What up doggies and doggers

Hows them bike rides going?

Mine?

Oh, purdy frosty.

I'm particularly hating the new "enhancements" to the bike path this year. I can't wait until real ice is down and trying to squirrel around. I think the bike path was designed by umpires this year. (blind joke... sorry if you're blind, an umpire, or reading this at all)

joy division

I'm going to start saving for a new bike methinks... maybe not a bianchi...

World through new eyes

I wonder what it would be like to see things through other people's eyes.

To see how some people see others.

How they see themselves.

What's important to them, the details or what they look for.

Maybe I'm just am tired of seeing through mine.

Maybe I've been looking at it all wrong.

Maybe my glasses are too rosey.

Maybe.

Woooooo, it'a a weeeee bit nipply out!

As you may be familiar with the fact I'm a bit of a wussy, I won't mention it again.

I wore the ol' burglaring mask on the way to work.

The only highlight, "they" finally moved the in-the-way sign out of the way, by the zoo side of the underpass.

stalemate

meow.

this board has gone cold.

If I, Die Ideen, Die Tonight

Tonight, this will be my fight

Me and my moss shall be victorious!!!

Starting over at Uno

that's phoenix, people. resurrection and all...

Anyways.. new month, new mood.

Now, I feel like kicking arsesez.

I spent all day Wednesday watching Conans and all day yesterday day watching Lord of the Rings. Let's go fight some fights!

Post it note it, #4

this is how I feel on the inside

Updatio numbero trace

Tonight, this will be my ally against the forces of evil... or maybe good, we haven't decided yet.

Update #2 for September

These are my friends. They drink. Then we follow bob on a magical journey and somehow we all miracuously make it home.

Update... update... today one of my students turned 21. She's having her first drink at Applebees and then heading to Old Chicago. This is nothing like my 21st birthday. When I was 21, I was living with a Self-Righteous Brother who was tending bar at Club Dufois. In many ways, I turned 21 when I was 16. But that's another story.. not an update.

So, fair readers, anything about me seem a mystery? What would you like to know?

eXploSionS

Something weird is going on.

I could have sworn I've been hearing explosions out of nowhere.

Saturday's ride, "pow! pow!" Everyone stopped and checked... no one had a tire down.

Sunday, watching NFL, "boooooom!" Not from outside traffic and no reason for the over the top sounds from the tv's in Heidelbergs...

Time/space is getting freaky!

My shhhe-duwal

Monday - probs BR&F ride

Tuesday - Wildernesting

Wednesday - Wildernesting unless rainy. Then TF ride

Thursday - Dweebing

Friday - Maybe HMR

What's new, buckaroos?

So, with the shorter days and the larger groups... I feel a change must be made.

I really feel large groups need to split into smaller and meet at places. Like no more than eight shall ride together down 14th or Old Cheney. That might cause some clique'ish type phenomenas, but it'd be safer all around.

Also, I'm feeling the Wildernest calling. I know some pansy wimpy wussy tiny baby girls named tinkerbell are afraid of Wildernesting... but ahhhh... there's something about the wheels and the wild.

But not super fast. Yesterday was retardedlishly fast. We need to Wildernest slow, like making sweet sweet luv to the land. And remember kids, keep the rubber side down.

more and more and more...

Today, well, at least about once a week, the local paper's letter to the ed. has some gripes about bicyclists.

I was walking around downtown thinking about why.

There's what, one cyclist per 300, 500 or 1,000 cars driving around? Are these few cyclists ruining transportation throughout the whole city? Are these cyclists causing massive amounts of property damage and deaths? Are these cyclists ruining the very Americaness of America with their... whatever they are doing?

I can see cyclists are being treated like an unprotected minority, irregardlessly (:p) of their race, gender, age or physical abilities. No, cyclists are targets because they are not like the majority. They aren't sitting in cars, magically getting around at high speeds. They aren't paying taxes... well probably not... They don't have insurace... well probably not. They aren't being safe... wait. Now there's a problem I have.

Sure, I'm awful when it comes to signalling, completely stopping, obeying all signage and lights... but am I unsafe? I've been riding a bike around town for years upon years and have yet to get into an accident. The closest I come is when a driver comes close to me in some sort of retaliation or "teaching me a lesson" sort of mentality.

But back to my previous feelings... People group and bond with like people and bonding. A lot of my friends ride bikes. So people that drive ALL the time must similarly bond with other people that drive ALL the time. Well, there's more people that drive ALL the time so I guess they feel they get to make the majority rules. "All cyclists will follow all the rules or else!" Well, as a minority cyclists who follows few rules, I can honestly say I'm not going to start following all the rules cuz they (angry drivers that focus too much anger on people who aren't driving) tell me to.

"I want a wheely long wheelie"

Tidbits for Tidbats

1. I learned that 3.2's save lives.

2. Be careful where you sit. That sofa may stab you.

http://www.journalstar.com/articles/2008/08/08/news/local/doc489c6969c7a49298186517.txt

3. Maybe every other Thursday should be a Gravyl ride.

Something new, something blue

So... some of you get bored reading my entries over and over, eh?


Well, surprise! A new entry.

I went to Holyland Cuisine for lunch today. I was hoping and hopping for something extraordinary, or at least extra extra ordinary. What I got was sticker shock! Warning to the enterer of this fine establishment: have 8-14 bucks on hand.

I ended up having the special of the day, vegetarian platter. Many of you know I don't condone the eating of pigs in any form. I would occassionally turn a blind eye towards pepporoni, but even that has been blacklisted by my palette. Anyways, the platter ended up costing a smidge over $6, took about five minutes to prepare and ended up being healthy(tinsy) portions of 3 falafel patties, a salad that was mostly tomatoes, hummus and a chopped up homemade pita. My favourite part was the olive oil used in the hummus. Rich and oily... hmmm... my description of oil could use some work... oily... hmmm... rich and coaty?

Well, all the contents of my to-go styrofoam tray formed container disappeared in about four minutes. I will probably have to save my next journey there for a special occassion when I feel like eating out and dropping some dimes. Don't get me wrong, the food was good. But for the price and the amount, this will have to be a rare visitation destination at best. Big city prices in a little city metropolis, not sure how long they will be able to survive. But they do have Biryani rice dishes like I hoped Lincoln would some day have. Too bad I never got a chance to get Sara's review of it. (Yes, I know I mentioned another's name. I'm such a rule breaker but in this case I made an exception.)

http://greatplainsfoodie.blogspot.com/2008/06/location.html

from positivecycling.com

Unoddly enough, T-64 was all tanks and Road Steel was all bikes...

R.I.P... literally pieces

You laughing at me?

So, my rides have odd names.

I googled Soft Carl and this is what I got.

Gazing upon my reflection

It comes to mind that I should clarify my statements from the recent past.

To me, the elusive century seemed like a mark I might fail to achieve. A bridge too far, if you will.

I made a mental pedestal of what was beyond my abilities. Well, I got to it and then went a little further... so there went my goal. I was expecting excruciating pain, weakness, trembling and a near-death experience. I was expecting to barely make it, to eek it out, to push myself to some unknown limit.

In hindsight, I should have done the rides without water, food or waited until the middle of the day.

But instead, I planned it out, took my time, stayed in a comfort zone and achieved the goals with relative ease.

My butt, however, says I went too far.

New goal, find a way to numb the butt on long rides.. anyone got some long lasting local anethetics?

Last Sunday... no church til Brooklyn

Last Saturday, toodlefest2008

Final Friday... on a bike

diff-ernt

Thought I'd post a picture... to brighten the black up a little.

F-day

First of all, I'm completely over-joyed for all the fathers out there. Congrats, hope you had a great day and keep up the good work!

Next, I'm so glad yesterday is over and gone. It is the worst day of the year for me. No card, no call, no reason for one really. Every year fathers day makes me contemplative... big surprise, eh? Makes me wonder, am I or am I not? This is what I thought about for most of yesterday. No, I don't feel mad, sad, glad or rad. I feel... acceptance. But then there's more. I call my dad and he tells me happy fathers day and then the dagger to the ribs, "Did you hear from her today?" I don't think he understands.

In other news, I think my warranty has expired. I haven't felt the same since my little noxema, x-machina, imponea... skin episode. I guess my youthful elasticity of the soul has expired. I forgot how I thought, some of it kind of came back.

Poser, dood

People seem to have the impression I'm a bike nut. This is not true. I'm a soccer nut.

As I was riding to work today, I saw a fellow biker. He probably eyed my patented "toodle" peddle style, my minimalist yet sturdy steel hardtail with fashionably faux-pas pink lettering steed, my chrome bag, my camo-bianchi cap and possibly the fact that I ride lid-less... and thought, "Oh, this dood knows all about the cyclery." (About cycles, not celery.)

Then, if this dood is actually in the know of bike people in Lincoln, he would think, "Wait, I've heard rumors this guy can't change a chain, true his wheel, patch a flat in ten seconds flat, name the last ten winners of the Paris-Roubaix, name a good brand of crank makers or pop a wheelie."

Well, the rumors are true.

Now, I'm not sure if I ever created an image of bike nut or if people created an image of me for themselves, but the image is false.

So, next time you see me, think, "Hey, that dood can kind of stay up on two wheels," and not, "I can learn something bikeful from that dood."

bike think

1. I was fine on the ride to work after the diluge of rain... Until I got to the zoo. Do you think if I called the zoo people, they broom off all the debris from the trail by their area? I am zoo mud butt today.

2. If you see Gravy stopped and changing a tire, don't watch. It makes him nervous, like he's taking a timed test that decides his fate, a SAT flat tire. This small amount of stress caused me to biathalon yesterday. Oh well, I just pretended I was doing a bike/walk for charity.

3. I'm getting cotton picking tired of all the crap in the JournalStar about people complaining about bikes not following all the rules of the road. I'm almost tempted to do just that. Those rules include being treated like traffic. How would all those drivers feel if I got off the sidestreets and took the arterials to speed up "my" ride to work? As traffic, I'd take up the whole lane. I'd stop where ever I'm supposed to stop. I'd slow down to signal. I'd where my helmet and get all the right blink lights. I'd bring this city's traffic flow to a crawl. Then how much bitching would people do about bikes on the streets? Less? How long do you think I'd survive?

4. On a side note, bikes are supposed to stay to the right on highways. I'm always nervous when people ride side by side on the highways when someones rapidly approaching from behind. Sometimes that's the only time you'll hear me talk on a road ride, to hear me say, "Car back."

All cherry

Well, the grey skies are coming and going. It's damp and humid, then a touch of heat and the days teeter on the side of just a bit uncomfortable. So, these are days.

Well, I'm not going to turn to the dark side just yet. I'm going to count my lucky stars and crack a smile through the clouds.

I may be the dumbest bag of hammers ever, but the all the nails in the world better look out, I feel like banging my head.

So in other words, "Look out pits, I've ordered cherry pie and I want it now."

Thinking beyond yourself

Ever have a night that you think too much?

I think I'm tired of living. I'm tired of breathing, eating, waking, sleeping... all the stuff that is about surviving and not about surviving. Maybe I need a vacation or a change of scenery or something... Maybe I just haven't found a place of content, a place of belonging, a place where I fit. Maybe there isn't a place. Maybe I need to change my thinking. Maybe I need to peel back the layers I've added over time to my scope of perceptions. Maybe I need to alter the patterns I've created for reasons I can't recall.

Why did I think about this? Babies and happiness. Money comes and goes, as does all material resources, but caring and the continuation of life... that's what we do with or without happiness, but the rewards are usually sweeter than not. And no more babies for me... because I'm in a place where I feel... like not.

Maybe I just need to get on a bike and ride somewhere, away from cars. I don't like bike rides waiting for disaster at someone else's hands... or wheels.

Monsters

I've been trying to wrap my head around the professor of question of late.

I was also wondering where all the monster stories, fables and legends come from. Most likely parents trying to scare their children into obeying them. "Listen to your father. Don't go into the dark woods or baba yaga will get you and eat your heart!"

I was tempted into monstering a child to bed the other night. "Stay in bed or the spiders will come out. Spiders only attack children who are awake at bedtime. They are completely harmless towards good little sleeping children..." But I did not.

Anyways, what starts as a harmless story to get children's attention turns into a mythos that gets passed on through generations and takes on a realism. Thanks to some story, now we have goth kids that wear bat rings and get weird tattos and hang out all gothy in the malls. They are sooooo undead and scary, I think I will respect them and their dark ways... in the mall...

But what lays in the realm of perversions? Where did these grains of seediness come from? What would cause a grown adult to tie up children? Sure, cowboys and indian films... boy scout knots... one's own feelings of being trapped at a younger age, a psychosis of keeping deep laden secrets... But how could one project those perverse inflictions upon a trusting youth. A corruption bordering on sexual predation?

Then I must confront myself. Feelings of never allowing myself to trust such a person, if found guilty. Never accepting apologies and such. Yet I have allowed other people of other crimes a second chance. Why can I accept the "recovery" of one monster and yet not another? I am a hypocrite, or atleast, someone who has not defined the black and white of crime in my mind.

Today, soon to be tomorrow and then last week

Nearly ten hours of sleep for the past two nights.

Happy camper, I am.

My world does seem smaller. Not because of the sleep, because of what I've seen lately. Nothing like a little broadening of the horizons to stretch out the mind's eye of the possibilities.

With that said, there may be a trip to Colorado taking place in August.

edit: And just like that, it all changes. Like a flood of water washing all the pebbles down the stream. Suddenly, AdMom wants BioMom and friend to go to Tennessee in August to go to a cabin. I'm the carryon baggage of this trip... except I've been offered to chauffuer the trip... Hmmmm... nothing like doing all the work to make everyone else happy... that's what I do... ugh.

selfishly fishy

So, I've never shyed away from being selfish. I love time to myself and retreating from the glare of the world. Hiding in my own shadow so to speak. But last night I did something I rarely ever do. I tried to be gratious. It seemed to cause a bad reaction.

Let me retrace my steps for a better comprehension of where I've travelled from.

Back in the day, my formative years if you will, my parents bought a condo in Colorado. I thought that was the coolest thing ever. We were truly upscale or rich or something owning a condo in a ski resort. Long story short, it was awful. It was a money pit and it took my parents nearly ten years not to sale the thing away but to just give it away with no compensation. I'm not sure how much money that sinkhole cost my parents, and I hope I never will. It caused them great anguish, financially. Add to that, my grand parents had all their saving in a bank that closed, without FDIC, in the late 80s. They had to sale the only house they'd lived in in Lincoln and downsized to a two-bedroom bungalow. That's probably all they needed, but their hopes and their pride seemed hurt by the scandal. They'd hoped to pass on more to their kids and ended up needing help from them.

These and other things led me to believe people are greedy. In a way that hurts people. I try to do things that don't benefit me, as a result. I try to do things that are not necessarily selfless, but not self-gaining. I've never wanted to be rich because I'd feel bad for the poor. I've never been one to take at another's expense. I've never been the first to take when others were in need. While that in no way helps in the long run, it's just the way I am. And yes, looking back at my comments, never is a strong word. I'm sure I've done plenty that would seem hypocritical. But not subconsciously... or wait... my psychology fails me.

Hmmm... I've been interupted so many times in this composition that I can't keep my scattered thoughts in line more or less than usual.

I think I was going to comment on why I don't strive. I don't want to be greedy, to have more than the have nots. I don't want to even feel better than anyone else. Some people would say I don't have goals or think I am crazy because I'm not trying to be better. I guess I don't feel the need to need more than what I have.

So, there I was. I thought I'd be friendly and do what I've seen and had other people do for me. I bought a round, a drink, for all my friends, a la le barfly. What I got in return was not a smiley gesture of appreciation. I had put upon a feeling of guilt on them. Like now they felt indebted to me. There were no happy faces. There were no good tidings. There were hectic offers of compensation or some sort of attempt at re-acquiring equilibrium. All I was trying to do was save some time, pay the tab and head out the door. Instead, I feel like I've tilted the balance of freedom and somehow my friends feel less free. I've tipped the scale and now there's something. A pay back weight sitting on the scale. A thing I didn't intend to place, but they sense it's there. This is why I rarely give compliments, give favors or do good deeds. I don't care about the return, but some people feel their lives are not even until the field is even. I just don't understand interactions sometimes because I care not for what some do.

Well, I've lost the train, it's off the tracks. The conductor has quit and I have no one to get my message to the station. I will stop for now and continue on with other inklings at a later date.

Say or no say, that's all I have said

I guess I'll have to do something before I can talk about it.

Write what you know.

All I know is that the price of stamps is going up again.

Just another day

I celebrated cinco de mayo yesterday...

Today will be my quatro de mayo instead.

Sorry about leaving a may day basket on Saturday. I was in a hurry, had a couple left over that didn't fit so I left them. Maybe plain sight isn't the best place for them.

I will try to be more contemplative and thought provoking tomorrow... on ciete de mayo... my ability to read and write spanish is imaginary.

I quitted

Went on a ride to Beneto yesterday. I was feeling frisky. I can't believe Mr. I Broke My Ribs Three Weeks Ago was out on the highway. WOW!

After reading Cornbread's and MG's descriptions of TI, I had a thought that maybe, just maybe, I could do something similar, on about a third of the scale.

While I was feeling good, I pushed from group to group, then from rider to rider. I was thinking, "Yeah, I can catch the tete before they get to Kabredelo's, or whatever it's called." Heading up the last hill I saw the distance, felt the wind, heard my legs yelling from outsaddling for two minutes... just shut'er down. A few moments later I saw the front runners had drastically taken their feet off the pedals, so to speak. I could have dug a little deeper and matched them, but then again, they could have looked back, hit a notch and laughed at me.

Oh well, no reason to push beyond on a recovery ride... eventhough the only thing I'm recovering from today is a little hit on my wallet from last night. Oh well, "That's what money is for..." as my grandma used to say when she'd spoil me just a little bit... or a lot.

Exhausted

Is exhaustion a mental condition? Is it the body telling the brain that the emergency stop brake needs to be pulled? What happens if the conductor overrides the complaints and doesn't pull the lever?

I've gone on a few bike rides were I should have pulled the lever and stopped, dropped and rolled to the ground for a rest. But I kept going. I've gotten massive sun burns and dehydrated to the point of passing out.

Sure, I've turned back once. And someone won't let me live that one down. It's different when the body isn't taking in oxygen.

I just finished reading an "epic" blog about 200+ miles on wet gravel in one day. Geesh, I'd think 20+ miles would be noteworthy. Now I got more wonders on my brain. Could I, at my age, do something like that? Do I even need to try? What would it prove to me? Do I have a suffering wish? Have I ever truly suffered? Can I suffer or am I too... jelly to get to a breaking point?

Alone

Well, it looks as if I am the leper now.

I will assume my last post was too touchy for most.

This is what happens when a person grows up with themselves as their biggest consoler. I guess I grew up so many years as my own imaginary friend that I literally do talk to myself. If there is one thing I do that makes people really mad it's that I keep to my own. I don't fight, argue, bicker or any of the stuff most people seem to do with family and friends. I just try to be there to help out people but then I retreat into my own world. It's not that I don't like people or need contact, but there comes to a breaking point that if I don't have time to myself, I start to breakdown. It's like a lack of sleep, but it's more like a lack of selfishness. How crappy does that sound? I don't feel like I'm selfish enough... Should I even try to defend that statement?

Probably not.

I have very little stress in my life. Really, if I do have any stress, it's usually tacked on to someone else's stress. My ripples are insignificant in comparison to the waves some of my friends have to deal with. No, my life rests on a pretty calm body of water.

But when I do have problems, I try to keep them to myself, until they have been resolved. My biggest problem right now... sleeping. I took a simple single pill last night and I was dead. I was averaging about five hours of sleep, natural sleep. Last night I got over nine hours but the morning was awful. I almost thought of taking the day off. My eyes once again burned and my skin looks awful. Yup, it's true. I have a reaction to the over the counter meds that didn't exist a month ago. I've got an appointment with a dermatologist tomorrow. Perhaps I'll learn that all my problems will soon resolve themselves.

Turning back the clock, or forward, whichever is closest

I quite feel like my initial attempt yesterday was off-line... so to speak. Not enough spin to keep it straight. I will consciously try to achieve a more succinct.

The highlights of my unmiraculous day include a morning visit with a grey spider. At first, I thought the odd shadow was a dust bunny, quietly sitting in the top corner of the shower. Until in unfurled it's front legs as if offering to give me a hug. Thanks Charolette, but no thanks. The shower spider was pretty sleepy yesterday, it just voyuered at me for the duration of my cleanliness routine.

Next, on the remarkability touch-points... I made up that phrase, touch-points, I'm so corporate meetingish it hurts my sensibilities like a cranial down-sizing paradign of antimotivational schpeel. Next, yoga. Yes, I yoga'ed yesterday. Not the spiritual, candle and flame as one, sutra for the soul, chickensoup for the tummy, kind of yoga. More like the ladies sitting on the chairs on tv kind of yoga. I was apprehensive whether I should even attend, but my feet moved me there and so I sat, and yoga'edly yoga'ed.

Quickly scanning the "class," I can tell the odds are in my favor. Five gentlemen, including myself, and about forty-five ladies. The downside, and there's always a downside to contemplate, I was maybe the tallest, but also the youngest and lightest in the room. Oh well, I wasn't there to oogle, because oogle is not an indian word. They'd probably say I was there to align my chakra, which is probably true. There's nothing better for a guy than to get his chakra aligned.

So, the most important part of yoga is not your attire... tell that to some of the class. It's not you attitude, as I know plenty of ladies getting way to spiritual in their attitudes. It's not your flexibility... I will admit, her, our instructor was stretchier than the newest bowflex commercial. It's your control of breathing. But I will admit, my respiration turned to chuckles when she kept saying "belly buh-en". Also, her tantric use of the word "ligaments" was oddly not very soothing.

The only other chapter of the day worth noting would be the ride after work. A few brave and mentally short fellows met up, with myself included. A storm was possible during our fantastical bicycle journey, but for whatever reason, there we were, ready to pedal our little tootsies away. Seriously, we were not the royal marines of the cycling community. We were more likely the grunts who hit the beaches first to get rid of those pesky landmines. Anyways, during our magical traversation, I'm encouraged to share all my stories of hookers and strippers and anything else that involves the seedier side of sexual exploitation, as opposed to the other side of sexual exploitation that probably involves the "kiss me you fool" and the "take me" side which I personally find baffling.

Well, I cannot find myself to bring those stories to this table. However, I will say I was thinking of the sex last night while I waited for slumber, sans my little friends, the pills of sleepitude. I was thinking that in my former clutches of lust, or coitus, as creepy professors would say, the female half of the equation always seemed docile. Sure, fingernail scrapings and bruises were inflicted to my flesh, but really, the expected never materializes where one would... expect expected things to happen. Maybe I'll edit this later.

Women, fairly known for being girly, or womanly, or fair, are known for their empathic ways. Their soft and gentle caresses. But in hindsight, it's the male that does all the stimulating touching... well, outside the erogenous areas. Women will sometimes initiate contact and then it's like once they awaken the beast, they just lay back and play their beauty role. However, the congnizant beast will notice his job is just starting. And now I'll drop this subject because I'm not in the mood. (I have a headache, but not really.)

What I really wanted to write about is that I'm getting the sneaky suspicion I being set up the bomb. All my base wants to be belonged by them. What does this mean? It means I think the lesbians have designs again and they're going to try to align my chakra. :(

(Yes, I realize this post was not in the same flavor as the last and that I mentioned Charolette by name... but I was referring to the spider with a fictitious spider's name, so the actual spider's name is still held in confidentiality.)

Them Changes

I will begin anew. I will be the only guilty innocent and all others shall be refered to as him/her/he/she to protect them and possibly to keep me on my toes.

Yesterday, I found myself at that Church again. The Latvian one that I grew up around. My eyes were burning, as if acid rain replaced my tears. Was I crying? No. Was I sad? Maybe. Not for me but for her. She was never close to her mom in a mother/daughter sense. She was too close as a co-owner in the family business... and business included money and gossip.

She, the she in the urn, was not the most amicable of souls. She would yell, smile, yell some more. You couldn't tell if she was happy about being angry, but she enjoyed sharing her thoughts, in that not quite English language of her's.

While I was listening to the Pastor, I started thinking about all the funerals I've attending sitting on those soft wood benches. One, no, two, no three prior to the current one. It seems like Latvians are more prone to dying than normal humans, or I just am closer to them, closer in the funeral aspect of life. My mind wandered, seeping in and out of memories from those other ceremonies. Eventhough my eyes burned, I didn't want to shed a tear. I thought about baseball, car racing, soccer... all the stuff guy's have learned to meditate about to keep their feelings from over taking them when they are expected to maintain themselves.

...And then it's over. Ashes to ashes and all the rest in peace. Fifty-eight people, including myself, exit the great hall. Fifty-eight more than I presume will attend my last mentioning on earth before I'm put to my ending place. I take a moment to contemplate the future of not having a future. Of no more days.

I make my remarks and then pass on the post-sermon luncheon. I watch some afternoon Champions League... to bored or tense or thoughtful to pay attention. I head downtown assuming he'll be there. The one face other than her's in the hall that I recognize. Sure enough, he makes his daily stop at Club Dufois. He's still dressed in his finest threads complete with shiney Italian shoes. Me, I've long since discarded my Sunday slave-wear.

We talk and I hear his stories of her time, escaping from the Nazis. Joining the resistance force and eventually ending up in a refugee camp in England for a few years after the war. I only knew her as my landlord, who would yell at me for having long hair and for corrupting her daughter... who was a few years beyond my age. She would scream and her face would turn blood red... probably due to all the blood in her face. Then at other times, she would throw a beer in my hand, force a tort down my throat and then drag me onto a dance floor... but only at religious events. She never called me by name, but always called me, "Mister Ambassador," because one time I said I was thinking of going into political science. Strange how strange names stick.

Eventually the topics change and I envy his life a little less. I hear how he grew up needing body guards, about all the deals that weren't dealt as planned and how his family is a little more complex because of marital disbliss.

Then he walks into the bar. He brings his aura of chaos and anger with him. He makes all his remarks, seeing which one's wound any listeners. He throws in maddening scowls at us followed by the joy in the face of a little boy. If someone ever needed a permanent flashlight shining up from his chin, it's this guy. He throws his remaining change on the floor, puffs on his cigarette whilst a friend lies to his boss on the phone and threatens another with a knife... albeit, all two inches of it.

I eventually leave knowing I said stupid remarks about an engagement ring, how I'm somehow more liked for having offspring and generally happy with my lot in life.

Then I get home. I'm not home first. That wasn't part of the plan.