Slop Meat

In the various and varied arenas of my life, one theme continually arises. While at first guess you may assume that theme to be "endless and unimaginable genius", in fact it is closer to "constant and insufferably inadequate forethought". To combat my tiresome and decidedly square life, I've concocted a methodology of unpreparedness which keeps everything new and exciting enough for my exceptionally small attention span to grasp. I approach every endeavor equally: lacking expectations, hopes, desires, or plans. While others with my predisposition may readily adopt a low expectation method, having zero expectations has a two-fold advantage: boredom and disappointment are impossible. Low expectations merely guard against disappointment; zero expectations ensure that every instance of every day is unexpected, and thus exciting enough to pursue with my characteristic daring enthusiasm (which by now, you have no doubt begun to know and love).

Last Saturday I attended my very first cycling-related swap meet; I even brought some bags with me in case the patrons were of the accessorizing sort. As I entered with zero expectations, I was relatively unphased when I sold exactly zero* bags. However as I also had zero concept of the magnitude and absurd-itude of this gathering, i spent most of the day overwhelmed and aimless. Thousands of people were ambling about with about as much purpose as I had expectations, with seemingly as many tables selling the ends, outs, after-thoughts, over-stocks, and even dirty laundry (in the form of polyester pique cycling jerseys from 1972) of the cycling industry.

Compared with the masses of old bike dudes selling masses of old bike thingys, my wares were somewhat out of place; this explained their uncommon unpopularity. Yet I was immune to disappointment, and while my day was lacking in funds it surly wasn't lacking in funs. I got to wo-man the table that my shop set up for a bit and hang out with my adorably hungover co-workers, where I proudly exhibited my newest batch of of liberty bell pouches to uninterested yet friendly parties. I took breaks to wander, idle, fiddle, and fidget my way through the cycling-stuff-smorgasbord. I made just one purchase, a pair of tights from the most fashionable decade of athletic-wear (the 80s).

I also met Taliah Lempert, the artist who does the thing that you wish you thought of first (she paints bicycles!). She was sweetly sympathetic to my lack of sales and let me trade her a pouch for one of her bicycle print shirts.
As nothing really sold, I have on hand a gaggle of new bags which can be yours, dear reader- for a mere 35$. I lovingly took group photographs for your viewing pleasure. If you are sufficiently tantalized, email me.



*Trades don't count. Also, I did sell one to my co-worker, but I'm not counting that, either.