okay commuter

the bicycle is a superior apparatus. i will never learn to drive. my quads have the size and rubbery firmness of adolescent tigers. somehow i am also doing way more pushups.

[conjecture: if you're a parent, you're more likely to be generous with a twentysomething kid who doesn't need the money than with one who does. it's depressing, when your kid's birthday rolls around, to have to scribble a note like, "this three-figure sum ought to alleviate your 'rent situation,' at least modestly!!" it's way less depressing to say, "go buy a bike! it doesn't even have to be used. buy a bike. it's so nice to know that this isn't going straight to your landlord." let me say this now: my living situation is comfortable, and on sept 15, 2008, i expect to own a helicopter. or a tiger-sled.]

but right now i have a bike named “rosebud,” and matt (newly enthusiastic biker) and i have discovered that we are fucking nuts about biking. we fucking love it. i am using expletives here in the same sense that i do when i say, “i am going to go pet the breathing trembling fuck out of that cat.” (the cat lives on the third floor and, in his opinion, does not get petted nearly enough. he is a furry little whore, and he gets his exercise by sprinting literally into the side of my bed at 3am and then skittering away in a daze, like:

skibbety skibbety skibbety SKIBBETY SKIBBETY WHAM
skibbety skibbety
FUCK
skibbety
YOU FURRY FUCK
cowering
I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL KILL YOU

hesitant skibbety
I!
AM NOT FUCKING AROUND

.

snoring

skibbety skibbety skibbety SKIBBETY SKIBBETY

to be fair, last night was Powerful Cat Laxative Night. i am not remotely joking. ask girlfriend. i don’t want to talk about it.)

anyway, mom, dad: thank you for this incredible bike. this may even cause me to position the tattoo i have been planning* in a somewhat less visible place on my body.

(i also can’t take credit for this blog post title; it’s the name of a playlist on girlfriend’s ipod. this is admittedly way more clever than the retaliatory playlist i made entitled “kid gay.”)
(addendum: the title was originally going to refer to how commuting is now fun due to biking, but i completely forgot to write anything to that effect. uh… here is a recent chorus matt and i wrote.

[triumphant]
lead vox: solid bros!
backup vox: BROS!
lead: hangin out!
backup: OUT!!
[meditative]
lead: solid bros hangin ou-u-ut.)

—–__—_————-%—–

ramos arrives tomorrow morning. matt and i are picking him up at the airport, perhaps also with dave. it’ll be pretty early, so maybe that will suck. then again, some fool showed matt how to operate the coffee machine, so actually i guess we will all be caffeinated and jittery and talking in incredibly loud voices, as mike stumbles groggily out of the baggage claim and into a glorious new life.

*ring encircling arm, comprised of text from de certeau:
il n’y a pas de droit qui ne s’écrive sur des corps
meaning:
“there is no law that is not inscribed on bodies”