Two Gifts for the Price of One

Oh, dear god help me, I think I'm addicted to Carl Paladino. Those sunken eyes full of mystery... the drab grey suits to hue of a late autumn sky...the mouthful of gumless teeth that gently hint at a capacity for political leadership that is almost Giulianiesque...who wouldn't want to? As discomfited as I am to admit this newfound passion, I soldier on with the knowledge that I am not alone in my obsession with this soon to be anonymous political murder/suicide. As I'm sure anyone reading this blog for the past few weeks is aware, Gawker has been my constant companion through this increasingly obsessive descent into the abyss. They were the figurative dealer who gives you that first hit for free and waited for you to come running back for more, which, admittedly, was also free. Point is, I've always been a bit of a political junkie. My behavior leading up to and during an election cycle most closely resembles that of a soccer fan on the build up to the World Cup. Statistics are analyzed, commentary is processed and the news sites are constantly checked for that most glorious of American political events: Blood in the Water.
By most counts, Paladino has been hemorrhaging blood (as well as sweat, tears, words, decency, common sense and at least a quart of sperm every time he has to talk about "The Grinding") for so long now that logic dictates the pendulum will swing the other way any time now. When his supernova of a campaign has reached it's zenith, he will begin to implode, creating a political black hole that sucks in all the advisers and flacks in his close orbit and leaves nothing but the screaming void of an utterly failed political bid for miles around. Hopefully he is in Buffalo when that happens.
Before Hot Carl takes his final swan dive off the national stage, I think it's important to let him know how much he has meant to me, to us, to the nation. But how does one get in contact with would-be Governor Palpatine with out your heart felt missives being intercepted by an army of handlers?
Well why not just email him at his personal account?

Don't say I never give you anything. This little nugget came from Gawker, which I believe is their way of trying to move me off of my usual weed-strength Paladino bashing, to black tar heroin-strength Paladino Bashing. As you can see from the subject line, Carl is quite used to offensive material in his inbox (I believe he finds it "awesome"), and so I would encourage you to send him some parting gifts for his many contributions to the political crazy box. Some tasteful gay porn should do the trick. Or perhaps you could forward him all (and I do mean ALL) of the mail caught in your spam filter. Personally, I'm thinking about just dropping it on the /b/ board at 4chan and seeing what happens.

Be careful with that last link. That site is where hell bubbles up into the world.

But wait! I have yet another gift for you, the last ten or so people who read my blog! After weeks (eons in blog years) of procrastinating, making excuses and generally dropping the ball, I am proud to present you with...


                        Hipsterpedia Vol. 3

Yes, dear sirs and gentlewomen, after meticulous research and hours of field work, I have compiled enough data to publish my third entry in my soon to be Kinkos-collated, multi-dozen page edition of The Great American Hipsterpedia. Today's topic is a fascinating subspecies of The Hipster that has, through decades of evolution, become utterly symbiotic with it's chosen mode of transportation. Before I begin, I must reference the man, without whom, none of my research would have been possible, the incomparable Bike Snob NYC. I am but the blogger John the Baptist to his Jesus Christ, except he's been blogging a lot longer than I have and has no idea I exist. So a crappy analogy, all in all. Without further ado, I give you: The Fixter.

Hipsterus Apparatus Fixus

While the bicycle is a widely used tool of personal transportation for many a Hipster, this sub set has taken the humble machine beyond mere utility and elevated it into a realm of blind adherence usually inhabited by religious cults, drug addicts, and Tea Baggers. In actuality, the Fixter's obsession with the bicycle parallels many facets of each of those groups of people. They hold the bicycle in fierce, maniacal reverence, like a cult. Their bikes are a ubiquitous part of their daily life they cannot fathom parting with, like the junkie. They are tremendous douchebags to all who do not share their myopic worldview, like the Tea Bagger. They are, in short, quite insufferable.

Origins: While Fixters may lay claim to consanguinity with the fabled bike messengers of yore, they are lineage is more closely tied to the legacy of Don Quixote as they dash about madly on cobbled together equipment, in a haphazard search for all that is "epic".

Habitat: Most video footage of the Fixter would give rise to the notion that they exist entirely on steep hills and the middle areas of busy intersections. This is a clever ploy used to throw off their many natural predators, such as the Yellow Flecked Cabbie, the Asian Panel Van Pilot, and the Lesser Donged Hummer Owner. They are most at commonly found salmoning their way along a bike lane, track standing in crosswalks, sitting in front of coffee shops or just standing around, bike in hand, waiting for someone to mention it.

Appearance: The Fixter's regalia is somewhat more utilitarian than the average Hipster, but the same affinity for blindingly mismatched colors is evidenced on their steeds.

Oh, it BURNS!

One standard accoutrement are keys worn on carabiners affixed to the belt loop, which appear to serve the same function as the traditional bike-mounted bell (i.e. "I am drunk and our collision is imminent"). Also frequently spotted are hats either quite small and streamlined or flat-brimmed and aerodynamically challenged. As the two are interchangeable, I must conclude they serve no practical purpose. A dizzying galaxy of messenger bag varieties have been spotted. I would go into greater detail but I tend to find myself experiencing acute narcolepsy during any conversation that revolves around the word "bag". In the colder months, the plumage consists of tight pants unnecessarily rolled to mid-calf, waterproof windbreakers over hoodies, and the occasional cold weather face masks that run the spectrum between urban ninja to Hannibal Lecter.  In the Summer months, the Fixter molts it's heavy outer layer to reveal its cutoff shirts, ankle socks and obscenely short cutoff shorts. 

Behavior: Whoops! Already covered this in the opening paragraph. They are simultaneously Crazy, Needy and Douchey which, indecently, are my three favorite of the Seven Dwarves.

Modes of Transportation: Fixed gear track bikes. There's much to be said on the topic of makes and models but I find myself experiencing acute narcolepsy AND Irritable Bowel Syndrome during any conversation that revolves around "how I'm getting to work today". Please visit Bike Snob for more in depth coverage.

Mating Call: No particular call, as their entire sexual energy is focused on an inanimate object. The act of copulation is as follows:

Musical Taste: The discordant symphony that can only be heard after repeatedly doing something incredibly stupid directly in front of any motor vehicle equipped with a horn.

Bottom Line: Quite delicate. Would immediately become endangered should the world's supply of carbon fiber and PBR ever dry up.

And there we have it. Not only did I finally deliver on a long promised post, but I did it before five in the afternoon. Oh, this blog is growing up so fast!