From our Good News Department (a rarity, I know): My friend Jef Mallett, creator of the comic strip “Frazz” and author of “Trizophrenia: Inside the Minds of a Triathlete,” has begun blogging.
Jef and I share space on the “Race Radio” page in VeloNews, with me playing the bad cartoonist and him the good cartoonist. So pop on over to his place and say howdy. Tell him O’Grady sent you.
Well, there you have it: More meat for the grinder, says the prez (video here). Can’t say I’m happy about it, especially the caveat about withdrawals beginning in July 2001 to be dependent upon “conditions on the ground,” the ground in that part of the world being unstable in more ways than one (earthquakes and crazy mean bastards). Here’s the CIA World FactBook rundown on the joint for those of you who, like me, have never been there.
I like the idea of a deadline: “You have this long to help us kick the bad guys’ ass or you can fight them by yourselves.” Ditto the diversion of American money from the mayor of Kabul — a.k.a. President Hamid Karzai, a gent who by all accounts is so crooked that he can meet himself coming around a corner — to local officials in the boondocks.
I also like the long-overdue recognition of the financial toll here at home: “Um, yes, wars cost money, just like everything else, only more so. This one will be in the budget; we don’t care how the last guy did it. Will there be anything else? May I interest you in some health care, environmental action and jobs, perhaps?”
The fact that the Repuglicans are lining up against the prez should be encouraging, but is not, given their behavior to date. It’s not hard to get a dumb dog to bark.
Dexter Filkins, author of “The Forever War,” appears to have his doubts. So do I. I just don’t articulate them as well.
• Late update: Looks like Steve Benen at Political Animal shares my skepticism.
Here’s a sad story for you, straight out of “The Grapes of Wrath”: A homeless bricklayer profiled in the Bibleburg Gaslight on Monday was found dead outside his tipi on Thanksgiving morning — four days before the story ran.
Ray Medina, 53, told reporter Carlyn Ray Mitchell that he came to Bibleburg three years ago from Function Junction, hunting construction work at Fort Cartoon. Four months ago he moved to the banks of Fountain Creek, living first in a tent, then in the tipi. He gave the tent to a camp mate once the tipi was finished.
“None of us really want to be here,” Medina told the G. “I’m hoping (construction) will pick back up, hopefully in the spring.”
Added officer Dan McCormack with the Bibleburg Police Department’s Homeless Outreach Team: “He was convinced he was going to get a job and get off the street. Obviously his plans weren’t working out for him.”
Lots of plans are failing to reach fruition these days. Paul Krugman writes that there are six times as many of us looking for work as there are job openings, “and the average duration of unemployment — the time the average job-seeker has spent looking for work — is more than six months, the highest level since the 1930s.”
Here in Bibleburg, the unemployment rate is hovering at 7.5 percent, a slight improvement over the first half of the year attributed not to an improving economic climate, but to discouraged job-seekers dropping out of the labor market because there is no work.
So many tipis; so little hope.
The fine folks at Old Town Bike Shop transformed my Voodoo Wazoo ‘cross bike into a flat-bar townie yesterday in less time than it takes to ask, “Debit or credit?”
Why’d I do it? Well, I thought about going this route when I first rebuilt the bike as a seven-speed, single-ring, steel-fork, evil-weather, parts-box Frankenbike (it had been an eight-speed, double-ring, carbon-fork “race” bike with bar-end shifters until I stripped it to build the Soma Double Cross). But I didn’t have a flat bar and grips handy and instead went with a Salsa Bell Lap drop bar, Shimano 105 brake levers and a single Shimano 600 indexed bar-end shifter.
Now, with a bum middle digit on the left hand, I have trouble grasping a drop bar and operating its brake lever. And a brifter is out of the question — I have small hands and would have to use the battered birdie to shift. Owie.
Running a single-ring setup spares me the temptation of trying to shift into a gear I probably can’t push anyway. The smallish Real brake levers — salvaged from my mountain bike some years back when I finally surrendered to the inevitable and went to XT V-brakes — are easily operated with the index finger. Plus their light blue nicely complements the darker blue of the frame and my splinted finger. The cork grips give the injured hand a little more cushion than handlebar tape. And finally, a half set of Paul’s Thumbies let me turn that seven-speed bar-end shifter into a bar-top thumb-shifter so I can keep my right hand on the bar at all times. Pretty cool, eh?
When I got it home I took a quick spin around the block to see if the new setup worked for me, and lo and behold, it does, kinda, sorta, assuming I can avoid falling off in future. So maybe I can get outdoors again for some short spins while that finger heals.
The big question is: Can I fix a flat one-handed? It may be time for some Slime.
• Late update: Despite having this nifty new toy, I chickened out on an outdoor ride — I still can’t get a winter glove over the splint, which won’t come off until Tuesday — and instead did 75 indoor minutes on the Giant Tempo. The soundtrack was Led Zep’ instead of the Allman Brothers after Elvis Costello proved less than motivational. It’s exercise, but a poor substitute for the real deal, which I could see taking place without me through the living-room windows. Waah.
It must be International Try to Start Your Piece of Shit Truck Day.
I needed to haul the Voodoo down to Old Town for transformation into a flat-bar bike with thumbshifter (courtesy of Paul’s Thumbies) so I can get back to riding the road sometime soon (I hope). Toward that end, I was trying to fire up the White Tornado, my neglected and carbureted 1983 Toyota 4WD longbed pickup, ’cause it’s easier to slide a bike into its 6-foot bed one-handed than it is to park one on the Subaru Forester’s roof rack.
The 2005 Subie, on the other hand, is easier to start. Twist the key and off you go. The Toyota … not so much, especially if it’s been nestled up to the curb for a few weeks of wintry weather.
As I was cranking away, stomping rhythmically on the accelerator while mumbling various incantations and imprecations, I heard some other vehicle trying to harmonize with mine. Down the block, with its hood up, sat a Ford 100 Custom Cab of indeterminate age, its owner, like me, betting against the ravages of time, neglect and weather.
I eventually got my beater going, so I guess I win. But his has a better paint job, and collector’s plates, too, so it looks much niftier sitting immobile against the curb.
