Yesterday we had blue skies, bright sunshine and 35 degree temps here in Michiganderburgh, perfect for getting out to roll some dirt roads. Sadly I was on my last day of Christmas vacation dad duty and found myself spinning for an hour in the basement. Later I would watch Facebookers post photos from their rides, hating them all with the venom of a thousand cobras. Freaking status posting bike jerks!
There was a tradition started long ago by someone, somewhere that says eating pork on New Year’s brings good luck (probably started by the pork people). I like good luck, but I’m not a huge fan of pork (roasts, etc.,), so I ventured as close as I really wanted to into the world of pork and made my Soiled Bolognese Sauce on New Year’s Day, which just so happens to include about a 1/2 pound of ground pork along with a 1/2 pound of ground chuck. Win.
It’s year’s end time, so rather than blather on about resolutions I won’t keep and plans that won’t happen, I thought I would put together a small list of my favorite Soiled Chamois blog posts from the past year. I’m not saying the posts were “technically” good or that they were the most read, they are just some of the ones that I enjoyed writing. I’m also not saying that you should like what I like, be your own person Goddamn it!
BTW, I regretted the title of this post as soon as I typed it, for it shares its name with the song A Few of My Favorite Things, which if it weren’t for the existence of the Paul McCartney & Wings holiday song Wonderful Christmastime it would possibly be my most hated song in the world. OR the song that I will most likely lose my mental shit to one day.
So here we are in no particular order, rhyme, reason or rank…
The past week was its normal whirlwind of December holiday madness: travel, no riding, family visits, eating, weight gain, gift giving, gift receiving, more eating, occasional vomitorium visits (followed by quick weight loss), Boxing Day footy watching, a dash of stress, mild boredom, more weight gain, and lastly more travel (to which I set a personal record, making it from Pittsburgh to Mt. Peezy in 6:01, crushing my old record by 14 minutes!).
I always bitch about the holidays (mostly because I loathe them like an annual bout of gonorrhea), but every year they turn out pretty darn OK. Every year I look up at the faces I grew up with and those who helped create me, as well as the family I married into and realize that like it, love it, or not, these are the people in my world. Like they say, you can pick your friends but you can’t pick your family. Despite all the differences that we choose not to really get into and are content to leave hovering on the surface of our mental skins like infected spider bites, they are good people. There are lots of folks out there with worse problems, that’s for good-Goddamn sure.
After 3.5 days of being ill, it was so awesome to wake up on Friday morning and not feel like I’d been drug through the street by a group of angry Stevie Wonder fans. It was even nicer to get me and my Goblin-ish chins and belly on the treadmill for a three-mile lumber, and nicer still to get out for a quick but satisfying 1:45 ramble on Michiganderburgh dirt roads via the Farley on Saturday. But…
Sometimes to stop something from driving you insane, you have to share it with someone. Since the therapist that I never really got around to making an appointment with–even though Wifey, my family, PCP and local law enforcement think I did–is off doing whatever nonexistent therapists do (I assume listening to NPR friendly Spanish guitar music whilst cutting the address boxes off covers of waiting room bound volumes of Architectural Digest), I will just share my thoughts with the Interwebosphere: Stevie Wonder is a prick!! Here’s why…
Last night, right after I hit the publish button on what will surely be known as the most widely unread blog post in Soiled Chamois history, I popped my normal shot of ZzzQuil and headed up to The Chamber of Farts that is my bedroom. An hour or so later I was still awake; I tossed, I turned, I coughed, I was hot, I was cold, I was sweating, I coughed again. “Wait, why do I keep coughing?” I thought to myself. Then it hit me…. I’m getting sick… I’ve got the crud! OH, FOR FUCK’S SAKE!
Last week I made some pasta with (jarred) marinara sauce and homemade meatballs. As soon as I started eating it I found myself on my knees shaking my fork towards the food gods above, cursing them for letting me make pasta and jarred red sauce. Almost every time I eat it I end thinking it’s too salty and an evil bout of indigestion will be waiting for me within minutes of finishing. The only red pasta sauce I REALLY like these days is my homemade Bolognese sauce. With that said, I was in the mood for pasta today and remembered a recipe I made once last year that was pretty darn good and avoids straight up red sauce.
Anyone who has ever come within three feet of me or this blog knows that I hate winter. I’m not happy about it, but there’s nothing I can do about it, so I have learned to embrace it. However, that embrace is sort of like when you’re thirteen and one of your grandmother’s buxom friends decides that she wants, nay, NEEDS a hug upon meeting you. You’re not happy about it, but at some point during the embrace your realize that despite the woman’s advanced years, caked on makeup, wrinkles, eye watering perfume and ongoing fight with gravity, her extremely large, round boobs ARE indeed pressing into your chest. Sadly, no matter how hard your try, you end up using that bit later whilst in private*. You’re not happy about it, but there’s nothing you can do about it. Riding in the winter is my touchy/feely big boob hug.
Up until today, the week has not gone according to plan as far as doing stuff. Monday is always a crapshoot on whether I can get out and this Monday didn’t really cooperate, it was the crap part of the crapshoot. On Tuesday we got hit with some lake effect snow and strong winds so I thought it best to stay off the roads with visibility so low. It wasn’t nearly as bad as it was west of Mt. Peezy but it snowing and blowing hard nonetheless.
