I rarely post on Fridays. I am tired and my thoughts refuse to be wrangled into a coherent train of thought. So, inspired by a writer friend who does handstands in stripped dresses, I am letting incoherence be the order of the day.
Vegan bacon and kosher shrimp make absolutely no sense to me. They are the inflatable sex dolls of the food kingdom.
If you can find a better three days to ride a bike than the last three days in DC, I am moving into your place. I’ll put my bikes over there in the corner. Don’t mind me.
Mount Vernon (the neighborhood) is a nice place to ride from. Riding to there is pretty anticlimactic.
When Maslow came up with the term self-actualization was he putting us on? What if he was yanking the chain of self absorbed people? I can just see him sipping a boubon in an easy chair laughing his ass off.
When somebody tells you “I thought you had forgotten about me,” it’s an even money bet that she forgot that she had forgotten about you.
As much as I hate to admit it, shandys (shandies?) beat beer on a muggy summer night at the ballpark. It’s hard to gag down hoppy fluids when your tighty whities are soaking from sweat.
On hot summer nights, tighty whities are probably a bad idea.
Earlier this summer, I managed not to spot a friend at a public event even though she was wearing a green fake-feather boa and a floppy hat. I amaze myself with my visual incompetence. The persistent irony of being the son of an eye surgeon has no bounds.
I amaze myself that I even know a person who would wear a green feather boa and a floppy hat, especially when worn as an ensemble. I mean I never wear mine at the same time.
I know people who do handstand and headstand selfies. I know someone who does yoga with monkeys. I know some seriously odd people.
I think my recumbent bicycle should have wings so I can swoop better.
Words I thought I’d never hear: “…so I went to the bar down the street in my pajamas.”
Am I the only one who hears the spooky air wakes at Gravelly Point? The smaller business jets seem to have the best ones.
Life is simple. The truth is there isn’t anything more to life than really, really good pizza. Somebody tell the Pope. I think the Dalai Lama has this sussed. He keeps it to himself because otherwise he’d make himself obsolete. He had Maslow on his speed dial. The Dalai Lama takes his bourbon neat.
I wish this country had 300 million bicycles instead of 300 million guns. When you lose your mind on a bicycle, you end up in Chantilly. When you lose your mind with a gun, you end up in a box.
Norman Wilson McCloud sounds like a serial killer to me.
Wouldn’t it be cool if you could bike to Key West, take a hard turn, and have the centrifugal force shove you all the way back to DC? We could call this maneuver the Apollo 13.
“No comment until the time limit is up.” Criminals were stoopid on Superman.
I think the theme song to Johnny Quest makes for great riding music. I’ll bet Johnny is Hadji’s gardener now.
To this day I cannot figure out why Jay Silverheels didn’t get top billing. Silver and Scout were more interesting than Clayton Moore.
Yesterday, I was looking for Linel’s lost bag so hard I nearly crashed. Never found it. Today, I spotted Ed’s lost bag without trying. Sometimes luck is better than persistence.
I am convinced that there is a steroidal racoon in our yard. I am calling him Ahnuld.
If they can make vegan bacon, can they make lettuce out of ham?