giant ants, fake indians, and Zaxby's.....bring on the apocalypse!!!!

Blog 1.0

Well, this is my audition for my very own blog and the pressure is on. Not that I mind pressure, I don't mind anything, I am fully prepared for life lacking luxury. To those preparing for the post apocalypse, we refer to this as "L3". We are referred to as "APOC's". It stands for "grAnd Preparers for the wOrld's destruCtion ". Not the perfect anagram, but we still used the letters....in order! I'm sure most of my local coworkers have rolled their eyes at least once at my constant ranting of my personal preparedness for the "Lifting of the Vail" (Greek root). I personally like to think of it as the "opening of a can". It's not that my superior genetics or abnormal ape index are going to make me a king of the wasteland, but my attitude. To me it's like a big camping trip. Except we no longer watch out for bears, but the giant, dog sized ants that have mutated as a result of the exposure to nuclear radiation. Fortunately, their brains mutated as well and using a simple language similar to how Native American's speak in those 1950's westerns, we can converse. With very little effort, they are easily confused. With the use of gratuitous break dancing and the trick where you fake pulling off your thumb, any ant will assume you are a some sort of sorcerer. I have used this in other scenarios with similar effect (Floridians, Waffle House employees, and Troy). Wow, that was quite a tangent. Sure am glad I left a trail of crumbs from my Zaxby's wings and things. You know that is one luxury I may have to maintain. Zaxby's will be the official food of the post-apocalypse. Zax sauce will become the currency. Since paper money has been woven into the fabric that decorates my palace (a former Pep Boys) and the base layer of all of my suits of Samurai armor, completely made of dollar bills and cut up mud tires. Kind of like "Shredder" from the Ninja Turtles Movie, but like infinity times cooler. So you can see how un-skeered I am about the world after civilization. I don't fear the judgments that will be past upon me for y first entry either. Just remember, I hold grudges for a long time and you may end up the keeper of the royal bedpan. And Zaxby's never passes smoothly.

COMMUTER BIKE OF THE WEEK...

Belongs to Derrick "D-Rod", "The Pride of South Congaree", "Sweet Sonny Sixpence", "The Roger Ailes of Inside Sales" Boatwright. Derrick has been a commuting dynamo this summer but for some strange reason (geomancy, plain and simple) his trusty Storck has alluded the hallowed halls of the Hawley Blog. I could've used "Hootenanny" instead of "Blog" to drive that alliteration home, but as we all know, discretion is the better part of valor when it comes to alliteration. Have we learned nothing from Tiananmen Square??? You know, with the tank and the guy standing in front of it reciting W.H. Auden's "The Age of Anxiety"? Back to the issue at hand. I'll try and be as detailed as possible. Derrick's lovely Storck is made of carbon fiber and comes with two wheels. It has a saddle for sitting upon and pedals for velocitizing. The Sram handlebar tape is edible. Derrick prefers black cherry. Often times, Derrick can be seen breaking off a hunk of tape, popping it into his mouth and whistling a happy tune, perhaps about Gator Claus... TROY?!?!?! It's a nice looking Storck but the blog has to raise an eyebrow at that Sigma headlight. That is SO Fall 2007....

Sram Red levers match hubs, handlebar, seatpost and brake pads. But do they match Colin's sleeveless turtleneck???
Zipp cranks and pedals we don't sell. They rhyme with Pee'd Play
The cockpit, where all the action happens. Theres that Sigma light! Notice the handlebar tape...
Fizik saddle and matching bag. If you buy a Storck, we throw in a Fizik, free of contamination or disease.
The Storck waits patiently outside for Derrick to leave work.
See there, got through an entire blog post without mentioning those scandalous chili dogs next door! If I opened a chili dog shack, I would call it "Just Chilin'!" or "Free Money Inside!" (to get the consumer's attention)

Bicycle News Roundup, We're Phonin' This One In

Ran by Coffee Shanty USA today for a couple chili dogs and as I gnawed on a footlong, Doris Donnybrook, the barista, owner and tenant of Coffee Shanty USA asked me what was "new" in the "cycling world". I responded "Your guess is as good as mine! Is this a fingernail in my chili?" Doris, oblivious to the fingernail and her impending leprosy began to fill me in on all the exciting news from the world of print and internet muckrakers. I nodded as I fained interest in her endless blathering. The chili dog and ONLY the chili dog was all I cared to listen to. It sang to me, "Eat me! I am delicious! My chili is homemade... from older, recycled chili!" And on and on until I grew tired of the charade we call lunch time. Perhaps I will see my singing chili dog in 8 to 12 hours? Perhaps sooner...

A photo contest about "the biggest thing you've ever hauled with a bike":
http://austinbikeblog.org/?p=1071#comment-328

President Bush gets ready to open national parks to mountain biking. Good or bad?:
http://ap.google.com/article/ALeqM5j00qb3M8V1vjLngO-ITuEljr0ezwD93QF1T00

Dave W. from Ergon gets the usual left-wing hatchet job from America's most radical publication:
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/10/14/sports/othersports/14cycling.html?_r=1&oref=slogin

More yellow journalism, this time a slideshow of pretentious New Yorkers and their bikes. Hey NY Times, I got news for you, you're 5 years too late. Maybe you should check out Copenhagen Cycle Chic's blog once in a while!?! Sheeez!:
http://www.nytimes.com/slideshow/2008/10/09/fashion/20081009_BIKES_index.html

A Matter of Grave Importance!

As some of you folk may know, Halloween is right around the corner. The question is, have you thought about what you'll be eating from the candy aisle at your local grocer or confectionist? The blog has. In fact, the blog thinks about candy 90 percent of the day. The other 10 percent is devoted to chips, salsas, good sportsmanship and the new chili dogs being served for lunch at the coffee shack next door. Seriously, you go there in the morning for your cup of whatever (coffee perhaps, or a wheat grass) and when the prehistoric bird whistle goes off for lunch, you pick up a couple chili cheese dogs. Crazy huh? The young lady who runs the coffee shack has a booming voice so don't be intimidated. She means you know harm, or ill-will. She just likes to be heard, the voice of reason... the voice of chili dogs... the voice of deliciousness. But the blog digresses. Where was I? Oh yes, candy. Let's start off simple: The Butterfinger GIANT! This version of your standard Butterfinger is usually sold in movie theaters but has started showing up in more accessible locations. Why just this morning I noticed it sitting on an obviously weight-strained candy display at a local pharmacy (the wire rack was buckling under from the sheer girth of the GIANT!). What prescription drugs was the blog picking up? None of your cotton-pickin' business! You don't know me! I'll cut you! Cut you good! I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I love you, gentle blog reader! Ole Bloggy won't do wrong by you! Please! RARRRR! So yes, I was picking up my mood swing inhibitors and spied the GIANT. It's a huge Butterfinger, flattened and segmented into individual pieces. So you get all the Butterfinger taste but none of the mess associated with the longer and more brittle original bar form. For the blog, it will be its only source of nutrition for the next three days. Iggy Pop ate sausage and only sausage for an entire year (it's true, look it up!). Surely the blog can survive on Butterfingers for 72 hours...

Nutritionally, the GIANT isn't as bad as one would think. I would rank it somewhere between a head of lettuce and fried lard.

WAREHOUSE EXPANSION

Please bear with us, we are experiencing technical difficulties...

For today's performance, the blog will be played not by the "original" blog, but by the "fake" blog. The fake blog in no way, shape, or form, can directly imitate the original blog, so please cut him/her/it some slack.


The warehouse expansion continues...

The latest addition being the 2009 catalog creation think tank. With serious catalog creation cranking up to full force, the graphics team needed a place where they could work long days, err, hours. While only temporary, (supposedly they're eventually to be extra showers for our commuting community, what a waste if you ask the fake blog), This area will serve as the cage, err, office space for the graphics slaves, err, department.


Each cell, err, office space measures a spacious 2'W x 5'T and has many amenities, such as a concrete floor and steel bars.

There will also be an additional space dedicated for one of Hawley's, and the world's, oldest person, Brantley. Because of his long and dedicated service, His cage, err, special office is made of reinforced titanium tubing and will eventually be padded for his 3:00 nap time (He occasionally has some "bad" dreams). Coincidentally this will also serve as entertainment for the graphics slaves, err, department.

Sneak Peek at Michelin Pro 3

If the Michelin Man (Bib?) ate a bunch of Skittles and then threw them up in the photo cube, it might look something like this:


Any questions?

22 Days Until Halloween: Do You Know Where Your Children Are?

(left to right: George Bush and the Easter Bunny. Both have been marginalized this October)
Good news everybody! Only 22 days until Halloween. That also means 22 more days of unnecessary cubicle decorations! We'll start slow with the random skull or Simpsons Halloween set and slowly pick up speed adding candy corn cauldrons, witches with Twizzlers for hair, miniature carved pumpkins bearing the likenesses of our favorite outside sales reps and a REAL coffin full of candy and perhaps a corpse (made of candy) that isn't made of candy!

Pastor Troy (inside sales) has gotten into the spirit of the holidays as he proudly displays a skull with candles in its forehead. Not only does it celebrate Halloween, it also celebrates his Louisiana roots. Louisiana tradition dictates a young cajunlin' place a skull under the Gumbo Tree on Halloween Eve. At the stroke of midnight, Gator Claus parks his fan boat on the roof and slithers down the chimney and fills the house with singing crawfish. The Gator Claus consumes the child's parents, gathers up his singing crawfish into a leather sack and slithers back up the chimney and into his fan boat. Zydeco music is heard as the now orphaned cajunlin' is left to fend for himself in the merciless swamp. Troy is often heard in the breakroom singing sad cajun songs to mourn his parents. His best song is "Gator Claus Took My Daddy to Heaven" as it showcases his fine tenor voice.
The first Simpsons Halloween set every released! Money well spent...

Tonight, after "America's Next Top Model", a brand new episode of "Fun Facts About Macon, Georgia!"

A quiz for today's post:
Can you, without the aid of Google or Wikipedia, name four "totally awesome" things to come out of Macon (GA)? The first "totally awesome" THING is Nancy Grace. She is a thing if there ever was a thing. Now she hosts a TV show on Headline News where she berates defense attorneys and bugs her eyes out at me, accusingly, yet I cannot look away.

(Born and raised in Macon GA, Nancy Grace has single-handedly united the free world against us with only 60 minutes of airtime every evening!)
The second thing out of Macon, Georgia is their defunct minor league hockey team, the Macon Whopee. Hands down the corniest franchise "mascot" of all time. How can the 1970's TV game show equivalent to the physical act of love be a mascot? It displeases me, yet I cannot look away from their vaguely suggestive jersey! The blog will burn the midnight oil scouring Ebay for that gem.

(The very jersey you can't outbid the blog on Ebay.)
The third best thing out of Macon is philanthropist/humanitarian/epistemologist Young Jeezy (well, ambassador Jeezy to his compatriots at the UN). I'm sure we're all familiar with his brokering of the Dayton peace accords so I'll move along to the fourth "totally awesome" thing to come out of Macon: Thomson! You saw it coming. How could it not be Thomson. As we all know, 99 percent of stems and seat posts are made overseas. Don't you want to help us turn the tide of a multi-billion dollar trade deficit? If you nodded your empty skull in zombie-like agreement, then put a Thomson on your bike and feel the backwood Georgia patriotism coursing through your veins!!!

(Left to right: Former UN Secretary General Bhoutros Bhoutros Ghali; he WAS the street dream. Young Jeezy; he IS the street dream)

This IS the mountain bike stem street dream!

Gotta Get Something Down, On Paper

It's a Tuesday afternoon and your co-workers are huddled around the proverbial water cooler. Talk centers on that day's lunch of ultra-spicy huevos rancheros or that barbecue pork loin sandwich you wolfed down with a cheese fry chaser. Maybe it's a rancid cold cut combo footlong prepared by a nostril-less troglodyte at Subway (shudder) or lacking proper funds to exchange for goods and services, you've swallowed what's left of your pride and gone poking around the company cupboard, scrounging together a repast of stale croutons and cooking shortening (known as "vochkhar khorovadz" in the Caucuses, primarily Azerbaijan in the Wilder Regions).

A most unsavory repast, but sustenance nonetheless. Well, a few hours have passed and the wonders of peristalsis have forced your hand yet again. With sweat on the brow but with courage in your barbecue-clogged heart, you venture to the corporate washroom to "let slip the dogs of war". But what to do once the colonic tempest has ceased?... You paint! You paint by numbers and create a masterpiece, ephemeral and super-nasty, but a masterpiece, without question, without peer, without PAINT!!!

Thanks to Crumpler bags for, uh, this... abomination:

The color options made me throw up in my mind. How about you?

On a related note (absolutely not), while driving into work to set the distribution world upon its head yet again, the blog heard a really cool story about bike messengers in Kabul, Afghanistan on NPR. The catch, besides messaging in a dangerous part of the world, is that these messengers are missing limbs as a result of land mines. Give it a listen. Very interesting and will be useful in cleansing your mental palette of images of Crumpler toilet paper escapades: Kabul Bike Messengers

Temporarily Out of Order

Will resume normal blogging functions tomorrow. One third of the blog "team" is out with a chest cold of diabolical proportions. Anybody got a spare lung? Anybody got a spare blog post they'd like to share?

Blatant Mr. Bill Rip-Off

"Hey ya'll! What smells sooo good? Oh, it's my delicious body! My name is Hush Puppy Noggin French Fry Goeppner-Cross! I am the love child spawned from a tumultuous and pants-free Interbike romance out there in the Nevada desert! I'm fried, delicious and a registered Republican who likes the ladies! If you want to learn more 'bout me, you can send me an email at hushpuppywookiekisser@gmail.com. Go ahead, it's a real email address! I'm computer literate ya'll!"


"I'll just stretch out here under Kenny's desk. Feels good to rest these tired fries!"
"Oh Lord, I have underestimated my benefactor's kindness!"
"Oooh, my delicious dried body!"
"You got some conditioner? My hush puppy is a mess!"
"All better! Better strap myself in for the ride home to Atlanta with my two Dads, Ian and Dave!"

COMMUTER BIKE OF THE WEEK...

Signs of the apocalypse come in all shapes and sizes. Seven seals perhaps or four guys on horses riding around doing naughty things. Pestilence? Global War? General acceptance of bib shorts worn on top of jerseys? All of these most definitely portend the end of the world, but we have a new one to add to the list: Troy Whelan (inside sales. AKA The Cajun Assassin and the pride of McNeese St.) commuted into work on his Storck! To be fair, Troy rode in several months ago during bike to work week. Since then, a merciless campaign of trash talking has been waged against Troy in an attempt to get him back on his bike and riding to work. Our verbal harangues must've penetrated his thick alligator-skin because as the blog strolled into the office this morning, there was Troy in a riding kit next to his trusty steed! First thought was "There were so many things I wanted to do before I died! I bet it'll be an asteroid". Second thought was "I have a nasty head cold. If I make it to the afterlife, will I have this stupid head cold for eternity? Surely there's a pharmacy up there. What if there isn't? Then what? Seems kinda unfair. I shall need to research this before the asteroid wipes us out, but first, a delicious Clif Bar for breakfast" Third thought was "Good for Troy! Good for the blog as well as it is easy pickin' for today's post!"

15.something pounds
Zipp cranks and red spoke nipples
Selle Italia, where the "magic" happens

From The Interbike Scrapbook of Dave Carson

A distant cousin of Ansel Adams and former babysitter of Robert Mapplethorpe, it's no surprise that Dave Carson's (Purchasing Dictator) skills with a camera are legendary. The scope of his subject matter is limitless. Airports, dimly-lit convention centers... While some photographers may ask "Why?", Dave asks "Why not, guy?" Here is a brief sampling from his newest volume "Unfettering The Bounds of Tomorrow; Soliloquy of Freedom: Interbike Retrospective of Dave Carson"

Jose, Ian and Jim wait in line. Why is Ian wearing sunglasses inside?
More waiting, this time with Brian in tow. Jim smiles after beating Ninja Gaiden for the 9th time on his Gameboy Advance.
Jose remembers the time his parents abandoned him at an airport and slips into a deep depression. Jim continues to play Ninja Gaiden, heartlessly.
A "Margin"-al display! EH? EH?
The Hawley Company set-up, minus the naked people.
Derrick discovers two Laotian immigrants stowing away in a cargo box. They are given clean clothes, fed, inoculated, repackaged and shipped to Marcus Storck. His love of Laotians is legendary.
Director of Storck USA Operations (and publisher emeritus of Storck's magazine "Just Storckin' Around") Dave G. flaunts his paper airplane-making ability. Nobody likes a show off Dave. On the floor is Jose making a crude drawing of the family who abandoned him in an airport. Let it go dude, let it go...
Here's Bruce. Make up your own caption, slacker.

Ode To A Dinosaur Egg

More unusual product tomfoolery from Interbike. Today's offering is the latest bit of yumminess from Clif, the Clif Rock! Jim plunked it down on my desk and waited for my usual bout of verbal diarrhea associated with weird nutrition products. Well it didn't happen because for once, I was speechless...without speech. My first thought was, "Why is there a prehistoric dinosaur egg on my desk?" My second thought was "skee-bop-boo-dop-bop-bee-beeeee-bop-woo-weee" as I am prone to jazz scatting when presented with the mysterious. the unknown, the spheroid. Jim recognized my confusion and assured me (in scat) that the mystery dino-egg/rock was edible. Not only was it edible, but it was packed with loads of nutritional goodness that assists recovery. To be honest, the blog is freaked out...


Clif Rock in its natural habitat