Analog technology is the new digital

I have to admit that shiny new gadgets are cool. I updated my cell phone from the 80's with no camera and two ring tones to one from the millenium with a camera, but no internet. I'm a cheap bastard. I'd rather save money for motorcycle parts and restore some old Japanese rust heap than replace my I-Pod that is the same size as a pack of smokes (4 gigs no less!).

But when I saddled up to head to Seattle this morning that little voice in the back of my head suggested taking the car, rather than riding my 1976 Yamaha XS360. I trusted my trusty steed would handle the cold spring to Seattle. It did, most of the way. Once I hit the U-District my headlight went out. In a car, this isn't a huge deal. One a motorcycle it is a recipe for disaster.

So when I reached AltRider I tore into the headlight, dreading the tax I'd pay some Seattle fashionista accessory center for a new light. After running some scientific tests (holding the light terminals against a battery to light it up) I realized that the problem isn't the headlight, but instead a fuse.

One nice thing about technology is that is has really evolved in how it is delivered. New bikes and cars use special prong fuses that make a short circuit easy to trace and easy to fix. Let's just say that 1970's bike electrical systems are fairly simple, but never easy to fix.

Long story-short: I repaired the fuse and got my headlight back. That is just one aspect of trying to keep 34 year old machines road worthy and running well. If you want the nod of respect for running a vintage bike, you better have the wherewithal to now how to fix it. Otherwise, you're gonna get taxed.

I love my dog: Prepare to Weep

I was checking out some blogs while pretending to work and found this amazing video short about a tough situation. I get mad at my dog for digging holes in the yard. I'm gonna leave early today and take her for a run where ever she wants to go. Nothing like sitting at your desk with tears streaming down both cheeks while strangers look at you, to distant to really want to know, to awkward to ask... Heavy.

Last Minutes with ODEN from phos pictures on Vimeo.

Amazing Dinner. Aha. Dinner.

Well, after not being able to sleep due to a looming, high pressure job interview at Dairy Queen (night assistant manager), I whipped up a special breakfast. I cracked the DaVinci code of perfect breakfast, creating the Omaleta, the ultimate breakfast sammich. In case you haven't been to the beach in a while, let me give the surf report on this latest wave of epic day starting deliciousness.
First I whip up two eggs. Medium organic or farm fresh eggs work best. They will kill you less than hormonally injected eggs. I put the left cast iron pan on Med/High and the right side cast iron pan on Med. I butter both up with a slathering of slippery, buttery, non-stick goodness and prep some veggies.
I'm a mushroom man. I always have been. Shittake, magic, domestic, whatever. I'm down for the fungus. Some folks, roomates, or girlfriend, perhaps, aren't as down with the fungus. Being anti mushroom is painful in such close quarters, but that's a whole 'nother post.
So back to the brekkie. I whip up the two egg omellete and add some broccoli, red peppers and cheese. I run a nice three cheese blend. So while the eggs were firming up, I put the tortilla on to heat up and get crispy. I timed it perfectly so that when the egg half flip/half fold is nice, brown and little bit crispy itself, I pull the tortilla shell, fold it in half and slip in the egg. Want some ketchup on that bitch? Go nuts. Tapitio? Dios Mio!
But after a prolonged frolic with the furry hound at the park after breakfast and two mugs of java, I hustled back home for an epic session spinning wrenches.
I dialed in carb settings on a finicky Kawasaki triple. This pig was gonna run right if it killed me. At present it is a tie. But I think I have a slight lead. Again, another post for another time.
So after another phenomenal run with the beast through the woods, riding my cruiser bike as the hound sprinted to keep up, I started thinking about dinner.
I peered in the fridge and realized that crucial step I missed in pursuit of fun today, I forgot to secure groceries from my friend Fred. Fred Meyer and I have an agreement. I show up and fork over cash and Fred provides me epic snacks and other sustainables.
So with limited options on the fridge front, adjacent cabinets and leftover locker, I deduced that I needed a selection of foodstuffs to cover the range of tastes on demand for this evening. Does any fast food joint offer a veggie, Mexican, sub, chocolate, peanut butter, spicy, wheat, orange entree? It looks like I'll be making a loop.
So I started with the taco truck, bellying up en Espanol for a pollo torta and dos carnitas sopes. Add a pair of Jaritios to that order por favor and I'm rolling. Hell, I'm already full just carrying the bag. Next stop, pet store. Duck flavored treats for the beast, then on to Subway.
The boss ordered up her Subway sammich (veggie, no onion, mustard, mayo, fixings, no oil) and I ran next door to Dairy Queen. The traditionally desolate landscape of sugary delights was full and lush with pre pubescent teen girls and soccer moms. I successfully pushed all perverse MILF mantra from my mind and was mildly making headway. One mom caught my eye, rather directly in fact. I did a quick ring check and noticed the hardware lacking on a particular finger. Old habits... I moved my eyes from the yoga pants to the menu. Peanut Butter blizzard. Damn straight.
Extra curricular pursuits aren't on this menu, so I berated myself with a thorough mental flogging. I'll stop being a total deril, someday.
So back to Subway. I tossed the young bird behind the counter a pair of Dilly bars (chocolate) for her and her partner in crime.
She lit up and said thanks. I said she was welcome and told her to have a good night. Her warm smile, goofy braces and quirky sunglasses got even brighter.
Aleta looked over quizzically (word?) and smiled.
We headed out and and she asked, "How did you know the Subway clerk wanted something sweet?" Well, now and then, I'm pretty good at tuning in. Almost as good as tuning out.
Oh, and I started smoking weed again.