Author: Patrick O'Grady

After decades with his scabby little nose pressed to various grindstones of journalism, Patrick O'Grady came away with plenty of mental scar tissue, a good deal less hair to cover it, and an undiminished appreciation for three subsets of the craft: drawing cartoons, writing commentary, and composing headlines. All three are short, punchy attention-getters, the literary equivalent of yelling, "Hey, look at me!" before hanging a moon out the school-bus window, and thus own a natural appeal for an overgrown class clown with the attention span of a rat terrier raised on angel dust and bong water. And thanks to the Internet, the best thing to happen to journalism since the invention of movable type, he gets to do all three of them without having to go to work at a newspaper, where management has slowly devolved into a button-down mutant hybrid of the worst aspects of the Spanish Inquisition, the dental bits in "Marathon Man" and the DMV of your choice. He and his wife, the long-suffering Shannon, share an adobe hacienda in The Duck! City with their cat, Miss Mia Sopaipilla.

Nibbles gets gobbled

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 11 Comments
Ike's tomb on Earth Day 2012
The Tomb of Chairman Meow has a fine color guard for Earth Day 2012.

Vince Nibbles, as Andrew Hood calls Vincenzo Nibali, nearly won Liège-Bastogne-Liège today.

When Nibbles went away atop the Cote de la Roche aux Faucons, Philippe Gilbert suddenly looked like he’d just taken a big hit from a spoiled bidon and the chase was as well organized as the House Democratic caucus. When Nibbles had 46 seconds in hand all the smart folks pretty much figured that was that.

And then Maxim Iglinskiy chased him down like Nibbles owed him money, and that really was that — the Sicilian was racing for second with just over a klick to go, and Astana was en route to picking up its second big win in a week after Enrico Gasparotto won last Sunday’s Amstel Gold. Gasparatto made the podium here, too, finishing third. Good times.

Good times here today, too. We’re looking at a sunny 60-something with light winds, and having already arranged for dinner — leftovers from last night’s killer stew of green chile, pork, onions, garlic and spuds — I have plenty of time to ride. Only one chore remains, the completion of an overdue column for Bicycle Retailer and Industry News. Some days these things practically write themselves; others, it’s like trying to drive ten-penny nails into mahogany using an old banana for a hammer.

Pull it, sir

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 6 Comments

Oh, Lord, is this ever looking like a long week. A deadline with one outfit, technical difficulties with another, and Herself dashing from one end of the state to another like a turpentined ferret, leaving me in charge of the menagerie. Plus I am not on my way to Sea Otter. Party time this is not.

That said, the forecast calls for more or less spectacular weather for a few days, so I’ll try to pedal a few pounds off the Large Irish Ass between chores. What the hell? It’s not like I’m gonna be doing any post-Pulitzer interviews on MSNBC. When the hell is that outfit going to devise a category for Gratuitous Use of Filthy Language In a Blog Devoted To No Particular Purpose?

Doggy Pop and the Stooges

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 11 Comments
Soma Double Cross in touring mode
The Soma Double Cross in touring mode.

After the deluge earlier this week, I reconfigured the Soma Double Cross as a fendered kinda-sorta touring bike instead of an unfendered kinda-sorta cyclo-cross bike. Naturally, conditions have been dry and windy ever since, so much so that today I became a pedestrian rather than gnaw on the gentle double-digit zephyrs.

The weather wizards say all this will change over the weekend, but I’ll believe it when I see it. In the meantime, the fenders stay on as a Stooge-like double-finger to the eyes for the gods.

Speaking of the Stooges (nyuk nyuk), the Farrelly brothers’ tribute to Nyukledom opens this weekend. I’ve seen two reviews, one from a man, the other from a woman, both basically going “Awwwww. …” Cute? The Three Stooges? Nawwwww. I think I can wait for the free library DVD on this one.

Right now we’re up to our bowl cuts in “Boardwalk Empire,” which gets off to an awfully slow start for the uninitiated, and “The Wire,” which was just so goddamn motherfuckin’ good that we watchin’ them shits again, yo, a’ight? Maybe this time we won’t need the subtitles.

Jesus wept?

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 12 Comments
April showers
Good day for a bike with fenders. Either that or kit with a brown stripe up the back.

There was water on the deck when I arose this morning. Was Jesus weeping over the news that Rick Sphinctorum had suspended his campaign for the GOP pestilential nomination? Nope. Just a bit of rain, overdue and very welcome.

Then again, the moisture could be heavenly tears of hysterical laughter after Rep. Allen West (R-Tinfoil Beanie) declared he had “heard” that as many as 80 House Democrats are members of the Communist Party.

Ho, ho. As a retired commie — Communist Party (Marxist-Leninist), Class of 1977 — I get the giggles every time some right-wing cartoon character tries to crank up a good, old-fashioned Red Scare. The CP (M-L) was kissing China’s ass long before American capitalists began puckering up, and we didn’t even get any cheap plastic trinkets for our trouble. When it went away nobody noticed, not even the Chinese.

As for the Communist Party USA, with only a few thousand members and a longstanding renunciation of violent revolution today’s Party poses as much of a threat to the Republic as a New Black Panther Party chapter in Luckenbach, Texas.

Outfoxed

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 16 Comments
Fox in the chicken house
I can't look at a red fox without hearing, "Hey, dummy!"

The first fox of the season popped round this morning as I was prepping for a ride.

He (or she) had a refreshing drink at my front-lawn sprinkler, then wiped out a few chickens belonging to a neighbor before leading us all on a merry chase around the ’hood.

Little sucker was as shameless as a House Republican, but absolutely without fear (this is how you can tell the difference between a chicken-stealing varmint and a House Republican).

I briefly considered sending the obnoxious sumbitch to the Great Beyond with one of the quieter family firearms — something in a .22 long — but decided against it. He (or she) is just doing what comes natural, and I don’t have the State’s permission to bust a cap in his (or her) ass.

But Turkish, Mia and Buddy will be enjoying some strict supervision in the backyard henceforth, and I may invest in a bag of BBs for the old air pistol. A ping in the pooter may persuade this grinning rascal to seek sustenance elsewhere.