park slope to central park and back
There is a lot I can say about this weekend. It involved death and also food cramming. I love that little food crammer.
A long time ago I said I would one day ride my bicycle around Manhattan. I said it to my bicycle.
It is an '89 Cannondale R300. It is really the only precious thing I have left from those glorious days at UCSB. It is quite dented and says Cannordale. I converted it to a single speed a little while back, which greatly renewed my love fot it.
I started to write some sentimental stuff about how I will probably sell it soon for whatever it can fetch on ebay. About how it will be difficult to do it. But nevermind that. We booked down 5th Avenue together today. Sometimes on the right side, sometimes on the left and even a few moments right down the middle, passing cars slowed by turning busses.
Watching a one year old laugh and cry and cram an entire meal into his cheeks and listen to him sing to himself when he is all alone in his room...the emotions it brings out in me are closely related to my feelings I have for my bike. I don't want to belittle an I-You with an association to an I-It. It isn't like that. As my new Jungian New England friends would tell me if this was a dream...the bike represents me. Perhaps so.
I enjoyed the company of my friends this weekend. And more and more, I enjoy thinking about having our own family and hoping it will be soon. I enjoyed myself this weekend.
A long time ago I said I would one day ride my bicycle around Manhattan. I said it to my bicycle.
It is an '89 Cannondale R300. It is really the only precious thing I have left from those glorious days at UCSB. It is quite dented and says Cannordale. I converted it to a single speed a little while back, which greatly renewed my love fot it.
I started to write some sentimental stuff about how I will probably sell it soon for whatever it can fetch on ebay. About how it will be difficult to do it. But nevermind that. We booked down 5th Avenue together today. Sometimes on the right side, sometimes on the left and even a few moments right down the middle, passing cars slowed by turning busses.
Watching a one year old laugh and cry and cram an entire meal into his cheeks and listen to him sing to himself when he is all alone in his room...the emotions it brings out in me are closely related to my feelings I have for my bike. I don't want to belittle an I-You with an association to an I-It. It isn't like that. As my new Jungian New England friends would tell me if this was a dream...the bike represents me. Perhaps so.
I enjoyed the company of my friends this weekend. And more and more, I enjoy thinking about having our own family and hoping it will be soon. I enjoyed myself this weekend.
posted by sparklestone at 4:52 AM
3 Comments:
I recall the first food eating contest I enrolled in some 20 years ago. I was young and unaware of the proper techniques needed to compete. Thanks to cable we all know now that mashing the food in your hands before trying to chew substantially increases your food to gag ratios.
It was corndogs. In the heat of the moment, with a few chugs of beer, I found myself like an olympian reacting to the crack of a starter pistol as I sprinted toward the bucket of dogs. Just as a paragrin instictively adjusts its flight pattern to compensate for the movement of its prey, I grabbed three of them, soaked them in my beer and instantly the crust pealed off like sheets of wallpaper. So proud I was of my technigue, I looked about and pittied those whom I would defeat.
Unfortunatley, fate would intervene as I never made it to those three in the cup. It was the first dog that would bring to my knees. Biting into it like a man breaking a hunger strike, given his first Crispy Cream, it was nearly instantaneous, the thoughts of "what the h***" and "Oh my G*d". At that moment I realized, with splintered tongue and broken pride, that I had bitten clean through the dog, stick and all. With friends doubled over in laughter and crowds gathering, I ran like the wind from that shady car wash stall. Picking splinters from from my mouth and laughing to myself, I realized then as you realized in Manhattan, that even though an 89 Cannondale R300 may have seen better times, it has not seen a better day.
We are all a little older, a bit splintered, missing some parts here and there, but we still have memories to make and times to share. Don't sell that bike. While it can take you someplace new, only it can take you where you used to be. Thanks for the ride my friend.9
Your affair with your Cannondale reminds me of my love of my nerf football. So many memories come rushing back each time I dig that bad boy out of the garage. When I first got it my hands weren't big enough to palm it. As with all new nerf balls, it had a firm crust on it making it a bit slippery and difficult to hold onto. When I'd cock back my arm taking aim on the reciever going deep, I'd fire my arm forward only to feel the ball hit me on the top of the head. So my neighbor, I'll called him Rusty, had a great idea to soften up the ball. We went to the side of the road were some bits of gravel and road debris would collect. Then taking turns, sit on the ball and scoot across the gravel. Now with a roughened surface, I could find my target. The ball saw many end zones, a couple of drains, and one milk truck wheel well. So now it sits in the garage, takes up space and I keep it for no apparent reason.9
i once ate somewhere between 8-12 corn dogs with a housemate in college (i would remember exactly how many, except it was college). i couldn't eat that many corndogs anymore. thanks to my fellow commenter for reminding me. there may be a gene for food cramming.
the greatest thing about that new little person is that he reminds me the world is a mysterious and wonderful place. it's easy to forget sometimes.
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