GLOBADOM

So, how did I celebrate Kalle Lassn’s favourite day? With the payment of an auto repair bill in excess of $500, topped off by some Christmas shopping, a couple of slices of pizza, and the weekly grocery run.

I wouldn’t have minded paying less.

PS: I’ve made a mild administrative change to comments: no registration is necessary to comment now. I’m praying that Blogger’s word verification will reduce comment spam, and the fact that I have 23 readers will take care of the rest of the potential problems.

Gord gave his passing approval to Tim Krabbé’s The Rider, and having read it, I’m shocked.

I’m not shocked that Gord approved. I’m shocked at how good the novel (we’ll discuss that designation in a moment) is.

First, let me direct you to the insightful review of the book on Rapha’s site, which I found thanks to Mr. Ross. That review is written by Matt Seaton, himself the writer of a brilliant memoir of amateur bike racing, The Escape Artist. That’s not what I want to write about here, but I’m assuming you’ve read that bit.

Now, where were we? Seaton’s review emphasizes the insights into cycling that the book provides, and they are considerable. The book was first published in 1978, but nearly every detail is perfect. Bike racing hasn’t changed, even if bikes have gained four cogs and lost five pounds since then.

What I read out of the book was a meditation on the nature of civilization. Krabbé juxtaposes cycling with society repeatedly, because cycling is a Hobbesian mirror-universe to civility. Bike racing, although it has its own laws, ethics, and etiquette, is a zero-sum game played out with many losers and few winners; it is a venue free of “the corruptive influence of civilization.”

I think that Krabbé’s theme is that cycling is the sort of game civil people put on for for fun. What kind of people would do this sort of thing as a pastime?

Of course, bike racing allows a rare purity of physical expression, and that’s what keeps cyclists returning for more suffering of one type or another. And now I think we’re back at flow again. Oh dear, I’m looping. Ten Thousand Hours!

I went to the Aberdeen Centre with the Lovely One, and took some photos.

Ryan and the Mechanical Award
Originally uploaded by rcousine.

Saturday night was the annual awards night for my cycling club at Mark’s Fiasco.

I went home with the “Mechanically Declined” award, a result of building one too many frankenbicycles this year. I think the most memorable one was the 70s Motobecane I rode to retro night.

Paper towel shred-o-rama
Originally uploaded by rcousine.

So we came home to this mess one day, because the dog is curious, industrious, and hungry. I don’t think that explains the paper towels, though. Now, we have a lock on this cupboard. Enjoy the slideshow on flickr, which includes a picture of the dog.

Stupid dog.

In a great moment of synergy, two of my favourite things (cycling and sitting on the couch, watching TV) have come together this evening. House (danger: major Flashage) is doing an episode about a pro cyclist who gets sick.

Fun so far: the cyclist is American, famous, and a young cancer patient has his photo up. That description matches precisely one real cyclist. In a development I shan’t comment on, the fictional rider has also used almost every doping procedure known to cycling, including (from memory) blood doping, amphetamines, steroids, and several other things. But not EPO…

I could say more, but that might spoil the plot. I’ll let you enjoy it for yourself. Oh, one more thing: for some reason, the initial race portrayed in the episode is a cyclocross event (you can see knobbies and canti brakes on some of the bikes). This is interesting, but not wildly implausible. Pro riders, including a certain Texan, have been known to do ‘cross as an off-season diversion.

Cumulative probability of permanent snow in Edmonton.

Colby Cosh went to some trouble to create that chart, so I hope you appreciate it. As he explains, that’s the chance that there will be snow on the ground on that day of the year which will not melt until Spring. Not the first day of snow: oh no. That could be some earlier day.

Note to Colby: you know, that doesn’t happen in Vancouver. Permanent rain, though, I have no comment on that.

If you fall down the stairs as you leave your house in the morning, chances are the rest of the day will be better than that.

(Yes, that happened to me. Yes, it was.)

You rotten people, you, who don’t think local politics matters.

In the situations which are most likely to directly affect your own life, local politics matters the most of any level of government. This is laudable, practical, and—judging by civic election turnout rates—largely overlooked.

The most interesting (and empirically effective) thinking about livability and crime prevention of the last few decades all focuses on civic-level structures: policing, traffic management, zoning, and architecture. We all follow provincial and federal government moves closely, but neither body has the power to change neighbourhoods (and thus the stuff you’re likely to really care about) in the same way mayors and councillors can.

Come on! You can’t tell me your candidates for mayor and council are so uniformly good that there’s no need for you to vote.

For my part, I’m going to do a little studying to figure out which of the city council candidates deserve my vote. It’s worth the trouble.

This morning I grabbed a pair of pants which I don’t much like: gray, a little ratty, don’t fit well anymore. When I shoved my hand in my pocket at work, I found a hundred bucks in well-laundered twenties.

First, that’s a really great surprise to have.

Second, how did I get so bad at money managment that a hundred bucks could disappear into my laundry system without me noticing?