Sometimes on long weekends I indulge in little obsessions. My attention will be caught by some new object or idea and I will allow my brain to run full-throttle in that direction, sifting through all the options, scenarios, accessories, ect. associated with my new addiction. Usually things quiet down soon enough after the realities of daily work and limited finances have time to penetrate the passionate dreaming---like the time I thought I was going to build an 1899-vintage track bike replica by welding up my own frame---someday perhaps, but the wild enthusiasm has boiled off to a calm, distant desire. On other occasions, these notions have a bit more staying power, mostly because they are more modest in scope and practical in execution. The current project is to craft my own commuter/messenger bag from, among other things, salvaged materials of a nature I haven't figured out just yet, and an old seatbelt for a strap. This idea is much more within the reach of practicality, so it just might actually happen; especially because my loving wife has agreed to sew it all up for me, one skill which, alas, I do not possess. The primary motivation for this venture is the gross price I encountered for any purchasable bag that I would be willing to wear: $50 minimum, rising to $200+! (I'm way too cheap for that kind of dough!) I admit that I spent far too much time online looking for a good cycling bag to replace my fraying, ugly, too-small one, and though I didn't gain a product, I gained ideas: one person (on Etsy.com) used recycled hang-glider material; another used sailing ship canvas; and my favorite one used old sheets of billboard ads. That is an awesome form of recycling! Now to think of something just as cool for my own creation...

12:02 AM

I have consumed a copious amount of Session Lager.
I am hopelessly riveted to a newly discovered online comic called Questionable Content.
I want to stay up and draw pictures.
I am wired.
I am going to bed.

In the life of anyone with an artistic temperament, habits, interests and any other pursuit which captures the mind and spirit, the life of the melancholic artist is a series of fits and starts, forgotten passions, and rediscovered loves. I am no different, and it seems I am always picking up something that was left behind at one point, or stumbling across some new excitement, only to change once again, albeit often subtly. There are times when this is disorienting, even frustrating, but I love the adventure, the romantic longing, continual renewal that it creates; and anyway, I couldn't change it without destroying something of myself in the process. Better to experience deeply and take the sad and lonely bits with the peaceful and happy ones than to live blandly, I say.

As if by way of proof of these musings, blog posting is so often sporadic and disconnected, but that is partly why you read here, right? Well, if you are curious as to what holds my attention at the moment, check out 140 Bricks for the ongoing battle to keep my vintage Volvos alive, and Imperfect'd for other projects I've been busy with---a new fixed gear build is peeping over the horizon...

I think I am finally turning into a real bicycle commuter. My trusty fixed gear cycle is now outfitted with lights, fenders have been ordered, and it has toe clips and straps; though I insist on riding brakeless for the time being. As for myself, I cleaned up my old helmet and (grudging) have started wearing it. There is little more distasteful than wearing a bike helmet in my book, but I have decided that if I am riding every day, on city street during rush hour, I really ought to take precautions. I also ordered some wool gloves for the chilly morning ride. Pretty much all set, I guess...I just have to wait for my body to get into the swing of nine miles a day again (round trip). However, it is unlikely that I would get much in the way of serious exercise without this riding to my carpool thing, so I am happy. (Plus it saves lots of cash on gas!) I feel great by the time I get to work, and the ride home is relaxing and reflective. The times they are a' changin'---I'm supposed to be a car guy, right?

Must have gotten into some idiot pills by mistake...this is a ridiculous day. I can't remember anything, can't focus...

At least I am laughing.

I hate work.

I just want to go home and ride my fixed gear Trek...




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