Just had my first crash!
Fortunately, I was going slow enough that I didn't kill myself. My right arm is sore, and I suspect I would have broken it had been going faster (I think I just pulled some muscles or something -- it doesn't hurt when I move it or squeeze it, which is what I suspect would happen had I broken it), and I scraped up my knees (just got my new JR Alter Ego jacket today, but I'm still waiting on the pants). The bike took the worst of it. The shifter peg broke off, as did a metal bit I haven't identified yet. The left side of the handle bar is also messed up pretty badly. Otherwise it wasn't so bad. Mostly it's annoying, as now I have to get it fixed before I can ride it again. I guess the dealer will pick it up?
I'm not sure what I did wrong. I think I saw myself making a turn to wide and in my effort to get control I accidentally revved the throttle, and that was it. The throttle is super sensitive, and revs at the slightest touch, and I've suspected it would get me eventually. I guess the lesson I've learned is that I'm going to be more patient until the bike's controls are second nature to me.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Body update
At my lightest, I was about 215. Presently I am 226. This was disheartening until I got one of them fancy scales that measures body fat as well as weight and saw that my body fat has actually decreased (by about 1 percent), which means most (perhaps all) of the weight gained is muscle.
And I am feeling quite pumped these days. You should see my guns! Two tickets to the gun show! Everywhere I go I ask people to feel my arms, and boy are they impressed. I know I'm impressed. My arms are impressive. Let me impress upon you the high impressiveness of my mighty arms. Arms like sledge hammers. Boom! They are mighty. My arms = power. I would post pictures of them, but there aren't enough megapixels in the world to capture my bicepular glory.
Still, I'm a little softer in the middle than I'd like to be, especially since I want to buy some pinstripe pants. Pinstripe pants, per se, do not require thinner middles; I just don't want to have to replace them right away. Or have to replace the rest of my wardrobe which mostly needs replacing already. You see, after the pinstripe pants, I want to buy one of those Gordon Gecko shirts, maybe some suspenders, and a bunch of cigars, and hang around looking like a Wall Street power broker. And I don't want to drop a few hundred bucks on clothes before I drop twenty more pounds and then have to go buy new clothes all over again. Because I am cheap. I won't pretend to be frugal. I am not frugal. I am a miser. Fortunately, I work with kids and none of them know the difference. Except for the 6-year-olds, who notice everything. "What's in your teeth?" "Your socks don't match." "You were alive in 1980?!" They're incredible. And so it is for them that I want to buy pinstripe pants. They, more than anyone else -- more than me, even -- will appreciate the whole Wall Street power broker look. And they will emulate it because I am the coolest tutor in the tutoring center because I own an X-Box and a motorcycle and have read The Phantom Tollbooth.
Thus you see that this all part of my plan to re-invent the 1980s. Not all of it -- just the miserable ethics and WASP fashion elements. Greed is good. Bad fashion is better. But '80s pop fashion -- aviator sunglasses, Don Johnson blazers, powder blue suits, fluorescent leg warmers -- is crap. We do not need that shit. No. We need a return to values. We need to get back to the things that made America great. And those things were pinstripe pants and cigars -- a wardrobe that embodies the middle finger, which is the sexiest lifestyle of all.
And I am feeling quite pumped these days. You should see my guns! Two tickets to the gun show! Everywhere I go I ask people to feel my arms, and boy are they impressed. I know I'm impressed. My arms are impressive. Let me impress upon you the high impressiveness of my mighty arms. Arms like sledge hammers. Boom! They are mighty. My arms = power. I would post pictures of them, but there aren't enough megapixels in the world to capture my bicepular glory.
Still, I'm a little softer in the middle than I'd like to be, especially since I want to buy some pinstripe pants. Pinstripe pants, per se, do not require thinner middles; I just don't want to have to replace them right away. Or have to replace the rest of my wardrobe which mostly needs replacing already. You see, after the pinstripe pants, I want to buy one of those Gordon Gecko shirts, maybe some suspenders, and a bunch of cigars, and hang around looking like a Wall Street power broker. And I don't want to drop a few hundred bucks on clothes before I drop twenty more pounds and then have to go buy new clothes all over again. Because I am cheap. I won't pretend to be frugal. I am not frugal. I am a miser. Fortunately, I work with kids and none of them know the difference. Except for the 6-year-olds, who notice everything. "What's in your teeth?" "Your socks don't match." "You were alive in 1980?!" They're incredible. And so it is for them that I want to buy pinstripe pants. They, more than anyone else -- more than me, even -- will appreciate the whole Wall Street power broker look. And they will emulate it because I am the coolest tutor in the tutoring center because I own an X-Box and a motorcycle and have read The Phantom Tollbooth.
Thus you see that this all part of my plan to re-invent the 1980s. Not all of it -- just the miserable ethics and WASP fashion elements. Greed is good. Bad fashion is better. But '80s pop fashion -- aviator sunglasses, Don Johnson blazers, powder blue suits, fluorescent leg warmers -- is crap. We do not need that shit. No. We need a return to values. We need to get back to the things that made America great. And those things were pinstripe pants and cigars -- a wardrobe that embodies the middle finger, which is the sexiest lifestyle of all.
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