I saw the man who was driving the Red Bull truck drinking water. He made the best choice. Water wins.
Have you witnessed any greatness lately?
I saw someone give a homeless woman a blanket. Winter is a great time to be generous. Winter affects those who feel provincially trapped. Share what you can.
I saw two children get told by their mother to wait on the sidewalk. There was an obstacle on the side of the road and she wanted to look around it before letting them cross the road. The children were amazing. They stood perfectly still. Okay, not perfectly still. They wiggled their arms, but they didn’t move their feet. They stayed where their mother said to stay.
Have you witnessed anything amazing lately?
I saw a person being kind to animals. Sanity resides in the one who can show compassion toward the smallest of creatures.
With some help from my friends and family, we came up with over 300 mountain bike trail names worth using, or emulating.
Before I get in to what some of those trail names are, let’s review naming traditions which need to be buried.
Naming a trail after a person is the quickest way to tell the world how utterly unfantastic your trail is. There isn’t anything less inspiring than naming a trail after an average ordinary dude. One obvious exception is if that ordinary dude built the trail and you want to teach him a lesson, so you named the trail after him as a lasting tribute to his mediocrity. I’m torn between, “Yes, that’s justice,” and “No, that’s too cruel.” Maybe, instead, teach Dave, or Jack, or Henry how to build a better trail, and then still don’t name it after anyone.
There are exceptions, of course, and there always will be. For instance, if the trail was already named John Wayne Trail, or Davy Crocket Hunting Trail, then by all means, leave it that way. If you’re naming a new trail though, remember the person who the trail is named after should have a name recognizable by most people on the planet and the Encyclopedia Britannica. Dave Mustaine? Sure. Dave Garglepox of Podunk County? No. It’s not fun to say, or even think, “I’m going to ride Dave’s Connector.”
Speaking of Connector, it’s a word which should be avoided. Try not to name anything Line, Loop, Pass, Connector, Upper, Lower, Middle, Trail, Rock, Roll, or Drop, especially if what comes before those words is the name of a trail already. For example, if there’s a trail named A-Line, and then it gets extended for some reason, and you name the new section A-Line Lower. Then the original becomes A-Line Upper. You just created the most common name for any trail ever. How is anyone going to differentiate between A-Line Upper in Whistler, Canada and A-Line Upper in Goatcheese, USA? They won’t. Plus, the extension on A-Line should just get a new name or keep the name of the original trail it connects to rather than getting the all too common moniker of Upper, Lower, Middle. There’s really no good reason to break up any trail to uppers and downers and spare-tire middles, is there?
Really, it’s best to avoid any common name. Those get tiring fast. Avoid names like Juniper, Ridgeline, Portal, Pipeline, Cougar, Rock Garden, Rock and Roll, Punk Rock, Dead Man, Dead Guy, Deathwish, Death Bones, Dead Death, or Flow Trail.
Lastly, remember to avoid numbers, unless it’s incorporated in a good name somehow. (One-way Mule?) And avoid the gross and crass garbage that pops up in trail names once in a while. Remember these names we put on public trails are available to persons of every age. We want the future bikers to enjoy riding, not get sickened by it before they start. Tighty Whitey might be funny, but Dead Indian Gulch is not.
Now, for a taste of some of the names we came up with in my personal gathering.
Dirt Stomper, Wooden Nickel, Axons Firing, Dopamine Driving, Slice of Heaven, One Hundred Ways To Get Down—Only One Way To Live, Pain Dance, Yellow Belly, Happy Girl, Flip Flop, Duck Jump, Total Vacation, Space Truck, Hard Tail Heaven, and Bat-faced Boy.
On another note, the name One Hundred Ways To Get Down—Only One Way To Live is fun to say, but it would not be fun to try and fit on a trail sign. Keep trail signs in mind when making new names. Shorter is almost always better.
That’s just a few of what we made. If we can come up with over 300, why are there so many new trails being given terrible names like Stale Trail Upper Pass? If anyone needs help, contact me. I’ll give you a few to use.
In France there’s a cultural norm to regard corn as food fit only for swine. Humans don’t eat it—or rather, the French don’t eat it. Other cultures around the world have a different standard for corn. The French however, maintain that corn belongs to the pigs. If you happen to visit France, and you have a love of corn, don’t expect to find it in any restaurants or markets.
How the French came to this view of the starchy vegetable called corn, I don’t know. My suspicion is that there was only one guy. In my imagination he’s an old, stodgy Frenchman named Greilleaux (pronounced “gree-o”). Greilleaux had an issue with opinions, and the issue was that he didn’t care for anyone else’s. His were most important to him, so he stuck with them. His opinion of corn was that it was not food. He never wanted to see it on his plate. He didn’t even want to smell it cooking. Because he was so stubborn with his opinion, other people came to follow his lead. “Corn is for swine,” became a chant, of sorts. People went out to restaurants and spurned anything with corn in it, on it, or near it. They, like Greilleaux, weren’t having any of it. The stubborn chant passed from village to village until it spanned the country.
Similar things have happened elsewhere around the world.
In India, there is a tradition of considering the cattle of the pasture as if they were ancestors. “I will not eat my mother cow,” said a lone woman from Mumbai named Aangrilu. Her voice was sweet and her rice dishes were sweeter, so people tended to listen to her. It wasn’t long before everyone in Mumbai refused to have a barbecue, refused to even think of beef jerky, and wouldn’t dare wear a leather jacket. For fear of angering Aangrilu, and for fear of being a social outcast, the Mumbaites let the wave of opinion flow over their culture. Like the cultural wave in France, the wave in India didn’t stop in one city, it washed across the entire country. It was a cultural norm which McDonald’s could never infiltrate. The cows were happier though.
In Japan, it took only one driver to show off with a drift, and now everyone does it. People don’t drive to the grocery store in Japan—they drift.
In America, there’s a cultural norm of carrying either a gun in their sock or a switchblade in their waistband. Why they don’t just use their pockets is a mystery.
In Hawaii, they hang a necklace of flowers called a lei, around everyone’s neck. Actually, that tradition didn’t take over any countries, so just like, uh, never mind that one.
In Mexico, it took only one smart mother to slap a hat with a wide brim on her son so he wouldn’t get sunburnt, and the cultural norm of the sombrero was born. Now it’s culturally uncool to go anywhere without a sombrero in Mexico. The only exception to the rule is if your sombrero was a nacho sombrero and it was eaten all gone, then you have a valid excuse. In fact, if you’re ever in Mexico and you see someone without a hat, it’s safe to ask them, “Oh, did yours get eaten too?” They’ll answer you with a hearty, “Dios me salve de esta locura.” It means they like you.
Nacho hats, of course, are made of corn. Needless to say, you’ll never find a nacho sombrero in France, but as you’ve seen from the examples above, every cultural shift starts with someone.
It’s rough on a mind to be the example of peace. People are so confused, and confusing. Everyone wants peace, but a few of them think they have to fight you to get it.
If I was interviewing an accountant, I would ask to see their credit card balance, and if it was anything other than zero, I’d say, “You’re an idiot, get out of here.”
Think I’ll try writing a novel. Think I’ll start it like this: There was a magnificent wedding. Unfortunately, there was a tornado. Fortunately, it was a money tornado.
I will endorse what I’ve been doing lately. It’s called “Outside” and it is amazing.
I think it’s hilarious that the word “wrong” is spelled with a W.
Monday Wifey: Do these leftovers smell good to you?Tuesday Me: I think I could wear this shirt again. Wifey: Ugh! Don’t smell that!
Pride is the peak of virtue signaling. Pride is why people don’t apologize. Pride is the reason people don’t give to the needy. Pride is boasting of excellence instead of showing it with beneficial actions.
Maybe I’m from another planet or something, but I could hear amazing stories about Chadwick Boseman for the rest of the year and nothing more about Trump. (31 August 2020)
Sorry, all the opinions have run together. What was yours again?
Kim Jong Un is in a coma? Just 2 months ago he was dead. N. Korea is a rookie at the fake news game.
Love the phrase: He died doing what he loved. Oh, really? He loved falling head-first off a cliff onto sharp rocks below? Such a weird hobby.
When I was a kid, if we were digging, we would say we were digging to Australia. Do kids in Australia say they’re digging to America?
I remembered someone’s name 3 days after I saw them. Said it out loud—for effect.
Not once have I found appetizing any Mexican food with “Del” or “Bell” or “Toro” or “Perro” in the brand name.
I saw a little Chevy driving ahead of me yesterday and I saw the model name SPANK. “SPANK?! What a weird name for a car.” Got a bit closer…SPARK.
I asked my cat, “Don’t you ever shave your face?” No wonder he doesn’t have a job.
Xenosthesia.com 