basement remains incomplete after someone screwed the pooch on a key measurement, leaving us with a bathroom door that won’t fit; it only took six weeks to build and ship, but the good news is that its replacement should only take four. Yeah, right.
Whoops, here come the love-seat-delivery dudes. Anyone want to place a bet on whether the sumbitch will fit through the back door?
• Late update: It fit. Barely. Like an H2 on a sidewalk. Sucker sure looked smaller on the showroom floor than it did going down the basement stairs.
Mad Blog Media 
So thats what on universal sports I was refresh more than a hooker on Saturday night on west colfax. Liepheimer stood up also. but at least I got to see him
There’s few things in life more frustrating than watching the other half spend perfectly good (and necessary) booze money on such useless crap as “guest beds” and “curtains”.
I feel your pain, Patrick.
John, the web traffic must be mur-der, as Bugs used to say. We nearly doubled our usual turnout at VN.com’s live updates, and I bet Universal was doing likewise. I wanted to see Menchov and Di Luca finish their rides, but hey, life’s a bitch. Universal’s been pretty stellar otherwise.
Barry, glad to hear I got a witness. Guest beds. Curtains. Feh. What’s next, one of them little ruffly things to cover the lid to the john? If I have to start drinking a blend instead of single malt, there’s gonna be hell to pay around here. I will take to muttering. Under my breath. Whenever Herself isn’t here, of course. Like now. Mumble, grumble, bitch, gripe, grouse.
Patrick,
Such a timely topic. This very weekend as the weather turns from sunny, repeat SUNNY and 84 for the last 3 days to cloudy, cold and damp for the weekend many members of my wife’s family will arrive for us to entertain.
If the weather had stayed nice I could spread them around the backyard and lower the density so to speak. Now it will be museum, museum, dinner and close confinement indoors. Don’t get me too wrong they’re nice folk, but the cycling as ‘quaint eccentricity’ attitude tends to chafe. That and not being able to use bad weather as the cycling gods intended, to clean chains and adjust derailleurs, just seems so wrong.
Oh well looks like a tail wind for the commute back home, I’ll just make the most of it.
Ben, we’re right there with you in the Ark. Sunny and hot yesterday, cloudy and damp today, with more of the same expected throughout the weekend. Slathering on the sunscreen one moment and pulling on the sweatpants the next. O, lawd. Hope your house is bigger than our 1,200-square-footer. This place fills up faster than an Irish pub on St. Paddy’s Day.
What’s with the visitors all of a sudden? Is the economy so bad, no one wants to use their own toilet paper? Drop trou in someone else’s reading room, they’re thinking? All of a sudden I’m more popular than the ear plug salesman at the 6th grade recital.
Its funny how the nice drapes and fancy kitchenware suddenly become more important than single-malt and new Vittorias when Mom is on the way over. But that’s one battle one can never contest. Unless one likes sleeping in the Longbed indefinitely, eh?
Thankfully, we are getting the 48 degree rain this weekend rather than last, when 2600 people were doing the Santa Fe Century ride. God is occasionally good, but He/She would be a more convincing act if Cheneydick suddenly developed a lifetime case of laryngitis. I think we should all chip in and send the guy water buckets and 2″ x 12″ x 8′ boards. Subtle enough?
Yeah, we’ve been doing involuntary econ contribution since the first of the year. I took stock last week, and it’s scary. Washer and dryer crapped out in Jan, Micro in Feb, weed whacker last week. I’d rather not replace that one, but my smarter half controls the purse.
Last week was 1k on oral surgery and another k on arch supports for her. Oh yeah, anotherK just this last Monday on tires, shocks and struts. F’kin America better be grateful!