Real Cost of Food

An egg is an egg. Except, when it's not.

Fresh the movie.

Juicing the Yogurt

Image: liquid that forms on the top of the yogurt.

It almost makes me not want to dive beneath the swampy container surface.  I still do, but it takes some convincing.

Convincing that my eating yogurt is a favor to my body.  It should be grateful.  I could be sucking down a Jucy Lucy from Matt's Bar.  While delicious, it has the potential to stop a heart on cheese imploding impact.

Sure it doesn't want to touch the soupy, milk colored water.  But it's yogurt.  It's healthy.  Healthy food isn't supposed to be appetizing.

Is it?

Today on the Tandem

Aly and I dressed for work and rode the 1970 Schwinn Twin tandem to work this morning - instead of our usual commute, which involves us each with our own bicycle.

There was a mix of laughs, confusion and head shaking from onlookers.

Not to say I blame the head shakers.  Mixing in with rush hour traffic on Hennepin with a 9 foot bike gets somewhat ridiculous.

Do tandems do more to save the environment than two typical bicycles?

Regardless, that's what I shouted to those onlookers.  However, my cred was shot because the shouts were from the back seat.  Aly was driving.

The Purple Pack

The state is currently wetting itself around Brett Favre in Viking purple.

News choppers following Favre's motorcade. Women crying in the streets. Madness really.

Birth Right

Fellow cyclists,

A friendly reminder:

Spandex is an earned right, not an inherent one.

Business Email Communication

Good morning

Good afternoon

Hello team

It would be appreciated

Can you please advise

If you would please provide input

Attached please find

Please find the attached

If you would please review

Status sheet

Status meeting

Weekly status meeting

Weekly internal status meeting

Weekly client status meeting

Weekly standing status

Budget sheet

Budget review

Budget vs actual for consideration

Revised estimate

Under bill

Over bill

Secure payment

Invoice trial

Invoice

If you would authorize this please

Memorandum

Creative brief

Project brief

Action change order

Outlook

Meeting notice

Meeting reminder

Snooze button

Dismiss reminder button

Dismiss all reminders button

Out of office automatic reply

Conference room

Conference projector

Conference phone

Conference in

Three way conference

Coffee cups

Our recommendation

A point of view with recommendation

A point of view document

We strongly encourage

We believe strongly that

To provide you with the most

To continue to provide you

In effort to maintain

We express our appreciation

Your response is much appreciated

Thank you

Thank you in advance

Thank you for your time

Thank you for your time and consideration

Best

All the best

Best regards

Sincerely,

John

Stuck to You

This is dumbly catchy.

I've been listening to it on repeat for the last hour.

Nobody's perfect.

Train in Vain

The coolest punk band, The Clash and the coolest punk band lead singer, Joe Strummer.

Mission Bikes

Wow.

What a great shop - Mission Bicycle Company.

A friend from London sent me the link as well as the write up in Dezeen.

Slow Food

Aly and I are becoming more self-aware of what we put in our bodies. Not necessarily turning vegan, vegetarian or a combination of the two, but attempting to realize the process of where our food actually comes from.

I think this idea fits with Aly's hobby/passion for cooking and gardening as well as my hobby/passion for eating.

Check out Slow Food USA a cool grassroots movement for good, environmentally sound, worldwide food.

Dogs and Cats

Otis, by no direct fault but by his very nature, is stressful.

He prowls, wanders and generally doesn't come when he's called.  A dog suffering from A.D.D.

I can identify with small attention spans, but after the fourth time I'm forced to leave the porch to pull dog jowls off the neighbor's hosta plants, my patience is pushed.

Because the dog won't sit still, I'm continually swiveling in my lawn chair, looking for a tail popping out of the garden and asking, "where is that dog?"

We have also have a cat, Emerson.

Emerson is a left over relic of an 21 year-old female's $20 dollar impulse purchase. A purchase that, just a few short years later, would push the boundries of an engagement.

Emerson will attack your calves at 7:00 in the morning forcing explicitives and soccer swing in his general direction.

Otis, somehow, can eat the plaster out of the living room wall and still come out endearing.

I constantly ask, "where is that dog?"

I never ask, "where is that cat?"

Rubber Match

Last night Aly stated, what I believe, is the best quote I've ever heard.

As follows:

"Planning a wedding is a lot like making a rubber band ball.  You start with nothing.  The ball gets bigger and bigger.  The bigger it gets the more addictive it gets and the more you add to it.  Once it gets to a certain size you stop, step back and say, "There is no end in sight.  What the hell is the point of this?  It's a fricking rubber band ball.""

Genius.

TOMRV

Chugged back to the Quad Cities last weekend to do a bike tour - Tour of the Mississippi River Valley - with my dad and brother.

Rolled into town at 2:00 a.m. and up at 6:00 in the pouring down rain. In wet wind, we scooted a 120 miles north to Dubuque, IA. This set my new personal daily total milage record on a bike.

Setting a another personal record, breaking my previous attempt of zero, I had the reluctant pleasure of riding a bicycle with speeding automobiles on an open 4-lane divided highway. Three times.

I'll be the first one to tell you that I do not make smart choices on a bicycle. But what I witnessed on this trip made me look like a bicycling honor student.

The first time riding on a 4-lane, while biking down the on ramp, the 50 year old guy I was riding with yelled over, "Whatever you do, DON'T ride on the sholder!" I proceeded to watch him merge with 60 mile an hour traffic and pedal down the middle of the right hand lane. Like he was off to the market and this was just a typical thing for truckers to see on the interstate.

I was so freaked that I shoved it to the sholder and rode a half mile on speed buzers while trucks and SUVs came close enough to spit gravel against my shins.

Arriving at the overnight location, I drank three beers while watching old, white men dance to a Jimmy Buffett cover band. Two hours later, I was asleep with a half a Clif Bar in my hand.

The next day faired better with weather and miles. We took the shorter route, ending in Preston, IA. Although we caught the sag wagon the last bit of the ride, we put down around 175 - 185 total miles - not a bad outing.

Something Fun

Bored?

Smell your hands right now.

Smells bad, right?

Ines Brunn

Wow.

Bikes of New York

Aly was on photoshoot last month in New York.  With hawaiian t-shirt, bright white running shoes and oversized camera slung around my neck, I flew out to see the sights.

I went with an open mind not knowing what to expect from the city that never sleeps.  The city that never sleeps has a different vibe than the city of lakes, but one I couldn't have enjoyed more.

Fellow A.D.D. sufferers, search no more.  Your mecca is the meat packing district on the lower west side of Long Island:

Good God.  I don't think I blinked for three days.

In the trendiest part of NYC, there is more visual stimulation than allowed by the human body.  At 3:00 in the afternoon, lines would form in front of unmarked doors - which I assumed were flame-broiled of the hot, New York club scene.

Geek alert.

I was more interested in the bikes lining the city than any portion of the underground club scene.

For the photo album, some of my favorite NYC bikes:

All the To Do

Andrew was in town the past week interviewing for jobs, as he is moving back to the City of Lakes. In a word, I could say Minneapolis crew is "excited," but don't think it would account for the foaming at the lips, jittery anticipation, that everyone is physically displaying.
We, along with the usual suspects, spent much of the time biking, drinking beer and scheming plans to combine the two in a way to make a million dollars.

In the spirit of him moving back at the onset of summer, we participated in one of my favorite exercises - list making.
On a cocktail napkin titled, "2009 Summer To Do's," we listed out everything that needs to be accomplished by the Autumnal Equinox.

I assumed this went M.I.A. around 11:00 p.m. To my surprise, the following email turned up in my inbox today.

The list, and the additional reasons I will love this city this summer:

Iconic

Malcolm Gladwell

I just finished reading Outliers, after re-reading The Tipping Point earlier this spring.

Malcolm Gladwell is nothing short of fantastic. Vivid descriptions and stories to describe behavior and culture.

A must for marketers and must-must for those who are curious.

A Tombstone

I never save left-over frozen pizza to eat the next day.

Out of the oven, it tastes just good enough to eat. Why force something down a second time and belabor the point?

Long Johns

The great thing about long underwear?

They fit both tight and loose at the same time.

Me, Men, Meat

Aly has been in New York on photo shoot for the past two weeks, with one additional week to go.

At home it's me. And Otis. And Emerson.

Just three dudes, with little to no survival instincts past drinking liquid directly from its holding container.

Two pieces of chicken composed dinner Tuesday. Yesterday, I had a steak for dinner and applauded my forethought by cooking an extra which I ate for lunch today. After drinking two beers and eating an entire pork loin this evening, I decided the following:

You are a male living alone when the only thing you eat for a meal is meat.

No side dishes. No salad. Just a piece of meat with a cold, accompanying sauce.

I've never felt bad about fixing myself strictly meat for a meal. Truth be told, I like it. Tastes great. Less food to coordinate and prepare. Less cleanup.

The warm/fuzzy feeling must be one of private.  When I was at the office today heating up my steak for lunch to accompany my coffee (yes, steak and coffee - I realize this is a habit of a very old man) I had a pinge of embarrassment for heating up just a piece of meat.

"What are you having?" the nosy lunch co-worker asked.

"Um.  Steak." I timidly replied.

"Really?  Just meat?" she prodded.

Why do you care, ran through my head, but instead, "Yeah, left-0vers." was the excuse.  She had no idea that I was lying to her face.

The night before, I cooked with the pre-meditation of only eating meat for lunch.

"At least you'll get your iron." she offered.

"More than you know." I replied.

The Milk Handle

The checkout person always ask you if you would like your milk in a bag.

"I wonder why milk is the only item offered to be bagged or not bagged," I wondered outloud to myself yesterday.

I answered myself by saying, "well, milk has a built in handle and doesn't need to be placed in something else with a handle. Plus, if you would put it in a bag, it would take up such a large volume of bag space, it wouldn't even make much sense."

Then I asked, "True, but isn't the volume sacrific worth it as putting milk in a bag makes it easier to carry? Probably. The bag isn't cold and slippery, like the milk handle and more comforting to the touch."

Countering, "Right, but think about putting your milk in a bag and then having it sit in your truck or backseat while you drive home. The condensation would build up to the point of soaking the bag - which would easily tear - forcing you to carry the milk by the handle anyway and creating a moot decision of bag vs. no bag in the first place."

"Milk in no bag is probably the best decision," I decided to no one in particular, but myself.

"Definitely," I agreed.

Slice of Life

Alyson and I would like to be married in a Lutheran church. In order to do so, you are required to complete 6 hours of pre-marriage counciling.

Today we spent six straight hours in a church basement, eating Jolly Ranchers and sharing intimate life feeling with complete strangers.

The kicker?

The marriage class was being taught by a woman once divorced.

Icelandic Rock

I love Minnesota Public Radio.

Things With Power

Tandem bicycles

Dark beer

Honesty

Otis' jowels (not for the right reasons)

An unsolisited endorsement

Casper & Runyan's Nook

Creativity

Rolling Stones

Accountability

Well timed irreverance

It Could Be Worse. I Could Be Dead.

My week.

I needed to take one right-hand turn.

I took 10,000 lefts.

The "What? Really?" Moment of the Day

I'm 99% sure I saw Pat Fallon take a picture of a fence today.

Otis was my only witness.

I'm counting the time it takes to be called a liar.

Twitterpated Tactics

Social media, Twitter et al., without a doubt, an amazing evolution in the online space.

This morning, I was struck by this article in Ad Age.

As social media networks develop, we, as "communication experts," get so wrapped up in the latest capabilities, developments and spaces that we sometimes forget to help our teams decipher strategies vs. tactics.

The weight bearing load is felt in the account service position - bridging the agency/client gap - when buttoning up communication tactics underneath the strategies that funnel into your client's core business objective.

This is a nice article reminding everyone that Twitter itself is indeed a tactic. No amount of hype can make it anything more. At the same time, it can be a highly effective tool when used appropriately - as part of an integrated strategy.

Renovo Bicycles

I remember reading a review for a Renovo bicycle this past fall in Men's Journal.

This was around the time I put it in my head I wanted wood accents for my fixed gear and was completely blown away by such a supremely engineered piece of wood.

I cruised the site for info, made my first attempt at wood handle bars and have since tried to figure out a cost-effective way to make functional parts.

While we were in Portland last month, Team Motts emerged from Roots Organic Brewing Company around dinnertime to come face to face with a middle aged guy with an insanely unique bike.

The guy happened to be Ken Wheeler, owner and brain trust, of Renovo Hardwood Bicycles and the bike happened to be one of his own:



No doubt, the pint of beer had something to do with our wonderment but seeing a piece of maple wood fashioned into an everyday pony-whip has a way of making your jaw drop.

Check out Renovo's website.

Ken has put up some interesting information and even more interesting bicycles.

Artcrank 2009

The Artcrank poster show at One on One Bicycle Studio, was nothing short of amazing.

Aly and I came home in beautiful rain with a handful of posters, like the two below.





There are few things better than bicycles, beer and local artists. Tie them together, and that was our Saturday night.

Ely 2016!

Great April Fools.

Ely 2016!

My favorite snippit from "Why Ely"

Ron Schara, the star of ESPN2 television's “Backroads with Ron & Raven,” has this to say about the Ely area: "I love Ely and its famed wilderness area. It's also ironic because my longtime hero, journalist and author Charles Kuralt chose Ely as his #1 vacation destination."

Tongue in cheek humor. One more reason I love Minnesota.

Smokin' Busy

I wanted to share this with you because it makes me happy. Stepping back to the days when cigarettes made you better at everything.

Cyclists, and the broader public, used to see cigarettes as miracle sticks.

Look younger!

Be cool!

Lose weight!

Messages and beliefs, I can only assume, created and reinforced by ancestors of my industry - advertising.

In the case above, cyclists believed smoking opened up their lungs. Which would result in more oxygen intake. Which would result in more energy to your muscles. Which would result in a faster, stronger rider.

It actually resulted in polluted lungs. Which resulted in killing blood vessels. Which resluted in hightened cases of emphysema. Which resulted in heightened number of deaths.

Eh. C'est la vie.

Headless Lips

By the end of the weekend, The Lips lost his head.

A Portland Fix

Fixed gears on the streets of Portland are required to equip thier bike with either a hand brake (hell no) or a, wait for it, stick (hell yes).

Check out the bike-folk having a stick-stopping competition:

A Bike Tale: Intermission Part Deux

A ride with Team Motts, in still.

Click here to enjoy some fresh apple juice.

A ride with Team Motts, in motion.

Click the, well, the sideways triangle thing:

Portland, you are a beautiful thing.

A Bike Tale: Intermission

Catch up to the story here and then here.


Le Tour de Portland (The Tour of Portland)

Entracte (Intermission)


Courtesy of The Lips, photos.


Courtesy of The Voice of Reason, Team Mott's next four trips.


Courtesy of Team Mott's, the best way to spend a Saturday.


For the sanity of pedal energy:

Otis Loves Pork

We, and by we I mean Aly, made some beautiful pork chops for dinner tonight.

After we finished eating, we scraped the bones in the garbage can and continued to gather wine glasses and silverware.

As we were wiping down the table in the dining room, we heard a thud in the kitchen.  On the approach we found Otis standing over a partially dumped garbage can with the dinner scraps and various debris scattered on the floor.

Among the remains, was one pork chop bone.  The only problem, we had two pork chops.

Hearing horror stories of animals eating cooked bones and splintering their insides, we Googled "my dog ate a pork bone, what do I do."

If you cannot tell, we are clueless and would make horrible parents.

We found a forum where someone had a dog that swallowed a pork bone and was getting advice from a dog advocate.  The advocate "very, strongly encouraged" the dog owner to take the dog to the vet.  A follow up post revealed that the vet made the dog vomit to dislodge the bone.

Next, we Googled "how do I make my dog vomit?"

Again, completely clueless.

The solution was EITHER one tablespoon of salt OR two teaspoons of hydrogen peroxide.

Being a concerned pet owner, we went with the non-poison first - the salt.  We dumped, what I would guess was, more than one tablespoon of salt into the Goat's mouth.  He chewed it up like Pop Rocks.  You could actually hear his teeth grinding.

We moved onto peroxide and changed venues to the backyard.  Aly dumped no less than two teaspoons of hydrogen peroxide down the Goat's throat.

Anticipating fireworks, we unleashed him.  He looked at us both and started hot laps around the yard.

This dog is not of this earth.

We watched him for a few minutes, when due to cold, migrated inside.  Just as we were opening the back door we noticed Otis had stopped running.

Perched on the neighbor's back door step he arched his back and vomited.  All over the back steps.

Our neighbor was sitting at her counter in her kitchen, working on her computer.  Looking up, it would appear her neighbor, in below 20 degree weather, was shoveling her back porch.

"Albeit random at 9 p.m., what a neighborly thing to do - shovel my back porch," she was probably thinking.

Only three people, well two people and one dog, know better.

I've stopped telling people at work these stories.

A Bike Tale: Part II

Le Tour de Portland (The Tour of Portland)

Mars 5 (March 5)

Une jours (Day 1)

The Grand Depart Minneapolis

The Dreamer, The Lover and The Voice of Reason began their journey in the majestic Humphrey Terminal.

At O'Kelley's. With Guinness's. And grins.

An elated bar tab carried positively onto an delayed airline flight. So much so, in fact, the boys' social commentary earned a round of beers from the Nestle salesman seated in the row ahead.

The stewardess doted upon team the team with the curiosity of a brood hen hatching another species.

Mott's was established as team sponsor mid-flight after The Dreamer declared to the fuselage, "I got the Mott's" and a round was distributed.

Henceforth, team MVP is awarded the iconic room temperature apple juice.  Like Gatorade on the football coach or chugging milk at the racetrack.

Only less appetizing.

Arrive Portland, OR (Arrive Portland, OR)

How do you fit Team Motts, six bags and one snowboard into a wagon?

Head to the gas station and buy the following:

1. 6 6-packs of local beer


2. Lolly-pops


3. Cigarettes


4. A framed poster of Al Pacino, Scarface incognito

What went to the airport as an A4, returned home as an A6.

CJ Dirt (formally Colin J. Lebens), The Smoker, accompanied the team to home base, in NW Portland city where bags were unfurled and toasts were had.

The night progressed to Gypsy Restaurant and Velvet Lounge.

It had karaoke.

Zim, The Lover, sang this:

Except, he sounded like this:

..and looked similar.

Our first meal of Day 2, Friday, took place at 3:00 in the morning at an all night diner called Roxy.

Five of us ordered a delicacy called the "Heart Attack Platter."  Issac's pancakes were made fun, but The Voice of Reason has the last laugh in the morning.

All six ordered, not a mug of coffee, but a carafe.  A piece.

The theme of the weekend was established that night as "overkill."

Stage winner:  Issac, The Voice of Reason.

Stage loser:  Passengers on flight 596

A Bike Tale: Part I

As it is, looking back as it was, the best 72 hours of our lives...

Introducing the peloton:

Team Motts

CJ Dirt: The Smoker (Captain)

Andrew: The Lips (Lieutenant)

Freddy: The Drinker (Domestique)

Zim: The Lover (Time Trialist)

Issac: The Voice of Reason (Climbing Specialist)

John: The Dreamer (Sprinter)

Standings will be updated daily.

B. Ike, P. Town

Ten hour countdown until the two-wheeled ponies are cut loose in Portland.

I'm back Sunday, in time for Funday Monday - which includes images, videos and storytelling.

-Dreamer

Action Figure

I've had my struggle with the bus.

Today, neither good nor bad, the strangest event occurred.

I boarded Bus 4 downtown behind two other city-ites.

As I stepped up to pay, I noticed the bus driver was hunched over.  Like when you sleep sitting up - only I could tell he wasn't asleep.  His neck was tucked down and was staring intently at his hands.

In one hand was tucked a miniature action figure.  In the other was a very small paint brush.

The driver was using intermittent bus stops, 20 second intervals at a time, to tint his army.

Michael Franti and Spearhead

I cannot get enough of Michael Franti and Spearhead.

I first heard him on The Current a few months ago and they have slowly been playing more and more off his latest album, All Rebel Rockers.

His music reminds me of sun, friends and cheap beer.

The Current now had just introduced a new segment titled Theft of the Dial.  Michael was the inaugural host.

Check out the stream of his play list.

He solidified his place in my iPod by spinning my favorite song of all-time - Train in Vain by the Clash.

Both are in the party queue for the wedding reception.

Back to School

A few weeks ago I signed up for an informational session of the MBA program at the University of St. Thomas in Minneapolis.  Today, my Outlook notified me at noon I had the 5:30 appointment.

Work is rocking right now and didn't even feel like I lifted my head above my keyboard for more than a sporadic 20 minutes throughout the day, so I didn't surprise myself when I looked at clock after emerging from one of the conference rooms and it was 5:45.

After walking ten blocks, going into the wrong building, finally finding the correct room only to find a Sharpie note stuck to the outside - "Info meeting in 127 moved to 332" - I figured it was a miracle I made it to the meeting at all.

I caught about 20 minutes of discussion from, what I'm assuming, was one of the MBA administration people.  My timing was impeccable, as the PowerPoint seagueway was "Preparing for Your Time Commitment."

More questions were left than answers as I walked out with the customary ugly folder and information packet.  I proceeded toward an exit, with my thoughts on the impending bus ride.  I immediately knew I had taken an incorrect stairwell, because as the door closed behind me I heard a heavy click.  I spent the next five minutes figuring out which door wouldn't set off the fire alarm.

Wrong building.  Late for class.  Locked in stairwell.  And a bus ride.

Sounds like I'm signing up to be a freshman again.

 

 

Nine Days Until Festaroon

Nine days until The Bike Bar touches down in Portland for the adventure trip of the season.

Planning our two-wheeled pony retreat, we kicked around the idea of having it coincide with one of the major beer festivals. Due to scheduling, we picked a weekend and figured we would postulate our own beer tour if something did not arise.

Friends. Something is a-rose-ing.

What's better than riding bicycles and drinking beer?

Bicycles and organized beer drinking.

The Oregon Brewers Guild is hosting its 2009 Barleywine Festaroon at the Lucky Labrador Beer Hall, in Northwest Portland.

A 36 beer list will attempt to make jovial friends with the members of The Bike Bar.  We, in turn, will welcome them with a smile and extend a gentlemanly handshake.

...and then call each beer a cowardly cheat, challenging it to a leg-wrestling match.

I've got my money on Andrew pulling favorites.

He has cankles.

Living with a Woman

1. Little shampoo bottles

2. Tucked in sheets

3. Pet cats

4. Tea candles

5. Everything is plural

The John (Like Me, But Vile)

Toilet seats should have handles.

Don't you think?

That is a functional piece of design that is missing from those fixtures.

Random thought of the day.

Happy Soul Day

Save the Date

I'm lobbying to have this be our "Save the Date."



I'm thinking self-mailer? Regardless, Aly has to make the logo bigger.

Copy:

John text bubble: Are we really doing this?

Aly text bubble: Oh, we're doing this.

aughst twnght negthsd (August 22nd)

Attended my semi-annual dental visit today.

Why does the dentist always ask you questions while they have metals tools jammed in your mouth?

"Oh, you're getting married?  How's the planning coming along?"

"mugh, aehg ahi ahgh."

"That sounds nice.  When is the big day?"

"aughst twnght negthsd"

"How exciting, I'm so happy for you two.  Well.  You have one cavity.  See you back here in two weeks."

Ratios

You can approach the math however you would like, but the end solution in a good relationship always ends up with decision making ratio of 60/40.

I say “always,” but I guess I really mean “aggregate average.”

One exception, I’ve come to discover over the past month, is when the topic is wedding planning. In this case it skews more 70/30. Or even 80/20.

Ehh…**shutter** 80/20…

Wedding planning, among many other descriptors, has been a treat. Truthfully, Aly and my wedding objectives are strategically in the same direction:

1. Great Environment
2. Family-like Interaction
3. Much Fun/Dancing/Shenanigans

Tactically, on how those are executed, not so much.

Whereas I would like to hire a bona-fide Cuban to hand roll cigars and enhance the “Great Environment” bucket, Aly believes that “Designer Wedding Dress” is the most important line item under that category.

Aly’s creativity really shines when she works to support this point, by the way.

Or say, I would like to do the champagne toast with Guinness while Aly would prefer to enhance the family-esque interaction with mounds of olive oil and fresh baked bread.

This is not to say that one direction is better than the other. It’s just funny how two different approaches get melded into a day about both. And, at the same time, creates the tactical minutiae that leads to the type of discussions which make planning a wedding such a pain in the ass.

The additional factor is the budget. While a very clearly defined financial space enhances your creativity with the execution, it sometimes comes at the expense of other ideas.

I’m crossing my fingers that the most creative (and affordable) ideas win out on the day. Knowing the two of us, I think they will.

And as for the decision making ratio, I would imagine (and hope) the ratio dips back to 60/40. And, the great irony about the 60/40 relationship? It’s that both parties think they are on the 40 end of the spectrum.

So, if you are both giving 40, where does the other 20 go?

A: Otis.

Solid, Liquid, Gas

The route 4 bus running north and south on Bryant Avenue passes a park at 31st Street. As I passed the park this morning, from a fogged window, I witnessed the following:

In 20 degree weather, at 8:00 in the morning with the sun not quite up, a guy dressed head to toe in Carhartt stood in the middle of park.

Mr. Minnesota stood by a truck. The truck was connected to a hose. The hose was being held tight in his hand as it blasted glacier-cold water over a field that was already covered in frostbitten ice.

Appearently, with all of the above freezing temperature we've had the last few days, the snow hasn't been growing as well as anticipated.

Just another Minnesota nuance you have to appreciate.

Bike Portland

Life is better on a bike.

Everything is booked.

I, along with four of my closest bike nerds, am flying out to Portland, Oregon, for three days of two-wheeled pony rides.

We are picking up our bike of choice at a local bike shop and embarking on epic rides to Mount Hood, Tabor and Helen, respectively.

Things that I'm excited about, by the numbers:

28 microbreweries

15 trail recommendations from local bike shop owners

7 speciality bike shops

5 cyclocross bikes

3 mountains

1 "?European Style?" hotel room

The pieces are coming together nicely.

Un-Wonderbread

I'm picky about my bread.

Blame, as I see it, is placed on WAY too many Miracle Whip and bologna sandwiches as a kid.

Side note: Mom, hogs toes and fake mayo sandies are not, have never been nor ever will be, healthy, no matter how far you stretch the imagination.

What drives me away is the consistency that Miracle Whip turns bread.  I'm convinced there is some sort of chemical interaction that happens where the Miracle Whip simply overpowers flour to turn it to a yeasty paste.

The trouble, as I see it, is the middle of the sandwich.  As I explain:

Sandwich eating enjoyment can be plotted on a bell curve.

Imagine the X axis is a constant stream of sandwich enjoyment.  Each end of the bell curve spectrum, (-5, 5), represents the start and finish of one, unique, sandwich meal.

Plotted lines close the X axis represent a positive experience, while those further away show a plausible concern with the user's sandwich interaction.

Natural eating progression of a bologna and Miracle Whip sandwich starts at the crusty edge (-5) leads to the middle (0) and finishes with the opposing crusty edge (5).

Bread crust always gets a bad rap.

However, in this case I argue, pitting a bristly crust against an abrasive substance actually elevates the user's sandwich interaction (represented by a flat line on either end of graph A above).

The density-to-taste balance on the edges of the sandwich make that portion of the experience remarkable.

Now, as you approach the middle, Miracle Whip has two factors working in it's corrosive favor:

1. By the porous nature of bread, the weakest portion, in terms of penetration, is the middle of the sandwich

2. Due to typical* sandwich enjoyment, Miracle Whip is allotted more time to absorb and weaken the middle of the sandwich, as compared to the outside 

crust

As you approach the portion of the sandwich where the Miracle Whip is most dense, you are most anxious.  The pinnacle of your meal, so you think.

A bite from the heart of the fermented dough dispenses a glue like paste to the roof of your mouth.

Your concerns level grows, as charted above, as you first realize what is happening.  As your tongue engages to clear your palate and fails to jettison the lodged residue, an unsuitable experience spikes.

You are forced to enlist the help of your fingers to clear the emulsion.  The peak of your negative enjoyment - and the reason for my bread aversion.

*"Typical" assumes the sandwich is eaten as a solitary item and not sliced into pieces, i.e. diagonal cut, party squares, halfsies

I Don't Get It

Can  someone please explain to me the point of hand-holding?

The Move

Aly and I have been knee deep in boxes full of knicknacks, bowls and t-shirts pre-dating Clinton's first term.

Nothing makes you want to purge all of your worldly possessions quite like moving.

Lifting box after box, I found myself keeping a mental list of my possessions I would consider a "must move."

Not many items made the list.

At first I was sad about this.  Then as I thought, I wondered how much crap people accumulate and drag about their life that has no meaning or value.  Probably more than they are willing to admit.  Or even realize...until you have to move it.

If my apartment was on fire, Aly and Otis were safe and I had the opportunity to grab items that had to be saved, they would be:

1. My grandfather's mid century tobacco chest

2. Bootsie - my early 80s La-Z-Boy recliner

3. My dad's 1980 ten speed Schwinn

A debatable fourth would be my trunk of photographs.  But, honestly, that thing is fricking heavy.

Das Bus

Hello.

My name is John.

Today marks the fifth consecutive week that I haven't ridden a bicycle.

I may lose it and need you to talk me down from the ledge.

It's not just not riding my bike that's driving me crazy. It's that in combination with hemorrhaging public transportation.

Before I dive into this, kudos where kudos are due:

The past two mornings have found Aly and me, coffee and gym bags in hand, running for the bus stop. Two grown people, chugging down the street, running for a bus.

Also these last two mornings the bus has begun to pull away from the curb, stop in the middle of the intersection and let us hop on.

The same elderly woman has been behind the wheel and on both occasions and has welcomed us on board with smiles as well as provided play by play commentary of each stop, our current on-time status and tips on how to retrieve lost mittens.

Not an unpleasant way to start you day. However, I tell you that to tell you this.

There has also been mornings we have stood at the same bus stop for 20 minutes in negative temperatures, to come on board in a suit and tie and sit next to a young chap who thinks it's perfectly acceptable to take a swig out of a brown bottle and hock a loogie against a handrail.

Either way, I miss my bike.

The one perk that public transportation does afford is unparalled people watching. One of, if not my top, hobby.

The Minneapolis busses are laid out with sideways facing seats in the front and in the back of the bus. The middle of the bus hosts forward facing seats, two to a side, and one row of forward facing seats across the back of the bus.

Anyone who rides the bus could probably attest to the unspoken, but understood, prefered seating locations on the bus. The sideways seats are always last to be filled due to the awkward eye-contact avoidance game you're forced to play once someone sits across from you - with the one exception of the seat directly next to the door, which is usually occupied by an elderly grandma and her walker.

The forward facing middle section isn't bad - but your still forced to deal with the semi-awkward, stranger touching my leg, situation. This gets especially hairy during the winter, when everyone has forced themselves into multi-layer poofy jackets, which easily spill into the personal space boundry.

The most coveted seats on the bus are the forward facing seats, wedged into the back corner. You are first class indeed enjoying more leg room than the peasants in the middle of the bus, a slightly more reclined seat and the fact you are wedged into a position that ensures your interaction with other people will be kept to a bare minimum.

Last Thursday I was riding the bus home, and found myself enjoying such a seat.

The stop after I board downtown is busy, and typically fills the bus quickly. Another twenty-something male boarded and sat next down next to me.

He was on the phone. This didn't bother me as much as the fact that he was wearing womens boots. Due to the number of riders causing personal space infraction, it was all I could do not to overhear his phone conversation.

"Hi Boo. Yeah, I'm on das bus. Yeah, I'm on my way home, I'm right by the Walker."

What made me raise an eyebrow was we weren't by the Walker. Not even close. We were in the direct middle of downtown. True, the bus we were on eventually rounded the corner by Loring Park and passed by the Walker, but that was a good 10 - 15 minutes from where we were located.

I gave him the benefit of the doubt. When I'm running late, and I've told Aly I'd be somewhere - I tend to exend my location a bit. He went on,

"Yeah boo. I'm getting off das bus right now. Well, I got to go - I don't my hand to freeze in the cold."

He had literally just sat down. Unless he was planning on walking to the Walker, which was suspect to being his final destination anyway, he didn't seem to be in a rush to get off the bus. He had is phone out and was running text messages as fast as his keypad could keep up.

15 minutes or so later we were cruising past the Walker and he gets out his phone. In a much different tone, he muttered,

"Yeah homie, I'm here. Okay? Okay! Good, good. Right. Okay."

In front of the Blockbuster, he slams his phone shut and jumps off the bus right before the doors close.

This was a fairly uneventful interaction between he and I. However, I found the whole vibe so strange, I put my book away and thought about it the rest of the ride home.

Undercover agent? Prostitute on the side? What the hell was this guy up to?

I landed at my bus stop before I could deduct a legitamite answer to that question. As I got up, with a perplexed look on my face, I caught eyes with a guy in lowly side seat.

I could immediately tell we were both thinking the same thing. As I rose from my seat, he made a vauge pointing jesture and mouthed to me,

"What the hell was that?"

Local Coverage

Ross' Restaurant was our local late night diner hangout growing up. I've chronicled Ross' environment and my experiences there in my personal notebooks, and still need to transfer items here.

To say Ross' is a distinctive environment is a gross understatement.

I recieved an email today, with the below Q/A courtesy of my long-time friend, Petey, who I grew up with in Eastern Iowa.



Q: How do you know you are from a small town?

A: The hometown newspaper provides Presidential Inauguration coverage from Ross' lunch counter.



To me, the severity of hull-arity lies in the call outs to the "garage-sale buy TV" and Ron "figuring" some of his customers would want to see the oath.

Another great follow-up to the story - while Obama was campaigning this fall, he made a stop in the Quad Cities and spoke to Ron and Cynthia (below).

If Cynthia explaining Ross' infamous Magic Mountain to the soon be President of the United States doesn't make you smile with small town fervor, I don't know what would.

Home Is Where the Ice Is

During my visit with my sister the past few weeks, she conveyed to me she loves living in Hawai'i, but sometimes faces bouts of being homesick.

If she lived on the mainland, I doubt she would live within driving distance, or even the same time zone for that matter, of where our folks still live in Eastern Iowa. But I imagine the feeling is more of a psychological one. If she is overcome with homesickness, she would be able to feel her support groups are more easily accessable.

After stepping off the plane this weekend and feeling a cold burst of air rush through my flip-flops I sent her the following text message as I was walking through MSP terminal:


"If you are feeling homesick, go to weather.com and type in my zip code. Then go the freezer, take out the ice bin and dump it down your pants."


After an inch of snow yesterday, I walked to my bus stop this morning to await in the following temperature.

As predicted, my mood is quickly shifting from supreme relaxation to irritated anxiety as I'm relearning how to cope with a gleefully-Scandanavian winter.

Unmindful, I was surly with Aly this morning as we got on the bus. As a classy bus riding citizen I whispered in angst, "There is not ONE redeeming quality of a Minnesota winter."

I usually get upset with Aly for placing the back of her hand against her forehead, sighing vainfully and making an over-dramatic statement such as this. I felt awkward as I said it, and felt even more sheepish when the woman sitting next to me in a faux-lamb skin cap and full-bodied, purple Vikings jacket shot me a glance over her Field & Stream magazine.

As a result of my third winter here, my mood about the seasons can be read like a map. We've amateurly diagnosed myself with seasonal depression.

Seasonal affective disorder (ironic the acronym is SAD...) is described as the winter blues.

Bullshit. It's the winter malaise.

You tell people you have the "blues" when you appear in a Lilo & Stitch cartoon. I tell people I have the "malaise" because each morning I wake up when temperature is below 0 without windchill pushes me inches closer to putting on my quitters, filling my closet with down blankets and climbing inside until the ice melts.

I always ask myself what is it that calls people to make their home on barren ice. That, and I've made myself a deal that for every put down, I need to give three put ups. Like elementary school.

So what do I like about winters in Minneapolis?

1. Sledding. Ice is fast.

2. Not having to give Otis a bath. 2 feet of snow does wonders for wiping grime off a dog.

3. Anticipation of the summer.

Stay warm.

Resume Dreaming

Deep breath.

I'm back in the dream shed after 17 (..ah..) days traveling to Oahu to visit my sister, Amanda, over the the holiday and then to Kaua'i for 8 days of hiking, kayaking, beaching and surfing.

With more rest than I knew what to do with, I returned to work today to find people frequently checking in on my pulse.

Never, in all of ever, have I had a such a long break of time where the biggest decision of the day was whether to take my rum drink to the beach in flip-flops or bare feet.

With more rest than I knew what to do with, I returned to work today to exercise my right as "Annoying Vacation Office Guy" as co-workers checked in on my pulse.

All day I tried repeatedly to come up with the seven word answer to the "So, how's was your trip?" but it just couldn't effectively be done.

"An epic, resounding and magically inspirational experience." came close, but at the end of the conversation you just can't put into words what an 8 mile hike on the Kalalau Trail along Na Pali coast and through a rainforest to an 800 foot waterfall actually makes you feel.

I was fortunate enough to have so many great experiences I'll have to share them bit by bit with stories and images.  I'm trying to get everything put onto Flickr and will put the link out once I do.  Three full memory cards do wonders for uploading.

As I looked out the window today and watch Minneapolis receive a whiteout, I had inclinations to book a one way for the next trip.

Good to be back.