While The Tour continues to wind and grind, its apparent epicness is only equaled by my apathy, which is to say my head is still stuffed proudly and firmly in the sand about the matter. Sure, I pick up bits and pieces of information on the interwebs as well as from my compatriots who continue to wave the flag proudly, but for my part, I'm too busy being immersed in Daisy of Love, who it should be noted looks a little bit like Jar Jar Binks with a bad case of pinkeye;

Anyway, aside from that, what makes the greatest impression on my sorely addled mind is the antics of the one who will only be known as Josh looking fetching in his homage to Joe Dirt at last weekend's Watsonville crit.

See, it's real easy to show up to the party with your stretchy pants and tap shoes, aiming to battle with some of the region's finest cyclists, but it takes real bawlz (not balls, mind you, as everyone knows bawlz are much larger) to show up ready to rumble in your Sunday-on-the-broken-front-porch's finest.

Sadly I wasn't present to see this first hand, as if I had been, I would still be dancing around in circles giggling like a little girl, which during the work week is actually illegal within city limits.

As I've expressed before, I tend not to be the armchair quarterback type. Instead of watching people on television do the things I like to do, I instead would prefer to actually do them.
Perhaps much like Josh, in doing so, could get the chance to take a pot-shot at those around me by dressing to the nines in some cutoffs, that if not measured carefully might accidentally display the aforementioned bawlz.

I've never been afraid to show the people what I'm working with.

But I digress. Some cyclists have the freak flag waving for all to see, while others have the subtle accoutrements that are only picked up by the trained eye. Case in point, this image and accompanying email from none other than Mr. Blacksocks himself;

"Why I like Dave Zabriskie..

Tall, black wool socks in July…"

This type of display tells nearly as much about the man as Josh's, in that we all know Dave to be a company man, and as such has to wear the suit of his sponsor. Tall, black (or rather dark grey, but who's counting?) and woolen socks in the summer time on a professional cyclist is something akin to the business man you see walking down the street with an Angelic Upstarts pin stuck neatly through his lapel. It's a subtle middle finger pointed towards convention, and honestly, who doesn't need a little bit of that in their lives?

I for one do, and dip my toes into it as much as possible, (though my subtle middle finger is sometimes not so subtle) and if I'm not personally engaging in some light hearted rabble rousing (Golf Clap- I'm looking at you), my heart swells to see other people doing it whenever and however they can.

It is at this juncture in today's post that I would like to point out the fact that I have stayed on a single topic almost all the way through, and it is very nearly killing me. I suppose some folks might prefer the singular topic format, while others might prefer it when I jump around all over the place.
I feel like jumping around all over the place, so it's time to break free.

With that being said, let's get into an email from CFO that naturally has nothing to do with anything;

"Well I am off to the East Coast (where I don't have a huge following) for my buddy's "Old Fashioned New England Wedding." I am not entirely sure why he asked me to be in it, but I assure you he will be very sorry that he did......As we all know I have nothing to offer.

I have a t-shirt, a hoody, my Swobo Pony Shorts and a hat....I wanted to take one of those hobo stick/handkerchief deals as my "luggage", but apparently Homeland Security don't dig on that shit....I look and smell enough like a bum as it is.

Here Come the Dry Humps,

CFO"

Once a long time ago when CFO and I first began writing to one another, he said he was off to attend a different wedding and was curious if two twelvers could be counted as his carry on luggage.

I assured him that it would be.

It might be no small coincidence that CFO's cosmic doppleganger George would write in at the same time;

"dude,

until me meet again,
george"

And finally, an email from who some say is a snobbish bicycle rider from New York City;

"No mention of the eponymous steamer, though."

So there you have it. A nearly consistent post, some rainbows, some man ass, and a general sense of light hearted glee. We did it again, you and I have.

What I'd like for you to do now is to promise that you'll give yourself a little high five at some point during the day.

And of course by ''high five' I mean wear your favorite tiny shorts, and book a flight to Cleveland.

Those around you will most assuredly appreciate it if you did.