most effectively delivered by kinetically loud and enveloping transport, currently over-the-ear headphones. yes, like the ones your Dad used to have. the ones that made you look like Princess Leia. yeah, you know what I’m talking about, you little fairy.

this is what happens when I stray from that routine.

Over the weekend, I yanked out all the old stinky carpets and stacked it up in the garage temporarily. Got some good dust masks with the little exhalation valve, which makes these things a lot more comfortable to wear for extended periods. I probably should have opted for the hazmat clean suit though — ended up with some temporary irritation on my forearms from God knows what. Probably the microscopic residents fighting for their homes as I rolled them up and out.

Sunday I changed the door locks and got to work on fixing the distressed door frame between the kitchen & garage. Haven’t finished that yet, but probably will tonight.

New Dominion Disposal delivered the dumpster Tuesday morning, so I was able to get all the carpet and most of the demoed wall material out of the house last night. Jesse & Del stopped by to check the place out. Jesse’s got lots of experience in renovations with his business, Surface Effects, Inc., so he was able to offer some good suggestions for refinishing the cabinets and stuff in the kitchen to save some money my first year in.

Del lives just around the corner and cruised over with Liam to take some measurements for security film on some of the windows. I was checking out some of that stuff at Home Depot the other night — man that stuff’s expensive! Basically just vinyl sticker! Anyway, Del yelled at me and said he can get me some of that stuff much cheaper, not to mention, since vinyl wraps is one of the things they specialize in with their business, Visual Designs, I can be sure he’ll help me get the right stuff and get it installed properly.

The property was absolutely disGUSTing. Multiple stains on the carpets in every room, nasty bathrooms, dust and dirt EVERYwhere, nevermind the smell. I don’t know if the previous owners/tenants had wild dogs, or just dirty kids.

Hanging out with the guys after the closing last Thursday afternoon, my friend Marcos, well versed in home renovations, suggested I order a disposal dumpster. I scoffed - “What? dude, the city dump is right around the corner! I’ll just load up my truck and cruise over there and save the money!” Marcos, being the cool laid back guy that he is just politely shrugged and smiled.

Carpets were the first thing to go. I loaded up my truck with the first of the carpet. I barely got a room’s worth in it. Crap!!! Marcos was right!!! There was no way I was going to want to be trucking over to the city dump, making multiple trips, waiting in the lines and all that business. What a waste of time that would be. I went ahead and finished pulling all the carpet and just stacked the rolls in the garage. On Day2, amazingly, the funky smell was all but gone from the house. However… it filled the garage with a 10x more powerful version.

I’ll update this in a bit, but just as a placeholder for now and a link to some progress photos.

Hold out your hands and close your eyes, I’m gonna give you a big surprise!

In reading some of the articles about how this money is being spent, I’m sitting here scratching my head wondering if I’ve missed something.

BBC News - No Agreement For US Car Bailout

So these executives arrive in Washington by private jet to ask for money? Seems to me like our goverment is just handing over the money to these people, and it’s business as usual. Am I wrong to think that there should be some TRUSTWORTHY oversight on these dispersements to make sure that these companies are providing proof that the money is being spent appropriately to get them back on track? On the recent requests from the Big Three Auto makers, it seems like, for the second time now, Congress balks at first (like with the banks - who are just buying other banks? is that what that money was supposed to be for?), then caves and arranges for the dispersement to give the impression that they’re not just giving the money away freely. These corporations need to be providing plans, and someone needs to properly review their books to make sure they are spending the money on what they say they are. No funny business. And then they need to call in the guys from Office Space to ask, “Mr. Executive, just what would you say it is that you do here?” If you answer defensively, “I have people skills!” you’re out the door. And without your golden parachute.

Who am I to have such opinions? I’m the one paying for this freakin’ bailout, so yes, I get to say what you spend it on. Or at least I should. Sorry guys, you don’t get to run a company into the ground and keep your jet.

Anyway, so while in the shop Roberio and I were talking about tires and their role in a bike’s suspension. This is my first full suspension bike, bought back in April or so, so I’ve just been riding and learning how to tune it properly as I go.

For a while there, I was riding with higher pressure than I normally would on a hardtail with a crummy front fork — like around 30-35psi, thinking that, well, it’s full suspension, new technology, shouldn’t I be relying more on the suspension and getting the faster rolling benefit of higher pressure? Well, yes and no, I found. Yes I can run a higher pressure, but 35psi’s way too much, and even 30psi’s still kinda up there. Experimentation on the trail brought me to around something in the low-mid-upper 20’s for that juuust right feeling, just the right amount of squishiness to take the edge off of hits, while still making the suspension do its job, and without being overly sluggish on the straights or soaking up too much pedal power. The result is a smooth, fast rolling ride, that transfers hits into the suspension, and with a medium-fast rebound, the bike is plush over hits, and the wheels stay on the ground for better traction and control, my concerns mostly about taking turns fast without the front sliding out.

So Roberio was showing me these tires while he was explaining to me casing volume and how the tire plays a role in the suspension process, twisting and flexing, and that tires aren’t just about traction. He pulled out the Specialized catalog to point out some differences, and I saw this Armadillo line. Del and I are suckers for wide grippy tires, mostly just ’cause — I won’t lie — they look tough as hell. When we started riding seriously again, we were pretty much ignorant about all the new technologies out there these days. It’s crazy how much there is. You can’t really keep up with everything out there, but I mean, come on, bike tires? How much difference could there possibly be? Well, a lot, it seems.

This is Specialized’s Armadillo line of puncture resistant tires.

We’ve always known we need different tires for different conditions. Ipswich is loose — loamy, they’d call it; you know, loose & sort of squishy? So we need a tire that bites better back there. But remembering how smooth and fast we were saying it was up at Freedom Park in Williamsburg, I think that was probably more of a hardpack condition, which we really don’t see around here.

I currently ride with Panaracer Rampage 2.3’s, and it’s been a great all around tire so far, though I’ve read reviews that say they suck in the wet, and chunk on rocks. Well, that’s not us here in VB. I like the edge burning knobs because they bite in turns back in Ipswich. It’s also pretty smooth rolling though, which is why I really liked it for up at Freedom, too. Unfortunately, these Panaracer tires are pretty soft, and aren’t exactly puncture resistant. Apparently the entire Armadillo line is.

At first glance, I like the Armadillo Fast Track Elite. comes in a 2.2 — they say large volume tire that rolls fast and side knobs that hook up in the fastest turns.

Not to be confused with the Fast Track LK model — same tread pattern, only 30% reduction in knob height, which I imagine is to be even faster and maybe shave some weight. I’d go for the Elite. a Specialized 2.2 is probably really fat and tall. Bet it would be sweet.

what’s the shelf life of raw chicken, do you think?
like how many days past the sell by date is it okay?
and just how arbitrary is that sell by date stamp, anyway?

anyway, so I was off in search of a better job. worked for a while with my best friend Jesse at a Swensen’s in Pembroke Mall. it was pretty fun working there once I got the hang of things and learned the recipes. Jesse left and got a different job a couple of months after I started. I felt a bit abandoned and anxious, because he was, after all, my cool friend, and everyone liked him, and being as shy as I was, hanging out with him sorta made me cool by proxy.

after a few months, I had the job down to a science. I became the waffle cone making guru (all I did was follow the package directions and develop a bit of a practical technique to rolling them). there wasn’t a movie theater rush I couldn’t handle, and I became the self appointed Fountain Manager. I pretty much just annoyed the couple of other fountain staffers and wait staff when they’d come back to make stuff and leave a mess because I was such a perfectionist about keeping things clean and organized.

I think I probably worked there for a year and a half or so, before I got kinda tired of it. I was a bit hung up on this older girl at school at the time, Lisa K., who was in and out of a relationship with a long term boyfriend. this would become my first lesson in not becoming involved with unavailable women. this one night, I really just desperately wanted to go hang out with her, but I had to work. I couldn’t stand it. so I quit and went over. I think we watched Die Hard or something and messed around on the couch. that was the only time in my life that I ever walked out on a job responsibility like that. I regret it to this day. it was so uncharacteristic of me, but it wouldn’t be the last time I’d do something careless over a girl.

after that, I ended up having to find another job due to my nagging mother. gas was still under a buck back then, and I’m pretty sure my parents were footing the bill for my insurance that month. I can’t remember for sure how long I was without a job, but I was pretty much forced to go to this new Gene Walters’ Marketplace open casting call sort of thing — a mass hiring. it was at the front of the still under construction superstore secretly shrouded behind plastic draped from the ceiling. of course I ended up a bagger. the lowest of the low in my teen aged perception. but, I swallowed my pride and pressed on through acceptance of the job offer, and went to a training class a week or so later, learning in the process to ask the customer politely whether they’d like paper or plastic, and then how to pack their items without smashing their bread, cracking their eggs or bruising the fruits and vegetables. it wasn’t so bad. we also learned the approximate stress limits of the typical plastic grocery store bag. double bagging was discouraged to save money. they were trying to get us all ready for this gigantic store opening. it truly was a wonder store as far as local groceries were concerned.

opening day. the place was slammed. it was chaotic. my shift started in the early afternoon. I could have clocked in and wandered the store and no one would have missed me, really. I’d never seen so many people. every single register was open with long lines — must have been eighteen lanes, at least. plus two or three makeshift checkouts at the bottom, built out of stacking a register on some boxes with a makeshift counter. I was nervous. anxious. what if I messed up? I was still pretty shy at that point, and awkward in unfamiliar, high stress environments. it was at that makeshift register that I was pushed in to start. we were also forced to escort customers to their cars with their groceries, even if they declined the help. we were not allowed to accept tips, though some customers would force tips on us, putting them in our smocks if we refused, and would be kind and talkative. others wouldn’t even say thank you. as Baggers, some of the store’s Front End Management really treated us poorly. the hierarchy was all too obvious, and while some of these people were okay, there were others on power trips. it’s comical thinking back, actually — they were really just the cashiers who demonstrated a bit of work ethic, but they’d stand up at this little podium, call us over to dictate tasks, usually along the lines of clearing the lot, mopping up spills, or cleaning the bathrooms. their tones sometimes were demeaning, though. I tried to keep a low profile. while I was shy on the outside, I had a ridiculous ego inside, even at that age.

my salvation came when I was asked to clear the lot one night — collect the shopping carts and bring them back up to the front of the store. this was in the middle of summer, on a brand new sloping asphalt parking lot. dressed in my uniform — white long sleeve collared shirt, black pants and apron/smock sort of thing. I couldn’t tell you how hot it was out there, but I didn’t care. it was a place for me to get lost for hours. I’d rather spend my shift in hard labor solitude than be shouted at or have to deal with grouchy customers.

wait. I just realized this was about a record shop job I didn’t get. before I had to go to the grocery store, I tried to get a job at a record shop in the mall where the Swensen’s was. my Mom or Dad saw an ad in the paper about it and they knew I was really into music at the time. this was 11th grade now. I went and got an application, and brought it home. filled it out, and went back to drop it off a day or so later. to my surprise, a week or two thereafter, I got a phone call from the store asking me to come in for an interview! I was pretty excited about that. working in a record store would be the coolest job ever I thought! they only hire cool people anyway.

interview day came, and I rush home from school, changed into something kinda dressy - a poofy light blue denim shirt, and some poofy black/gray tightly waffled patterned trousers. I hadn’t started working out at the time, so the whole outfit swallowed my 135lb. frame. not to mention, didn’t really match worth a crap, but I didn’t realize it at the time aside from a feeling of not feeling quite right dressed like that. I was running out of time and didn’t have anything else to wear anyway, so I hopped in my piece of crap 1981 Ford Mustang, and drove up to the mall. I was pretty excited and nervous all at the same time. this was it, I thought; a job I will enjoy and can be proud of.

going into the interview, I saw this girl Beth K. coming out of the back room in the store as I walked in — she was a pretty high school senior from a little further down the lunch table. I can’t really remember what I said to her, though I remember being a bit surprised at seeing her, but she smiled politely with the accompanying small talk. the rest is fuzzy, but I vaguely remember sitting in the back room for my interview with the store manager, dressed like an idiot, and answering the generic questions with probably fairly generic answers. HOWEVER. I remember specifically one question, and I’m confident it’s the one that got me fired before I was hired — “What kind of music do you like?”

let me explain. I had a hard time feeling like I fit in. I read Siddhartha and The Great Gatsby the year prior, and was reading Walden at the time, I think. what I remember of the English curriculum I was in was transcendentalism, and nonconformity, and self actualization. maybe the characters and authors weren’t necessarily always happy in the end, but the feeling I was left with was that everything was okay, and that they were settled. it was about that time that I stumbled onto a low powered semi-local radio station — 92.1 WOFM. it was in Moyock, NC, on the Virginia and North Carolina border. that station and its deejays changed my life — Al Mitchell, Kristi Michael, Sarah Trexler, and several others… progressive, industrial, brit-pop — all names for the soon to be tagged alternative and later indie genres. THAT was what I listened to. that was ALL that I listened to. as far as I was concerned at the time, pop music, and everything else, was trash. esPECially country. that was the worst of all!!! (I’d never really listened to any country at the time) it was more than that though. I found in that music a small group of people I identified with. outcasts. the depressed. the artistic. they were all different. creative. free thinkers compared to everyone else who was just trying to be like everyone else. since I never really felt like I could be like everyone else, and the books I’d read making me think ever so slightly, this new community really appealed to me. it wasn’t like I auditioned or really even starting hanging out with different people, but the music became this sort of secret club to me; a hideaway. something that was soooo cool, and I had it all to myself. when things went bad, I’d immerse myself in music — The Jesus & Mary Chain, Nine Inch Nails (three years prior to MTV, btw), The Feelies, The Stone Roses, local heroes The Boneshakers, Jane’s Addiction, Ministry, They Might Be Giants (happy song Birdhouse In Your Soul), and a whole slew of others. now, I casually mentioned earlier that 92.1 was under powered. not such a minor detail. that meant that reception in Virginia Beach was spotty. on those nights it would come in, however… I felt like I was hanging out with someone while I was doing my homework. Al Mitchell came on one night, “Here’s a new one by a band opening for The Jesus & Mary Chain at The Boathouse - this is Nine Inch Nails; Sanctified.” there were a few other kids who were into that stuff too, and we’d talk about it and share music and stuff. some of them had older brothers and sisters who’d turned them on to this stuff earlier on, but it was great to feel like a part of some secret little club.

so. “What kind of music do you like?”
my answer? an all too enthusiastic, “…I pretty much only listen to progressive music. stuff like {big name dropping list of cool, but under the radar bands}”
did I mention that this was a record store in a mall?
it was like a Sam Goody or something like that.
the ONLY answer to that question is, “I like a little bit of everything.”

Beth K. was a smart, pretty, pretty, well rounded and outgoing high school cheerleader. she got the job. I ended up at the Gene Walters. I did however work my way up to Video Store Clerk, and that was the coolest job in the whole store, and my friend Jermaine Wilson taught me how to eat fried chicken with hot sauce. I gotta try to catch up with him. I think his parents might still live in Kempsville…

I’m back. It’s been a busy six months. The past week and a half I’ve been playin’ around with Linux servers, web applications, and a databases. It’s fun. In a satisfying, fruits-for-your-labor sort of way.

Man, what else. Bikes. Trying to get organized. Spending too much money. I don’t know. I have been feeling more productive though. It’s a horrible feeling, feeling like you’re just spinning your wheels, isn’t it? Just… listless. It’s tough keeping up though, I’ll say that. I go through these periods of full on focus, hammering away obsessively on whatever the task, immersing myself in it, then… crash. I’m out of it for a couple of days. Don’t want to be bothered. Just need time to decompress.

I’ve been pretty bad in keeping up with friends these past few months, though, as well. Jeez, it’s actually been more like eight or nine months, now that I think about it. Eh well. Those closest to me will understand. The few. The others have been recent acquaintances through music or photo discussions, and, well, I’m pretty sure they’ll understand too. Probably need to send out some personal messages here and there.

I’m tellin’ you I’ve had it. I’ve had it with all this crap! You took her side every time all you care about is fruit… and touchin’ yourself! Well fffuck you!

- Dewey Cox, Tour Bus Conversations With My Monkey, circa ???

Walk hard, bitches.

ps.
someone remind me to edit that Naruto header to cross out the rude bit.
not sure what that’s all about.  maybe stubborn & determined…