Discombobulation Station

New Home, New Reasons for Ridiculous Projects

One distraction I had while I was getting ready to move was talking to my then-housemate about a project I wanted to do for our new kitchen. A restaurant in Evanston had these really cool mini chandeliers made from colander strainers and dangling crystals. Fabulous and kitchy, perfect for the kitchen, no?

So three weeks after the move, my bestie comes in from Ohio ostensibly to help me "settle in." So I kinda put this project aside and we took some donated crystals (thanks Bef!) and an old colander to motoboy's shop on a Friday night to work on it. He was pretty hands off about it so we had to wield the power tools and such ourselves. Even though his buddy from the next space down got involved (it might have had something to do with the six feet of blonde I brought with me). We documented the process so you can have one too.

First, count the amount of crystals you have. Then take a measure of flexible cord or electrical wire and wrap it around the lip of the strainer to measure it. Flatten this out alongside a ruler and divide the number of inches by the number of crystals. Approximate so they are evenly spaced and mark the flexible wire accordingly. Arrange the wire back on the lip of the colander and mark those holes on the metal to match. Then get a friend to sit indian style on a work bench holding the colander in place while you use a power drill and a small bit to get all the holes drilled. Make sure you take a sip of beer between each hole for courage. (We started documenting late in the game but you can see the holes as drilled below.)

Next get what motoby calls a whole saw (not a half saw?) so you can sand
down the rivets in the handles. Apparently the rivets are just made of aluminum so they are really soft. Once you get one side worn away the other will break off. Repeat for the little feet too. 

We measured what we thought would be a good hole for the top - enough to let the lightbulb screw in and keep the chandelier in place once it was in there. For this our handy friend went to his shop and grabbed a special bit for the drill. I don't know what it is called but I will illustrate it below (its the white thing that goes on the end of the drill).

Make sure you test the colander out at this point - if the hole is not big enough the connection with the screwing will not be made. (Ha!) I mean, the light bulb has to have enough threads aligned to actually make the electrical connection, so you might have to finagle it a bit by using...oh crap we didn't do this part some boy fixed it for us. I'll find out what he used, maybe a sander on a drill bit. Made the hole just a wee bit bigger but not so big the lightbulb would fall through.

Also, if those pesky rivets won't come out after you've sanded them down, you can gently tap them out with a hole punch and a hammer (see right). Or a screwdriver or whatever is handy. Be careful not to dent the shape at this point. But if your friends do sheet metal work they will take the colander away to another room and come back with a perfectly round one. They have hammers and molds and such. (I'm telling you, we all really got into this project.)

Now, if you've actually used this colander for straining pastas and steaming veg, you are going to notice some gunk under the handles and feet that you just removed. You might be in a work area without a sink and brillo pads (hopefully your bathroom is not three floors above you and without tp). We discovered something wonderful called Nevr-Dull, which is basically petroleom and cotton wadding. It worked like magic to get all the nasty rusty bits off from under the handles.

We had considered many ways for affixing the crystals to the colander - fishing wire, christmas tree ornament wire, clear jeweler's wire. But once we got around the racing boys they had a better idea. Motorcycle safety wire. It's stainless steel wire that you make look really pretty and fancy by using this odd tool that spins it. Our friend from the next shop over tried to teach us how to use it, I was crap at it but my bestie was determined and soon proved to be a pro.

She also sustained an injury, but kept on working. We were not leaving the shop without these damn crystals affixed with the pretty safety wire.

So there you have it! Beer + power tools + fully stocked motorcycle garage = beautiful colander crystal chandelier. Which has to hang in the pantry because we have a florescent light box in the kitchen. Oh well. That's one fancy pantry.

xo

E.

 

 

The Rise and Fall of a Motorcycle Career

Well we all know where it started. There was that blind date, that -shhh!- internet date, about two years ago. I came on my scooter, he came on his - what is that? - ratbike, we had brie and wine by the lake and that was that. I was smitten. Next thing I knew we were touring Wisconsin on the back of his new bike (an old Harley), bought especially to house my delicate behind and we cruised country roads looking for cheese curds and strong beer. I was happy enough with this arrangement, and then our first winter fell upon us. What to do now? No bikes, no boats? He made a small decision on his own, and couldn't keep a secret for the 24 hours it took before I saw him at the airport. We were traveling to the east coast to visit his family.

"I have a secret," he said, his face absolutely squirrely with delight.

"Oh yeah, what is it?" I knew it couldn't be long. 

"I'm not telling you, its a Christmas present!"

[Beat.]

"I bought you a motorcycle!"

What? I didn't ask for a motorcycle, but I smiled along and asked him all about it. As the weekend went on I warned him that I wasn't sure I was built for riding. All that pesky switching of gears. And how big would a 550cc engine seem to me, who was used to a lithe 49ccs on my purple scooter? I would soon find out as the new project moved into his living room and he spent the entire winter working on it. I helped to clean the parts, paint the gas tank, picked out the stripe pattern for the top. There were a few run ins, disagreements of sorts we had about mirrors and turn signals and such. Sometimes I had the feeling the bike had little to do with me, and more something compulsive that he had done a dozen times before. Something that was keeping him sane and focused on motors in the cold Chicago winters.

Last summer I rode it once around the block, being too busy traveling with motoboy and other activities to give it much of a go. It always needed something new - carbs cleaned out, new tires put on. I was happy to bide my time as I had plenty of other modes of transportation available. My favorite of these still being on the back of his Harley with that giant squishy seat that is bigger than my bum. 

I signed up for a free weekend of motorcycle lessons with the state and with the Motorcycle Safety Foundation, scoring a slot online at the beginning of registration, holding vigil at midnight as it opened up some months before. Although I had a learner's permit I felt this was the right thing to do and over the course of the weekend I would gain more confidence and skills that would put me at ease when it was time to get on the bike. Friday night I showed up at a community college in a far northern suburb that I had never been to before. I was greeted by a table full of grouchy middle aged biker gentlemen and assigned to a room. The instructors took charge of the class quickly and made it clear there was going to be no time for niceties, socializing, or war stories. We had a lot of material to cover and we were going to start now. They did, however, have us go around the room and introduce ourselves, explain why we wanted to learn to ride and what our history with bikes might be. I said I was from the scooter world and I knew I had a lot to learn, what with the gearing and everything. They gruffly agreed with me.

After classroom for four hours on Friday night, we had about three more hours Saturday morning, followed by some time on the pavement. I was nervous to get on, and also relieved to be out of the classroom and in the sunny fresh air. I went through two small Harleys before I finally was assigned to a Yamaha dual purpose dirtbike. The first Harley stalled in neutral, no matter where the choke was, and the second Harley had an extremely sticky gear shifter that I could not manage to move with my left toe. The dirtbike was not ideal, I couldn't reach the gear shifter without changing the position of my foot on the peg every time I wanted to shift up to second or third, but I was tired of changing bikes and made it work. I found the weekend really quite grueling. Even though I enjoyed being on the bike and doing the exercises it was six hours in the parking lot each day. I wasn't sure if I was just spoiled for time and luxury since I haven't had to hold down any type of task for six hours straight as of late. I refused to go out on the Saturday night, not even for a meal, and hunkered down to finish on Sunday. We had the written test first thing in the morning, which I only missed one question on, and then five or so more hours of practice and then the road test. By 4pm I was extremely fatigued and starting to see stars, but I pulled on through and only got one point marked against me on all the road tests. Pulling over to join my other classmates, I was so excited to be done I attempted to jump off the bike, with it still running and without the kickstand down! I guess on some level I wanted it to work like my scooter. I quickly grabbed it before it could drop and embarrass me in front of the class and the instructors. 

A few weeks later my bike has had some necessary repairs and motoboy called me and asked if I was coming to pick it up at his offsite garage space. We had been drinking the night before so I assumed I had gained some liquid courage and agreed to do this. Already the idea made me edgy, but I agreed to the plan, thinking that it would be good to have the bike closer to the house. I had a hard time getting my head around the fact that a) neither the state nor the federal government have a problem with me riding such contraption (I have the M classification on my license now), and b) I actually own a bike that is fully licensed, tagged and insured to the highest standards. We had some tense debate about the route -- he wanted to take Western because it is faster and has less stopping, and I wanted to take Kimball because it is slower and I wouldn't have to cross the Belmont bridge. We settle on taking Pulaski north and  head out to get the bike back to my neighborhood. I'm handling it fine, even though it takes a lot of concentration. Ok come out of the stop, stay in first, going faster - try second, stop sign - downshift to first, brakes brakes....wait a second. "These brakes are for shit!" I yell out to motoboy as we go slowly up Pulaski. "Yeah I know!" he replies. I'm wondering if he's trying to kill me but I learn later its just a part of owning an old Honda. I take the bike directly home and fail to be able to park it, as the "idiot lights" tell me I am in neutral but I was actually in first and I stalled it. Oh well, I let him take over and jump on the back of the Harley to go get food and drink. I had three glasses of well-deserved-post-first-ride wine. I smiled tensely, but something was nagging at me in the back of my head.

Why didn't I enjoy that ride at all?

I gave it another shot last week when I had to actually move the bike due to street cleaning. Mostly it sat in the street looking pretty, and gently mocking me. Because I didn't really want to get on it. I took my scooter downtown twice that week, and motoboy asked me why I didn't take the motorcycle. Its too much work, too much to concentrate on when I have other things on my mind. He bought it but he was worried. I hadn't taken to it yet. When I did have to move it I had an ok time going around the neighborhood with the bike. It just seemed really, well, big. And stiff. Like those toy cars they have at the amusement park that go around a leafy area and up and down, under bridges. You can control the speed but you can't really get a feel that you are controlling the car. That's how it felt to me.

So then it sat on the other side of the street, looking pretty and mocking me a little but more, until Saturday night when someone knocked it over in the middle of the night. I went outside to try to lift it but I couldn't. People passing the corner slowed down, a woman heading the other direction kept turning around. Shite. I texted motoboy and he stopped over and put it back up, the only damage being loss of gasoline and the clutch lever being a little misaligned. "Bring it over later this weekend I'll fix it for you." It rained and hailed off and on all day Saturday so I finally mustered up the courage to do it Sunday. I got all my gear on, got it started, pulled out of the parking spot in first, and promptly dropped it on its side nearly grazing the car that was parked in front of me. Gas was spilling out in giant waves as he had checked the levels earlier and forgot to snap the cap back in place (I saw this happen but also forgot to snap it back). My Frye boots slipping on the gas covered pavement I couldn't get a good grip on the bike. A man walking past asked me if I needed help and I didn't even turn around, I just said "yes!" He made his dog lie down in the grass and we got it up in a jiffy. There was gas everywhere, all over the bike and all over my shoes and he questioned whether it was a good idea for me to ride right then. I had the same inclination and told him I was just going to park it. My ankle was sore (the bike fell on it), I smelled like gas, and I wish I was able to pick the damn bike up myself. I wished I felt confident enough to control it. I wished it was smaller and didn't have gears. I wished it was a scooter?

At any rate, I broke the news to motoboy after the movies last night. He was careful not to bring up the incident but I did so first. I said please come take it away. It was causing too many problems between us, and the pressure was too high for me to like it. I was growing resentful of him, and the bike, and any mention of motorcycling was making me cynical and bored. Its ok to have things that one partner enjoys  and the other does not. I enjoy being on the back of the Harley. He's a little bit heartbroken but I am terribly relieved. You can't force these things, especially when some of the emotions are mild terror, frustration, anxiety and danger.

SCOOTERIST 4 EVA.

I gave it the good ole girl scout try. Now back to our regularly scheduled programming. From the back of the purple Honda, my trusty pal.

 

E

Pit Girl

Since I've been off work as of late December, I guess I've decided that its a good time to travel. Jamaica, Las Vegas, Texas, Florida and the Caribbean. Yes your intrepid hero, who has no job, is doing all of this in 2010 and its not even April yet. I have to hide and/or have a controlled release about this news to my parents, who are in their 70s, Irish-American and children of the depression. My dad in particular does not believe that anyone without a steady job should be allowed to have any fun, have a trip, or spend any money at all. So I skipped on telling both him and mom (to protect the innocent) about my little foray to Daytona Beach, Florida, but I will feel free to tell both of you, my readers, all about it.

Motoboy has decided to pick up where he left off some years ago and get back into motorcycle racing - go figure. I fully support things that make him happy so I watched as he worked on a new vintage racebike ('72 Honda CB 350, right) all winter, hung out with him in his new Polish guy-owned-warehouse-cum-garage- space, listened to the daily tallies of work done and parts that need to be won on ebay. And then, I even found myself coincidentally at bike week in Daytona Beach for the AHRMA races. I know Daytona pretty well because my best friend's parents (dad and stepmom) have a waterfront home there. I even know the biker bars pretty well too, walking into them bravely many a moon ago. So my suggestion to motoboy, in order to save car rental or taxi money while we were down there, was to send my scooter down on the box truck along with his racebike when his friends came to pick it up. And for some odd reason, he agreed with this plan.

We got in on a Saturday night and my friend PG picked us up from the airport, as she had moved to Miami for a job some months previously. It was such a treat to see her in another state, her as a local now. We got freshened up in our room, which was cheap and comfortable and ocean front, and found a little free beer and appetizer party in the lobby. It was sponsored by a regional motorcycle magazine made of recycled paper, and we got to meet the very chatty magazine rep. Since this was bike week most of Daytona was taken over with Harleys and choppers. Choppers are those pared down flashy bikes you see with the really long front stems and/or high handlebars called ape hangers. They're not meant for long rides so motoboy doesn't really follow them. The Harleys he can talk about though since he has an old 70s electra glide which we take up to Wisconsin in the summertimes. What was funny about this old broad (who was actually quite attractive) was that she had no interest in riding - she said she had gone to weekend school three times, put her bike down three times, and that was it. Then another woman chimed in to confess that she's been working at a Harley Davisdon dealership for 5 years and has never been on one. This is the part of bike week that is sort of fascinating - its more about the culture of biking, the Harley colors and the bandanna fashion and the rebel posturing than it is actually about riding. We took PG for a tour of Main Street where all the action was and it was definitely worth the walk. But so not our scene. I couldn't help but get a pic of this woman's mega mullet in front of the AC/DC cover band. I am really glad he doesn't buy into any of this stuff - all these people look the same. And traffic jams are only caused by topless body painting going on in the bar window.  How cliche. But they're all just teddy bears and weathered women who like a drink, which is A-OK for a weekend here and there. But its not really about riding. Which is why I was glad I was going to see some real vintage bike racing.

The hardest part about accompanying someone to a race is the fact that nothing is really happening for most of the time. The first day we had to go out to a fairground where the organization was holding its technical inspections, explanations of the course and registration. Once we found the site on the grounds, the first bike I saw before all others was my little purple scooter. Hello baby! Apparently it had suffered some cuts n scrapes on the way down, and the battery had gone weak somehow, but I was happy to see her. When not assisting motoboy with his tech (he claims I was distracting enough to let him slip by the old men on a few issues) I was happily sitting on my scooter in the sun, playing with my iphone and eating New Moon branded chocolates I found under the seat of my bike. (Who gave these to me anyway I can't remember? They were well wrapped and tasty.) The nights before motoboy was racing we were well behaved, and got to the speedway nice and early. He was allowed to practice at 8am and 9.30am and then race at noon. I will leave the race details up to him to divulge as he wasn't very happy with how things turned out. (Here's a video link to his camera mounted on the handlebars.) But I applaud him for riding a new bike for the first time, that he built with his own two hands, on the fucking Daytona Speedway. That's some way to break a bike in. 

But yeah I can't explain how calm and happy I was to just sit around in the sun watching loud old Dukatis, Hondas, Kawasakis and even old Indians and Harleys rev up, over and over again and then take off for the racecourse. I also got to ride my scooter around the infield, racing to the bleachers where I could get good pics of the race, or going in and out of the speedway for a beer run. Maybe this was relaxing because the trip wasn't about me. All I had to do was look cute (easy!), take pictures (fun) and occasionally hold a screw or pour some oil. Two days of racing, however, was definitely my limit. I came home and told my roommate I would not be able to talk about engines or motorcycles for at least another week. And then I began to tell her in detail all about the races. Oh well.

BTW, I take my weekend bike course up in the northern burbs from April 9-11th and then I will be riding this little beauty. Rebuilt '76 Honda CB550. Very slowly and carefully mind. So if you see me on the street just pass on the left, nice n easy ok? But still, no shit talking about the scooter. It got us around Daytona, even if the engine nearly died every time we went over the bridges.

xo

E.

p.s. this is a great photo I took of my favorite SkyMall magazine feature - lookit that cat's face! Whaddya YOU looking at?

Motorcyle Tips

So I email my best friend in Columbus about this and that (usually responding to cute pics and videos relating to her kids, who are my nieces in more ways than the usual) and I finally ask her, "can you explain counter-steering to me?" A very complicated question, and I was delighted with her response.

Rachel’s Tips to Successful Motorcycling:

1.         When you go to stop and make a right turn, get to the furthest right point of the street pointing your bike where you want to go, before you stop

2.         Always use both brakes at once until it becomes natural … that one has saved my life twice

3.         Keep lipstick in an easy to access pocket for your right hand, so you can freshen-up at stoplights

4.         When things get a little squirrely around a tight turn, speed up a little bit

5.         Bring moist towlettes so you can wipe down the gunk off your face once you arrive at your destination

6.         When in doubt, you can always pull the clutch in and go back down to 1, and then go back up to where you want to be

7.         Rachel’s rules of thumb (that Matt gets mad because I should be able to hear when to change gears):

    a.                  1^st: 0-10 (never down-shift to 1^st for turns / parking lots … oops!)

    b.                  2^nd:  10-25

    c.                  3^rd:  25-40

    d.                  4^th: 40-50

    e.                  5^th: 50-110

8.         Keep your keys in your hand when walking into biker bars to subtly represent …I ride my own, bitches

9.         Back into your parking spot … nice and easy exit and according to biker lore, that’s for tough-bikers to have a quick get-a-way

10.         Don’t have kids if you want to avoid fatalistic thoughts about your tire falling off and launching off a bridge.

11.         Don’t’ ride next to cars without an escape plan of where you could go if they “got up on over on you”

12.         Rev, Rev, Rev if someone’s getting up in your business (Matt’s friend Robert would suggest kicking their driver’s door, I’m not that steady / talented)

13.         If you’re having a claustrophobia attack in a tunnel, sing Folsom Prison Blues

Brilliant advice if I do say so myself! My favorites are numbers 3, 5 and 8.

E.

Riding The Iron Horse

I had my first bike lesson last weekend, which was significant because it was the first time I was on a motorcyle – by myself. I have been beating myself up about it for months now. Every since motoboy announced on a trip to Virginia last fall that he had traded in his racing bike for a bike for me. A 1976 Honda CB550. It’s a beautiful bike, and had a lot what I would look for in a motorcycle – its classic, clean, lithe and vintage. But remember, that’s 500ccs more than I am used to.

In the ensuing months, as he totally rebuilt it, cleaned all the pipes, replaced gaskets, painted and pinstriped the gas tank, I would sometimes sit on it on its center stand and think: no way. It’s just so much bigger than my scooter. I couldn’t even manage the kick start once it was street-ready. I certainly couldn’t finagle it back unto its center stand. It was very very heavy.

But in the meantime, I was waking up with lucid dreams that I was on a motorcycle. Granted, scootering season is well upon us, and I have been racking up a lot of miles on my trusty Honda Elite that I have been riding for 10 years without incident. At first the dreams were just tangentially related to motorcycles – I knew I was on one but I have no recollection of the actual mechanics of the thing. And as I started to discuss with other motorcycling friends my worry about being able to master the gear controls (my scooter is “twist and go”) they all scoffed. “You can drive a stick car right? You’ve been riding a scooter in city traffic all this time? It’s a piece of cake.” I still wasn’t sure.

However seeing and sitting on my roommate’s 60s era Honda 160, I started to realize I could mount that puppy. I would sit in motoboy’s garage and practice going through the motions: start, clutch, first, gas, ease. I imagined I would learn on the smaller bike and I was excited about it. The smaller bike, however, has been put into a holding pattern that is motoboy’s garage projects, so it was only a frame for me to gaze upon and fantasize with.

At some point I had the whole dream – I was on the big bike. I vividly remember going through the motions of going through gears – one click down for first, half click to neutral, then up to second and third. I was really riding, and it was an adventure dream. One of my specialties where I have to save lives and conquer the bad guys. I love these dreams because they are built like TV shows and I always win, the sexy heroine.

So at some point I told motoboy I would be ready for a lesson. And Saturday, although I was hungover and feeling a little digestively-challenged, so to speak, I showed up at our pre-arranged time.

We simply wheeled out to the grade school parking lot across the alley from his garage. We got out there, he left it idling on the kickstand, and nodded for me to get on. “Just like this? Just go for it?” Which is kind of what I wanted to do all along. No three hour talk session before we get going. He knew that I knew where everything was. I just wasn’t sure my body would respond to it. My first challenge was just to get it in gear – you can be engaged in first and ride the clutch while gassing slightly to see where that magical place is where the clutch subsides and you get a little movement. For this I could even keep my feet on the ground. After about two goes at this, I was feet up, going forward. Around the corner and back. Probably a good 5 miles per hour. But my main concern was not to drop the bike, so I rode that clutch like a bitch. Soon enough I was grinning ear to ear, going around that tiny parking lot with confidence. At some point I kinda felt like I was on one of those rides at an amusement park, where the car is on a track and all you have to do is not try to hit the cars in front of you. The thing just went of its own compulsion. My next lesson was to find neutral while riding, and try to get into second. I did that no problem, and enjoyed the hum of the engine in second gear intensely. Back to first though to practice my stops. Finding neutral in a stopped position proved elusive, so I just held it in first while I got my next instructions. We did a little stopping practice. Then a break, as it was over 85 degrees in the sun and we were being beckoned back to the garage by his friends working on an old Suzuki.

Upon our break we had someone who had just taken the practical test last week draw us some diagrams of the current road tests. Most of which I learned I had just basically completed in my little jaunt. Motoboy, although a great instructor, proved to be a bad example: not only was he wearing flip-flops and a cowboy hat, but he offered his student a beer. No I would not! Until I was sufficiently finished with the day’s instruction. Bad, bad teacher boy. But he was actually really patient and confident in me.

We used crushed beer cans as markers for a little swerving test, even as a crazy junkie went walking through the parking lot screaming obscenities at motoboy about calling the cops etc. Eventually I got hot enough and took a few laps around the lot to cool down. The result is this video, which I thought I was really showing off for. When I looked at it a few minutes later in his garage I realized it was a video of the sloooowest moving motorcycle in history. But yet – I did not crash or put it down at all, which was my biggest fear.

Enjoy the attached movie which, if you look closely and do not die of boredom, you might be able to see me grin and actually switch from first the second gear. Vroom!

E

New Week

Oh my gawd I have to work a full week of work this week?

Weekend was good. Now that I truly know what that means. I went out for happy hour with motoboy and my workmates, and we actually got picked up by our friends in the burbs (adventurous! coming downtown!) and I think the rest of them all went out later with motoboy's English friend etc. I'll get the scoop tomorrow.

Saturday we spent sanding and polishing Honda cb550 parts. My bike, which I probably saw two times put together in his frigid garage, is now in his living room - in bits. He's sortof, *between decorators* at the moment, so he bought a bit of rug from home depot and the bike got parked in there. And we polished, and I cleaned, and I even used a power tool I was not accustomed to. But let no one say I'm not trying to learn!

And the biggest news in this department is that I got my motorcycle permit license on Friday. I went with motoboy's motofriend's g-friend and she beat me by ten minutes. Which somehow meant I was 45 minutes behind her. I think the guy who had our class of numbers got on the phone for a half hour, and until I asked what was up no one was taking my E-series. But I finally got up there, and you know...I would have got 100% correct if I wasn't so dazed from people and number watching for a half hour. You try it here! But I only got one wrong because I misread "passenger" for "rider" so I know the book well, which I am now instructed by my motorcycling friends to forget. Which I will have done by April or May or whenever all this crusty snow melts.

I feel though that I am being adulterous in a way to my scooter. I would really love to just get another scooter. Although my biking friends insist that if  love scootering, and I can drive stick (which I can, even on the other side of the road, which Danny can attest to), then I will be a natural at motorcycling and I will never want to see my scooter again. Really? Is that really the right approach?

Because, if you know me, you know I love my scooter. Its a fact that every time I get on my scooter and set out for my adventure, I practially say to myself, "I love my goddam scooter." No, not practically, literally. I say it every time. I have a feeling every time I get on my motorcycle I'm going to say, "I hope I don't fucking kill myself." Those are two very different things. And I've warned motoboy that this might happen. And I might just forgo the single person motorcycling thing. And he's going to have to love me either which way.

So this week I have to work 5 days. Which is great since I'm on a day-rate, really. I haven't done this yet because of A and her baby shower and her demanding-ness and all. (Ha ha. Love you A. We had a good time.)  But also I have a 2+ hour interview at another agency on Tuesday and I am wicked nervous for some reason. Who interviews for two hours? What do they want to hear? Shall I talk about my new motorcycle? I don't know how this works anymore.

But I am very glad for the opportunity. Who am I kidding its only ad people who probably just want to know if I watch the same tv shows as them. I watch a lot of tee-vee, despite motoboy's protestations: "Why don't these people just kill themselves?" says he. And I say, "what did we talk about when I'm watching my shows?" Is there anything more postmodern than the current era reality show? I'm just being modern and hip, no?

Wish me luck.

xo

E.

New Project

Oh I am always eager to learn. Sorry for the delayed blogging. I went to land o cleve for most of last week to endure the family Christmas. I have to keep in mind not to romanticize my family's antics, because after mom trashed my art installation and dad was hardly happy for my new freelance gig, I realized I must turn to others for support and praise. Sure they love me blah blah blah but would a "hey - well done!" kill ya?

Anyhoo, I am learning so much this week about cars and diesel and veggie oil conversion. It is me and motoboy's first purchase together and we are holding out for the hero - a 90s era Mercedes 300D. I feel like making a pictogram don't ask me why! Must be all the diagrams and explanations I am demanding from others. Ok here we go.

This guy:

Plus this kit:

Equals a big:

To THE MAN. Plus, I'll get to smell like french fries. If I thought motoboy couldn't keep his hands off me before! Wait. I hope this doesn't open up Tatorgate 2008 all over again. Shouldn't do.

If you have a moment and are interested, feel free to puruse the FAQ on the Frybid site, I am much enjoying it myself and kinda want to have a beer with whoever wrote it. Informative and kinda hilarious!

I'll let you know if we get the car tomorrow. Hurrah! And Happy New Year!

AND....

HAPPY BIRFDAY A!!!

You're so beautiful! That was only last year and now you are all with child and home owning and in love and stuff. What a year!

xo

E.

New Form of Transportation

What do you think of this?

1976 Honda CB550 (not the actual bike in his garage, but same year, make and model):

Even tho I told motoboy not to, that maybe I was a scooter person and he would have to love me for it, he went ahead and traded in his racing bike for this, which he is calling "E's bike."

Don't fret I have all winter to figure out how gears work. It does fit nicely though, I can flat foot on it, and I think we are going to paint it green. And if I don't like it, he would have done so many mods and improvements to it that he could sell it for a profit. 

It's starting to grow on me. But he insists I stop taking motorcycle tips from Twilight and just get on the damn thing to learn. Soon enough. I will give it a shot. Its just for looking cool and going to Delilah's and shit. I'm not too keen on highway trips yet.

E.