“You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”
I’ve read and heard that saying my entire life and never really thought much about it. Until I actually tried teaching an old dog new tricks. Literally and figuratively.
I’ve read and heard that saying my entire life and never really thought much about it. Until I actually tried teaching an old dog new tricks. Literally and figuratively.
I promise, PROMISE! that this post will be under 3,000 words. Because, as the long forgotten prophet Sweet Brown exclaimed as she fled the fiery flames cast upon her dwelling by Satan’s Bronchial Demons, “Ain’t nobody got time for that!”
Another stupid brief message from the President and CEO of thesoiledchamois.net, and Soiled Chamois Enterprises, Inc.™
A brief message from the President and CEO of thesoiledchamois.net, and Soiled Chamois Enterprises, Inc.™
One word: motherfuckingsweetpotatolatke
This is a personal opinion post that did not need to be shared, or even written by an extremely insignificant goof with a blog. But here we are.
I’m trying to get back to normal posting, outdoor activities, and photography after two months of watching and shooting B play his junior season of (dystopian) high school soccer. I think the unintelligible, manic-like word vomit disguised as photo tips in my last post may have been my way of dealing with that, and the realization that there’s not much to look forward to over the next six to seven months that doesn’t have the word “tentative” attached to it.
If you follow me on Instagram and see the soccer photos I post, you may know that I use the hashtag #crapsportsphotography. This is for two reasons:
I visit you all here again with tales of wonderment, awe, and spectacular deeds done atop my bicycle!! No, not really. Not at all. But there’s soup! And pictures of my kid playing soccer!! The two main ingredients in any great crap—dare I say legendary infamous—cycling blog.
You know that run of mojo-less energy I’ve been experiencing the past couple of months? Well, it’s still ruling me like a jackbooted Machiavellian swine. Additionally, the Trump-fueled, COVID enhanced, Great American Dumpster Fire continues to flame on like happy hour at the Bottoms Up Club. Despite my best efforts to ignore it all and to bury myself in creative pursuits and attempts at physical, mental, and philosophical betterment, my mind continues to alternate between simmering like an unattended vegetarian chowder on life’s back burner and shutting down like a Westworld host with a fried motherboard.
Having said that, somewhere between all the hyperbolic burnt chowders and dead robots of my mind, I managed to go outside and walk around the woods a bit on Tuesday.