Stock As Cock

Just want a bike that handles like a brand new stock bike, but doesn't look like one. Is that too much to ask?

Fear Of Marriage

Consider that if you allow your fear of marriage to prevent you from settling down, you might be single for the rest of your life. Make sure that's a risk you're willing to take, and accept responsibility for.

Gotta Love That Torque

My Bike Signed A Lease

Crammed my bike into the back of Landman's Hatch/Wagon.

Double-parked in Jay Z's hood to grab some cones. Matt was bummed that he didn't have the prescience to order the Cherry-Dipped. Fool got cheated.

No. 9

Larry is putting the finishing touches on his Hi-Comp Peugeot. It's a good sign when the rear tire can't get enough grip to turn the motor over.

The Flagpole Has Gotten So High

That time of year when the garbage stuck in the trees gets covered by leaves is here.

Big changes coming up? Just following the herd? Or just getting better access to chocolate made by Pollacks?

Bloggin's Dum, M'kay?

Nails To The Quick

Absolutely nothing interesting happened in NYC this week.

Next week, I'll lay off the trying-to-understand-women, and get back to fulfilling endeavors.

Robot Mode

Working Working Working

Bi-Weekly Salon Appointment (Sunday Edition)

Today, while I was aimlessly wandering around the LES ogling the girls in their jeggings, I received a "What up?" text from Matt. It seems he was also in the LES, but he was waiting for his bi-weekly hair-cutting salon appointment. His hairdresser was backed up, so Matt had some time to kill. After passing each other on the sidewalk three times, we grabbed some Spanish lattes and headed over to Self Edge.

Now I'm perfectly happy with my $40 Made-In-Mexico Levi's, but it's always nice to pretend to be a potential customer in a fancy Selvedge Denim Store. This is definitely where the other other-half shop. Most of the jeans were in the $300-and-up range. That's way beyond what I'm willing to spend on a single pair of dungarees. This is the kinda place with no cash register. They sit the customer down in an antique chair on the business end of a heavy wooden desk, (kinda like they're applying for a loan) and in hushed-tones, the sales agent presents the final bill. I actually never heard anyone say anything. Except of course for Matt and I, who were squawking about how great California is, while we unfolded all the $500 work shirts and pushed aside actual customers from the only mirror to get a look at ourselves in denim jackets we had no intentions of purchasing.

Then we ran into Allen, Matt's friend who actually used to work at Self Edge. He's since moved on to a bigger and better job in the Clothing Industry, but Self Edge still occasionally employs Allen because no one else knows how to operate the chainstitching machine. Apparently, fancy selvedge shops custom hem all the jeans to each customer. Allen told us that he was the only one that bothered to ask the Dominicans that previously used the machine to teach him the in-and-outs. It's not as easy as it sounds. Allen's hands moved only with deliberate and necessary motions. He says it makes him feel better about not being able to wrench on cars since moving from Cali.

Saturday, I spent all day shaving and filling my new swingarm frame at Walter's shop. I love Walter. He let's me use up all his Argon and grinding discs, and doesn't yell at me or anything. Here he is doing what he does best: Scaring Chinese families.

Phil Collins Was In That Band For 2 Months...

Spring is here, but the weather ain't co-operating. There's supposed to be 2" of snow tomorrow - just in time for me to get kicked back outside to Eastchester for work. Don't know how much longer I can stand taking the Cross-Bronx bus with the mothball/stale-lunchbox smell of everyone's winter coats.

Take Me Down To The Hospital

I've been in NYC for a year now. Although I've performed a perfect 180 on my career, hammered down, and put more than just 3000 miles between me and my past, it still feels no easier than when I first arrived.

The hardest part has been the lack of means to make things with my hands. I look at people around town going on with their lives completely oblivious to this compulsion. Sometimes I wish I could think like them. I wish I didn't want a garage. I wish I didn't want a lathe. (Seriously, why the fuck would I want something that weighs 800lbs and is a bitch to move?) Normal people don't give a fuck about a welding machine. It makes my brain hurt sometimes. I've made some true friends over this last year who understand my affliction. They let me make messes in their shops, but it's still not the same as having your own.

I left a whole lot of tools back in California. I used to have 24 hour access to everything I needed to make my thoughts become reality, and now all I have is an angle grinder and a crescent wrench. The other day I used a rock to straighten out my sissy bar.

Arbeit Macht Frei

BK Sunday Dick-Around

Headed out to Brooklyn today for our weekly Window Shoppers/Vietnamese Sandwich Eaters Club meeting.

Hung out with Euvin Weeber from Machina til Matt lazily strolled up in true Californian style.

Super-Secret Vietnamese Sandwich-Maker Place pretending to be a Chinese Restaurant.

Then, we un-wittingly crashed Second Stroke's Grand Opening Party. I think, maybe. I'm not sure. Maybe they just drink champagne everyday. Who knows?

Here's Matt helping himself by rummaging through all of their merchandise/backstock, completely oblivious to the Second Stroke dudes trying to operate a business. Maybe it's a California thing. Also, Matt made the mess on the couch.

The cops don't like it when you race down the street with no helmet.