Beloved Figures: Money, Well, Spent ~ Dunia Sepeda

In the world of literature, there are certain accolades that can define a writer's career. For example, making the New York Times Bestseller List, winning a Nobel Prize, and being included in Oprah's book club are all the literary equivalent of wearing the maillot jaune. However, there's one accomplishment that stands above all of these, and that's having your book reduced to a prop in a "yuppified" furniture catalog. So it makes me very proud to announce that, after years of toil, I have finally attained this lofty goal.

Ask any actor what they were doing when they learned they won their first Academy Award, and they'll almost certainly remember--mostly because, generally speaking, they were all doing the same thing, which was sitting in the audience at the Academy Awards. Similarly, I remember what I was doing when a reader named "Mild Bill" emailed me to tell me he had seen my book atop a coffee table in the latest West Elm catalog: I was reading that very email on my Commodore 64 while my helper monkey, Vito, braided and beaded my hair. "I can die happy now," I tried to say as Vito placed a simian foot between my shoulder blades and pulled my braids so snug that each of my nostrils increased a full 2cm in diameter. "This one's for you, great, great grandpa," I also attempted to add, as a tribute to the man who had met his fate at the hands of the Indians after going out west to seek his fortune. (He was one of the many brave men who left the east in the famous "California Hardwood Rush," in search of raw materials for those very first mail-order coffee tables, multimedia cabinets, and towel rings.)

Unfortunately, "Mild Bill" did not include an actual image in his email, though thanks to the "Twitterini" I have finally obtained one:

Notice how my book is the most important thing in the shot--after the decorative turtle shell and the coasters, of course. All it would take would be for one guest to examine that shell, and then for six more guests to enjoy beverages that require coasters, before someone finally got around to picking up my book and perhaps even (dare I dream?) opening it. Of course, it's far more likely that someone would just rest their drink on it since by then they'd be out of coasters, but this is my moment, and Lob damn it, I'm going to enjoy it.

Speaking of reducing things to decorations, subsequent to yesterday's post I visited the Beloved Cycles website. Like Dahon's website, Beloved's tells you very specifically how to use each one of their models, but unlike Dahon's website I have no idea what Beloved are talking about. Consider their description of the "Morton:"

Morton is one of simple pleasures.

Good food. Good drink. Good times with good friends.

Carrying life’s cargo willingly, gleefully. Gathering supplies and painting with hands on the road of happiness,

He will stay up singing a song ’til early dawn to see a duty through and through.

Morton is the salt of the earth, a stalwart in the storm, steady as a distant beacon in the day or night.

( A PORTEUR. )

As far as I knew, all the drug-addled "beat generation" authors who might have written this are long dead, so I can only imagine it's the product of some sort of online Kerouacian "spontaneous bop prosody" generator. Or, perhaps they actually hired "Beloved" author Toni Morrison. Either way, what the hell does "Gathering supplies and painting with hands on the road of happiness" mean? Are you supposed to paint while riding it, like Picasso?

Interestingly, Graham Chapman's cycling getup presaged today's "hipster" styles with uncanny accuracy.

Next I checked out the "Half-Full," in the hope that it would be more scrutable. It was not:

The Half Full is respectfully known, in the circles that know.

Its efficient step through leaves a calling card to what it is, not what it is not.

Seen perhaps as ‘gender specific’, it believes there is nothing wrong with trying to make things a bit easier.

The Half Full is more than a routine, it is the love of the neighborhoods, the street corners, the trees and passers-by.

For life is better when seen Half Full.

( A MIXTE. )

I think maybe what Beloved is trying to say is that mixtes are not just for women, and that it's OK for men to ride them too. If that's not what they're saying then they should, because men are way more likely than women to spend over $4,000 on a bicycle that does pretty much the same thing as a $700 Trek Belleville.

But if you're really looking to ride an abstraction, the clear choice is the "Every Day:"

A grin from the face of solitude captivates Every Day to be the best of very bests.

The town and the city enrapture its very being of existence.

A new route or a constant stream of consciousness are the dreams that lift it over a rise or river as the world changes all around.

Every Day complements this potential and greatness to come from the very legs that give it life.

Ride on. Sun. Rain. Smile. Every Day.

( A COMMUTER. )

Translation:

Yes, the ride of the "Every Day" is so transcendent that it will cause the forces of prose and grammar to collapse on themselves like a scene from "Inception," and you will be overcome by waves of redundancy and repetition and redundancy, all while pedaling eternally and endlessly in circular circles towards some blissful horizon on the horizon where there is a store inside of which they sell really expensive coffee, exotic cheeses, and olives priced individually.

And then, when you return to your bicycle with your hemp shopping bag full of coffee, and chesses, and olives, you will find that the bicycle is gone, for it has been stolen, never to be seen again.

I think I'm getting the hang of it.

But bicycles aren't the only things that benefit from ambiguous marketing, and unsurprisingly "57 Things" guy also describes himself like a Beloved bicycle:

Everett is a techonomadic yogi currently researching the future of human/technological evolution.

In other words, he's a fey layabout with a "hipster combover:"

I should also say that there's nothing wrong with owning a really nice errand bike. If you've got the money and theft isn't a factor then by all means go forth and "gather supplies and paint with hands on the road of happiness." Certainly spending a few grand on a decent bicycle is a much better investment than spending a single grand on hiring some fey layabout with a "hipster combover" as your "minimalist business coach," which apparently you can now do. Here's what you get:

Included in the package:

--One week (Mon-Fri) of comprehensive email support for your business.
--Two 45 minute calls over phone or Skype. The first call will be for a check-in and initial advice on Monday. The second will end the consulting session for any last questions and follow-up advice on Friday.
Please read Minimalist Business first and attempt to implement the strategies in the guide.

The rate for the week-long session is $1000.

Wow, he really is just a good old-fashioned grifter. Obviously the first lesson in minimalist business coaching should be that employing even one coach is one too many. Still, it's clear that "57 Things" guy draws more inspiration from the world of cycling than he cares to admit, since as any cycling coach knows, there's no better way to extract money from people than by offering to help them fulfill their hopes and dreams. Really, the only difference between the Cat 4 with thousands of dollars of power monitoring equipment and a detailed training program and the would-be minimalist business mogul who thinks his bank account will swell with cash as he meditates is a snug-fitting Lycra uniform and some crabon.

By the way, in true minimalist fashion, "57 Things" guy has dashed off a comprehensive "FAQ" for his coaching service consisting exactly of two questions:

Frequently asked questions

Can I fly Everett anywhere help with my business?

Yes. Please send a brief email with details and he will follow up with you personally within 24 business days. Rate is $5000 a day plus airfare and expenses.

Can Everett do keynotes and other public speaking?

Sure! please send a brief email with details. Rate is negotiable based on content, venue and audience.

Flying this guy in for help with anything is like introducing termites into your house to help you with your roach problem.

Still, when it comes to marketing yourself, few people do it more effectively than Liz Hatch--who, unlike "57 Things" guy, actually does something. (On top of that, she also races bikes.) Recently the Internet has been ablaze with her latest video, which you may already have seen, though if you haven't here it is:

Liz Hatch - Every Single Piece... from Dovydas Augaitis on Vimeo.

In it, she wins a race against a bunch of undead zombie Freds on Treks:

I'm not sure what this is supposed to mean, but given that they're incalculably old and are riding top-of-the-line Madones I guess she's formally announcing she'll be competing in the men's masters field this coming season.

Speaking of things that are incalculably old, a reader has forwarded me this calculably old proto-Aerospoke from 1896:

Though the bike would be even sweeter in "drillium," like this one, forwarded by another reader:

Drilling a bike like this out for weight is like going on a diet by taking the maraschino cherry off your sundae--a nice gesture, but it's not going to accompish anything.