ich hab' bei meinen letern noch ein rotes "strittmatter" bahnrad von 1974 stehen. hab' ich anfang der 90er fuer den wucherpreis von 200 DM gekauft, bins in der schleyerhalle gefahren und heute natuerlich froh dieses prachtstueck zu besitzen. ich schiess mal ein paar fotos an weihnachten.
Na, mit dem Ding biste doch für NYC gut aufgestellt.
Über Weihnachten frische Puschen aufkleben, noma skidden geübt und ab damit ins Handgepäck...
Werd mich nu gleich mal warm einpacken, rausgehen und das Enik umbauen.
Weil ich Weichei bin, fahre ich natürlich fixed mit Bremsen und weiss beim besten Willen nicht, wo ich die Bremshebel eingelagert hab...
Das war der Punkt, der mich gehindert hat, heute Nacht gleich anzufangen.
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The Jan is being a simple man. The Jan takes in schnitzel and beer, and outputs death and pain. It is being that simple.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Sweet little Klodi, the Jan has been being missing you.
Current mood: happy
Ja, the Mob is reforming like the Voltron.
Klodi is finally being back from his injury. The Jan is wanting to take this time now to do some apologizing to his bro, Klodi. The Jan did not mean to be hurting you so badly, bro, but when the Jan is putting on his patented double-thigh scissor-lock, he is not being doing it half-ass. Sometimes the Jan can be kind of a dick, he knows, but the Klodi is like the little brother that the Jan never had. I mean, when you are doing the knee-capping of little Klodi with a rusty tire-iron, he is doing the funniest crying-screeching sound. He is sounding just like some crazy, sobbing monkey. It is being soooo hilarious. And the Jan is always remembering the time he kicked in the door on the T-Mobile bus bathroom when Klodi was in there doing number zwie, and the Jan beat him half to death with a sack of water bottles. Oh, we laughed and laughed. Well, ok, maybe just the Jan laughed, because Klodi was being half into a coma at that point, but the Jan knows that if Klodi had been conscious, he would have screech/cried at the obvious funniness of the situation.
As for the earring, though, the Jan is not sorry for ripping that thing out of Klodi's ear. That thing just looked retarded.
It is being kind of strange, everyone getting back together, cowering in fear, huddling in the back of the bus in terror of one of the Jan's legendary rages, but something's missing. The Vino isn't here.
The Jan had high hopes for little Vino. It is being true. He was being like a little mini-Jan. Everyone knows the unholy might that is the Jan, they know that the Jan strides this trembling earth like some dark colussus, dealing death and pain with every turn of his massive gear. But the Vino is being pretty evil too. He not only is looking like a punk kid who would toilet-paper your grandmother's house and then push her down and steal her purse when she came outside, but he is actually being kind of an asshole, too. When the Jan dropped a bar of soap inside a sock and then used it to beat the holy living hell out of Klodi, it was always Vino who would be holding him down. Vino is not on the level of the Jan, of course, but still, he is about 10 pounds of evil in a 5 pound bag, and the Jan will be missing him.
The Mighty Uniballed One, the Lance, is now telling people that he thinks Jan is going to be winning the Tour this year. To which the Jan is being saying, Ja, no shit, dumbass.
Ivan Basso, Valverde, Floyd Landis, it doesn't matter. No one can drop the hammers on the climbs AND the time trials like the Jan. It is being like the Highlander. Or like Lance's nuts.
There can be only one.
Erinnerst du dich an die Zeit vorm Internet, als wir dachten, die Ursache für Dummheit wäre der fehlende Zugang zu Informationen? DAS war es jedenfalls nicht!
As I passed him we chatted for a while and I remember him specifically asking me "do you know how to shift this thing?" He was one of the people who had purchased his bike the week before the race
Ich kenne ne Lady, die sich spontan, um an nem (Sprint-)Triathlon teilzunehmen, ein Rad geliehen hat. Ihr eigenes (das sie da gerade nicht dabei hatte), entspringt der ersten Generation von Fahrrädern, bei denen der Umwerfer nicht mehr mit nem Hebel AM Umwerfer betätigt wird, sondern schon über nen Zug und nen Hebel am Unterrohr.
Das geliehene Rad hatte jedoch STIs und sie hielt bei einem Streckenposten um zu fragen, ob er wisse, wie geschaltet wird.
Er wusste es nicht;- sie gewann aber trotzdem die Damenwertung...
(Die Sache kam nur zufällig raus,weil der Streckenposten sich erkundigt hatte, wie denn nun geschaltet würde und es ihr nachm rennen erklären wollte)
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Erinnerst du dich an die Zeit vorm Internet, als wir dachten, die Ursache für Dummheit wäre der fehlende Zugang zu Informationen? DAS war es jedenfalls nicht!
"A strange little bonus story was doing the rounds on Wall Street late Friday, which was picked up by the likes of Dealbreaker and Wall Street Folly.
And it all started with CNBC's Charlie Gasparino reporting rumours that a chap over in Merrill Lynch's fixed income department, possibly a fixed income research analyst, had 'inappropriately relieved' himself in the office in protest at being given a p.ss-poor bonus.
Dealbreaker then picked up and ran with the story, establishing that it wasn't urine, but the other stuff. Apparently the guy took a dump in the restroom, 'stomped in it, and then dragged it all over the place by walking around with it on his shoes'. Merrill is said to have said that the whole thing was 'an unfortunate accident'.
Later reports suggest, however, that this was no 'accident'. The incident is said to have taken place on the 19th floor of Merrill's New York headquarters building in the World Financial Center, which we believe houses many of the firm's fixed income group. And the smart money now says that the villain of the piece was actually an equities guy who came over to fixed income to express his view of their 2007 credit market losses - losses which he clearly thought had adversely affected his own bonus payout."
"I was hiking in Goat Rocks Wilderness up in Central Washington, an area known for its sheer cliffs and thousand-foot drop-offs. It is not a stretch for the timid or the altitudinally-challenged. As its name implies---and the mountain goats attest---it is a rocky, precarious stretch and for whatever reason, the region often invites huge dosages of dreadful weather. Fog, rain, clouds and wind are often the norm. Anyway, it was mid-afternoon and I was alone and making my way along a steeply exposed ridge when a blanket fog descended upon me. I lost the trail in visibility so bad I was unable to see my hands, and more significantly, my feet.
Within a matter of minutes it had become a life and death situation and to be sure, things were leaning heavily in favor of death. I began prodding my way forward with my trustworthy trekking stick. (My REI guaranteed-for-life aluminum alloy poles had long since met their maker.) Soon, though, I reached a point where I could no longer feel anything but thin air in front of me. I figured I must've missed a bend in the ridge so I turned back to retrace my steps, but then I could feel nothing but thin air behind me either. I poked to the right---nothing; poked to the left---nothing. I didn't dare make a move. I just stood in the same damn spot for five hours until the fog had lifted, and then discovered that my stick had broken."
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