("I'm not so sure about that." Sign spotted by a reader in Williamsburg, Brooklyn)
If you're anything like me, you may be struggling with the fact that today is Wednesday. Sure it's nominally Wednesday, but since Monday was a holiday (at least if you worship "Presidents") it really feels like Tuesday. This is the phenomenon known as "holiday lag." Yes, sometimes things can feel like other things. For example, a monocockular hand-modulated crabon fribé (CRRRAB-on FREEB) frame with a properly oriented weave that has been impregnated with bong resin and lain up by the small hands of Japanese forest imps can indeed evoke the sweet, blissful ride of a finely brazed and exquisitely lugged steel bicycle that has been lovingly handbuilt in Portland by a framebuilder with IPA-soaked dreadlocks and bare feet standing ankle-deep in the fragrant, loamy soil of the Pacific Northwest--or really any old frame with a decent set of tires on it.
Still, even though I can't quite come to grips with today's "Wednesdayness," it definitely is Wednesday, as underscored by the fact that it is also "Ash Wednesday"--or as I prefer to call it, "The Day of the Holy Schmutz." When you are slow-witted as I am, it is on this day that you see someone with a black smear on his forehead and you think, "Hmmm, he must have dropped a quarter in the ashtray and forgot to clean his fingers after fishing it out." Then you see another dirty brow, and another, and eventually you realize what's going on and you smack your own clean head with your palm for forgetting to use it as an excuse to be late for work.
But Ash Wednesday isn't just about putting grime on your head; it's also a day of repentance. It is human nature to feel as though you are being judged by an ineffable deity, just as it is human nature to have dreams about sitting in class with no pants, even if in real life you actually aren't. I think this has something to do with the concept of "original sin," which refers to the time when Eve convinced Adam to pluck a "tight whip" from the Fixie Tree of Knowledge and they suddenly became embarrassed that their "hoodies" were not expensive enough. Yes, we can all sometimes feel as though we're just frames being tested for worthiness by a great machine in the sky. But while we may not be getting judged from on high we can certainly pass judgment on each other, which is what happened recently here in New York City:

Even though it should be pretty clear by now that New York City's Critical Mass contingent has been going about this all wrong, I'm sure there's somebody right now planning a bunch of smaller Critical Mass rides consisting of exactly 49 people. This will inevitably lead to the city reducing the number of riders necessary to require a permit. Next it will be 25 people, then ten, and before you know it you'll need paperwork just to ride by yourself--which, of course, is already the case with vehicles like cars and motorcycles. And yes, you do need a permit to own and operate a car or a motorcycle, despite what the "How to Start a Critical Mass Bike Ride" guide says:

The Dachshund of Social Protest
Let's take the cause of women's suffrage in the United States for example, which played out thusly:
Also, Indian independence from Great Britain followed a similar arc:



By the way, you probably noticed the Dachshund is ass-backwards, like the approach of many "bike activists." Eventually you've got to say "wrong hole"--unless you enjoy getting screwed that way.
Speaking of religion (I was earlier in the post), I was horrified to see yesterday that the New York Times "Spokes" blog not only mocked my faith yesterday but also suggested I may be engaging in a "collabo:"
How dare they not capitalize the first letter in each word comprising the name of the great and munificent Lobster God! How dare they also demean Him (at least I think it's a Him, I'm not very knowledgeable about lobster genitalia) by implying that I might consume a lobster in the furtherance of filming some sort of gastronomic dork ride--not that "Pedaling" have asked, mind you. Indeed, they would be unwise to do so, for should they usher me into some sort of gourmet supermarket and suggest I choose a live lobster for consumption I would instead sever the rubber bands binding the claws of all the lobsters so that they might turn upon their oppressors. Also, watching me ride my bike and eat would be a distinctly un-"Pedaling" experience. I mean, if you want to film me riding a crappy bike and then stopping to shove a slice of lukewarm pizza into my mouth (I don't like hot pizza) then by all means I'd be happy to oblige and show the world just how un-special cycling, eating, and life in New York City can be, but something tells me that this would not appeal to the producers. Alternately, they're also welcome to fly me out to California where I will undertake a quest to find and consume a truly "epic" burrito.)
Also speaking of judging and aquatic life, Cyclingnews had a bit more on Filippo Pozzato's tattoo recently:
Moreover, the insight came from Pozzato himself:
This is fair enough, though I'm puzzled as to why he would undertake the application of a sizable back tattoo during cycling season. This seems like something that would be best completed during the winter months. Will his tattoo artist and his soigneur be working on him simultaneously? I mean, I'm also in the middle of getting my own large tattoo, but my season hasn't started yet:
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This will be complemented by another tattoo on my calf:


Also speaking of judging and aquatic life, Cyclingnews had a bit more on Filippo Pozzato's tattoo recently:


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This will be complemented by another tattoo on my calf:

Only God Can Suck My Balls.
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