Levi should just start sucking wheels now.

I turned that miserable paper the other day. If you are interested in it -- and I don't see why you would want to -- you can check out my previous blog post.

But, today I have nothing to do and all day to do it.

I am in the MUB Computer Cluster and my fellow students are filtering in; looking worried, printing feverishly, sitting with their faces mere inches from the computer screens.

    However, I am watching the Giro and writing in my blog.

Like I said, nothing to do and all day to do it.

I was thinking about cycling-related things this morning though.

  Levi Leipheimer is no Andy Hampstead.

Now, I don't knwo much about cycling history, but I do know that Andy was the only American to win the Giro in 1988 (I think).

    [It is also funny to see an ad, possibly a TREK ad, that shows Contador kissing his Giro trophy and being able to see Hampstead's name amongst an international string of names.]

There have been a lot of reports about how the entire Astana team is riding in support of Leiphiemer. And that Levi is waiting for the Cinque Terre Time Trial. 

It is now that we have to look at Levi's history. I think that it can be accurately summed up briefly: wait for time trial, move up in the GC, suck wheels for the rest of the tour, never attack, give boring post tour interviews.

That's about it. That's how it seems to go.

I understand that if you are a GC contender that you are a marked man and that is very difficult to make killer moves. 

But, look at what Andy Hampstead did; he rode over a giant mountain in the snow! He didn't win the stage but he still rode over a mountain in the snow, which gave him the advantage he needed.       

I don't think that Leiphiemer has that sort of fire in him. I am not talking about "fire" in the sense of physiological/biochemistry make-up. But, the kind of fire that would make some one that would sing "Dude looks like a lady" on the kitchen then do naked kegs stands at a ripping party. 

More important than my opinion is the opinion of the Italian people. 

They are a fiery, excitable nation that ooze passion.  

I think that Leiphiemer should withdraw from his GC contender spot and start sucking wheels and giving boring interviews now.

Leiphiemer just doesn't have the fire to wear the Maglia Rosa. He doesn't have the personality that... well, he just doesn't a personality. Period.

And, if I know the Italians, they won't like that. 

Still Stalling and thinking about technology

I watched IRONMAN this weekend with my best friend Tilly. Well, I watched it; she watched half of it. 

And now, I am still thrashing my way through my last literature paper. Oddly enough, it does not deal with any sort of literature. We'll see how much of a train wreck this turns out to be. 

However, in my research and my leisure time I began to think about the cost and consequence of technology.

In the early- and mid-18th century (BAM! Suspensive hyphenation, suckas!) there was a technological shift away from the subsistence farming of the older colonial period toward an urbanized, industrialized society. During this time men began working away from the house in shops, factories and merchant venues. Women no longer need to dedicate long hours to converting fibers into thread, threads into cloth, and cloth into clothes. 

Historians point to this period as a time when the family structure began to mutate into what we commonly think of as traditional male-female roles; women at home, raising children; and, men out in the work place, bringing home an income. 

Technology forced this shift from subsistence farming and fairly equal labor roles in the farming homestead. Women ran the house, men ran the production of the profitable products.

There will be no smooth transition between 18th century gender roles versus technology and IRONMAN, starring Robert Downey, Jr.

Tony Stark, the main character and man made of not-iron, has an army of robots that run his house. He has robots that respond to voice commands and the subsequent snide and snotty sarcasm that he dishes out.

That is technological advancement right there. That is a worthy investment in technology -- a robot that is programmed to understand sarcasm! Brilliant! I would love to see the Honda engineers program ASIMO to understand sarcasm and playboy-style wit instead of being able to perform a task so common as walking down the stairs. I have met some very educated people that failed to understand sarcasm, which is quite pathetic since sarcasm -- while effective in some instances -- is the most base and ignominious form of humor.

There are also scenes in IRONMAN in which as fleet of robotic goo-gaws and appendages dress Tony Stark in his armored suit.  While the movie was very good, it completely rejects the idea that money is an issue. How much would all that cost? There is no sum of money in the world that could make all that possible.

I understand that I am viewing this in a hyper-literal fashion. But, what I was left pondering as Water Ram technology of the 18th century and IRONMAN awkwardly waltzed in my head is, where does all this leave the common man, the 21st-century schlub like you and me?

If the Marvel comic book world of IRONMAN is the direction of technology, and considering the Marxist idea of alienation of increased production [as you produce more for a large company, you become increasingly like a monkey trained to pull your lever and push your button, thereby removing any sort of pride and ownership in your work], how bitter and unsatisfied will we become when all we have is a robot to laugh at our sarcastic commentary of OMG!-style celebrity blog posts? And how long will it take before "LOL", "i heart you" and "muah" replace authentic gust-busting laughter, the actual sentiment of love, and an actual kiss?

Recently, as in the last 24 hours, I have piloted this crippled train of thought from my head to the internet.  I also have thought about deleting my facebook account and not renewing my cell phone when my contract expires. 

But, then who would listen to all these clever things I have to say?

The last literature paper ever- Stalling

There is no reason for this post, other than stalling.

I am stalling like a.... (get ready for an hours-worth of bad associations that relate to the word "stalling"):

... like a regional commuter airplane piloted by a over-tired , under-trained pilot.

... like a weed whacker with improper fuel-oil mixture.

... like a cattle farmer putting the cows away for the night.

... like a jockey approaching the start gate at the Kentucky Derby.

... like a 1985 Ford Escort diesel with no fuel filter.

... like a street rod small-block's transmission at 2,000 rpm.

... like a world economy.

... like a under-qualified homeowners on their mortgage payments.

... like a compassionate Sheriff delivering an eviction notice.

... like a Portuguese body boarder chilling in a sick tube.

... like a burned-out college student sitting in a computer lab on a Sunday the day before his last literature paper is due!!!!!!!

Seacoast Coffee Shop Tour - Take 3

Yesterday, Brent, Andrew and I did the Seacoast Coffee Shop Tour. Ryan Kelly did part of it with us, but apparently he has a job... This is news to me.

It was a beautiful day. I made sure - after the second running with Bob and Scotty - to check on wind directions so that we would not get murdered by the wind all day. The wind was out the south-southwest and a sea breeze kicked up during the day. The run up the coast wasn't super fast but wasn't as punishing as the Bob/Scott iteration. 

At one point on 1A in New Hampshire, Andrew was really gassing it. I rolled next to him and cautioned him to save some gas for later. We eased off the pace because there was still 50-ish miles to ride. And, the climbing starts at about mile 85, so if you are fried leaving Portsmouth, which is usually the case, you are in for a miserable 50 miles finish.

We cruised up Maine Route 103. It was still a cross wind but wasn't a hinderance or a help.

We didn't stop at the Daily Grind in York, instead we stopped at the food market in Ogunquit. 

Brent and Andrew split a roast beef sub. It looked really tasty but I know I can't eat heavy things like that mid-ride, so I stuck to my bag of Oreos.

As we rolled out, the boys were talking about how they had never thrown up because of exercising. I said, "There's always a first time."

For the people that know the ride route or this neck of the woods from other rides, you all know that as you come out of Shore Road, you are on Route 1 for about 100 meters before you turn up left and ascend Berwick Road.

Since they had just eaten and were talking about not vomiting, I decided that it was my personal charge to make them regret eating roast beef subs.

I didn't even give my self time to get settled in and re-warmed up after our stop. 

I just went to the front and started hammering. I tried to recover on the down-hill sections of the rollers of this section of the ride.

At every rise I punched it, surging up the hills as hard as I could.

I was descending deeper into the Pain Cave but I was determined to hear partially-digest roast beef sub hit the pavement.

Brent was riding really strongly and I couldn't crack him.

Andrew was a hurting puppy though.

He did maintain his honor and didn't blow chunks. 

At one point, Brent pulled around me and I looked back and Andrew was dropping pretty far back. When I saw him I decided that I couldn't continue with my plan.

He was hurting, and at that point, with my effort up those rollers, I was hurting too. 

Right about then, Andrew fully channeled the pain and misery of the ride. 

It was at the same point, during the first ride with Carney and R.Kelly, that I told them, "If I fall into a snow bank, just leave me for dead."

Andrew got to that same point. As we crested a small rise, we saw a dump truck coming toward us in the other direction.

"AAHH!!! I want to steer into it," he yelled.

The only way I can summarize the ride is to adapt an Ice Cube song title, "[Yesterday] was a good day".

Inciting panic at every sneeze, cough or sniffle

With the outbreak and feared pandemic of Swine Flu sweeping over North America, I urge you to do our part in greasing the gears of panic and fear.

The media have been reporting on new cases that are infecting youth, healthy people and not old, sickly people. 

The media has also reported that the best way not to spread the virus is to practice basic hygiene by washing hands frequently, covering your mouth when you cough or sneeze, and if you are sick stay home.

This poses a particular difficulty for college students such as myself and the thousands of students living on campus.

Therefore, like I previously stated, I urge you to do you part to raise awareness about this potentially deadly outbreak.

Every time you see someone sneeze or hear someone cough, I want you to shout "SWINE FLU!" and point at the person like you were a Puritan accusing someone of witchcraft.

Then continue to shriek as you smear Purell all over every surface in the room.

With your help, I know we can fight this thing.

Thank you for your time. 

If you can't stand the heat, stay out the tranny bathroom

Sitting down to pee promotes nudist sensibilities.

This is what I thought while I was sitting in the "tranny bathroom" - or 'gender neutral bathroom' -  in the bowels of the MUB.

Take a moment to think about this.

On second thought, please don't; that would mean that you are just as dumb and bored as I am.

So, let me break it down for you.

The tranny bathroom is an anomaly because regardless of the sex or gender with which you identify, you are able to use either one of these bathrooms. There is clearly a men's and women's bathroom. The men's room is set up like any other men's room with two urinals and one stall. The women's is what I would think is standard for female bathrooms with two stalls.

To accurately describe the typical experience of the tranny bathroom, I must describe a sticker that is pasted to the wall next to the door lock. It reads, "For your privacy, please feel free to lock this door", or something like that (i'll fact check this for you). 

  Therefore, you will have to use the can on any occasion, only to find that the door is locked. You push and you hear the hollow and solid, "THUNK" of a deadbolt lock.  That means someone is in there taking care of business. 

 This leads me to draw two conclusions; One, they are interested in hiding their gender neutrality or ambiguity - that's cool with me, as a male that identifies as a male, I have never had to question this and therefore have no idea what the state of gender ambiguity is on this homogenous campus; Or, conclusion number two, the person in there can't handle the heat of someone of the opposite sex urinating or defecating next to them - this one roils me. 

If you can't stand the heat, stay out the tranny bathroom.

I'll now set forth some qualifiers in order to clarify the situation. I was comfortably sitting on the can, reading The New Hampshire (my university's fine newspaper) one evening, only to hear three people open the door, walk in, and then exit. 

 

To clarify, I sat down to urinate. THERE, I SAID IT!

 I was using this time to relax, to read and to close out all the freneticism of college life, which felt particularly crushing during that week.

As I heard the second person leave, I thought, "Man, what's the big deal? I'm just sitting here." 

I was just a guy sitting, on the pot. What's so weird about that? We all sit down with our trousers at our ankles, multiple times day. 

So, why automatically leave a gender neutral zone when someone is taking care of gender neutral business?

I do concede that maybe they needed to poop. I was using a stall for something other than its specific, solid-waste-disposal purpose.

Progressing to my thesis, so that I don't bog this post down with tangential rants, if I was sitting down, peeing, reading my paper, in the traditionally women's bathroom - as evident by its configuration stated above - and a woman - undeterred by the presence of someone else in the bathroom - came in to use the adjoining stall, this would be the closest I would ever come to a member of the opposite sex in a non-sexual context.

 

This would classify as a basic and preliminary step toward Nudism, because the sexual context was removed, while incorporating some skin bearing during a day-to-day activity. (I admit now that this is the extent of my knowledge of the philosophy of Nudism.) 

 

 The next step, I feel, in the incorporation of nudist ideals and gender neutral zones would be to remove stall walls. This would remove the social anxiety associated with urination and, primarily, defecation.

In the end, had I not taken my little break, dropped my trousers, sat down to pee and read my paper, I would not have had this epiphany. 

Likewise, I would not have had this alienating experience. I am ready to incorporate new values such as gender neutral zones for gender neutral acts and nudist ideals in hopes of breaking down social anxiety. 

But most of all, I would embrace freaking out some squares and read my paper where no one can bug me. 

I want to write some stuff.

But don't really have the time.

I will give you the headlines, or heds - in downstyle.

I will not be racing as much as I originally planned this collegiate season; school is busy and I have a woodworking studio class that is fulfilling as it is time-consuming.

I am disappointed to hear the Cannondale is moving production to Taiwan. My CAAD9 will be the last Cannondale I ever buy.

The Boston Globe might be shuttered within a month or so as a result of its owner's, Times Co., gigantic debt.

I am going to try to do Exeter's Wednesday Night Rides as a part of my desire to hang with them by the end of the summer. All aboard the Pain Train!

I need a haircut.

I will be helping to make Chicken Marsala and Mac&Cheese at Holloway Commons - UNH's stat dining hall that serves roughly 6000 people per day, Monday through Friday - in order to write a feature and create an audio slideshow for my Feature Writing class.

   That's about all that is going on in my neck of the woods.

Thanks for tuning in.