Thursday, April 2, 2009

Interview with guy who rides one of those bikes where you're sitting down, almost lying on your back / Gilbert {pronounced: jhel-BEAR} Gilbert

Hi Phil.  Thanks for meeting with me today.

No problem.  It's my pleasure.

So what's the deal with that bike?

It's called a recumbent.  It's more ergonomically friendly and aerodynamic.  On a regular bike all your body weight is focused on the rider's tail bone and hands.  On this bad boy you got optimal distribution.

Right.  But you look like total fag when you ride it.

.  .  . I guess I don't see your point there.  That isn't even a question.

Fair enough.  Allow me to rephrase.  When you're riding down the street in that thing do people ever throw shit at you and call you a fag?

Throw shit at me?

Yeah.  Like beer bottles, trash, or partially deflated volleyballs?

No.

What about broomsticks?

What about them?

Do people ever try to shove broomsticks in your spokes in an effort to flip the bike over so that you fly out and hurt yourself?

No. No one's ever tried to inflict physical injury.  Every once in a while I get a puzzled stare or two but I suppose that comes with the territory.

So they look at you like you're some sort of spaz, right?

On the contrary I prefer to think they look at me with a certain air of curiosity.  They notice that I've made different choices when it comes to getting from place to place on two wheels and, although perhaps momentarily taken aback, they respect it.

Whatever.

The bikes are actually quite popular.  There are a number of enthusiast clubs and communities one can join to learn more about what make them a superior alternative to the standard upright bike.  I mentioned earlier the ergonomic and aerodynamic benefits but recumbents are also safer, more comfortable, and faster.  They've been around for over 100 years, invented around the same time as the bicycle the general public has grown used to.

Are you friends with the guy that walks his dog while riding a unicycle?

I can't say I know who you're referring to.

Oh there's this one jackass who I sometimes see riding around the park on a unicycle while walking his dog.  I assume he's bat shit crazy.  I figured you guys were tight.

.  .  .  .  We're not.  Listen, obviously you're not a fan of my bike or my hobby.  You've made that clear.  Perhaps we could talk about something else.

Sure.  What do you do when you're not riding your wonder wheels there?

I enjoy hiking, watching movies, board games, pretty much any activity where I get to spend time with my family.

So you have a wife and kids?

Yes.  Two boys in fact.

How long have you been married?

Gosh.  I guess it's been 8 years.

And how old are your boys?

Frank is 5 and Dustin turns 7 next month.

You don't say.  And how are they doing?

Pretty great actually.  Frank started kindergarten this year and is doing great.  We we're really worried that he'd have some major separation anxiety but he's adjusted well.  Dustin is really into basketball all the sudden.  I think he may end up to be a heck of an athlete.  He gets that from his mother.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  Your bike is a joke, you know.

I know.

And what are you going to to about it?

I could sell it I suppose.  Use the money to by something a little less embarrassing.

Phil.

What?

Phil.

.  .  .  or I could destroy it.  Take it to the top of the Leffert's Hill, douse it in paint thinner, cover the tires with sandpaper, tie matches to the spokes and ghostride it towards the softball fields where it will erupt in a ball of flames as it takes a sweet jump over the graduated curb before meeting it's demise. 

Phil.

What?

That sounds like a fantastic idea.

Tuesday, March 31, 2009

The grocery list / Mildred Rampage

milk
eggs
butter
soda
bread
lunch meat
frozen pizzas
cereal
apples
yogurt
cheese
granola bars
peanut butter
crackers
fancy/complicated dish to pass at the Larson's baby shower (seared or braised duck?)
-1 (8-to 10-ounce) boneless duck breast with skin
-1 tablespoon olive oil
-1 shallot, finely chopped
-1/4 cup tawny Port
-1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
-3 cups torn frisée
-1 tablespoon sliced almonds, lightly toasted
baby shower gift (breast pump or overpriced building blocks?)
$50 bottle of wine 
drop off sweater vest at dry cleaners
catch up on New Yorker articles (for conversational purposes)
get a hair cut
shave
do some sit-ups
work on fake laugh
get a run down on names of Larson's asshole friends
get phone # of that shady guy Phil knows
fake name (Lester something?)
fake passport
new SSN
paper shredder
use of public library computer to research countries with lax work visa policies
library card (under fake name (Lester Higgins?))
one-way ticket to Madagascar (boat ride to Cuba?)
cash
4 days of provisions
-bottled water
-power bars
-socks
-duct tape
-signal flares(?)
hair dye
colored contact lenses
prosthetic chin
gun

Thursday, March 26, 2009

Epitaph / Reynold Lispensey


When this realm has thus passed;
and the younglings grown old;
there'll be no truer words;
than "so I've been told".

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

About me / Leonard Hatred

I was born and raised in Minnesota but have hung my hat in Brooklyn, NY since April Fools Day 2001.
There was a period of several years of my life where every couple months or so I would wake up in the morning and couldn't shake the thought that Bob Hope was going to die that day. I was certain of it. The day would pass. Nothing. Two months later it would happen again. I'd hit the alarm clock and just know that today would be the day. I'd be sure to check the evening news and again, nothing. Then Bob Hope died on July 27, 2003. I didn't have that "death of Bob" feeling on that day and haven't had it since. This probably doesn't mean anything but I figured it was worth mentioning.
I have wife (fellow midwesterner) named Sarah, a dog (boxer) named Kaizer and a daughter (caucasian) named Piper. They are all pretty great. They turn heads. I love them dearly despite the fact that I cannot make them laugh. Luckily I've been blessed with a unique gift of finding myself absolutely hilarious so it all works itself out.
I walk really fast and I most definitely eat too fast. I also have a hard time consistently spelling 'definitely', 'their', 'restaurant', and 'consistently'. Luckily I married someone who also walks very fast and eats too fast which makes for quick and efficient dinners in restaraunts (damn) within walking distance. On the flip side of that coin my wife is a soft talker and I've often been accused of being hard of hearing so when conversing I find myself often saying "What?" or "I can't hear what you're saying" which leads to endless stream of inefficient and tedious verbal exchanges that is sure to one day drive our children crazy.
My favorite food would have to be a well made bacon cheeseburger (medium rare) but I'm convinced a talented cook could do something special with a pork chop that would change my mind. I used to be a gin-and-tonic sort but over the years have come to curse the hard stuff and have switched allegiances to the world of ales and lagers.
What else.
One day when I was 12 I was shooting hoops in my driveway and I made a deal with God that if I could make a shot from the sidewalk I'd make it to the NBA. Swish. It wasn't until the buzzer sounded after my last game my senior year of high school (1 point, 4 fouls) that I realized the dream was over. As I walked off the court the song "Ironic" by Alanis Morrissette played in my head for some reason even though there was nothing ironic about it.
My loftiest achievement was installing a doggie door using nothing but a small hand say that leads to the back yard of my apartment. I've never had to take the dog outside since. If you were stop by I'd be sure to show it to you. You'd be impressed.
I faked sick most of 5th grade. I was misdiagnosed with encephalitis (inflammation of the brain) and ended up having to go to summer school lest I repeat the school year. My class dedicated the annual school play to my speedy recovery.
I work at an online publishing company which means that I could talk your ear off about things like third party discrepancies, 728x90s, flash features, on schedules indicators (OSIs), search engine optimization, super rich media, house ads, RFIs, unique users, and net effective cpms. I also have been known to do stand-up comedy and could tell you jokes about proximity to Tom Hanks, what the first astronauts probably packed,Orbitz's long confirmation numbers, and the hiker who had to cut off his own arm.
I can consistently make my sister laugh by making an extremely ugly face but I suspect that it's not so much the face itself that gets her as it is that I tell her that it's the face I make to myself in the mirror when I'm really depressed.
I enjoy watching the movie 'Titanic' with others. When that scene comes where Leo is handcuffed to that pipe after he was accused of stealing that diamond I tell those around me that "I could totally get out of that".
I tend to avoid cracks when walking on the sidewalk - so much so that I think I would rank in the top 3% or so of people in my age bracket who've lived in comparable urban environments in terms of fewest cracks stepped on; lifetime.
One day when I was riding in a car I was trying to tell someone something I had heard about Emmanuel Lewis and I said the word 'Webster'. It just so happened that at the exact same time there was a song on the radio that also used the word 'Webster'. I told everyone in the car that me and the guy on the radio just said the word 'Webster' at the same time. How fucking crazy is that? No one was that impressed. To this day no one I tell that story to find it nearly as remarkable as me and I'm perpetually bitter about it.
I enjoy writing and take great pride in updating my blog (http://richzeroth.blogspot.com/) as often as possible. I hope to one day be contacted by a wealthy madman or an off-kilter publisher looking to fork over lots of money to continue to jab at the keyboard so that I might spend my remaining days in this realm wearing an old flannel, sitting on a deck, smoking a cigarette, listening to 'Hotel Yorba' as a robot reads my mind and dictates short stories that spur some sort of half-assed revolution.
My pet peeves include Mo Rocca, people who sock me on the upper arm to get my attention, people who re-ask me if I've seen a movie after I've already said I haven't seen it ("Have you seen ET?" "No." "You haven't seen ET?"), and people who say that no two snowflakes are alike (prove it) although people rarely say that.
I'm a huge Green Bay Packer fan but have never seen a game at Lambeau Field. Tickets would be a great gift idea.
I respect a good beard, a good story, and a good laugh.

Thursday, March 19, 2009

Shark sandwich / Phyllis Math

A couple times a week I pack a lunch.  If time permits I try to do it the night before, which is more psychological than anything, creating the facade of having an extra five minutes to sleep in the next morning.  I go with the standard sandwich.  Nothing fancy.  As I pull out the bread and lunch meat from the fridge I usually ask my wife if she would like one as well.  She usually says yes.  Mustard for her. Mayo for me.  Pickles on both if we happened to have remembered to pick them up at the grocery store.  After assembling the sandwiches and wrapping them in aluminum foil they look exactly the same so I label them with a magic marker.  On my wife's sandwich I always draw a big 'S'.  On my sandwich I mix it up.  I try to make her laugh.  Once I drew a thunderbolt, one time a gun, another time a stick man with a large penis wearing a jet pack.  Anything semi-masculine and/or borderline offensive is fair game.  I then stack the sandwiches in the fridge with my wife's on top.  By the time I go to retrieve my lunch the next morning Sarah has left for work and has taken her sandwich.  I open the fridge and see my scribbled dump trunk, sword, or panther.

At first I conveniently assumed that Sarah noticed my high jinx while packing her lunch and that the site of the drawings, at the very least, made her smile and reflect on the nurturing and humorous man she was blessed with as a husband.  A man always packed with little surprises.  A man who somehow finds creative ways to make her laugh and appreciate the absurdity of life.  Sometimes I even went so far to think that that smile stuck with her whole walk to the subway, making her commute seem half as long as it was.  And perhaps later that day, when she pulled out the sandwich from her bag she'd again remember my drawing and couldn't help but letting an audible laugh escape.  Her coworkers would ask her what was so funny and she'd tell them about the hilarious drawings as they wondered why they're husbands never did anything cute or spontaneous for them.  They'd all be jealous.  I'd imagine one day I'd go with her to a work function of some sort and after getting introduced I'll be bombarded with "so you're the thoughtful sandwich sketcher", "Sarah's told me all about your silly drawings - what a guy", or "Heard about the swastika sandwich.  Nice to finally meet you.  Creative and handsome".

But here's the thing - to this day she's never said anything about the drawings.  

I suppose it's possible she sees her 'S' sammie, grabs it and heads out the door without ever noticing mine.  Possible.   Perhaps she sees my drawings, thoroughly enjoys them, but forgets to mention it.  Not likely.  Maybe she sees them but just doesn't think they are funny.  Impossible.  Fact is I have no idea.  Deep and vast are the motives and deductions of the woman's mind.

So I wait.  I continue to draft crude pictures on aluminum foil and wait.  I hope she says something soon.  On Monday it'll be a fighter jet and on Tuesday it'll be a moustache but after that I'm completely out ideas.  She can pack her own lunch.