If this band hadnt been one of my favorite, and most often seen bands of all time, I might have overlooked this reunion, but seeing as Ive traveled farther (further?), more times to see them than any other, it was only right.

As a matter of fact, many years ago I rode my bike from the pad I shared with Winky, Rompompolivich, Scruffy, Pete, 685 and sometimes Roadie off of Broadway in Denver, through one of the worst electrical storms Id ever experienced to catch a show in some little subterranean venue on 'The Hill' in Boulder.
Know this- I wouldnt do that for anybody, nor would I drop the bottom out of my meager savings to fly a thousand miles for the weekend.
Rest assured, Ill have a complete rundown of the mayhem on my return, and with any luck, a black eye to boot.

Here Keith Morris breaks it down as succinctly as any freak could;

For what its worth, the first time I saw The Fluid was in the mid eighties some time, opening for The Meat Puppets and Angst. Like Keith, I stood there, mouth agape, absolutely dumb founded amidst a chaotic swirl of bodies, hair and fists, and I thought to myself, "this is what live rock and roll is supposed to be about."
Well that and the fact that I couldnt believe how long and silky the singers hair was, but that as they say is another story.

Anyhow, Keiths description is right on the money. If you know right from wrong, and up from down, youll be there as well, and with any luck on my part, youll be putting beers in my hand, cause I sure wont be able to afford to.

You know what else is new?
Joes book...

If youve ever wondered what its like to be a struggling American professional bike racer in Belgium, and lets face it, at one time or another, who here hasnt, then youll be interested in this slice of literary badassness thats about to drop.
-From the books summery;

"When a normal situation sudenly changes, the Belgians call it "een hond met een hoed op," a dog with a hat on. Joe Parkin, an American bike racer who left the familiar comforts of home to compete at the highest professional level in Belgium, was that dog in a hat- something familiar, yet decidedly out of place.
In his searing, no-holds barred memoir, Parkin describes the true life of the professional bike racer. His plainspoken prose puts us in the whirlwind of this hardest of athletic educations, starting with the first visit to his team doctor, where he is strapped to a metal table and monitored by humming electrodes as men in white lab coats divine his future as a pro."

Well, obviously given the fact that hes hanging out with me, his future as a professional bike racer was none too bright, but youll still want to pick up a copy from Velopress upon its release later this summer. Ive read the first five chapters in a pre release, and Id be lying if I said it want a page turner thats been hard for me to put down, and reading books is an activity that Ive had a life long struggle to maintain an attention span for, so the fact that the books truly captivating me is really saying something.

And please, for my sake buy a copy, because frankly, Im tired of footing the bill for the guy all of the time.
"Stevil, I want a hotdog, Stevil, I want to ride the rollercoaster, Stevil, I need some pants..."

By helping him, youll be helping me, and when the sun goes down, arent my best interests really whats the most important thing for everybody?

While were on the topic of helping, why not, you know- if you come across this guy, throw some help his way..

Thats an uphill battle right there, my friends.

Well, our big fourty-whatever foot container of bikes didnt show up on Monday as wed hoped. It turns out that it was scheduled, unbeknownst to us, for Tuesday. Waiting for those things is like waiting for the storm to hit. Its just business as usual, and then BAM!

Everything gets kicked into overdrive and what is usually a fairly chaotic scene around the warehouse turns into one of absolute panic. Luckily, we are able to occasionally procure help from our neighbors, and without their help, The Skipper and I would most certainly steer the S.S. Swobo straight into the rocks.

On the bright side however, I finally got the missing pieces together for my Circle A, and tendentious be damned, I took her out for her maiden voyage.

Every bump feels like my wrists are about to explode, and despite the advise Ive received about staying off of the rigid bikes until I get better, I couldnt in clear conscious allow the new baby sit un-abused any longer.

Anyway, thats why God made Advil, right?

I swear, getting old is a real bitch.

Hey, we havent had a contest in a little while.

Well, with the exception of the one for my moustache, but the individual who "won" hasnt stepped up to get the prize yet, so maybe that ones not even gonna count.
The query is this;
What are these fellows watching, and whats the significance of their garb of choice?

Ill even give you a hint. This shot has something to do with it.

Of course if I know that you know, i.e., if you were there, you dont qualify. If you can channel the answer, and you dazzle me with your knowledge of eclectic single speed trivia, then you get yourself one of our organic cotton t-shirts.

Alright, thats about it from this end. I will take a moment to remind folks that the good people behind the Urban Assault Ride have got things cooking, literally, in Austin this weekend, and if youre not gonna be at the Fluid show, then by all means, you should be there.

Its Wednesday, and I dont know about y'all, but I feel like making some havok..