Apparently TechCrunch writer Paul Carr missed the memo, and wrote a lengthy and vitriolic screed denouncing the evils of the Millennial generation, without a trace of irony. He expresses nothing but derision for everyone aged 30 or under, and reacts with horror to stories he found by “spend[ing] a few minutes Googling.” Apparently Mr. Carr believes the plural of anecdote is data.

He concludes his little hate speech with a morality lesson where he feels that the moral of the story in the film Social Network is that hard work and dedication pays off.

Perhaps I shouldn’t be so bothered by such blatant and baseless discrimination against an enormous demographic, fueled mostly by bile and impotent rage, but there it is. Ignoring the fact that these trend pieces he bases his story on are completely empty and describe, at best, a small subset of the under-30 population, this article is nothing more than hatred of those who are different. Not people who are doing anything wrong, merely people who view the world through a different lens, because they were raised in a different culture.

Because culture changes, Mr. Carr. Just because the world doesn’t work the way you were taught it should doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing. You’ll live a much more fulfilling life if you actually learn to accept things, instead of writing hateful screeds about people who are different than you. You might even learn something.

With yesterday’s new wheelset, I just reached the point on my bike (a Bridgestone 400) that I don’t really need to spend more money on it, apart from maintenance. It’s got good new components, a solid frame, and it rides just the way I like it. Anything left to do  is pretty minor, and totally doable.

I’m also nearing the point with my list of accessories that I’ll be in a similar place. I say “accessories” here, when really I mean “things I need or will need.” The list included a real bike lock, some more winter-appropriate shoes, a bigger, better bag, and a jacket for Seattle’s rainy winter. I’ve since ordered or picked up all these things. I’ll probably need a few other things, but they’re minor, maintenance-level expenses at best.

From here, the plan is to build up a track bike using the Bridgestone frame, and transfer the components on the Bridgestone over to a new, sexier frame. I realized as I was done building up my wheels that I didn’t really need to buy a whole lot if I wanted to make a new road bike–pretty much just the frame and the fork. And the thing about a track bike is there isn’t much to them. No shifters or derailleurs, no rear brake. The only expensive purchases will be wheels and cranks.

As for why I want it? I’ve been wanting to try a fixed conversion on the Bridgestone for a while, but since it’s both my work bike and my only bike, I didn’t like the chance that I’d decide that riding fixed is more trouble than it’s worth in hilly Seattle. And it gives me a backup in the event of catastrophic failure of either bike, and options for different weather conditions and so on.

And it will be fun. That’s a huge part of what this whole biking thing is about.

*that list is out of date. when I get my Seagull bag I may post an update.

As the poster describes it, “Everyone starts together, but a roll of the dice insures you ride alone.” It’s an apt description of the way the race ended up. Somewhere between twenty and thirty racers left Mobius, each heading for one of the six other stops. It started with a sprint through heavy traffic. We were a small group of three, large architectural plans sticking from our messenger bags, sprinting for the Virginia Inn on 1st.

On arrival we each got our money for the first delivery and rolled the die to see where we were going next, and we went our separate ways. And most of the rest of the race was alone: though I would see and salute the other racers, and sometimes follow them on their routes for a time, mostly the only interactions took place at the stops. They were fleeting at best, as none of us had the time for leisure. There was, after all, a race on.

I knew I would be pretty outclassed, in terms of talent, going in. I’ve been in the saddle since early to mid summer, and working on a bike for something like a month. To contrast, in the race were the first ever North American to win the messenger world championships, as well as other messengers who have been on the job for years. I am, in short, new to this. (It is worth noting that the second place finisher and the returning King of the Core is a dishwasher.)

Which is fine. At my last stop, after everyone had started smoking their cigarettes and drinking the last remnants of their water, Jon, the mechanic who got my road bike on the road, asked how I thought I did. I said that I thought I’d done reasonably well, then I stopped and added, “Of course, I really have nothing against which to compare myself.” Someone else asked if it was my first alleycat. I nodded, and Jon said, “Well, hey, personal best!” in a wryly optimistic sort of way.

It’s a good way to look at it.

I.
You were the king of dingy bathroom tile,
unafraid of
discarded towels
clustered hair
or sudden lights
and stomping feet.
You stood there, just watching,
as the world moved by
your bathroom tiles.

Your reign was silent
and brief,
your explorations
infinitely vast,
infinitely small,
infinite. The world was
yours, and you took your time.

II.
When I was a child,
I was frightened of dark places.

III.
Some things are always left unsaid,
little quiet ideas that no one
dares express,
or just no one thinks to.

And these are the things lives are made of:
quiet thoughts and inner moments,
secrets that die out
before they are born, completely unnoticed
by any who might remember them.

IV.
“You are the only person
who has ever seen this part of me.”
We all make mistakes. Not every choice
is obvious.

V.
I have trapped myself in a prison of ivory and metal,
vast beyond my comprehension. I should worry,
but everything seems at peace. I will know no escape,
but I need no escape.
I, alone among men, have known everything I desired.
The waters are rising. I will not resist.

VI.
You were the king of dingy bathroom tiles.
Your reign was silent
and brief.

Bikers are a fairly weird group (and I say this in the best possible way), and if there’s one thing I like it’s large groups of weird people. If there’s another thing I like, it’s pissing off impatient drivers. (A bike mechanic asked me on Monday, “Are you sure you’ve never been a messenger?”) The sheer mass of bikes basically makes the road into one giant bike trail. A bike trail occupied with people who are doing nothing but enjoying the fact that they are on a bike.

Despite having biked 20 or so miles before, I was still passing people on the uphill at the end, convincing my tired legs to do things I was pretty sure they couldn’t.

On arriving at our destination, we got our water bottles of beer, talked to some fun people, and watched some of the events. Amongst Hammercising and dances by the Sprockettes, there was the Save the Baby/Kill the Baby race. Basically, this is a head-to-head sprint on BMX bikes to try to grab the (horribly beat up) baby doll that’s resting on top of a traffic cone.

Gregory’s attempt resulted in a low-speed wreck in which he fucked up his hand, and perplexed the medics by salting the wound instead of accepting some slightly more high-tech medical attention. (“You guys need a vest that says ‘Healing hurts,’ and has a salt-shaker on it.” Personally, I think it would make a better sticker.)

And then it was home, with a nice gentle incline most of the way. It was a nice end to a day where I decided to bike to Shoreline just to prove I could.

Someone suggested that biking to Shoreline from Capitol Hill was unreasonable. I assumed it was just a dodge, but I took it as a challenge, so I looked it up on Google Maps, which told me it was probably about 11 miles out, then called up Greg and said “Hey, want to go for a bike ride?” He said he just needed to finish his laundry, so I rode up to the U District.

We biked up to a little south of where Google Maps tells you to go when you feed it “Shoreline,” rode around aimlessly for a while, then headed back. We stopped for a sandwich in Northgate, then took a moderately hilly route back to the U District. Chris was at home, and reminded us that the Dead Baby Downhill Race was tonight–and that we should probably leave in about fifteen minutes if we wanted to go.

I was pretty tired by then, but we biked back up Capitol Hill, made it to the race in time, and biked from there down to Georgetown. There were probably something like 400+ bikes there, eating up the road and blocking traffic. (This was incredibly fun, and I may write more about it later.)

After the race’s after-party we biked back up to Capitol Hill once more–12th has a nice gentle slope and we were taking it slow. If Google Maps is to be believed that puts today’s ride at about 25-30 reasonably hilly miles. My usual daily ride is about 15 and it’s flat for most of the way.

I’m pretty much exhausted now, of course, but it didn’t kick my ass nearly as hard as I thought it would. And I could probably have kept going–possibly not up all of Seattle’s hardcore hills, but definitely most of the places you can get to easily from Capitol Hill.

All this on an old, fairly cheap (on the high end of cheap, though) mountain bike, with its fat knobbly tires and its way-too-heavy frame. It’s a good feeling.

I’m sorry I didn’t laugh at your joke. You had pretty clearly planned for it in advance, and I feel like I disappointed you.

This was September of 2008, I think. I was going off to Boston and decided to pay you a visit before I went. We met at the mall. When I walked up, your friend said, “Hi Rob, this is my friend Ashley.” I think it was Ashley, anyway. I’m sorry if I remembered that wrong. She pointed at you when she said it, and then you both laughed.

I don’t know what sort of reaction you were hoping for, but I am pretty sure a blank stare wasn’t what you were hoping for. I didn’t laugh or say anything or play along. I probably just said “Hi,” and probably “how’s it going?” It’s possible I even went so far as to say “What’s up?”

Even though I know it’s kind of arrogant to assume, I feel like you hoped I’d do something more than stare. It could have been a good joke. But I blanked, instead, and we both know I could have done better.

Yours,

RM

• zombie attack messenger bag – this reads “during a zombie attack, please follow me.” It stores most of my stuff. I think it makes a good bag, and it was fairly cheap.
• lockpicks – in my messenger bag. I am not any good with these, but I like to practice, and in the event it is really necessary I could probably do something with them, given time. Maybe.
• mini maglite – on my belt. This comes in handy a lot more often than you would think. It also doubles as a blunt instrument. I’d keep it in my bag, but I put the bag down from time to time and it sucks fumbling for a light or using your cell phone.
• bigger flashlight – it cost like $5 and uses D-cells. This one goes in my bag. I’ve only ever used it once, and that was when someone else was exploring with me. It worked pretty okay, though! It’s a backup. I’ll probably replace it with another maglite eventually. Probably another mini-mag to save space.
• cell phone – this is shitty and cost like $4. It doesn’t have voicemail anymore and the battery sucks. I usually keep it in the bag these days, but sometimes in a jacket pocket.
• bike lock – a bigass U-lock, courtesy of Chris. The bag goes where I go, so I can always lock my bike.
• toilet paper dispenser thingy – this was a gift from my brother-in-law, before he was my brother-in-law. I’ve tried to keep it with me since. Though there have been times when I’ve been lax, it now resides in my messenger bag, and I am never without it. It has no practical purpose except for confusing cops, border patrol, and TSA agents.
• wallet – I got it in England. It goes in my bag, since the back pocket is a terrible place for it. Some days I long for a slender wallet, though, that I could keep in my front pocket.
• camera – for taking pictures! I got this with my ex-girlfriend in Spokane. It’s actually missing its SD card right now. It has taken some pretty good photos, though, and there’s a small amount of room on the camera itself.
• USB key – mostly I store music on here that I think other people ought to have. It comes in handy on other occasions too, of course, but that’s its primary intention. It has a big lanyard on it. I am pretty sure I got both from my dad, but I don’t remember why. This is in my front pocket.
• keys – I actually don’t have any reason to unlock anything anymore, but I keep a bottle opener, which always comes in handy. I got it from Harvard’s Berkman Center. These go in the same pocket as the USB key.
• handkerchief – red, ancient, has a small hole in it. I use it mostly to clean my laptop and my sunglasses. Same pocket as the keys.
• aviator sunglasses – these are the actual aviator sunglasses worn by an actual navy aviator (my dad). I should probably tighten the screws. I’ve lost and found these about a million times.
• batteries – AAA and AA, for my mini-mag and the rear light on my bike. These go in my bag.
• playing cards – Aviator playing cards, I think. Never underestimate the utility of a deck of cards when you’re bored. In one of the pockets of my messenger bag.
• electrical tape – this comes in really handy, and it’s a hell of a lot less bulky than duct tape. I’ve used it for repairing shoelaces and injured fingers in the past. This is in a pocket of my messenger bag.
• tiny Swiss army knife – I always forget this exists.
• flask – I actually use this for drinking water when I’m out biking these days. It has about six ounces or so. It lives in a pocket of my messenger bag. It needs a funnel or something.
• And I am pretty much always wearing my green Converse, some skinny jeans or black cords, a t-shirt, and one of a rotating array of jackets. I love jackets. I have a black hoodie, a white hoodie (with fairies on it), and a black jacket that makes me look kind of like an emo kid that I’m wearing these days.

I may have missed a few random items here or there, but I tried to search through my bag and pockets. It is the only reason I remembered the knife! What do you carry?

Each episode runs for about fifteen minutes, and there’s thirteen of them. Watching more than a few at a time tends to be kind of painful, but one or two can be hilarious.

Link is an obnoxious slobby teenager who goes out of his way to shirk his responsibilities (which, for some reason, include cleaning up the castle), and is constantly demanding that Princess Zelda give him a kiss. He shoots laser beams out of his sword. He and Zelda spend most of each episode trying to thwart the latest evil schemes of Ganon, the evil pig-wizard, whose idea of a clever scheme is to send a single easily defeated minion to attempt to kill or kidnap our heroes. It’s noteworthy that the single greatest threat to Hyrule is incapable of cooking up a scheme that can’t be thwarted in a fifteen minute cartoon.

Ganon has at his disposal some really powerful magic, however–in one episode, he uses a thought-control amulet on Zelda. Unfortunately, instead of using the thought-control amulet to install a puppet ruler on the throne of Hyrule and usher in an era of corruption and bring Hyrule to slow ruin in that way, he instead uses the power to have Zelda almost marry him. He also ruins any chance of subtlety by abducting her in plain view of Link, the kingdom’s sole defender.

On the plus side, this Zelda is actually kind of a badass, if you can ignore the fact that she’s stuck in the worst possible television series and is wearing the distilled essence of the late 80′s as her princessing attire. She fights and does flips and actually does more than get abducted constantly. That would get old real quick.

You could definitely find worse things to do on a boring Sunday afternoon than hunt these down and watch them. And if you feel the need for a bad movie but only have fifteen minutes to spare, I can’t think of any better suggestions.

I’m sorry I didn’t bother doing anything for my graduation. I didn’t even record one of the little speech things that you all had.

That second part isn’t exactly true, actually. I recorded something, and even then, at 18 years old, I bristled at the idea of saying the expected things. We were supposed to thank everyone we knew, I think, and say something cheerful about the future. Instead I wrote something like “I never really liked the idea of giving thank-you speeches because they feel disingenuous.” I still think that, really, but I’ve learned artful since then. In any case, the administrators didn’t like the message, and said I had to do another one, and I just said that I wouldn’t. For some reason they let it drop.

I wasn’t even at the graduation ceremony. I was in Florida, for a cousin’s wedding. I had no interest in going to graduation anyway, though. One of you thought it was hilarious to call me at four am and ask when I was showing up. I wasn’t sleeping very well because I never do on trips, so I was a little annoyed, and I’m sorry about that, too. I hope nobody missed me. I always assume that nobody does. But it had to have been noticeable. Did they call my name? Did they point out that I wasn’t there? Did they dress someone up like me? I know that when it came time for my section of the video, with the recorded speeches, they just played the music louder.

That part made me happy, at least. I hope nobody was offended. I hope you all had a lot of fun celebrating the end of your high school careers.

Yours,

Rob Mason