It's warm enough now that I can open the doors and windows during the day and allow the sound of spring rejuvenate my spirit. What is the sound of spring? Why, it's the sound of a plastic bag caught on a tree branch.
Also, because it's spring, I've been sneezing my head off for about a week now, which means I haven't pronounced an 'n' or an 'm' in about as long. It's problematic when I have to tell a customer that their bike won't shift because their 'chaid' is rusted, or that I need to tighten their loose 'steb.' Some people do not like to be talked to about their stebs.
At this time last year, I was getting very excited to do some riding, so I subscribed to a couple of magazines, and this means that right now my subscriptions are running out, and I couldn't be happier. I have been receiving both mountain and road bike mags, and I admit to being consistently bored by the road mag. For one thing, the advertising is really obnoxious. For example:
"I spent half my life riding bikes. The other half I wasted."
This is an advertisement for a well-known Italian company, which explains the inanity of the caption; it must be a translation. A more careful translation from the original Italian would read, "I spent half my life riding bikes, and I wasted the other half shaving my chest and blow-drying my hair." Anyway, the road bike magazine to which I no longer subscribe is full of pretentious bologna like this, and I'm a much bigger fan of unpretentious bologna. See below.
The mountain bike magazine, however, was quite enjoyable. I liked almost everything about it. However, the editors saw fit to include stories about people such as this one:
People like this one are exactly the kind of people who have not wasted half their lives, and it makes me ashamed to read about them every month. In case you missed it, here's a close-up.
Despite having only one leg, Meg Fisher has won a handful of world championships and is probably going to the Olympics, etc. I have to read about people like this while slumping on my couch and trying to lick the last of the powdery lime flavoring out of the bottom of the chip bag, and it forces me to make a lot of comparisons I'd rather avoid. I don't mean comparing myself to people like Meg, but to the kind of person I might be if I tried a little harder. People who have really achieved something make me feel as though I've wasted half my life (reading a road bike magazine).
Meg made me stop and wonder what it is I'd like to achieve before I lie on my deathbed thinking, "I spent half my life riding bikes and spent the other half being very tired." The problem is that I'm not sure I'm willing to give up being mediocre at many things to be really good at one or two. Could I force myself to give up spoon collecting to become a better butt yodeler?
I rehash my goals every now and then, and each time I come to the conclusion that nothing really matters, anyone can see, nothing really matters, nothing really matters to me.
Any way the wind blows (your plastic sack around).