Sunday and Black Monday, Friday, Tuesday, etc.

I still haven't heard of Black Thursday, and since everyone's into "Hump Day" Wednesday, it's de facto Black due to our current overpopulation crisis. So Friday, Monday, Tuesday, and Sunday all have Black references, and by overpopulation Wednesday, this leaves me Thursday and Saturday that don't have to be totally screwed beyond belief. I don't know what started this particular track of thought, but it appears to be a track leading nowhere. Which is to say, when I'm disabled my mind wanders.

That being said, I am finally back into functioning order. Evidently, the Palestinian Pagan Deity (tm) that has been torturing my back demanded I see a hippie chiropractor for services. Whereupon I was notified that my pelvis was out of place, and that my heart meridian had some issues. This commonly known as 'stress.' in non-hippie terms, IMO.

So, how to celebrate? Well, after almost a complete weekend of doing nothing, I was thinking about taking a ride, except it's raining, and, well, Chupecabra still doesn't have a chainwheel. This is the longest break our relationship has had since it started in February of last year. I can't say I'm particularly enjoying it, hence it being a black day that I can add to the collection.

From henceforth, only Thursday and Saturday rank well in my book. All others can go to hell, unless something special happens on them.

Yeah, I feel like this was rather forced myself. Perhaps better things next time?

The Pain of Love on Valentine's Day

No, this is not another sappy pining for lost love, or whatever.

This is a story about a demon goat (now in the hospital), and a humble-by-only-the-most-outrageous-standards narrator (that probably should be in a hospital).

I didn't do anything for Valentine's Day. I'm officially a hater now. I hate commercialism, I hate sappy holidays, and I hate feeling obligated to do shit. I'm much better at feeling like a slacker. Can't we have a slacker holiday? You would think so, but to establish a holiday requires effort, hence the conundrum.

Regardless. Blew the back out. Second weekend in a row I've managed to injure myself in time for the weekend. Actually, that's not completely true, I did have a semi-decent Friday night, going out for drinks and dancing at some club down on Atlantic Avenue in Brooklyn. The largest problem with trying to hang out at a club is that usually, as was the case here, the music is so loud you can't really talk to anyone without yelling, so it's basically dancing and drinking, or nothing at all.

I don't get it. It's not really my thing. There was a giant fake ficus in the center of the dance floor, and in my hating on Valentine's Day, I decided the ficus was my date, and danced with it.

Actually, I really wasn't hating just yet. I just didn't really want to dance with anyone else, even though I did for a bit. I have a nasty habit of mocking/clowning when I dance drunk, and this night was no exception, hence my gravitation towards the tree - it wouldn't cause problems. It also didn't move around much, which is good because I'm also very clumsy, so dancing with other people is highly likely to result in collisions.

Saturday, hangover free (I'm lucky like that), I took Chupecabra to the vet/doctor/bike shop. There's a new one where the old one was. I learned what a BMX crank puller looks like, and I unleashed the pain of a smashed crank and jammed crank arm on the specialists. The crank got royally screwed by an employee of the former bike shop, overtorquing everything on it. Hopefully my luck will be better this time, otherwise, I'll have to start up my own bike shop just to keep that gawdawful Demon Goat appeased.

Either that, or using an ancient Egyptian God of Sleep name for my hookah didn't satisfy the Palestinian Pagan Deity that hates me so much. In which case, back to the appeasement drawing board. Any ideas?

Good Afternoon In Agony (a.k.a. Palestinian Pagan Deities Deliver Pain)

So... here it goes:

Even if, even if I had bought the correct sized crank puller to help me fix the guts of Chupecabra, I would not be riding today.

Even if, even if my brother was up for a run today, instead of yapping on the phone, I would not be running today.

Even if, even if there was a million dollars awaiting me in midtown Manhattan, I would not go outside today.

Okay, that last one was a big fat lie. But seriously, my back feels like someone inserted a square metal rod with sharp edges into the center of it - turning and bending feels stiff and painful.

Being my Jesus year, I wonder if somehow the pagan deities are punishing me for slights unknown, for the death and destruction of their millions of followers. Then I remember that I'm neither Christian nor Catholic, and outside of the whole Palestinian thing, the Jews haven't been too guilty of genocide.

Therefore, it seems only logical to deduce that it's a Palestinian Pagan Deity that is the source of my pain.

In light of this, I have a new plan for appeasement. No, goddamnit, I'm not moving to Palestine to do peace work, I'm too much of a goddamn coward to go into the middle of a warzone, I leave that to braver women and men.

So whatever could my appeasement mean? Well, let me tell you about a new cherished friend in my household, someone who has until now remained nameless, yet always present, promising sweet-flavored relief and relaxation. My hookah (that's HOOKAH, not HOOKER, you bastards!). Two-hosed Iiptsos, sweet savior of rest and reprieve. Hopefully, with this honoring of my cherished friend, the Palestinian Pagan Deity will leave me be, and tomorrow I'll awakened renewed. Time will tell.

P.S. I got it on good authority that there's 5 of you now. If I could make this my sermon, that's big enough for my own religion. Don't think I'm going cult on you all, I'm just looking at tax break possibilities.

Where Have I Been?

Dancing. I swear. And not riding Chupecabra, who sits like a limp gutless goat in my living room.

Need to replace the cranks - that's right, the stomach of a goat has finally founds its match on these mean NYC streets. I'm discouraged, disheartened, and fully non-functional as a result of this. I should probably call it all a tale of heartbreak and loss, but it seemed too melodramatic - the demon goat will return soon enough.

In the meantime, it's getting a little cold in NYC, like as in single digits with the wind-chill, and I'm back to running the streets on a regular basis. Not that anyone particularly cares. In the hood, I get stared at with the blatant, "'nother stupid whiteboy, gentrifying this beeyotch with his crazy, frozen ass." Of course, I generally get that look anyways, since I dress rather light for cold weather.

Can't be helped. I get too warm very easily, and too cold is something I rarely encounter. It's like I've got a furnace inside that just doesn't seem to work for my appendages, all of which succumb to rigidity from the cold, even though I feel fine.

I've also been doing a lot more professional blogging. Folks, this is the year to start tipping the drug war towards ending. I still don't see a realistic end to it until about 2012 (plus or minus a year), but this is the year for decisive action, and I've been making decisive action a central theme, hence a lot more professional blogging, including now specific requests for people to take action.

So, my faithful four, know that although you've (suffered? taken advantaged of? been relieved of) missed out on some blogging here, I'm recommitting myself towards a little more attention to this blog, to keep the spirits flowing. My promise to you four: at least a sentence a weekend, unless I'm traveling. Gawd I love disclaimers!