Scoot Commute

Greyhound

Posted in dog, Utter nonsense by cheesebot on 2015/06/22

Oh, another thing I noticed in rereading this blog: all the run-ins with Casby’s dumbass poodle (this, for example).  I have had plenty of my own incidents with this stupid dog and many times got to witness Casby’s minivan version of walking the dog (driving alongside it as it tears down the street).

Longtime readers of this blog may be happy (or sorry) to hear that last month Casby has sold his house and moved away with his giant poodle.  So there will be no more internal combustion fueled doggie exercises nor random canine sneak attacks from that section of the street for the time being.  Best of luck to his new hood…

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Everyone Thinks He Looks Daft

Posted in Cats, Utter nonsense by cheesebot on 2015/06/17

Recently I started reading through this blog back from the beginning (chronologically) and it’s been very interesting to watch Siobhan’s (and my own, to a degree) evolution from the beginning of this in March 2009.  It’s great that I have this record of events to remind me of some of the tiniest stories and her recollections.

A post from right before Thanksgiving 2010 hit me hard though.  I’ll just link it here: Tomorrow is Today

Go read it and come back if you like.

I remember clearly when this was happening and how maudlin Siobhan had become.  And I’m really glad I found this because she’s the person whom I’d most want to talk with about what’s happened and what I should do.  So there it is right there; instructions of a sort that weren’t intended for me but end up freakishly appropriate.  I have been sort of doing what she says anyway.  I’ve been working on the house because I want to be more comfortable and free up some space (this Winter was particularly harsh) but I’ve also been going out and trying new things and places in this fabulous city.  I’ve been making new friends and spending time with old ones.  I’m doing my best to balance being responsible with fucking off for the day, but isn’t that what most of us do?

Oh, and I also continue with this blog partly to let her mom know what’s going on.

I promise I’ll get back to writing about commuting soon.

On a lighter note, here’s one of my favorite posts from the past: What Would Jesus Do?

And I’ll end this with a pic of O’Malley, for Siobhan

O'Malley the Pimp Daddy

O’Malley the Pimp Daddy

What a day

This post doesn’t really have anything to do with scooters, except for the fact that I did, indeed, commute on the Buddy today.

One of the IT guys was over in my office today because I couldn’t get the stupid network printer to show as online. Apparently I gave a lot of the Help Desk folks a good laugh with my ranting description of the issue, including “yes, I did turn it off and on, and that did nothing.”

Anyway, he’s a really nice guy, and has been working on the campus for a long time. He’s been diagnosed with ALS. Young guy, probably late 40s/early 50s. And he’s really angry about it. We had a long talk as we both struggled with getting this stupid printer to work.

Later in the day I met with one of the profs, who happens to also be a Catholic priest, to go over some of his image content for a histology course. Often in my meetings with professors, I get a little lesson on the content (they can’t help themselves…don’t get me talking about semantics ‘cos you’ll get a little lecture, too).

He opened up a slide with an image of a slice of a cockroach eye. He says to me, “Look at God’s brilliance. Look at how beautiful that is.” I looked at the image, then at the prof, then back at the image, and finally muttered, “Ya know, it is very beautiful. Such a perfect design.”

At the end of the day, as I’m riding from the gym (oh, there was another scooter parked at the gym so I’m not the only one!) into downtown to go to the credit union, I just started crying. Why can’t I just work at a normal place?

My favorite bier in the world is now available in the USA: Why Andech’s Doppelbock Dunkel is nectar of the gods

Posted in Alcohol, Utter nonsense by sbahn on 2014/05/11

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!

Best fucking beer in the world.

http://www.beeradvocate.com/beer/profile/911/2899/

Getting ready for the pour

Getting ready for the pour

The pour -- at least the glass is for a Bayern bier

The pour — at least the glass is for a Bayern bier

Mmmmm, Andechs Doppelbock -- nectar of the gods

Mmmmm, Andechs Doppelbock — nectar of the gods

 

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Strongbow Stockpile, and really Dutch? You’re cold?

Posted in Alcohol, Cats, Utter nonsense by sbahn on 2014/04/10

I should be good for a couple of weeks :)

Six cases of

Six cases of “original”, now discontinued Strongbow

The boyfriend snapped this pic of my big cat, Dutch, snoozing beneath the down comforter on my bed. Seriously, the house is kept at 55F and it was probably warmer than that today as the sun was out. What a freakin’ life.

Dutch sleeping beneath the down comforter

Dutch sleeping beneath the down comforter

Went to the gym again and did 45 minutes on the ARC machine, listening to some dub step until I needed to step up the tempo, at which time I switched to Swedish House Mafia. I’m really hoping all this sweating will make a difference to my riding, ‘cos there sure ain’t nothing to look at in the gym.

The Death of Strongbow

Posted in Alcohol, Utter nonsense by sbahn on 2014/04/03

I arrived home tonight to a very serious looking boyfriend. He uttered these words:

I have very bad, life-changing news.

My first thought was that his library was closing or having a major reduction in hours, and he was going to be laid off.

But no…it’s worse.

The geniuses at Heineken have fucked with one of the best ciders on the market. How? you ask. By bringing out two new ciders, the one which I tasted being sickeningly sweet, to appeal to fucking urban hipstahs who have no appreciation for true alcoholism.

The genius part? Pulling the ORIGINAL recipe off the market.

Why? Why would you do this? Largest market share in the global market so yeah, let’s stop making the product and bring out something sweeter.

Wanna make a lot of money? Produce a good-quality dry cider in quantities large enough to support the market.

Case of Strongbow in the milkcrate of my Buddy

Case of Strongbow in the milkcrate of Franz Biberkopf

Cats, including Domino in a Strongbow box

Cats, including Domino in a Strongbow box

 

And I absolutely LOVE the marketing profile of the Strongbow drinker.

Strongbow consumers live their lives in a natural, effortless way, and appreciate authentic experiences and moments with friends. They love the outdoors but also love the city, where they seek their own ‘urban orchards’: places where nature meets the upbeat metro pace, and real conversations happen. From parks and patios to deck bars and street festivals, those urban orchard locations are meant to enjoy a Strongbow poured over ice.

Seriously? Cider was what the drunks drank. Now it’s come out of the shadows and they have to fuck it up with sugar. Some of us drunks just want our dry, crisp intoxicant.

A walk (not a ride) around the neighborhood

Posted in Utter nonsense by sbahn on 2014/03/18

I took a quick walk around the neighborhood tonight, despite the cold, because I can’t stand being cooped up anymore. It was already kinda dark, but it doesn’t really bother me ‘cos I know what blocks to not go down.

Braaaap brrraaap braaaaappp backfire braaaap.

That’s right, a kid on a crappy rattlecan job ATV zipping down a street with those giant speed humps. He actually stopped at a stop sign. I was like WTF, who stops at stop signs on stolen ATVs?

A little later, as I’m approaching a corner onto Broad Street, I hear sirens blazing and lights shining off buildings. Two cop cars come racing around the corner onto the street I’m walking along. They drive about a block and both cars come to a dramatic, screeching halt, lights cut, in front of an apartment house I just walked by.

Um, yeah, maybe I’ll just stick to riding. Faster getaway.

New Commuting Song

Posted in Utter nonsense by sbahn on 2014/02/19

I’m sure you’ve all seen this, and I can’t stop listening. Riding around the ice, snow and slush that cover the streets of Providence, this is on loop in my head.

There are actually people who thumbs-down this. Protests and deaths in Ukraine, Syria and Venezuela, child soldiers in the CAR, and people dislike this song?!

Jamaica rock the whole town! We could use some of this spirit in the frozen tundra of Providence!

Why We Ride Movie showing in Providence

Posted in Utter nonsense by sbahn on 2013/12/15

Sign up [click the words “sign up”]

so we can get enough folks to show this film in Providence.

Location:  Cable Car Cinema, 204 S. Main Street, PVD

Mario, Taxi Driver Extraordinaire in Chicago-land

Posted in Utter nonsense by sbahn on 2013/10/14

So I’ve been away. In the suburbs of Chicago. For work. Lemme tell ya, the suburbs. I don’t know how people live in them. I’m so happy I never have, and want to die never having had the experience.

That said, I’d like to give a HUGE SHOUT OUT to Mario, the best cabbie I’ve ever had (this from someone who lived in New York for a decade).

He called me FOUR TIMES to ask where I was (on a college campus) as he needed specific directions. I kept saying “I’m from Rhode Island, I don’t know where the feck I am!” and that was enough direction to get him to me. Point One!

Where I was, actually, was on the Wheaton College campus (there’s one in Illinois, who knew?), standing in front of the Billy Graham Center. It’s a ginormous building, complete with busloads of Chinese tourists spilling out randomly before boarding large tour busses.

Mario shows up, a few minutes late from our original pick-up time, but I had worked in plenty of traffic-jam time so we were all good.

I’ve experienced the scariest, oh my god we’re gonna die, taxi ride to JFK already, so really, what could Mario throw at me? You know what? He was me…and I’ve never had THAT experience.

This is a guy who yells at the traffic, by marque name, and pulls lane changes with millimeters of space to spare. In other words, my kinda driver.

Turns out, he used to have both an R1 and a YZ250 2-stroke. And I was his “motorcycle girl” for the afternoon. We drove together, me yelling “c’mon Pontiac, what’s yer problem? Pass pass pass! Ok, Mario, we got it, GOOOOOOO!”

At one point, a train was just starting to cross the roadway in front of us.

“Did you see the limo?” he asked. I hadn’t. I’m not a cab driver. “He took the left, through the parking lot. Do you see any cops?” Mario asked.

“No. We got this.”

Tight turn to the left, through the parking lot. We’re now at a driveway, about to try to cross SIX LANES of traffic.

“Any cops?” he asks.

“No, we’re good. Go go go, go across the three!” I shout.

We’re halfway across the highway, and now I see an 18-wheeler coming towards.

“Goooooo! We got this!” I scream, as we turn left into three lanes of traffic. “Go go go…don’t hesitate, go little Caravan!”

Now we’re in a war with the freight train. It’s running along us on the right.

Mario says that we have to cross the tracks to get onto airport ground.

“C’mon, go go. Stupid Prius, what are you doin’?!” I scream.

We’re weaving in and out of traffic, now down to two lanes in each direction. It must be a difficult stretch as we pass not one, but two, patrol cars, lights flashing, with sad motorists pulled over.

Mario says to me, “Do you know the Tenere?”

“The 660?” I ask.

“Yamaha brought the Tenere into America.”

“Yeah, I know, but it’s the big pig. Not the baby Ten. Now THAT bike, I’d buy in a second. Just like the Africa Twin.”

Mario pauses. I think he’s thinking, who the hell is this chickie in my cab? This girl who knows from Marc Coma and hates Cyril Despres and rooted for Joan Barreda on the Husky in the Dakar 2013.

He ventures, “Do you know the Transalp?”

“TA? Of course, the boyfriend has one.”

Mario proceeded to tell me that he was in the market for a TA awhile back, and travelled a couple hundred miles to have a look at one. The guy hadn’t revealed that he had done some awful work on it, including changing the original colors and dropping it a gazillion times.

He said to me, “You know, I wanted my childhood dream. You gotta buy an original when it’s a dream.”

When I told him we got the boyfriend’s 1989 Transalp from the original owner, who cried (at 73 years of age) as he handed over the keys, Mario and I minted our relationship. Twenty years from now, if I need a pick-up from O’Hare, Mario’s got my ass.

We pulled a right onto airport property, and I could just barely make out the train heading in our direction. The man is a driving genius.