“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.
Archive | Random
Finding Peace
Another stupid brief message from the President and CEO of thesoiledchamois.net, and Soiled Chamois Enterprises, Inc.™
Dear Reader,
The following post contains a small dose of opinions and some large quantities of a personal mental journey in search of some inner peace.
In the context of “real life,” COVID, a historic US Presidential election, and the dumpster fire known as the year 2020, it’s a blind pimple on the ass of life that could have/should have easily been ignored.
— Management
Election Diary 2020
A brief message from the President and CEO of thesoiledchamois.net, and Soiled Chamois Enterprises, Inc.™
You may or may not remember the blog mini-series entitled The Quarantine Chronicles that I wrote way too many editions of. Well, now I bring you Election Diary 2020. It’s one big bulldog ball of a post for you to ignore instead of many.
My goal here is to release the last shots of venom from my mind via my Mac’s keyboard, so I can go back to more important things than American politics. I’m an art, beer, food, music, bikes, comedy, books, boobs, movies sort of guy. And one of the things I hate most about Trump is that the reckless stupidity, racism, xenophobia, and bigotry that he spews—and inspires his moronic followers with— is way too much for me to ignore and to not comment on. Also, he started fucking with Wifey’s career (and thousands of others) with Executive Orders and threats of right-wing political cronyism. And that is some fucking bullshit on a whole other level.
Like the unneeded mega-post I wrote about sports photography, this post will seem a bit manic because of its size and girth. I’m not manic; I was just too lazy and or inebriated to post what I wrote daily, so you get a big ass post filled with f-words, footnotes, unfunny commentary, pathetic attempts at humor, and way too many opinions that no one asked for. They say, “Opinions are like assholes; everybody’s got one.” If that is true, this opinion piece is a giant, gaping asshole that’s oozing blood, puss, oily fecal leakage, and a seething hate for one of the worst people ever to walk this wretched earth; Donald J. Trump. Or as I like to call him, “Fuck Face.”
Lastly, the photos used in this post are mostly crap photos I took on failed photo hikes, goofing off at home, or at work. Sorry. I also apologize for the editing, I will be fixing errors for weeks.
— Management
Learning New Words
One word: motherfuckingsweetpotatolatke
Avoiding Germs & Airborne Meat
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.
Soup’s On! Again
I’m Not a Vegan Creamy Vegan Tomato Soup with bread and vegan butter.
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.
Burnt Chowders & Dead Robots
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.
Silence is Golden (Golden)
My silence here on this digital fish wrap of a blog is my gift to you. But I guess that’s over now. Sorry.
Recent Me, Macro Monday
I would love to use a phrase like “I’m back to my old self again,” but not only would that be incorrect, it would also be a less than desirable outcome. Old me is a jagoff. At least I thought so; I think “recent” me (past few years) is in a way better place than old me.
However, in the context of how I feel mentally compared to this time last week, and to my month-long flirtation with the 0.1 lifestyle, I am indeed getting back to my old self again. Still a jagoff in my own way, but that—along with my AutoZone guy/dad on a beer bender physique and sophomoric, rapier wit— is part of my unique charm, right? RIGHT?? OK, forget it.
Between Bookends
NOTE OF HINDSIGHT: For what it’s worth, this post was written during a particularly difficult mood. The following text here underlines that mood. Sorry.
It’s 9:40 AM on a Monday morning. I should be at work, but I alas, I ain’t gots no (real) job due to my less than stellar educational history, now redundant early 90s design skills, geographic locale, lack of employable talents, and no man’s land age. [See Underemployed, Being on the About page]
No, I am sitting in front of a computer writing this stuff. I have no idea what I’m about to write, but I need to vomit up some sort of verbiage in hopes of convincing myself to ride my bike. An activity—outside of a 13-mile rail-trail ride and a 30-minute Zwift™ session— I have not done in almost a month.
Why, you ask? Fuck, I don’t know.