I haven't really been feeling self-important (read:drunk) enough lately to bother sharing all of the boring shit that happens in my self-aggrandized little sphere, but since the local NPR station is in the middle of their spring pledge drive, and quarts of Pyramid hefe have been on sale at Fred's, I think I can finally put aside a little time to update you.
Thing one: Track Racing, bitches!
Yes. Slow, old dad put some drop bars on his bike and took it out to be used for its intended purpose. This week's track developement class at Alpenrose was cancelled on account of shitty weather, but I toughed it out with a couple of my compatriots and was able to get in a few hours of practice time. Practice meaning, go left, slowly, hyperventilate fom gulping icy air into bronchitis afflicted lungs, take too many puffs off of speed inhaler and have mild heart attack, puke in infield grass.
All in all, a successful first day out, though I'm hoping for less puking this wednesday.
Thing two: Restricted Diet, bitches!
In a last ditch effort to save me from the surgeon's blade, I am attempting to complete 30 days of my life without consuming lactose products. So, no milk, no yogurt, no cheese, no butter. That pretty much leaves beer and puhgliese dipped in olive-oil. Should they, at some point during this ordeal, recommend that I stop drinking beer, I think I shall go completely mad. I have a feeling the bastards are going to cut me open anyway. What other reason could a person have for going to medical school other than getting the chance to look at people's innards?
Thing three: The Lads.
Oh, The Lads.
One word: Haywire.
The worst part is knowing that soon they will be lazy, boozy, sex-obsessed teenagers, and I really don't need the competition.
Thing four: I hope you're bringing your ball, Hamachi, because I came to roll.
Thing five: All our dead homies are swirling around us in clouds of pink cherry blossoms.
Hi Lu. Hi Grandpa. Hi Jesse. I miss you guys.
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