I'm going to start off by saying that this web log of ours (that's yours, mine and the company who employs me) is obviously a marketing tool. At least that's how it all started, but over the course of the last few years, has morphed into so much more than that. For me personally, it's become a forum, a sounding board, and even to some degree, a journal. Through this I've met new friends, reconnected with old ones, and processed ideas and thoughts that otherwise would have been unprocessable. In response to posts that I've put up, I have had a few correspondences in my time here that literally were life changing.

I scratch my head about this, because this is a business move, right? I'm not supposed to get emails from people saying that something I wrote made them cry, or laugh, or decide to finally speak to their estranged parents, or reassess their political views, or even dispose of a long closeted skeleton.. This is just supposed to make you want to ride your bike, or buy a jersey, but not email me, a total stranger, and tell me that something that was written here touched your soul in some way or another.

But the fact of the matter is that it has, and there are not enough words to describe my gratitude for this. Perhaps it is because I'm not a friend you see every day, or even occasionally. I'm a friend who you've seen a couple of times, or maybe even never at all, and perhaps this is why it works. Perhaps it is because I'm invisible, and we don't have to look at one another in the eye when secrets are told, and tears of sadness or tears of joy fall. Whatever the case, I have to extend my unfaltering thanks to all of you who've helped make this what it's turned in to, and my most genuine appreciation for the reaffirmation that what we have here is something bigger than it was supposed to be and the constant molding and re-molding that has ultimately made The Bummer Life into what it is.

Whatever 'it is' that 'it is'.

With all of that being said, I will now go ahead and flick my heart off of my sleeve back into the ash tray in which it usually sits, and pour out some of the typical jackassery that lives here.

Like for example, the banana knife from Ghostship Matt ;

Don't run with it. You might fall down and stab your bananus.

The rolling thunder known as Red Fang will be making it's way to The Bay Area directly, and because I'm a sucker for rock and roll action shots, here is one for your edification;

Also because I'm a sucker for Unicorns, and this young man depicted holding a Unicorn is a sucker for Red Fang, it's only suiting that we should come full circle and clump these shots in here together.

Finally, as long as we're on the topic of the Fang that is Red, how about an email from our friend GastonomicusFantzCrazznapper4;

"Hey Stevil,
Last Friday afternoon we were treated to a free show featuring Red Fang and Skeletonwitch.
Skeletonwitch made me headbang, party down, jam out and drink beer, forever.
Red Fang let me join the band for this one show only, where I rocked the air drums and guitar solos.

Got the highwater britches (knickers) in the mail last week.
My new fave slacks.

Later,
GastonomicusFantzCrazznapper4"

GFC is one of our very favorite dirtbags.

Hammer wielding, tiny short wearer George write to us with an update on his continuing adventures;

"hello friend,

Now if only the snow would melt...
George"

A few months ago George emailed me asking if we would cross paths at this summer's SSWC, which I said sadly we would not. I will be in Colorado this summer, but not for for the 500 pound gorilla that is the SSWC, but rather for the 500 pound gorilla that is my 20 year high school reunion. For years I never questioned whether or not I would go, as it was something I've long looked forward to. That is until I had a recent conversation with a young woman I knew back then and with whom have maintained a relationship all of these years, as well as our mutual friend, Skinny Bee, during which time I realized that in no way, shape or form did I want anything to do with the reunion after all.

I don't know what it was specifically that turned me off on the thought of going back, but it hit me like a ton of bricks. After a few weeks of licking the wounds from that conversation, I began taking a shine to the idea again, until the other morning when I awoke from this dream;

I was at my reunion, which was held in the lawn of the Lutheran Church in town. I got super drunk right out of the gate, and then attempted to quell said drunk with as much food as I could eat from the buffet. Unfortunately, while I was busy drinking, everyone else was busy eating, and all that was left for me was some dry chili that I had to put in a wooden bowl containing some party mix scraps. I then noticed that I was wearing a light blue pair of Dockers, and a navy blue rugby shirt with Christmas patterns embroidered all over it. No one would talk to me so I got a cup of coffee and wandered over to the periphery of the celebration, where I spilled the coffee and then promptly sat in it.

What do you suppose Sigmund Freud would have to say about that?

Anyway, I'm afraid that Christmas shirt and coffee stain or no, I would regret not going, and frankly regret is something I have no room in my life for.

Like The Butthole Surfers say in their song 'Sweat Loaf';
"Daddy, what does regret mean? Well son, a funny thing about regret is, that it's better to regret something you have done, than to regret something you haven't done.
And by the way, if you see your mom this weekend, would you be sure and tell her, SATAN, SATAN, SATAN!!!'

As a matter of fact, I'm so committed to this event, that I even signed up for our class of '89 website, on which I added a profile, including these two photos;

I'm going to be the belle of the ball.

Naturally, the best direction to go from here is to discuss some nimrod radio disk jockeys encouraging violence towards cyclists.

I would rather regret shipping those fellows a box of feces, than to regret not sending those fellows a box of feces.

On my way out, I want to include two things that our friends at Manifesto Bicycles have got cooking. If you are a lady with a knack and an interest in turning the wrench, swapping stories, or just hanging around the shop and drinking the beer with others of the same ilk, then they've got the 'Women's Wrench Night' happening every first Monday;

The little shop that could is also gearing up to have their one year birthday with a hodown of epic proportions at The Stork Club;

I would be there with bells on (seriously, I have a sweet suit with bells all over it for just such an occasion), but I'm waking up at the ass crack of dawn the following morning to make my way to the Art Crank freak out, and unlike GenO, I actually don't like missing flights, so sadly I will be absent, but of course if you live in the area, this doesn't mean you have to be.

Welp, I think we've just about covered all of the bases on this installment. Mr. Blacksocks had a birthday just recently, and to celebrate, I think that because it's Wednesday, we should probably do what we do best, which of course is to get the thing that ends in 'tarded' and begins with 'rad'.

If you wouldn't mind, might I suggest you all do the same?