Putting the "thing" back into Penny-farthing

Oh, the gods. It's very possible that there will be two additional working bikes at our house by tomorrow! That's correct. At least one more scrawny loon pedaling for his life amongst two-ton hulks careening hither and thither across an unforgiving Portland landscape. Well, unforgiving may be a strong word. It may be much too strong a word, in fact. How about "extremely mild"? *Ahem* moving on... Nothing but my whipcord reflexes and a few of the old rejuvenating to keep healthy and out from under the bottom of a fellow human being's whip. I should think that an ambulance and a team of lawyers will follow in my wake as young ladies and gentlemen who witness my breathtaking and unparalleled grace on a bicycle subsequently faint in disbelief. Despite the rapidly accumulating lawsuits, I will pedal like a bat out of hell (try to get through this sentence without thinking about Meat Loaf's 1977 chart-topping album) toward a sort of near-freedom from public transit. Take heed, you son of a griffin who tries to slow or stop my rise to the top; I will resort to fisticuffs, and lest you fancy seeing your family crest put to shame, you'd better kindly step aside.

I apologize for the small post, but I have an interesting project in the works (and by "in the works" I mean to say that I just thought of it while writing this). It will take more time and effort than usual but I promise that it will be worth it. It will, in fact, be a totally predictable cross between gonzo and investigative journalism. Handcuffs and a garage door both play prominently yet un-sexually into the story, just to give you a little taste...

Check yourself,
Craig.

P.S. In the spirit of telling you about my near-mistakes, when writing about my (untrue) cycling prowess, I almost wrote "lock up your daughters" which immediately made me cringe. Eww, something that could make the writer himself shudder so immediately and violently should not be put to page. Add the phrase "lock up your daughters" to the list of things you should NEVER SAY TO ANYONE.

A Rather Wonderful Look at Unemployment

Good news, gang! My life is no longer in the proverbial commode. That is to say, some may think that I've had it rough as of late and look a little "worse for wear" (and fuck all y'all) for it, but I really have no excuse. My haggard appearance and sickly complexion are a result of my genes and a careless diet, rather than of stress, because after all of my previous post's doomsaying and premature ejaculating, fate pulled the old about-face and awarded me the Holy Grail of all things financial and joy-inducing for young ladies and gentlemen who are as unambitious as I and lacking of most skills needed in the current job market... unemployment insurance. Oh, unemployment insurance! How sweet these two words sound together! It's just one of those word-combinations that rather roll off the tongue, I think, like "beef-wheel", "chicken-bee" or "word-combination". I think that after I pass, I might like to have my ashes put into an envelope with an unemployment check or my US Bank/State of Oregon "Reliacard" and ceremonially tossed into the ocean.
I wish you all to know that shortly after I blogged about my struggle to find work and my seemingly star-crossed living situation, I received a call from a temp agency telling me that my last place of work wanted me back, if only for a few weeks. Those of you know that know where I used to work also know that I could safely assume from this news that sales in overpriced yoga mats and t-shirts with a cartoon-ish smiling Buddha had undoubtedly gone up. Good for them. Extremely good for me. I would like to take a moment to thank old white ladies, for despite the actualization of the biggest financial crisis since the Great Depression, there will never be an ebb in demand for orange jogging caps or jackets that proclaim "I *heart* Yoga". Anyways, this was at least a guarantee that I could work enough to make money for rent for the month of April and my caring mother was kind enough to front this amount. I was off the hook until said active-wear retailer let me know that they would no longer need me. This, in fact, happened no less than three weeks later. Though I was probably a little bent out of shape about this occurrence at the time, I would soon find that it was all for the best. In spite of the state's initial rejection of my unemployment claims, I decided to try again, hoping that the extra three weeks of labor would change their minds. I was pleasantly surprised when an agent told me that she could use her power to draw money up from the state of California (my old stomping grounds for about four years), though they had recently given me the cold shoulder. I was incredulous, but gave her all of my information anyway and made my first weekly claim. I soon found a check in the mail for ten dollars more than I usually made when I was working forty hours a week! Oh the gods! How I had waited for this moment! Brand new vistas suddenly opened before me. I promptly blew half of my check on drinks that I probably owed people (I mention it often but I have fine friends that would rather be broke than without my company).
My life has since been much more like the life a human-being deserves. I drink. I ride bikes more often. I join in midnight drunken basketball games. I climb trees. I pee on unsuspecting young people's living room floors. I do unsuspecting people's dishes. I unsuspect. I take a furry young gentleman by the name of Ulo on his nightly. I join my companions for a bit of the old rejuvenating at the end of their long school- or work-day. I experiment in the kitchen, though culinary creations of mine are often likened to Pickman's Model. I've written more music this month than I have since my move last October. I run errands for friends who are much more deserving of the time and money. And finally, I waste my time and money.

Life is suddenly bearable. What the fuck?

Writing you from two or three separate computers that I have to sit ridiculous-close to since I don't have any glasses right now,
Craig