I’m so distraught, I put it into song:

The Night the TiVo Died
(sung to the tune of Paper Lace’s “The Night Chicago Died”)

In the chill of a winter’s night
In the land of the yoga hippies
When Rob & Brenda’s TiVo died
And they talk about it still

When Rob arrived home from work
Brenda displayed a nervous quirk
She said “I have some bad news”
And then she gestured towards the tube

We heard Robbie cry
We heard him pray the night the TiVo died
Brother what a night it really was
Brother what a plight it really was
Live TV

We heard Robbie cry
We heard him pray the night the TiVo died
Brother what a night the people saw
Live TV and no pause
Yes indeed

And the box it would not light
What’s happened to the shows
And Rob considered his plight
And said “this really, really blows”

We heard Robbie cry
We heard him pray the night the TiVo died
Gonna miss stuff when I pee
Maybe it’s time we got HDTV
Glory Be…

Seriously; after almost four years, the damned thing just took a shit on us, and I’m now looking for the next thing to replace it.

Well, my silly little piece on “green” email signatures is in the news again, this time in the L.A. Times. When I wrote that, it was cathartic because I was so frustrated by a particular co-worker and his sanctimonious ways, and his mindless insistence that we all preach to our clients this message that I felt went without saying. Who knew it would become the single most popular post on my website and the source for two newspaper articles on green email signatures (and a television interview that as far as I know landed on the cutting room floor)?

Of course the fact that I work in sustainable design and live in left-leaning Boulder Colorado made my frowny post on green email signatures the perfect ammo for conservative papers like the Wall Street Journal and the L.A. Times—here was a guy who supposedly cared about the environment and even he is saying these signatures are stupid! Co-workers (and strangers reaching me through my website) have accused me of being a hipocrit (sic), but I think they miss the point. These whiny, sniveling exhortations to “please consider the environment” make you look exactly like the stereotype the Fox News windbags are trying to perpetuate. I’m not playing along, and you shouldn’t either. Save that unbridled environmental enthusiasm for flipping the bird at the next Hummer you see.

Vino cracks, loses a half hour in the hills; his Tour is over. Next day, Vino takes a stage win in convincing fashion, thrills the fans.

Hmmm…

Son of a bitch, Vinokourov tested positive. The fuckin’ idiot doped during the Tour de France, testing positive and getting his whole team kicked out of the Tour with less than a week to go, taking teammate Andreas Kloden—sitting pretty in fifth position—with him. If I were Andreas, I’d be pissed, but then maybe I’d be hoping I didn’t get my ass caught too, since I’d be on the Astana team, a horrid joke of a doping conclave. Let’s not forget that this was the gang of idiots that couldn’t even field a goddamned team for last year’s tour, since half the team was under suspicion of doping by association with Dr. Fuentes. Oh yeah, and if you’re enjoying watching Alberto Contador lighting up the road this year, and maybe catching a case of smug satisfaction watching him toy with Rassmussen (the other big doping story of the ‘07 tour) on the Pyrenees, don’t forget he too was on Astana last year.

Man, this just sucks. Roid Landis invalidated his Stage 17 comeback last year, and after 12 months of discussion about doping and how cycling needs to clean up its act, and the cycling press really handing it to the dopers and suspected dopers, we’re back in the same pile of shit this year.

The thing that really pisses me off is the smug reaction from colleagues and the mainstream media who look at cycling like it’s a circus. I mean, it is, but being a football fan and looking down your nose at professional cyclists is like being a catholic and looking down your nose at child molesters.

Are they all doing it? No way. But I’d say most are. Still. And that’s what I find really sad. But I can tell you this: I can’t wait for tomorrow’s last stage in the Pyrenees. It’s a great sport, filled with skill, danger, speed and pain. And I enjoy the contests and the scenery. And, P.S., the other sports have the same problem, but better unions, so shut up and enjoy the rest of the Tour.

Yeah so last week I wrote a post that purported to be about a cool cruiser bike, but was really a platform for me to bitch about a local bike ride that I felt had fallen into a sad display of Boulder elitism. I railed against these people and their policy of requiring costumes and cruisers on the ride. Since that time, some of the people I was complaining about found my little rant, and posted some seemingly witty retorts; what they really did was show their true colors. Meanwhile, several other bastions of the true spirit of the ride emailed me off-line and showed me the seamy underbelly of the Boulder bikeride/cruiser/chill/hangout groove, and as you might expect, it ain’t pretty.

In the process, I got my shit straightened out. The good news is, the cruiser ride is dead. The better news is, the ride(s) live on.

Here’s the thing: The so-called “Boulder Cruiser Ride”, or “Happy Thursday Ride”, or whatever you want to call it, had exploded in popularity last year and a lot of the people who showed up were wasted college- and high school-kids who were only there to get fucked up (just like the rest of us). But there were too many of them and they kinda sucked at riding and they kinda had no appreciation for bikes, so they sorta sucked and had to go. I agree. But it became the opinion of some of the regulars that anyone showing up for the ride without a cruiser bike, or not in costume—a silly, silly habit of some of the regulars—should not be allowed to ride. Which I disagreed with. I said as much on the happy_thursday Yahoo list—that purported to be the mouthpiece for the ride but is in fact an odd collection of people that I have long since unsubscribed to—and got slammed for saying so. So I quietly bailed from the whole sad thing.

And then last week I saw a cool cruiser on a website while surfing one night and blogged about it, and I guess my little post devolved into a rant about the shitty attitude of what I perceived to be the consensus of the “Boulder Cruiser Ride” attendants. Turns out the ride was ruined by a bunch of hypocritical assholes who drive their SUVs in to Boulder from outlying towns to ride, and have taken over the long-standing ride tradition to serve their own egos and idiotic goals, ultimately leading to the ride being published in the local newspaper and the attendant rise in attendance which led to the problems that led to its demise. And I got flamed for complaining about that.

The best thing about all of that is that some of the very best people involved in the old Boulder Cruiser Ride have contacted me off-list and explained how my off-the-handle rant was out of line; it’s a good reason to have a website and an opinion. I’ve learned that with regard to the so-called “Happy Thursday Ride”, a few bad apples have fucked the entire batch.

The Boulder Cruiser Ride is no longer, but it’s all good, as we say. There are now several factions of people riding bikes around Boulder on Thursday nights; some of them are into bikes and bike culture, and some of them are egomaniacs with agendas—and there are loads of people in between. So I plan on venturing out this week and enjoying the benefits of evolution. I already know where the cool ride leaves from.

I must have one of these! The Ellsworth “The Ride” is the coolest cruiser bike ever, and I am now accepting donations towards the purchase of one of these bad boys. And I promise to ride it around Boulder and not be an elitist asshole like the local “Boulder Cruiser Bikeride” jerkoffs who have taken their little (formerly large) ride underground (sort-of) and excluded all people who show up on non-cruiser bikes or not in costume (and, let’s face it, costumes are, like, totally stupid, even on Halloween).

I realize I have not given sufficient back story on the Boulder Cruiser Ride, but I guess those assholes never gave me enough good times to do so. And now you have to have a cruiser and a costume to be allowed into their little drum circle, so I guess I’ll never get enough material to fill you in. Suffice to say, the Boulder Cruiser Ride has become another bad example of Boulder Elitism, and I now live to hurl insults at the entire rolling jerkoff assemblage. (They’re not all bad, as it turns out.)

Meanwhile, I am still accepting donations for an Ellsworth “The Ride” cruiser, so I can cruise in non-pretentious glee.

There’s an old joke that goes like this:

Q: What do you call 5,000 dead lawyers at the bottom of the ocean?

A: A good start.

And this schmuck is why that joke exists:

Read: Tearful Testimony in $54 Million Pants Lawsuit

The guy wants $54M for a pair of lost pants, and he’s so upset about it that he broke down in tears as he questioned himself on the stand about his ordeal. Yes, you read that correctly. You have to love the author of the news story; clearly he was having a ball with this one. Best line: “The business owners claim they have his pants, but he’s pressing ahead with his suit.” Ba-dum, PISH!

So, after eight absolutely fantastic fucking seasons, The Sopranos run has come to an end. The finale was a mixed bag, and the salt in the wound is that the lame-ish ending is followed by the premiere of a fucking surfer show.

The Sopranos has entertained me on so many levels it will take much more than a blog post at this hour to explain it. Suffice to say, the lingo brings back memories of my youth and my quote database is proof of that. The first time Brenda & I watched the show we were in a hotel room with HBO and after 15 seconds of the opening sequence, where Tony drives through the Lincoln Tunnel, past the Hoboken exit, and then onto the NJ Turnpike and past the oil tanks in Linden (Drive Safely!), we were hooked. The show went on to document the North Jersey Italian-American experience, and I’m not (just) talking about the mob shit, I’m talking about the manigoot (manicotti). The lingo, the mores, the food, the clothes: when I watched The Sopranos it was like a visit to Aunt Mary’s house; the only thing missing was the pinch on the cheek.

But you can’t run a crew these days without some strife, and Tony made his bed, sure as shit. So after last week’s mayhem we were on the edge of our seats for the finale tonight. I haven’t been this upset since the end of N.Y.P.D. Blue, but Brenda & I pulled up a chair and dutifully watched the end of what is probably the greatest TV Show Ever tonight, and had a good time with it.

The finale was a mixed bag. (Spoiler alert, whatever…) Phil Leotardo’s demise was great theatre, and that cocksucker got what he fucking deserved. But the fake foreshadowing with A.J. was very annoying. When his car caught on fire I thought for sure he was caught in the crosshairs, and was gonna be the victim of a car bomb. But, no. When he started driving the BMW and backed up to the camera sporting a NJ license plate with the letters “RDX”, I thought for sure he was going out in a blaze of glory. But, no. Vague talk of indictments on the way led us to a final scene at a diner with a shifty patron headed to the bathroom and we have to assume he didn’t come outta there with just his dick in his hand. As Meadow heads for the door of the diner, some black dudes enter, another reminder of the gas station scene where Phil’s head goes out like a grape, aaaaannnnnd, scene.

Scene! Not even fade to black, just black. Black, credits, that’s it, thanks for coming, motherfuckers.

Draw your own conclusions, I have mine. Bottom line, The Sopranos is over, one way or another, end of story.

Fuck.

P.S.
I realize David Milch is behind the new series “John from Cincinnati”, which is being groomed as the Sopranos replacement. Milch is the genius behind N.Y.P.D. Blue, my last TV tragedy. But I’m thinking that “Entourage” and “The Wire” have more of a chance of retaining my HBO subscription money than this new surfer bullshit (that I’m about to watch).

P.P.S.
Is Frank Vincent like not the most typecast tragic mob guy in all of mob cinema?! Like gosh! And I even saw “Ten Benny”, so I know what the fuck I’m talking about.

The latest evidence of Outlook’s suck-osity (right-click and select “view image” to see at full resolution):

So, my fabulous weekend came to an abrupt halt this morning, quite literally. As I was flying though the air, I thought, yep, weekend’s over. Lemme back up a bit.

I was riding to work, about to join the Foothills bike path when this dude making a right onto the Boulder Creek Path decides he’s just going to use the entire bike path to make his turn. Problem was, I was thinking I might just use the right half of the path myself.

We collided, I went flying up and over him and ended up on my back, thinking “what the hell just happened?” By the time I got to the office I was a little light headed and was starting to sense that I’d done some things that are definitely gonna hurt in the morning, and the collection of scrapes and bruises all over my body are testament to that. Worse than that is my right index finger, which apparently acted as cushioning for my brake lever when it slammed into the other bike. It’s swollen, purple and stings like hell, four hours after the incident. Gonna go get it looked at, I think.

I hope the other guy is alright. He seemed fine, but so did I at the time. My trusty On One commuter bike is fine; the front wheel is a little out of true and the saddle lost some leather, but otherwise it’s ready for more action.

I also think Boulder is rubbing off on me; instead of ripping him a new one for ruining my morning, I showed genuine concern for the guy, even after he fully admitted the crash was all his fault. If this was Jersey, I’d have been spewing expletives before I’d even landed.

What a bunch of idiots these guys are. With the Floyd Landis Show currently unfolding at Pepperdine University, complete with tales of Greg LeMond’s weenie and an obsfucatory defense that would make Johnnie Cochran proud, now it appears that Oscar Pereiro—the man who finished second to Landis in the 2006 Tour de France and the man who stands poised to claim a belated yellow jersey if Landis is proven guilty of cheating—is also mixed up in the Operation Puerto scandal, the scandal that has already forced Jan Ullrich out of the sport and brought Ivan Basso into the darkest point of his career (and hopefully will rid the sport of Tyler Hamilton once and for all).

Doping has been going on for years, this much is clear. For me, the wake-up call was in 1990 when I read A Rough Ride, by Paul Kimmage. Kimmage, a former pro, saw first hand what was going on and was one of the first to come out (after retirement) and say how dirty the sport of cycling was. But business as usual remains the order of the day, and it only seems to have gotten worse. The Festina affair and then Marco Pantani have come and gone, and then the biggest mess of all: Operation Puerto blows up the ‘06 Tour, and then Landis with the manufactured testosterone coursing through his veins.

Puerto is kicking some major ass; Ullrich, Basso, Hamilton. And now with Perriero implicated, we have the loser-was-doing-it-too scenario. Which begs the question, “where does it end?” It sure as hell seems like no one is clean in the sport. And what pisses me off is that they all take us for a bunch of fools, with their explanations for all these drug test failures. Landis has the Jack Daniel’s defense, Hamilton has the hilarious chimera defense. But so far my favorite is the latest from Pereiro:

“...if I have to use DNA to demonstrate my innocence, I will leave cycling, because it’s obvious that cycling like that isn’t worth it.”

Cycling like what? Like an honest competitor? Like a guy who has nothing to hide? Or do you mean cycling under a system that has an ironclad method of catching all the dopers? Yeah, proving you’re not an outright cheater (and a contract violator and a fraud) via a simple drug test, remaining in the sport you supposedly love, getting paid to race a bicycle—just isn’t worth it. What an ass.

I don’t know what the answer is—and cycling sure as hell isn’t the only sport that is completely suffused with drugs—but I’m just sick and tired of these guys offering lame-ass excuses for their results. In some ways, Ullrich has shown more stones by “retiring” than any of these other guys with their nonsense.