Work & Love
My voice is shot from being sick (!-- it's been a while), but I couldn't resist recording this
one of my favorite songs.
***
Melissa's here OMGGGGGG
Hooray!
I finally found a good way to mount my vinyl.
Oxford Circle Park
For the years that I've lived in these apartments, I've enjoyed watching frisbee-golfers take to the course in the adjacent park. They're an obnoxious, likely-inebriated breed; loud and frightening and more than a little funny. If I were a gambling man, I'd say they probably have kids but don't take care of them, own dogs that bite, and have girlfriends they'll never marry (sometimes they play, too). In a word: deadbeats.
There is one group of disc-golfers, perhaps the most dedicated, who don't quite fit the mold. Two or three rangy, middle-aged men who play every day, making laps around the course at a consistent jog. At first they struck me as fitness guys, freaks maybe, who had found their niche. Hey, you could do worse-- all the running and throwing really adds up, I imagine. They didn't seem dirty or drunk-- in fact, as I became more aware of their presence, I realized that it was almost the opposite. They would constantly jabber as they ran, after every shot, revealing an unnatural enthusiasm ("HEY THAT'S A NICE SHOT!" "OHHH YOU WERE SO CLOSE!") not only for men their age, but for the game itself.
And now it's 11:00pm and I hear the metallic swish of a successful shot, along with the near-screams of approval. It's the same men-- surely they're running-- and there's no way they're not on drugs. It's a Wednesday night and it's fucking dark out. I don't know why, maybe it's because I know something's wrong with them and it's just not obvious, but I wish they weren't there right now.
Elsewhere:
I chopped my handlebars, flipped them, and put a neat time-trial brake lever on. I'll admit I jumped the gun-- it's been trouble trying to find a brake that fits.
A Sight for Sore Eyes
tomorrow: Davis
