tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-299081852012-01-15T23:52:44.414-07:00Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comBlogger3861100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-52470061667047617622012-01-15T23:42:00.000-07:002012-01-15T23:52:44.423-07:00

Considering I would rank it somewhere between watching shirtless rednecks drive homemade vehicles up steep hills, and betting on underground cockfights in dirty Mexican warehouses, I don't hold the practice of mixing martial arts (better known as "em-em-ayye," to the hyper-beefcake correctionists clad in TapOut-branded tees) in very high regard. A truly graceless sport for the graceless, if there

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-83150380222604867042012-01-11T12:09:00.000-07:002012-01-11T18:59:28.045-07:00

Way back in the year 2005, before fading into relative obscurity, the Beastie Boys handed out camcorders before a marquee show at The Garden, and instructed the recipients to shoot however, and whatever they wanted at the show. The resulting grainy, amateur footage turned in was compiled and used to create the aptly titled theatrical release... "Awesome, I Fuckin' Shot That." That's sort of

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-82032874104026580552011-11-28T23:57:00.001-07:002011-11-29T13:35:36.644-07:00

fast-twitch You rise out of the saddle and tighten your grip on the bars. As your legs open the throttle, the drivetrain reacts sharply to the urgent request for acceleration, and the bike snaps forward, out from under you, as though it's trying to escape. If that kind of euphoria ever wears thin, I'll take up golf.

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-41063957083460558832011-11-21T01:17:00.000-07:002011-11-21T22:20:24.945-07:00

The present-day grocery store is a warzone. A veritable hellhole of conspicuously edible chemicals, and cleverly disguised, genetically modified organisms in otherwise innocuous foods we've deemed safe, or healthy. But are they really? Granted, we're not buying napalm in the morning, or depleted uranium shell casings in the bulk aisle, but at the rate the modern digestive system is collectively

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-46946743890326758692011-11-06T22:27:00.004-07:002011-11-06T22:27:36.391-07:00

Here, at the edge of town, in the summer, all the lights would shine and the music would play. But now, those joyous melodies are muffled, their guests chilled and reaching for warmer skin. Winter's creep caught even the foliage off guard, leaving the sun unsure whether to shine or vacation in more temperate climates. Hell, I wouldn't blame him. Assuming, of course, that the sun is indeed a '

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-66468125448971875642011-10-23T23:26:00.000-06:002011-10-28T09:39:11.165-06:00

ch'nelly I remember with perfect clarity the evening we all gathered at Trees for a DVD premiere I knew nothing about. "Something about bicycles," I was made to understand. "The crew from San Francisco. They ride track bikes," Nobu told me. "And they just made a movie about it." And an hour and a half later, I had definitely seen something about bicycles, but in the same way that Blind's

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-62619014127763606732011-10-19T23:21:00.000-06:002011-10-19T23:21:17.383-06:00

fleeting summer lines Goddamn tragedy, October's nearly expired.

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-21697052279995289772011-09-03T11:07:00.000-06:002011-09-03T11:10:26.802-06:00

cleft-chinned and exceedingly handsome PR specialist, George Hincapie warms up for the prologue stage One year ago, I did a fairly commendable job of completely missing out on the Tour of Utah, despite feeling genuinely interested when it rolled through town (and literally past my doorstep). Perhaps I was too busy being a totally radical bicycle messenger, or simply couldn't be arsed to

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-16269421739912405492011-08-31T23:31:00.001-06:002011-09-01T13:01:24.018-06:00

Cycling, just like any other wheeled pastime, is really just another glorified means of rolling around. There is no greater cause for which to strive, no lives to save, only rolling. But the truth is, it's saved me. Finding that indescribable sense of freedom in these mountains, through rolling and suffering, and suffering and rolling. Freedom saves. It is analogous to life in that through

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-8091253891565317212011-08-28T23:25:00.002-06:002011-08-29T09:08:08.758-06:00

Big storm tonight, rolled in fast out of the desert. Set the Nex3 up with a 30 second shutter, and sat back to wait for lighting to strike the Mormon anthill. didn't take long I think that one fired while I was brushing my teeth.

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-3916523025363931502011-08-17T20:02:00.003-06:002011-08-17T21:04:58.202-06:00

shooty mcshooterson I'll be the first to admit this isn't much of a game review, considering the multiplatform shooter Bulletstorm was released way back in February of this year - which, in the rapidly evolving world of video games, might as well have been February of 1956. Either way, it matters little - this is simply an observation that couldn't be ignored, after watching the end credits

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-53958218915503574822011-08-14T22:42:00.004-06:002011-08-14T23:02:12.643-06:00

The Tour of Utah came to its spectacular conclusion today atop Snowbird Resort in the Little Cottonwood Canyon. Somewhere between the last week of zipping between waypoints, and swinging cowbells, I managed to sneak in a photograph or two thousand. Some of beautiful bicycles, some of suffering on climbs, and some of podium elation. But rather than sift through and post any number of the potential

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-32003202902693653152011-07-06T11:38:00.006-06:002011-08-14T22:55:19.077-06:00

Bicycles are strange. And the people who ride them, even stranger. Fiercely communal, and fiercely maternal - almost to a fault. But the strangeness of the bicycle is more than a way of life; rather an extension of self-expression and freedom. And when our means to access the manifestations of those expressions are compromised - our bicycles are stolen, or our friends injured by a larger

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-75854249440741562632011-06-16T01:20:00.002-06:002011-06-16T01:23:25.198-06:00

chased the sunset up capitol reef, and won Home from St. George, I finally had a chance to wipe down the BMC. Dried droplets of sweat and Gatorade off the carbon top tube. Coffee stains on the white Easton stem. Simple evidences that the finish line came neither quickly, nor easily. The above photo (check out a few more here) was snapped upon completion of my second stage. With my bike now

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-31064068628422759512011-03-31T21:26:00.007-06:002011-04-06T16:37:20.373-06:00

carefully curated all aboard, off to the bike shop It was suggested that I break a bottle of champagne over the top tube in celebration of the completion of my little project. I opted for a sprint up the canyon instead. Now that the BMC has been properly christened, a photo is in order: bonner city Every piece from the Force drivetrain, to the TRP calipers, right down to the bar tape,

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-31277459788718532052011-03-11T00:49:00.002-07:002011-03-11T12:08:29.258-07:00

The way I see it, there are understood to be two schools of thought in buying a bicycle. The foremost, would be to attend a prestigious law school, whereupon graduation, sauntering into a bike shop and dropping thirteen thousand dollars wouldn't seem like much, after having already spent ten years in academia, hemorrhaging cash and common sense. "Getting back in shape," a justifiable and highly

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-28828116946690570442011-03-02T15:47:00.002-07:002011-03-02T15:51:35.901-07:00

The following is a real complaint email I sent to a small New York interior design company who (depending on the outcome) shall not, for the moment, be named. Years in front of a keyboard hammering out jaded responses to customers who allow themselves to be angry, often without rhyme or reason, seemingly conditioned to weasel and coerce CS representatives into getting what they want, when all

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-25388725221132681602011-02-14T19:10:00.004-07:002011-02-16T09:55:08.421-07:00

Warm sun and smooth asphalt might remain the center of a particular two-wheeled universe, but how could one ever expect to appreciate his place in this world, without first taking the time to sample and appreciate the religions of fellow brethren? schralp-worthy synagogue  "three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the gnar"

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-55440580254640344942011-01-19T18:38:00.000-07:002011-01-19T18:38:16.925-07:00

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-48557968014874345132011-01-12T23:02:00.005-07:002011-01-12T23:23:14.789-07:00

clean as a whistle above 8000 Utah is a beautiful place, home to the "best powder on earth." But the unique geography and climate here that give powderwhores the world over something to get radical in and write home about, is also responsible for a unique brand of "inversion" - something a little more sinister than a few powdery face shots. The legendary high-pressure systems over the Great

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-49617904778742599282011-01-04T20:26:00.003-07:002011-01-04T20:35:52.590-07:00

...but inside? Kinda busy making summer plans.

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-72119416094722897172010-12-28T00:16:00.003-07:002010-12-28T00:21:31.161-07:00

This project started organically, and as small as could possibly be imagined. With my Canon G10 riding shotgun, I'd snap random photographs of my friends riding their bikes, and scrawling shorthand notes about their character and style, in moleskine margins. And as I sat at Starbucks in the Omote-cho, hiding from the withering summer heat outside, those notes took shape on my laptop, growing into

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-8352481130434380042010-12-15T11:40:00.006-07:002010-12-15T13:14:07.208-07:00

My bicycle is my best friend. It is my life.  I must master it, as I must master my life.  My bicycle without me, is useless. Without my bicycle, I am useless.

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-57099813713222447822010-12-08T19:13:00.002-07:002010-12-08T19:32:43.514-07:00

Before and after the storm.

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-47433249052354376382010-11-19T13:24:00.003-07:002010-11-19T13:31:49.169-07:00

While waiting in line for a clerk to take a number of my filings at the court earlier this week, I found myself behind a heavyset and bearded miscreant, paying some unspecified dues to society. An otherwise insignificant individual at a such a place where repercussions for poor life decisions (most commonly beginning with "meth," and ending with "jail") come to either a monetary or sentencing

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-36435816908515618842010-11-17T18:29:00.000-07:002010-11-17T18:29:45.188-07:00

...a biker's delight. but for how long? 

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-67581627837495689472010-11-11T16:22:00.003-07:002010-11-11T23:37:37.040-07:00

Still one of my all-time favorite lists; "toast crumbs on butter, skin on pudding, mushy bananas, dried catsup on the bottle rim," and on and on. Then Hobbs chimes in; "how about excessively negative people?" "Yeah!" Calvin agrees. Now, as inspirational as that Sunday morning newspaper exchange between two childhood heroes may have been, while I don't consider myself an "excessively negative"

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-43012822829152685952010-11-09T19:09:00.000-07:002010-11-10T19:48:04.264-07:00

yeah, I'd hit that

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-59716463161067651352010-10-27T18:03:00.003-06:002010-10-27T18:08:01.465-06:00

I honestly don't have a lot of good to say about Gamestop. Neither do a lot of other outspoken and equally disgruntled nerds. While it's easy enough to hate the corporation for good, and multiple reason, some of those reasons and shady sales practices can be either ignored or circumvented (as can the red-shirted, mouth-breathing cretins that the chain insists on staffing their stores with), quite

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-52103828981046324652010-10-13T12:24:00.001-06:002010-10-13T12:27:21.576-06:00

"Um... You know you're bleeding, right?" Yeah yeah, I knew I was bleeding. The red mess was hardly subtle, to say in the least. Just my luck; hopped a curb and ended up hitting the pavement harder than I would have liked on the way to the shoot, resulting in a pair of grisly stains on my forearm and jersey. More inopportune timing than anything - thankfully, when my turn came to look at the

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-1648821276650678232010-09-29T17:06:00.002-06:002010-09-29T17:17:43.973-06:00

teeth cut on 15 tooth dura ace Riding as a messenger, it's pretty hard to go easy on your gear - the day in / day out routine definitely exponentiates the rapidity at which entropy attacks everything used to perform the job. Constant sliding of straps over shoulders tears through t-shirts, saddles wear out shorts, shorts wear out saddles, keys wear out the barrels which wear out the grooves in

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-60128680287055210582010-09-27T01:44:00.005-06:002010-09-27T02:01:21.150-06:00

Spent the majority of the past week in Las Vegas for Interbike, wherein the better part of three days was filled ripping wheelies on the strip, dry-humping frames I'll never own, and racing the city with a crew of riders whose exploits until now, I'd only seen from the safety of my own computer screen. Blowing red lights and dodging drunk revelers and gawking motorists with the legendary MASH

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-89443630870454502782010-09-01T22:04:00.002-06:002010-09-01T22:06:13.238-06:00

eat. sleep. love what you do tools of the trade loading up for everyone else lunch. stop the clock late afternoon courthouse rushes can see my house from here one more rush beer-thirty at dispatch dinner at the 'gal

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comSalt Lake City, UT, USA40.7607793 -111.891047440.6307558 -112.1245069 40.8908028 -111.65758790000001tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-48054258849848592212010-08-25T18:29:00.006-06:002010-08-25T18:35:58.312-06:00

"This is Alfred. He hasn't long to live." ...Or so I was told, upon receipt of my first potted plant. My neighbor was moving, and parting out what was left of the unkempt garden she'd amassed on the porch. Alfred is a Ficus. In stark contrast to the day I took his wilted fronds in, his small leaves are now as plentiful as the myriad of lucrative sponsorships which adorn his green plastic pot.

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-60163348252633532822010-08-24T00:34:00.000-06:002010-08-24T00:34:21.249-06:00

It's hard to pinpoint where exactly this summer has gone. Without any bearing on where I've been or what I've done, it feels more like I've just caught myself after sifting through the pockets of a mess pack for my apartment keys, or my phone as it rings. Behind the oblivious scene on my white porch, the world moves as though in a time lapse, waiting not even for me. My hand finally stumbles

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-68098951123419554632010-05-06T02:12:00.004-06:002010-05-06T02:40:50.541-06:00

big as a goddamn building There isn't a lot about the Mission Workshop Vandal that hasn't already been said or shown; from the bag's storied pedigree, and bomber "made in the motherland" construction, to its feature-rich versatility, and all-around stability and comfort under heavy load. These things are all true, and all very awesome. All generally understated though, as the conclusion that

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-27791820346359551142010-04-30T23:16:00.011-06:002010-05-03T01:19:19.193-06:00

slcereal skyline So you think a bicycle is the cheapest way to get around? It's not when you're shoving a box of cereal up your ass every ten hours. 

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-20192482184466189422010-04-28T17:59:00.004-06:002010-04-29T21:58:24.555-06:00

I don't understand winter sports. Winter mentalities. Winter people. Now that Spring's subjective arrival is finally upon the city, and the clean, symmetrical office landscape is no longer punctuated by fat twintips and slender tellys leaning against every other cubicle, I'd like to take a moment to look back on this past winter, and the alien species I spent it with. Our differences were

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-21100493919924437632010-04-27T23:13:00.000-06:002010-04-28T16:03:21.123-06:00

...bet you a Canadian tuxedo he's not coming up that street to chillax at the Mormon temple.

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-12814084166173908092010-04-22T01:17:00.002-06:002010-04-22T01:20:38.044-06:00

When you go to work in an ice cream shop, I couldn't imagine ever being forewarned "dude, you know you're gonna be eating a lot of ice cream, right?" Or before taking a job at one of the fastest growing outdoor gear retailers on the planet, "dude, you know you're gonna be buying a lot of awesome shit and never saving money, right?" Ominous forewarning, or blatant admission of the obvious

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-73465493415765834012010-04-10T22:55:00.004-06:002010-04-11T23:29:54.429-06:00

(n): the diminishing of a physiological or emotional response to a frequently repeated stimulus 

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-54169825213728998842010-03-24T23:51:00.003-06:002010-03-25T00:05:09.946-06:00

Moments after the above photograph was taken, I was called upon by a surly state trooper patrolling the capitol building grounds, after hours. Stabbing a meaty, gloved finger at the small, foot-high fence my tripod stood behind, "excu--se me son, but what do you think that fence is here for?" he bellowed out. A stupid question, asked overtly harshly, given the nature of my apparent "encroachment

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-71997928900187231552010-03-22T00:57:00.005-06:002010-03-22T01:05:30.463-06:00

would one of you assholes please tell me which season I finally get laid? Over the course of the last three years, I have derived a fair amount of my life's explanation from Lost--a show so teetering precariously on the verge of total coherent collapse, I can't even admit to liking anymore. Making sense of the show's plot, which has been riddled so full of holes, side stories, twists, and

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-82447302037819853172010-03-17T23:44:00.002-06:002010-03-17T23:46:44.780-06:00

The change from winter to spring is always gradual, so it's not until that first day where the mercury hits 55, where I realize I have, in my current possession, not a single pair of shorts--a conundrum quickly rectified by borrowing a pair of scissors from my devoutly religious neighbor. Anyone with a bicycle quickly realizes the sub-45 degree temperature threshold has been broken, including the

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-33492026234603586782010-03-06T23:56:00.002-07:002010-03-06T23:59:59.191-07:00

The following is a heavily opinionated piece on the state of the bicycle community, for Fietspad Magazine, written in response to a series of collective responses to a Tokyo/Osaka fixed-gear tour by a group of American riders. It is also worth noting that the author jovially relinquishes any and all editorial credibility through the usage of juvenile scatological metaphors and saying 'fuck' to

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-73109409267136277602010-03-03T15:07:00.010-07:002010-03-03T17:43:48.125-07:00

As a kid, I guess it's kind of like collecting basketball cards. Worshipping these heroes--their prowess, exploits, and statistics on cardboard laminate, and then one day, finally getting courtside seats to the all-star game, with every last one of them in attendance. For ex-angsty teenagers, I guess the same elation could be traced to music. Definitely a weird feeling, spending the last ten

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-27245063885132833352010-02-28T01:51:00.001-07:002010-02-28T01:54:33.746-07:00

I'm still kind of blown away, how selfishly loving to ride my bicycle while taking pictures of my friends doing the same, has taken shape in the way it has. In photo, and in text, the Sonadei collaboration soldiers on. While we haven't yet committed an official name to the project, this is just the pet title I started labeling my folders, for reference. And it kinda stuck. Got really lucky on

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-58670006306188393212010-02-17T19:35:00.002-07:002010-02-17T19:37:12.095-07:00

The world is right again.

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-70349360746943186622010-02-16T22:11:00.005-07:002010-02-17T00:27:40.423-07:00

So, I heard tomorrow was Lent. Now, not being Catholic, I wouldn't have known this, had one of my devoutly Catholic Facebook acquaintances not smugly announced he would be giving up Facebook for the entirety of Lent, and that he could henceforth only be reached via snail mail, carrier pigeon, or whimsically punctuated columns of white smoke. While I can't say that I'm disappointed that my main

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-63704186778860727342010-02-12T01:58:00.004-07:002010-02-12T02:13:08.439-07:00

pedal, damn it Back in December of 2006, two days before I left Findlay, and just over a month before I moved to Japan, I sold my decrepit, barely street-legal Dodge Shadow for $200. From the photograph, I think you'll agree that I made off with several hundred dollars more than the jalopy was actually worth. Dirty money, maybe. But no regrets. Sometimes I wonder where the old Shadow is now. We

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-604291227795864992010-02-09T01:30:00.002-07:002010-02-12T02:32:30.752-07:00

They say the only stupid question is the unasked one, but I beg to differ. There is a mighty metric shitload of stupid questions out there that have been asked with perfectly quizzical intentions. Whether or not you have the audacity to ask is a whole separate issue. So anyway, on the redesigned DI, in lieu of the contact page--which I've made rid of, I'm instead opting for a more "open forum"

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-56621255164067117732010-02-07T23:47:00.001-07:002010-02-07T23:47:38.549-07:00

...they say a lot about your personality. Mostly, "I don't ask to date your daughter."

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-68836687805044957402010-02-06T00:49:00.004-07:002010-02-06T01:22:27.250-07:00

Been meaning to do this for quite some time, but I finally got around to gathering all the header images I've collected over the past two years of blogging, and posted them in a single location. A Disappointed visual timeline of sorts. Amazing, the places where only two colors can take you. Black and Whites

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-84755774840217875572010-01-28T19:59:00.001-07:002010-01-29T00:40:02.081-07:00

In the never-ending battle with personal insecurity, the DI is getting another digital boob job. And maybe that procedure where they take ass fat and shoot it under the eyebrows and into the chin. Only if I've got time, though. So say goodbye to these saggy knockers, but just be aware that things might be a bit loopy, jumping back and forth between code for the next day week or so.

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-21970250529785470842010-01-20T02:02:00.003-07:002010-01-31T18:24:29.899-07:00

Back when the rest of the internet was basking in the collective aroma of their own self-righteous farts, and writing "top ten" lists for the soon-to-be-passing 2009, I was still without a computer--stuck on my phone, and unable to add to the meaningless pile of one-through-ten drivel that typically fills the blogosphere from November to December of every year. I'm well aware that it's now

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-58691381648832427902010-01-19T09:53:00.001-07:002010-01-19T09:59:04.610-07:00

...been kinda nice, actually. Probably because they're not allowed to have all the loud sex.

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-89938487080510188212010-01-14T01:33:00.009-07:002010-01-31T19:29:41.408-07:00

Now, I wouldn't ever condone not wearing a helmet when riding, but it always seemed somewhat hypocritical for me to wear one, while voluntarily riding a bike without brakes. I mean, does observing one small safety measure grant free passage to a whole host of separately irresponsible behavior? Would you insist on drinking from a glass of carefully filtered water in one hand, while scarfing down a

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-82642047385306495882010-01-09T23:48:00.002-07:002010-01-10T00:07:52.273-07:00

It's always a chore to get the keyboard clicking again. The rolling of the proverbial ball. Especially when you don't have a good reason why it even stopped rolling in the first place. Most excuses are typical internet drivel; got bored, mom canceled internet/WoW subscription, flunked out of college, forced to get job, murdered homeless man and went on the lam, etc etc. What we really need to

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-17173908290292906982010-01-07T02:31:00.000-07:002010-01-07T02:31:22.649-07:00

Here's to the new year; collecting pieces, and finding the places they belong. Nice to be back.

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-53777692386898156482009-12-07T00:23:00.000-07:002009-12-07T00:23:27.321-07:00

Every once in so often, my iPod is blessed with a new tune that so perfectly encapsulates the trajectory of my life in that very moment, it's easy for my ego to believe that the song was written for me, and only for me.  I just sit and listen. Listen and wait; perched on the top tube of my Flite 500, staring at boxcars whizzing by--a steady stream of rust punctuated by various shades of

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-61635985585554763682009-12-01T12:50:00.003-07:002009-12-01T13:35:00.177-07:00

I'm not sure what I was thinking when I thought my world could stand on its own for almost two months without my computer propping it up. Granted, there were perfectly legitimate reasons for leaving it at the time, but rational thought was quickly hurled from the speeding moving van to the wayside as I now stare at this Macbook-shaped emptiness on my desk. Again, I find myself the sucker on the

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-39801765178548286632009-11-26T16:11:00.000-07:002009-11-26T16:11:36.232-07:00

Well here we are--fitting that three weeks of radio silence brings us to Thanksgiving, a day where I can finally reflect on this recent, ongoing period of foolhardy transition and say that I am most thankful for the metaphorical seat of my own pants--by which I've spent this entire month flying on. More specifically though, in no particular order, would be my iPhone, for without, none of the

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-76894950339450533062009-11-07T22:49:00.000-07:002009-11-07T22:49:09.985-07:00

Sure sure, everybody says there's more than one way to skin a cat, but I'll be damned if there's more than one way to pack a bike box. Case in point: "drunk" I think we did a little better this time around: Guess that means the KHS and I are finally ready to go. But where are we going? Keep an eye on the twitter feed--mobile updates soon...

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-553251134313034892009-11-05T22:03:00.000-07:002009-11-05T22:03:14.946-07:00

After nearly two months of inactivity, the rickety old Disappointed Idealist yurt is finally moving again. And again, just like before, in the preparation stages we find ourselves surrounded by scores of bags and boxes. Some labeled "t-shirts," others, "crappy satire." Some fit into still larger bags and boxes awaiting departure, like awkward, Matryoshka dolls if they came flavored in the likes

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-49512629793626018012009-10-29T12:25:00.008-06:002009-10-30T22:03:30.043-06:00

H1N1. Swine flu. La gripe porcina. 豚インフルエンザ. Bacon Lung. SARS 2: Pig in the City. Please excuse me while I change my pants. The Black Death of this generation carries many names--only several of which I am currently privy to. But what is H1N1 exactly? I'll tell you what it is--it's the 'hush' that falls over a conversation upon news of it befalling another victim, perhaps a friend of

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-80154329239573716732009-10-16T18:29:00.006-06:002009-10-16T18:34:47.991-06:00

author's note:  [the following sermon was written in rebuttal to certain comments from a drunken music argument that I once had with a college radio personality (and devout hipster). spex, if you see this, yeah I know it's two years late. get bent] no, I am not gay It's time I came clean. Peel back the thick, digital layers of my meticulously organized iTunes collection, tucked between rows

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-7233239655287902572009-10-08T02:19:00.005-06:002009-10-08T02:29:11.159-06:00

What is it about the 'r' word, that we as humans can't seem to bring ourselves to admit to having? It's as if a mistaken utterance might suggest a portion of our life was lived in error. In vain, and we're left to mop up the repercussions. Who's to blame for insecurity uttering that classic two word cliche (well that, and "everybody wang chung tonight") at the end of the bar? Defiantly, on the

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-9941522432477917002009-10-06T15:57:00.004-06:002009-10-06T17:14:07.081-06:00

timestamps never worked on 35mm cameras either As evidenced in the above Lime Lake photograph taken on my now retired Pentax IQ, I used to ride a different road bike (different from the one I spent the last year "curating"), one which took me all across Leelanau County before life took me across the Pacific. Was definitely a different rider back then, inexplicably requiring all sorts of

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-43189131415631213162009-09-30T12:53:00.002-06:002009-09-30T12:57:10.174-06:00

At my most recent visit to the dentist back in May of this year, along with the usual scolding about not flossing enough (re: "ever"), I was given, on my way out, what could be best described as a "grab bag of failure." Therein, along with my usual dinosaur toothbrush kit (per request), I was also given several metric tons of dental floss in a variety of colorways, lengthways, flavourways, and "

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-2848475189675996732009-09-23T18:37:00.003-06:002009-09-23T18:38:52.404-06:00

check out the rest of the day's photos here It was just past seven in the morning. Thanks to an earthquake mangling a section of the highway somewhere near Shizuoka, the bus arrived late. I was somewhat rudely awoken by the driver apologizing for the previous night's act of God. I pulled the Langster off the bus at Odaiba. Sun still on its way up, I found a quiet corner under the ferris wheel,

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-3570663659852884362009-09-21T17:00:00.002-06:002009-09-21T17:05:02.379-06:00

Every year, summer's last breath is always on a different note, and in a different color. And if I had to guess, with so many more logical hues to choose from, blue probably wouldn't be my first. But it's been a summer of firsts. And if you look closely, you can almost smell the winds of change. Something's coming. I'm ready. [Check out the rest of the gallery here] 

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-28238982378486399622009-09-19T00:44:00.001-06:002009-09-19T00:44:24.176-06:00

Great to see the Okayama Headset crew still tearing it up. Sundays at Momosta. Highlight of the video though is around the 0:46 mark, finding Yuji in rare form as he ends a nice little no-handed wheelie by pitching his brand new Volume into a brick tree planter. His later appointment with the pavement at 2:20 is equally spectacular. Props to my boy TK for putting this one together. At first, I

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-50868057024391067002009-09-17T23:05:00.002-06:002009-09-17T23:23:26.889-06:00

only as good as your latest project Shooting an entire project guerrilla style is a bit daunting--going into the shoot with only a base knowledge of the surroundings and a scratch pad with 'concepts' or expectations of shots. Sorta like hucking a rolling camera off a fifty-story building, and just hoping it manages to capture all the elements of a total free fall--the surrounding buildings, the

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-89000581769142322842009-09-10T19:21:00.003-06:002009-09-10T19:26:31.468-06:00

Yuta built my first wheelset, and later helped me install my 144bcd cranks and bottom bracket. Takuya the Slinger of Yakitori was always good for a hearty 'kampai' and laugh or two. Definitely wish I'd had more time to put together something a bit more robust for the Soft Cream shop crew, but this will have to do. For now, at least. Genuinely wish these dudes the best. [music by Gossip and

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-39736972652555081062009-09-08T19:42:00.007-06:002009-09-08T19:48:07.866-06:00

"Someone I swore I’d never bewho trades his dreams for securitywalks this city blindly...What you need is a sharp knife, son..."

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-66726260310546031772009-09-03T19:26:00.005-06:002009-09-03T21:45:08.203-06:00

oky city version This is what the Langster looked like, finally completed early last week--only three days before I was to take it apart and put it in a box to be left it in the hands of Delta Airline's dubiously capable baggage staff. To say the box was packed hastily would be something of an understatement. Under the bus stop awning, under the fierce gaze of the bus ticketmaster, and still

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-8597721363379677572009-08-31T04:42:00.003-06:002009-09-03T19:33:20.555-06:00

And just like that, it's over. Neither Twitter nor pen & paper would suffice, as the last 96 hours have slipped by faster than I was capable of documenting them. But despite the caffeine and alcohol-fueled haze, I only remember being with the people that mattered, and details--smallish ones, in bits and pieces: wrestling boxes down at the post office, sbux at 2, and then again at 6. Gin and

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-52380949350038003852009-08-24T21:56:00.000-06:002009-08-24T21:56:09.069-06:00

Somewhere between all the recent cleaning and packing and drinking and cleaning and packing and riding and arguing with the city's idiot sanitation crews, I've still been squeezing in quiet moments at Starbucks for a cup of coffee and a window to hammer at the photobook project. Mostly writing, and editing, organizing the photos to be used. I attach my work to emails and drop them into a narrow

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-43199032734070338462009-08-18T03:44:00.002-06:002009-08-18T03:55:33.377-06:00

[click to enlarge]all fun and games until... Stumbled across this brilliant homemade nugget of expat wisdom (100% imparted firsthand) as I was cleaning out some files this afternoon. And honestly, I don't think it's grown any less relevant in the year or so it has sat entirely forgotten, accumulating digital dust on my work flash drive. I realize that community college classes may have just 

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-39655848289589506492009-08-15T09:16:00.001-06:002009-08-15T09:17:47.578-06:00

step 1: remove lens cap, asshole For lack of more evocative and less overused vocabulary, the Tokyo ride will, for the time being, have to settle with being merely described as "epic." However, once the footage viewing and initial selection process has been run through stage one of the Final Cut juicer, I may be able to attach other delicious adjectives to tide you over while you wait for the

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-72028081005213461192009-08-09T09:29:00.003-06:002009-08-09T09:33:02.937-06:00

Kinash and I made it about 100 yards out from under the bridge where we were dry and drunk with everyone else, before getting completely soaked in yet another late-tsuyu downpour. Not willing to allow my new unsealed track bearings to fill with water, I bolted for the Omotecho arcade, to hole up and wait it out. Kinash also obliged, taking out a book. I had my camera. We've all spent the entire

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-64795629556291400242009-08-07T13:22:00.000-06:002009-08-07T13:22:16.091-06:00

I want to say all this feels like a countdown, but to what, I won't know until I've already left.

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-81746979876213738452009-08-05T11:02:00.008-06:002009-08-05T11:24:52.275-06:00

"Yo, I don't think you wanna stand there" "It's cool, this is the angle I want. Just don't hit the spine straight on" "You sure?" "Yeah, it should look sick--maybe just try to stick the landing at an angle" "Sure thing chief" Video forthcoming. In the meantime, somebody please sponsor the shit out of these guys.

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-2591856303840793662009-07-31T22:50:00.004-06:002009-07-31T23:06:12.953-06:00

If she were maybe forty or fifty years younger, I'd hardly be ashamed to say that Mrs. Kyokawa and I were dating. I mean, we've pretty much already established the trappings of a seasoned relationship. She's relentless in her impatience, calling me all the damn time, wanting to know where I am and when I'll be home. And when I do finally get home, there she is, sitting on my porch steps and

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-5833112564984923412009-07-30T23:01:00.000-06:002009-07-30T23:01:26.940-06:00

I like the sound of the hallway fish tank. The perpetual filter trickle reassures the stale air, drowns out the scratching pencils, scribbling on to higher education, but lower expectations. Numbers and facts, displaced; a process systematically unlearned along the way. Unbuckled, the heart from above the legs. Six months in, and four months dead. Eight months gone, twelve months ago. Two

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-71158191508827034442009-07-24T09:26:00.001-06:002009-07-24T09:35:32.443-06:00

straight fuckin' hugo boss Got to thinking that life in all this two-tone OCD was starting to get a little mental. Things could always use a little more blue. And a little Pocky.

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-60043169896441977422009-07-18T19:02:00.000-06:002009-07-18T19:02:40.652-06:00

Waiting for the bus, waiting for a train, waiting for that flight. Waiting for the weekend, waiting for payday. Waiting for the rice maker, the doorbell, for the chime on the microwave. Waiting for the postman, waiting for the phone to ring. Waiting. Like a list on some drawn-out game of bingo, we tick them off, one by one. Start waiting on the next. Maybe when it amounts to enough, we get a

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-31023330506477186372009-07-16T01:34:00.001-06:002009-07-16T01:34:45.705-06:00

punk rock wiener Ever get the feeling that your wiener was trying too hard? That its efforts to go above and beyond your expectations were just coming off as phony and uninspired? Remember the days when a hot dog could just be a hot dog without having to be a "kosher turkey identity crisis nesting in a fresh-baked spelt bun and smothered in spicy chipotle daikon dressing?"  Meet the defiant

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-31189440704620830852009-07-13T05:35:00.002-06:002009-07-13T05:39:45.485-06:00

"Please describe in as few words as possible, the nature of your relationship with the defendant."

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-74129756793546751262009-07-11T11:41:00.003-06:002009-07-11T11:59:32.326-06:00

why so serious? It took more than a bit of work, but I think I finally figured out how to get a half serious photograph of Kaste. Set him up with fresh hubs and a pair of rims to build into, and he's as serious as a heart attack. However, a generous estimate would say that this little pretense of his unfortunately only lasts about fifteen seconds: oh. nevermind He's got a "

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-43516134405713877622009-07-06T23:12:00.012-06:002009-07-07T02:11:54.537-06:00

call this number if you care Because I came in when they'd already long since been on their way out, it's hard to imagine what these arcades used to look like. Prefer to think they were once full of life though; families shopping on weekends, couples casually strolling out of the heat on summer dates, and other equally sappy Japanese summertime leisures. There are so many shutters now, it's

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-3635526218977422572009-07-05T08:46:00.026-06:002009-07-08T08:54:55.299-06:00

Once home to a quarry and refinery known for its prized granite in the bustling industrial revolution of yesteryear, the island's industry has been put to quiet rest; its skeletal remains now the centerpiece for a thriving art project. And like the island's history, the people who come here, transformed as well. People I knew well in Okayama City--the construction workers, the yakitori chefs,

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-46316840497089671222009-07-01T22:19:00.051-06:002009-07-05T09:21:35.817-06:00

By now I should have already been back to Adelaide. Back to Beppu, and then on to Tokyo. My summer should have already been filled with the pattering of little feet on foreign soil, but due to "fear of death" at the hands of the ruthless and unstoppable swine flu pandemic, every last one of my international programs met the business end of the almighty hype-beast's ax. Fine, whatever. I can deal

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-19178901905200954792009-06-29T01:55:00.006-06:002009-07-11T11:45:38.512-06:00

It could be argued that innovation, no matter how outlandish it may be, is always still a step forward of sorts. However, that doesn't mean the creative minds at the helm of said innovative step forward are exempt from being complete morons. Case in point, anybody remember Crystal Pepsi? I know, even though it hardly bears worth remembering, everyone seems to use it as a benchmark of sorts, back

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-52332779776072803342009-06-24T09:36:00.002-06:002009-06-24T09:45:41.955-06:00

add sliced lime, dash of kobe. serve iced Sapphire and tonic with a lime is the quintessential summer evening nightcap. Anyone wanting to suggest otherwise, may kindly turn in their pretentious bar tab and get the fuck out.

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-43854411836633644372009-06-17T09:33:00.002-06:002009-06-17T21:37:15.280-06:00

(stink) eye of the storm I go through these sweltering afternoons where I'm just praying it would rain. Sit by my porch window with a tea sandwich or a can of coffee and watch life outside scramble for cover before getting washed away in the sudden downpour. But then there are afternoons like yesterday where I'm just praying that the same rain would just hold the fuck off--ten more minutes, just

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-34625643951387683502009-06-13T04:13:00.000-06:002009-06-13T04:13:48.907-06:00

the wrong foot in question Mattsun's life on a fixie really started off on the wrong foot. Skidding face-first into a closed storefront shutter on camera will probably do that to you. But since his admittedly hilarious debut late last year, he's tightened up his skids and dumped his brakes. Still carries that rapid-fire "yes coach" style of speech he uses on the baseball field, but has loosened

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-63422048211280565922009-06-10T23:50:00.062-06:002009-06-19T02:33:42.880-06:00

News in BriefMore News, More BriefsWeek of June 8 * I just realized I have not done a 'briefs' since October of last year. I have missed the briefs. The briefs have missed me. But as you can see, the briefs have triumphantly returned. Rejoice.  * With a certain degree of uncertainty, a recently released album by Paolo Nutini was purchased. It is drastically different than what was expected.

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-78701574378478204012009-06-04T20:14:00.002-06:002009-06-04T20:50:45.586-06:00

He who breaks up fights during class with Japanese schoolchildren might take care, lest he thereby become one. And if you gaze for long into the abyss of the instigating bully's eyes, the wanton abyss gazes also into you.

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29908185.post-57621870933990914062009-05-29T08:47:00.002-06:002009-05-29T09:35:27.168-06:00

yes virginia, it's HD 1. Get industry-leading POV camera 2. Mount camera to old skateboard helmet 3. ???? 4. Profit! Provided #3 has nothing to do with the rear end of a taxi or a storefront shutter, I'd say we just might have the trappings of a kickass summer. Commencing Fixed and the City: Part Deux.

Dagbertnoreply@blogger.com