October Dreams

I've been having dreams about my next child. I'm pretty convinced the Spanish Lady and I are having a girl, so, in these dreams, I have a little daughter running around, being rather girly. She's more outspoken than Bug, and kind of bossy. What I've noticed about my own feelings, though, is that I have less anxiety, and fewer competitive emotions associated with this baby than I did with the first. It's got me thinking about first children in general, and what a scary thing it must be to break in a set of parents (or at least a wound-up dad). I can't help but look at C. differently now. His hesitance, and natural introversion must hide a pretty deep well of determination. I don't think I spend enough time empathising with my son. Whenever I start to, I realize how daunting his world really is. Maybe I'll cut him a break for carrying two stuffed animals, and a comfort blanket wherever he goes.

A Growing Concern

As the philosopher said, "All great men have mustaches." Today I was struck by the appalling lack of mustachioed gentleman in our society. It used to be that men didn't leave the house without one; full facial nudity on an adult male meant hormone imbalance (which was a fancy way of saying, "he's got the devil in 'im!"). Now you see naked lip-skin being flaunted openly, like in those French hunting clubs or Biblical cities where people had way too much sodium in their diets.

There were exceptions. Clemency was granted to clergymen and to judges, for example, as one could not help but be unduly influenced by the be-mustached orifi from which they issued what should have been unbiased truths. Truth, after all, should be weighed by it's own merit, and not by the grandeur of the lip-broom it resides behind.

The importance a mustache bears to manhood is even recognized in the military, an organization not readily acknowledged for it's sensitivity to the facial accoutrement needs of it's members. Yet there the mustache has found a loyal following, and there is a disproportionate amount of 'stache-sporting men within the service than on those without. This trend even extends to law enforcement, emergency services, and to a certain former coach of the Chicago Bears. One can only wonder, then, that in the case of America's Finest, does the man make the mustache, or does the mustache make the man? I'd say there is a strong case for the latter.

So what are we to do in the face of society's current situation, where hair hangs profusely from the lower lips of men, like so many cobwebs on the forgotten glory of their up-stairs brothers? A good man effects meaningful change in his environs, but only a great man wears a mustache.

French Toast Fingers

I got my first flat today on my way to school. It blew about ten miles into my ride, just as it started raining. Up side is I got to hang out with my wife and go out to breakfast. It felt like when we were still dating and I'd blow off work to hang out with her. It's been a while since I could take those kinds of liberties. Down side is I had to drop some more dollah on repairs and a kit and pump so I can fix it myself next time.

On a side note, it is my opinion that Southern California is at it's best in winter. It's easy to imagine myself staying here long-term when it's overcast and the mountains have snow on them and I'm pedaling through old arts and crafts neighborhoods.

Cutter Scum!

When our car died earlier this week, I went out and bought this. It's been my primary mode of transportation since, carrying me a little over ninety miles in three days. Now in my spare time, I find myself reading about local races and entertaining thoughts of doing a triathlon some day, especially now that my sister has run a marathon (Haha! You got beat by a girl!). My legs are still hairy, though, and I'm not wearing spandex, so I can't be that serious about it. Maybe I'll just rent "Breaking Away."