Camp Collabo!

If sigmoid-Freud were in observation of my present predilections, he perhaps would mention I am of a panicky, plan-laden persuasion; likely the result (from his totally academic and scientific point of view, mind you) of something like playing with my feces too much, or maybe not enough (it's been awhile since Psych 101). As I'm not one to direct erect and dirty digits, the true cause of my perpetual planning/cramming regiment need not be determined nor even addressed. In fact, often times overworking and under-appreciating life have their benefits, as evidenced by my rather spectacular end-of-semester GPA.

Successfully ending the school year did not diminish my appetite for constant work, misery, and placing myself under unrealistic expectations; as after completing hours of testing I immediately began sewing for the R5 Flea Market. R5 is a group here in Philadelphia that aim to put on independent and often all-ages shows. Semi-annually they host a flea market/craft fest to help raise funds for the upcoming year. I took part in the Spring version in June, and with a little help from friends, cheese fries, and a bottle of Crown Royal, I had a rather fun and financially beneficial time. With the looming possibility of a repeat reaping, post-finals I dutifully locked myself inside to endure a rather epic five-day stitching session. Now along with the finest lock-securing waist-cases ever created, I also fashion woolen winter hats and neck warmers:



Saturday morning I arose early to tend to typical morning minutiae: print last minute price tags, pack my goods, eat a balanced breakfast, satiate my Internet addiction, and have my morning coffee. It was then that I discovered this blisteringly boring, wordy, and ultimately bummer-inducing email directly from the powers that be at R5:

"I cant quite believe it myself but it comes with great disappointment that I have to send out this e-mail. Early this evening the Philadelphia Police Department and The Department Of Licenses and Inspection visited the The Starlight Ballroom to dispute provisions in an agreement arranged with the City Of Philadelphia. The full story is pretty boring and is not very scandalous but it does greatly effect our Flea Market scheduled for tomorrow.

In short - the Starlight can not host any events this weekend till the meet with these officials on Monday morning. Unfortunately there was nothing we could do to facilitate this meeting earlier (we found out about it from the owners after city offices were closed). We attempted to re-locate the venue to multiple nearby halls and locations but with this short notice and an event this big - nothing could be worked out. We have no other choice but to postpone the flea market till after the holidays. At this point it is what makes the most sense rather than try and cram it into an already busy holiday season.

No one is more bummed than us, as we count on this fundraiser to pay our annual insurance policy (which we are a bit screwed for now). Full details regarding the new date and possible new location will be released in the next few days. For those who had table reservations - we are very sorry! We know many of you prepared for weeks to have goods ready to sell just in time for the holiday season. This is our biggest event of the year and takes about seven days to prepare for. We know first hand as to what's at stake and the potential income that you were counting on. Again the Flea Market will have a new date shortly after the new year - all existing reservations will be honored and carried over. If for some reason the date does not work for you - we can fully refund you including all service charges. Once the refund period is over - we will turn over any available tables for those who requested a table after they sold out.

So once again Tomorrow's Flea Market is Postponed. A new date announcement will be made in a few days. We lost more than anyone in this mess...

Signed,
The Saddest R5 Staff In The Land.
=( "

Apparently this ballroom was found lacking in both boring and un-scandalous obligations, what I can only imagine to be two very serious infractions. As my life thus far has been pretty full of boring, unnecessarily verbose let-downs, I was able to handle this situation like a professional. I simply redirected the leftover anticipation and coffee-induced energy into merging my design empire with a co-conspirator, and by creating a shop website. With Dan's talents of athleticism, aesthetics, and pattern-making coupled with my ability to use the Internet and type fast-ish, we plan on greatly elevating and expanding the current Camp Cupboard catalog. (Check back soon for our latest in-the-works projects, included but not limited to: cycling shorts, bibs, tights, and skin suits. I can't guarantee when they will be up on the site, but I can guarantee that they will be useful, well-designed, not exorbitantly-priced, and likely libido-enhancing.)

Hopefully R5 can find a decent locale for a January market, until then the web shop must suffice.

Happy Riding.

Please Hold

I've been very busy sewing wool hats, wool neck warmers, and standing longingly in alleyways.

Camp Concentration!

In the past few months of describing my riding, designing, and social schedules I may have conveyed that I lead a life of extemporaneous, philosophically-driven glory. While this is mostly correct, this week I am begrudgingly engaging in obligatory academic assessments (translation: it's finals week). As I must thoroughly apply my genius to preparatory pursuits, there is little left of me to adequately and entertainingly update this here blog. As consolation I have uploaded some photographs of interest that perhaps If I find the time later I will explain in full detail.
Enjoy.

Camp Cupboard as a Contestant!

As an overstressed academic participant, pseudo-athlete, warrior-philosopher, and purveyor of precious pouches, I am nearly always engulfed in solitary and/or self-indulgent activities. However with so many personal interests and dedications, it is rare that I am able to entertain my very first self-indulgent love: drawing. Yet a newly implemented coupling of unfriendly weather with the impending end of fall semester has graciously offered me an artistic oasis: manic, cabin-fever induced artistic visions and ample time to doodle them out.

I may be about as competitive as a road-killed armadillo, but I can draw at least five times better than one. So when my favorite* irregularly printed, independently-produced artistic cycling magazine announced they were having a T-Shirt competition, you can bet the business-end of your nether-regions that I submitted an entry. You can view (or "peep") all of the submissions Here.

I'm not going to tell you which one was mine, but I'll mention that I absolutely did not invoke any glaringly obvious depictions of bicycles or legs, use the word "Embrocation", or really follow any of the other guidelines. I will tell you that my drawing was a contemplation piece, recognizing savage wilderness, lost innocence, and post-constructionist retrospective mal de siècle. Keep your fingers crossed for me!

*And Only.

New Genou

As a follower of this blog, you know that the world of amateur non-competitive cycling is one filled with endless excitement, drama, and spandex. Likely the prospect of belonging to this atmosphere of glory has prompted you start rigorous training, or buy a new bike, or maybe to just try to look out from your car window at those on bicycles with just a tiny bit less outright disgust.

Whatever your reaction, surely it has been transforming. But as a serious amateur dedicated recreational cyclist, I can tell you the transformation happens on and off of the bicycle. Specifically, the body undergoes multiple changes in response to frequent riding. With an increase in fitness comes toned muscles, a decrease in fat, and many other less sexy and boring attributes (heightened skills, new abilities, increased confidence, etc).

Being a cyclist during colder months is especially gratifying. There is the undeniable perk that your physique will remain relatively unchanged while everyone else is gnawing on holiday goodies, growing gleefully bloated and hence more grotesque and malformed. There is also a less conspicuous benefit to off-season cycling: that epidermal curiosities aggravated by continual exposure to dirty sweat tend to go dormant.

In winter perhaps the cyclist's body looks even better, as helmet-line acne recede, mid-thigh and mid-bicep tan lines fade, and rigorous full-body shaving schedules relax. Cyclists bodies also look better in winter because the scars and scabs collected after a summer of exceptionally fun yet accident-laden trail riding can heal. While fantastic visions of cycling as a tan and glistening thigh-throbbing heaven are mostly apt, an array of lesser-attractive bodily changes do exist. These include but aren't limited to ingrown-hairs, back-acne (bacne), and embrocation chemical burns.

I'm particularly fond of hiding one of my new-found body parts from the cruel gaze of the world, at least until I can sort out my feelings thereof. To adequately describe this novel anatomy, I perused the divine and all-knowing dyad of google/wikipedia for at least twelve to fourteen minutes, and could not find a proper name for this unique form. I find this odd indeed, as many athletes (as well as chubby grade-schoolers) tend to have them. It is a personal duty of mine to always describe and christen new findings, as I have a Bachelour's in Science degree which affords me the knowledge and societal significance to do so. From now on I will refer to this skin-flap as a greater geniculate groove. This is not to be confused with the lesser geniculate groove, which I believe to be a dance popularized in the 1920s. Being that this is a rare case in which the phenomenon I'm referring to is best depicted in image, rather than though excessive adjective-use coupled with oft-poignant narrative, I have googled a few photos to illustrate:

Figure 1. Old body part:
(Disclaimer: not my legs)


Note total separation of Knee/ Thigh area.

Figure 2. New body part:
(Also: not my legs)


*Note with tension of Vastus Medialis, greater geniculate groove is formed around the patella.

I understand that on me, this new body part is indicative of gaining muscle on my legs over the past few months. However it remains unsettling and reminiscent of my own chubby grade-school years. Fortunately it is winter, and my layers upon layers of clothing conceal all of my cycling-related (as well as multiple other) disfigurements. If I'm still wearing knee-warmers in June, you'll know why.

Love gloves

I'm from Florida, where 10 months out of the year it is oppressively hot and the other two moths are rife with hurricanes. As such, I'm accustomed to wearing string bikinis and galoshes year-round. However no matter how appealing this ensemble may be, I have found it rather incompatible with northern weather. Up here we have "seasons"- like those things Indian food. From what I can gather, somehow curry causes leaves to turn yellow (I think because of the saffron), and the temperature to incrementally and consistently drop.

As I'm relatively new to seasonal variations, I've been placed in the unusual situation of not owning proper garments to combat the elements. Through unfortunate instances of under dressing, I've learned just how viciously the wind amplifies the penetrability of cold. I've revived enough blue and throbbing fingers in the past month to warrant the purchase of some new gloves. While typically my insistence on looking really good wins out over logic, function, price, or necessity, I think I've finally discovered that functionality may indeed serve a function. I suppose I've matured some over the last seven weeks; or possibly it was the looming threat of gangrenous digits and amputation that prompted me to start rocking these grotesque crustacean/carny-inspired gauntlets :



These gloves impart a buddy-system on your fingers, as phalangeal loneliness accelerates heat loss. I especialy like these because the claw fingers allow enough dexterity to manipulate a U-lock, turn a doorknob, or give proper salute to your vulcan friends.

I was lucky enough to purchase a size small, which means they're only one-and-a-half sizes too big. They are so big that while riding I can lodge one befisted hand fully in the palm to warm it. However, I must advise in the alternating of one fist-hand with one fully-extended, frigid fingers-hand for safe brake-operating purposes: as I've already found myself curling up both hands, basking in blissful cozy warmth only to be wretched from my mid-ride margarita-themed meditations to perform a spastic, flaccid-gloved fist/wrist-to-brake-lever maneuver to slow down. (While that may sound like a description to a sexual act, I can assure you no such sensuality was involved).

Stay warm folks, and keep riding.

Season's gleamings.

I have moved about twenty times in my life and lived in no less than five significantly different latitudinal regions. This experience has melded me into a sort of world-class climate connoisseur; a self-taught atmospheric savant, trained on the meanest of suburban streets. As a participant in multiple realms of recreational outdoor athletics (road and mountain biking constitute different realms), and as a self-proclaimed academic of ambiance, It behooves me to remain abreast of current climatic conditions. Being that this is my first Fall in the North East, I've tried to pay special attention to these distinct, fantastic, and fickle few months.

Meteorological rules dictate that Fall spans the first of September through the first of November, with astronomical rules book-ending the season with the autumnal equinox (22nd of September) and winter solstice (21st of December). However, with the authority that my meteorological mastery endows, I will promulgate the end of autumn to be today- November 18th. This is partly because rules are for fools, but mostly because it snowed in my face today.
Street climatology 101 clearly dictates that:


(Note the definitiveness of the equal sign.)

With Autumn already over, I wanted to disseminate some knowledge I've gleaned from my experiences here to my lesser-traveled and/or more equatorially-located cycling peers:

1) Fall is named as such because the leaves fall off the trees.

2) Mountain biking on leaves is slippery and fun.

3) Before the leaves fall off, they turn red. This makes road riding more scenic.

4) Putting Red on your bike makes it more scenic, too. (And lighter and faster).

Cyclocross and Junk

Some posts back, I may have mentioned some perhaps possible intentions of mine to compete in a bicycle race. My noncommittal determination to maybe race one day assumably left you with a pit of burning suspense in your belly and/or groin region. While burning gut (or crotch) suspense may produce an interesting odor, like a pop-tart catching fire in your toaster oven, it remains important to extinguish. Allow me this instant to unfence my fixed intents in participating in an upcoming competitive event:
Bilenky Urban Cyclocross 2008.


There are multiple photos of the '06 and '07 races on their website, but unfortunately there aren't any diagrams or descriptions of what this year may hold. In order to suitably tailor my training regiment to the course, I attempted to use my vast industry insider connections to gain access to the top secret plans for this years race. All I ended up learning however is that apparently it is not customary to plan out a race course months in advance and have said plans available for on-demand review. In light of this, I took the liberty of generating my own images of what the course and the riders may look like this year:






Now I just have to work on my outfit.

Happy Riding!

R.I.P. Mr. T. (the bike)

Building up a bicycle is a process not unlike I assume childbirth to be. It's painful, time-consuming, costly, patience-requiring, and greasy. And after all the work (or labor to resume the matador), you get to bring a beautiful, innocent new presence into the world, likely to immediately begin systematically abusing and mistreating it.

I suppose one could just purchase a complete bicycle from a shop, and have a professional mechanic do all the work. We've already been over what I think about that. You can't tell heroic stories about walking to a store and making a purchase. Missing out on the full experience of building up a bike yourself nullifies bragging rights about your grueling hours of labor, much like getting a c-section might be. If there's one thing I've learned about bicycles, it's that you must know how to brag about them. Because bragging about physical strength is frowned upon, cyclists must channel all need for incessant one-upmanship into their equipment. If nobody is going to covet your skills, you absolutely must present something more tangible for your friends/opponents/the jones' to be jealous of.

As finishing a new bicycle is like taking home a newborn baby (as it can be both bundle-y and joyous), taking apart one can be like dismembering... an old person. Presently I'm unsure as to the correct simile, however I am sure that discombobulating a bicycle is in a sense, ending a life. Bicycles live quiet yet noble lives of dedicated servitude, and for this they deserve deference.

Join me in saying sayonara to my heavily guilded Tommasso 3-speed:


...which I dubbed "Mr. T"

Mr. T the bicycle was christened such for both its ostentatious affinity for gold and its munificent mercy of morons, or pitying of fools.



Since I would indeed be a fool (or foo', if you're not staying in schoo') to let a beautiful, steel, hand-made Italian road frame sit around unused, I have decided to promptly resurrect it. It is being rebuilt into something more along the lines of what it was originally intended- road riding. Here is the bike in an inchoate stage, and as it is yet unfinished I've added a fig leaf to protect its modesty:

Now to answer the question that always comes next after the announcement of a having a bike-in-the-basement: if you look closely you can see that the pedals are in fact pink.

Polemical Political Post, part 1

Because I'm young, broke, well-educated and not from the mid-west or deep south, you can probably assume correctly who I will be voting for on Tuesday. And that's fine, I don't mind following along with certain demographic patterns. What's important is that I still have a decent grasp of our collective differences as a country. I know that I like to read and ride my bike, while others like to play World of Warcraft, or watch sitcoms, or smoke crystal meth and buy prostitutes. Still others even enjoy eating babies or shooting animals from helicopters. I get it! This is 'merka, we do what we want because we're cut from a different cloth; a square, chunky, Puritanical cloth, not unlike broadcloth or linen.

Speaking of cloth, I've read some boring yet persistant rumors that the Illinois senator is not truly patriotic because he does not stand for for the Pledge of Allegiance. As a disgruntled youth, partly because of the Dead Kennedys and partly because I learned about Nazism, I stopped standing, too. How asinine is it to ask schoolchildren with zero grasp of the complexities of international affairs to espouse unwavering dedication to a striped piece of fabric, anyhow? Unless of course that fabric has been delicately melded into a Camp Cupboard© hip-pouch, then and only then would I see the point.



Can the U.S.A. hold your U-Lock? Your wallet, phone, keys, your et cetera? And what about your change- that stuff we've been hearing so much about lately? If you want change, you should buy a bag to hold it in. For America.

Now that I've exhibited my true, red-white-nblue American spirit by making light of a situation that is of paramount importance for the possiblity of monetary gain, I want to remind you to go vote on Tuesday. One demographic I am not comfortable with is my age-bracket's consistent political apathy. I also want to point out what is most important this election year. It's not the economy, or the war, or education, but instead it's the unique once-in-a-lifetime chance to really freak out and piss off a lot of cracker redneck yokel racists. Don't let it pass you by.