Interbike may be over, but that doesn’t mean we won’t be keeping you right up to the nanosecond on the latest and greatest.
Here, for example, Miss Mia Sopaipilla test-drives the Feline-O-Fluffer, the very latest in cat entertainment and climate control technology.
And would you believe it? It also dries clothes.
* Cat not included.
Damn, this has been a fun week. First I make drunkard tartare out of my right leg in a trail tumble, and now I’ve managed to throw my back out again.
Hitting the deck on Tuesday started the ball rolling. Favoring the bum leg gave it a nudge. And the kicker was probably spending too much time crouched over the cutting board, assembling last night’s New Mexican feast, chicken quesadillas and calabacitas.
These are easy dishes, to be sure — the quesadillas are merely poached and shredded chicken, seeded and sliced jalapeños and grated Monterey jack layered between two flour tortillas and baked for 12 minutes at 350 — but some assembly is required.
Long story short, this morning I bend down to see if Turkish is lurking under Herself’s car and pop! Out goes the back, which I first injured in college while delivering heavy appliances for beer money. Every couple of years it likes to slash the tires on my chariot and hiss, “Thou art mortal!”
Still, things could be worse. A couple of friends are on Cape Cod, playing hide-and-seek with Hurricane Earl. Or I could be one of the poor chumps blown off the latest offshore oil platform to explode.
So, yeah. I’ve got that going for me. That, and the drugs, and the ice pack. …
We’ve barely dipped a toe into winter and already I’m sniveling about the cold. It’s gonna be a long January for you people if this keeps up.
We have one semi-pleasant day coming up tomorrow, according to the fine folks at NOAA, and then boom! Back in the deep freeze. Meanwhile, McDowell Mountain Regional Park outside Fountain Hills should be looking at temps in the mid-60s for the next few days. I am not there for some reason. I will never be smart.
I should’ve ridden today, but I couldn’t face another day of fenders and neoprene so early in the new year, so I went for a run in Palmer Park instead. Tights, two long-sleeved shirts, tuque, gloves and a sharp eye peeled for icy bits, of which there were many. Tire tracks, too, some imprinted deeply in the damp clay. Bad mountain bikers. Bad, bad, bad.
The rest of my day was devoted to keeping an eye on the VeloNews.com beta site, which remains very much a work in progress. Without warning, the old site vanished overnight like the proverbial Cheshire cat, taking the readers’ forums along with it and leaving no grins behind.
Meanwhile, as the mag’ staff cranks on the March edition, our lone wire service, Agence France Presse, sent us fuck-all between 10:16 a.m. local time on New Year’s Day and 7:46 a.m. this morning, when we got two stories, both on the same topic — the Team Sky launch in London — one in French and the other in English. No pictures. Zut alors.
Happily, our Euro’ whiz Andrew Hood was on the job, providing wisdom in U-nited States American, and ace shooter Casey B. Gibson came through with some pics courtesy of a colleague who was at the Sky shindig while the Frogs were busy letting the saucers stack up at some café or surrendering to someone. Welcome to the New Wheeled Ordure, January Edition.
No wonder Miss Mia Sopaipilla feels like staying in bed all day. Sometimes I do, too.
OK, so this started out as a family holiday photo, but the cats proved reluctant to accept direction.
“What’s my motivation for this scene?” inquired Turkish, raking my left hand with his claws as I set the camera’s self-timer with my right.
“No paparazzi!” screeched Mia. “I’m in the witness protection program!”
“Why do we have all these cats?” wondered Herself.
“I suppose I can always dick around with this lame-o shot in Photoshop,” I mused. And so I could.
Happy holidays from the O’Gradys: Herself (left); Turkish (a.k.a. Turkenstein, The Turkinator, Mighty Whitey the Blue-eyed Bully of Bibleburg, Big Pussy, et al.); Miss Mia Sopaipilla; and Your Humble Narrator (the fat old bald dude at right).
Miss Mia Sopaipilla has clearly been overexposed to Islamic socialism, Christ-free “holiday” seasons and the liberal media.
This morning, after brazenly toasting her po-po on our DSL modem she stalked into the living room and ruthlessly deposed The Man — the snowman, that is, the one that this time of year sits atop the subwoofer to our home theater system.
Oh, the humanity. Snowmanity. Sean Hannity. Whatever.
Mad Blog Media 