Hey love crusader, I want to be your space invader.

This guy is a real gem.

The soon to be former Governor of Illinois never ceases to amaze me. The subject-matter of his press-statements and interviews are truly priceless. Personally, I love the fact that he inappropriately equates his current predicament to famous literary quotes and historical events. After reading The Daily Beast's compilation of Blago-isms, I find myself faced with two possible explanations for his behavior: 1) he just doesn't give a damn anymore and is just enjoying the thrill of the runaway impeachment train or 2) he's completely off his rocker. Fortunately, regardless of which explanation is indeed correct, a single solution exists--give this guy a reality T.V. show...ASAP.

Can you really do that?!?

I don't know if anyone else caught this little number, but apparently the makers of The Fast and the Furious films are going back to their roots. You might recall that way back in 2001, Paul Walker starred in the original The Fast and the Furious. As if this tour de force masterpiece wasn't enough, someone got it in his/her mind to create the sequel--2 Fast 2 Furious. Now, I might be going out on a limb in saying that the these two films might be on par with Godfather I and Godfather II, respectively. However, unlike the disappointing third installment of the Godfather trilogy, The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift brought the car-racing-meets-cop genre to a whole new level (although I was a little dissapointed that it was not aptly titled 3 Fast 3 Furious). Considering that the Japanese speak a different language than those of the U.S. of A., it only makes since that they would have a different "language" or "dialect", if you will, when it comes to street racing--the Tokyo drift. I mean, it's not often that the viewer gets such an honest and accurate portrayal of foreign cultures. Of course, being the naive person that I am, I foolishly assumed that the creators had reached the pinnacle of modern (and future) cinema as we know it. Boy was I wrong. Not only does their genius transcend national boundaries, but now it tackles the infinite abyss of movie title syntax. Having accomplished all that mankind will every achieve in the moving-picture arts, Fast and Furious was born. It's so simple yet so complex. Just remove the definite articles from the original title and you have yourself something so much more primitive and grassroots. Taking it back to the basics. Utterly brilliant...is that the right word?

Rock and/or Roll

After spending the past month or so listening incessantly to Bon Iver and Fleet Foxes, I came to the realization that I needed to rock...and I needed to rock hard. Although Justin Vernon of Bon Iver left me with a hefty dose of emotional intensity and sonic variation on tracks such as "Creature Fear" and "Skinny Love", I still craved some rip-roaring distortion and violent crescendos/decrescendos. All it took was a trip through the old CD catalog (you know, those things that existed before MP3's) and I had my answer. My friends, allow me to guide you on a trip back to 1993 with the release of The Smashing Pumpkins' album Siamese Dream. In terms of rock-your-socks-off, it doesn't get much better than this album. Of course I remember the classics like "Disarm", "Today", and "Cherub Rock", but one track in particular reminded me why the Pumpkins were (in my humble opinion) the epitome of mid-90's alternative rock. Rediscovering "Silverfuck" has made my week. It's not often that a rock song cracks the 8-minute barrier while maintaining an assault on the eardrums. Now, I'm not just talking about rapid-fire guitar strumming on eardrum-blowing amps, I'm also referring to the band's ability to bring it back down to a whisper and slowing down the tempo into something resembling a lullabye. And just when you think the song is puttering out into silent nothingness, the Pumpkins abruptly kick it back into a revisitation of the initial chorus. Simply said...badass.

Back to school

I'm back at it again...school, that is. Overall, I would classify my break as relaxing and recuperative in terms of intellectuals stresses. During the break, I'm pretty sure I didn't read anything academic other than skimming a few abstracts last week. Most of my reading came from web-surfing and the occasional magazine flip-through. (BTW, I never seem to start a magazine at the beginning...usually, I begin in the middle, make my way to the back cover, and then go back and cover whatever skipped at the beginning...it must be some sort of savant indicator). In final days of winter break, I began to get bored and eager to begin again. Like every semester, I've come up with some goals and ambitions that I can only attain in a vacuum with no confounding elements and variables. For instance, the other day I made some Excel spreadsheets that map out my weekly classes, assistantship, TA, and workouts. Sprinkled in between those blocks are designated studying times. This morning, I went a step further and made a play-by-play for the entire week. Pretty much everything is mapped out on this spreadsheet. I almost went to the extent of appropriating specific time blocks for meals, but decided I need to give myself some freedoms. Through this neurotic method, I hope to maximize my efficiency. Now that my training is kicking up a notch in terms volume, I need to be as time-conscious as possible. With that said, I give this a month before I crack and revert back to my do-what-I-feel-like form of time-management. If I stick to it, however, I could quite possibly experience my most productive semester of my life. Here's to hoping...

In terms of training, NIFS has become my new faithful companion. With weather that would put northern Belgium to shame, many of my rides have been forced in doors. I loathe riding indoors, but at least I can tolerate it for up to 1.5 hours a day; after that, it becomes to mind-numbing to bare. For that reason, I started lifting again this season to fill the void left by non-existent miles...something I haven't done for the past couple of years. After realistically evaluating my past season, I came to terms with that fact that my strength and pop have diminished a bit since I stopped lifting. So, for the past month-and-a-half I've been pumping iron two to three times a week. Already I can tell something is different...I'm much more hungry...not hungry in the figurative sense, I mean literally hungry. I eat like a mad man now and breathe even less than I did before when scarfing down the calories. Thanks be to the pagan goddess of weight gain that a commercial-grade blender arrived below the x-mas tree. This thing is awesome, I can convert all of my favorite high-caloric and high-protein solid substances into a single vat of viscous goop that I don't even have to chew. It's completely brilliant. Since it's arrival, I've tacked on 3 extra pounds after creating a new, completely liquified "meal" of the day that falls between lunch and dinner. Hopefully the extra weight manifests itself in the form of muscle...I could really use some more of that stuff if I ever want to manage a little better in a bunch sprint.

How I've spent my winter break...

Soooo it's been a while since my last post. Not to worry though, I been doin' shit. In fact, I can think of a couple of milestones that I've achieved in this short respite. For instance, up until about 10min ago, I hadn't washed my hair since sometime Thursday morning. You might ask, why would one do such a thing? It's called nostalgia, bitches. Remember when you were a kid and you'd go days (sometimes even weeks) without showering or washing your hair? So why not relive the glory days? Growing up across the street from a country club, I often went a week at a time with nothing more than a daily chlorine cleanse. Now mind you, my most recent foray into greasy hair had one important difference from my childhood--I showered but just didn't wash my hair. And by "wash" I'm implying that my hair did get wet, but no shampoo was applied...I repeat, no shampoo was applied. I caved this evening after I looked in the mirror and realized I looked emo.

During this hiatis from classes, I've also had time to bump up my training hours to a more reasonable amount. Again, it has been nostalgic as it has been quite some time since I had put in more than 9 hours of cycling in a week. The past two weeks, I consistently breeched the 11 hour barrier in spite of the shit-tay weather in central and northwest Indiana. Today, the Sunday NUVO ritual of riding down to Wilbur and back continued. Last week, not wanting to prematurely blow my load on what was supposed to be a dry run, I drove down to Southwestway Park and caught up with the guys for a 2.5 hour spin. Something was different this morning...I felt spritely so I posted up outside of my apartment at 7:40am and waited for the guys to roll on by. To my surprise, Hubbell was the only soul brave enough to venture out in the dense fog and 45 degree temperature. So we cruised through downtown and over to the Mooresville area to meet up with the rest. At the park, five others awaited our imminent arrival. After a few how's-your-mother's, we spun toward yonder hills with a steady headwind out of the southwest. Along the way, the other guys punished me on the climbs as they are already in decent shape. Upon reaching our turn-around point in Wilbur, we took a double-take on a sign at the local quick-e-mart. I kid you not, it read: "Porn and crack 95% off: Beat the meat" (or something similar to that). To my dissappointment, I found neither one of those items in the store, so I had to settle for a Snickers bar with almonds. Having checked the weather prior to the start, I knew that the temperatures were supposed to start dropping sometime in the afternoon. Furthermore, the forecast called for the wind to redirect itself out of the northwest. For once, the forecast was actually correct. However, instead of happening at 1pm, the weather decided to begin a couple of hours early. As we traversed from one meth-lab town to another on our way back to the Windy Apple, the temperature dropped to the 30's, the drizzle shifted to a light rain, and the wind's origin shifted from the southwest to the northwest. Despite these obstacles, our group of seven made good time on the way back to Southwestway Park. After going our separate ways, Hubbell and I were left by our lonesomes for the hour-long trek back to the near northside of Indy. I don't think we spoke more than five sentences to each other during the remainder of our ride. Our fingers went painfully numb, the headwind slowed our pace to a crawl at times, and Hubbell even cursed at a squirrel at some point around Delaware and 16th. Finally, I arrived at my abode after 4.25 hours of ride time--my longest ride since the Tour of Ohio in June. All in all, a great ride...not quite epic status but nearly there.

Well, I hope that wet your whistles. Maybe I'll write another one of these things soon.