Friday, April 13, 2007
Wait... There Was a Point?
Hello nonexistent readership! How many promises to write more often have I broken now? If I were a philandering husband or recovering addict, I'd be in divorce court or rehab (and back out and possibly back in) by now.
People keep noticing my new bike. It is not entirely new, as I have had it since August or September. This surprises me, but I suppose if I ride past on my fast fast fast new(ish) bike people don't recognize me (if they do they cry out "BOB!" and I crane my neck around and still do not see who it was and almost run into something and spend the rest of my ride almost connecting the voice to a face, but failing to connect the face to name or any other context) and I do not carry it around with me, so the only times I am seen in connection with it are embarking/disembarking/locking/unlocking times.
Here at long last is the story...
Bob is in therapy. About fuggin' time. I still personally think that my real problem is deep-seated self-loathing, but psychiatric professionals prefer terms like low self-esteem, and insurance companies prefer stuff like non-generalized social anxiety disorder. Bob goes to Eastern Market once a week... sorry, got stuck in third person there for a sec, we'll wait for the system to cycle through again and-- SO! This is a wonderful excuse for me to go to the lovely and delightful Murky Coffee once a week, and get a shot of delicious esspresso. This I drink and grit my teeth and silently rage that I can't make espresso that tastes that good.
This was especially true when I worked at the Cafe, though back then it was a less than weekly experience. For further background, I'm now at a new Cafe... with new beans (still from the epically awesome Counter Culture Coffee) and a superhot new machine. But still the same "dammmmn" every time.
UNTIL yesterday! See, Wednesday night I was working and it was pretty slow for the first half of the shift, so I cleaned the crap out of the machine, tuned the hell out of the grinder, practiced the hell out of getting my DAMN TAMP even, and pulled myself two of the best short doubles I've ever managed. Which is to say they were better than the one I'd made myself a week before. Gotta love a learning curve...
And I went into Murky the next afternoon wondering if maybe I'd finally done it... Boo and Yah! Next step? Well, getting the shots better (they can always be better) and more consistent (the bugbear of small minds, true, but also the hallmark of superior baristi), but more visibly MILK TEXTURING. Every day I feel like I almost have the damn free pour...
Crap, I'm coffeegeeking again. This was supposed to be a bike geek post! Arrrgh!
So, back to the original point: I'm not the only one who loves my new bike. People keep noticing me riding it and giving me compliments on it, many of which revolve around what a good fit we are for each other. I couldn't agree more strongly, especially after how she handled the mucky weather a few months back. I am hers and she is mine alone. Yes friends, last weekend I went down to Crystal City and donated the ol' Snowgoose to Bikes for the World. I am officially a one bike man.
Already my boys are getting on my case. Even the BfW folks gave me a congratulatory gift certificate good for a discount on a new bike at certain locations. Pressure from every side: this is your chance to go fixie! Everyone else is going fixie! Just for part-time! Get a Pista! (This last as if Poison Ivy would somehow be less jealous of a fellow Bianchi...)
And OK... I'm tempted. But I'm gonna give this bike monogamy thing a try, at least for a little while.
And one of these days I WILL share the Old Paint got stoled story. Promise.
Until then... CHECK OUT MY BAND!
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