BIKE IS THE NEW BLACK

Cycling is the new black this summer. Haven't you heard? Folks in my department are driving their bikes to school and going for afternoon rides. Don't get me wrong, it's totally awesome. But sometimes it feels like bike and bike shit is all people talk about these days. "So-and-so bought a new bike and I bought a new helmet and he got one of those wireless odometers and we went here and then we went there and I burned a thousand calories and then blah blah blah and what do you think about my ass in these spandex shorts?"

I have been quietly biking for the past 5 years. The bicycle has been around for almost 200 years. What's all this noise about? Obviously I enjoy it, but it's also a practical mode of transportation for me. I rode 115 miles this week. Some of those miles were fun and some of them sucked dick. It's a very cool machine, people, but it's not a religion.

This is all I'm sayin'.

CYCLES PERFECTA

The Saturday before last, I drove my parent's car to the airport, picked them up, and rode the Greyhound bus home. I have never owned a car but I had theirs for the past ten months. I am now without a motorized vehicle. I plan to get around on my bicycle, something that has worked for the past five years. The only difference is, I now live further from work. I clocked about 107 miles on my odometer last week. Let's see how long I last.

AMERICAN OBSESSIONS

1. Shopping
2. Dieting
3. Their bodies
4. Tragedy
5. The Joneses
6. Religion

SEVEN TASKS MORE DAUNTING THAN MEETING YOUR CURRENT BOYFRIEND’S EX GIRLFRIEND:

1. A cross country bus ride
2. A college entrance exam
3. A root canal
4. Completing income taxes
5. Submitting stool samples
6. Reading Finnegans Wake
7. Renovating your kitchen

PART 2

So all that stuff about J, all of that happened last week. Earlier this week I found him fussing about hairy armed environmentalists and how they want to protect the Atlantic and Pacific coasts from offshore drilling. “Gas prices are way too high!” he bellowed, “We need that oil!" I asked him how many years of oil he thought could be mined from the coasts. He stared at the ceiling for a moment and then said, “two hundred years.”

S'OK. I asked him where he got that number. Did he get it from the US Geological Survey? Or did he hear it on AM radio? Perhaps the number came to him in a vision or maybe it popped out of his ass. Of course, I wasn't wondering out loud. What I actually said was, "OK well, bring in your source and we'll look into it."

But he didn't bring in a source today. No, instead he dropped the class. When I asked him why, he simply said it's "not my thing." Whatever.

PART 1

My environmental science class always starts with SCIENCE. What is it? How do we use it? What are its limitations? We discuss science, how it's based on empirical evidence while religion is based on faith. We also talk at length about Junk Science. At this point I usually show a short movie clip from Ghostbusters, the one where Dr. Peter Venkman is "studying" negative reinforcement on ESP ability. Man, that shit is funny every time.

But when I flip the lights back on, I notice J shaking his head. He tells me science is a pointless activity. He says, whenever someone proves one thing someone else comes along and tries to prove the opposite. So how are we supposed to know who is right? I explain: Real science is made public and must endure criticism from the scientific community. It can be a long process. It may take years or even decades for an idea to mature into scientific theory or scientific law. And even then, we might not know everything or anything absolutely.

But what is the alternative? Should we stop exploring the natural world? Should we wear loincloths, chant something nonsensical, drink blessed newt heads, and then curl up in a cave? Dude, they were called the Dark Ages for a very good reason.

He gave me a tight smile as he tucked his books under his arm. I don't think he absorbed any of my words.

NOT HAMSTER TEETH

I was watching Scenes of a Sexual Nature a few weeks back. Eh, not the best movie ever. And I'm one who likes to wax philosophical about male slash female dynamics and human relationships. So anyway, the movie was filmed in Hampstead Heath (London park) but whenever the actors would mention the setting, I thought they were saying Hamster Teeth.

IS IT JUST ME, OR

Is Smokey the Bear looking a bit thick around the waist these days?

DREAM TWENTY-THREE

Last night I made a pipe bomb out of a toilet paper roll, toilet paper, and Ammonium Hydroxide.

Heh. Try and top that Macgyver!

THANK YOU COME AGAIN

I always think it strange when I am herded through a checkout line at a Target Store and the teenager dressed in a red polo shirt hands me my receipt and says to an imaginary person standing just behind my back:

"Thankyouforshoppingattargethaveagoodday."

SNAKES W/ BACKPACKS

I had to endure a really dull work meeting recently. It was so incredibly boring, I was reduced to drawing pictures of snakes. And then, snakes wearing backpacks.

GYPSY PUNK

I saw Gogol Bordello perform last night. Their music genre fits snugly between gypsy and punk. I loved it what with all the jumping, spinning, hand clapping, and fist shaking. But the decibels were punishing. Yow.

In other news: I have this incredible craving for chicken-leek dumplings.

MY PERSONAL SALUTE

I don't really like cops. I'm not opposed to the idea of law enforcement, but most of the police officers I encounter are jerks. I know many share this sentiment, but probably because they were caught speeding or shop lifting and had to pay a fine. I think they're jerks because so many of them got into law enforcement because they still harbor rancor for the bullies that shoved their milktoast asses around the playground when they were kids. I mean bullying is not okay, but don't perpetuate that shit.

So when I am on my bicycle and I happen to see Minneapolis' Finest at, say, an intersection, I really can't help but scratch my ass. I'll go out of my way to make a big show of it too. Sometimes I'll yawn or burp and scratch my ass and then just stare at them with cold, dead eyes.

It's a little hobby of mine.

SPEAKING OF EXOTICS

I was driving to meet a friend. On my way to her house, I rolled over a House Sparrow (European Sparrow) with my big dumb car tires. The little guy had been flitting about the street with, what I can only assume to be, his pair bond. I guess I was operating under an assumption that birds and other fauna will instinctually spring out of the way of moving vehicles.

I immediately came to a halt and stared into my rear view mirror at the tiny bird shaped lump on the street. I pulled the car around the nearest quiet, residential intersection and drove back. And shit stick, I felt really bad! When I met up with my friend, I launched straight into confession. She kindly reminded me that House Sparrows are exotics introduced in the late 19th century. She shrugged her shoulders and said, "They're like Cane Toads." My ornithology professor probably would have patted me on the back and congratulated me for cleaning out the gene pool.

But what? I still carelessly snuffed out a life and that makes me feel like a big fat A-hole. I mean whatever, I have stepped on countless ants and swatted god knows how many mosquitoes. Hell, I've been known to cut up ticks with a pocket knife. But all I could do that afternoon was think about his ladybird perched on their nest wondering, "How am I going to forage and incubate these eggs??"

Gah! (Sorry birdies)

DUDE, WHO TOOTED?

I went for a chill nine mile run this morning and man, the city lakes are absolutely thick with Eurasian Milfoil. The carpets are woven so tight, one could walk on it. And boy howdy it stinks! It's not like that sweet organic smell of say, horse manure, no. It's the toxic smell of microbes partying into the wee hours.

It made my eyes water. I mean, phew. Gross.