The third man

There are three men. All are presented with the same problem.

The first man says, I will work as hard as I can, suffer and sweat until I solve this problem, no matter how hard it is.

The second says, This problem is too hard. I'll never be able to solve it.

The third says very little, and just stares in wonder and curiosity at the turmoil of the problem and the other two men, wonders and thinks about their interaction.

I'm the third man.

Why do we think the way we do? As I read various texts, from the newspaper's sensationalist journalism to my favorite surreal fictionalists, I get this sense that many people are confident in their knowledge/hunches of the way the world works, the way people around them tick, and so it goes.

Myself, I am constantly astounded at the chaotic crashing of thoughts through my head. The only thing that keeps organization is that some thoughts crash more consistently into the forebrain than others. This doesn't disturb me in the least, it just seems to be. Perhaps this reflection is brought about by my reading of more than a few pages of fiction, where life is ordered into a storytelling form, linear and organized. Making life and human interactions linear and organized. Therein lies the fiction, therein lies the art.

Speaking of crashing, I was recently drawn into another heated debate about the validity of fixed gear bicycles as a form of urban transport and cycleriffic fun. Why must these debates get so heated? I love bikes, in all shapes and sizes. The people that pick a side of the fence,

(fixies are true connection with the road, the ultimate in simplifying the human/machine interface... OR fixies are a dumb fad, no one knows how to ride them, they only want them as a hip fashion accessory, fixie riders aren't even about bikes, they will all crash and die without a brake, etc. etc.)

why must sides be picked? Bikes are fun. Period. Ride them. This smacks of those surfers that ride shortboards and glare and curse when I paddle my big, long stick into the water (perhaps its envy?) Or when I was younger, and skateboarders that couldn't even land a kickflip on flat ground would gnash their teeth and scoff at me when I launched a 360 out of the halfpipe on my "fruitboots" aka rollerblades.

Shit, it doesn't even stop there. Go to Utah, try to take your snowboard to Alta ski resort. Nope. not allowed. Not unless you take a skillsaw to the centerline and drill some ski bindings in. Snowboards NO. Skis yes. Longboards NO. Shortboards yes. Rollerblades NO. Skateboards yes. Fixies NO. Freewheels yes.

Can't anyone besides me see that no matter what the sport, stupid apes find a way of making their platform better by excluding or belittling another? Why can't we apes just see that long or short, fixed or free, one or two, blades or boards, we're all enjoying varieties of the same feeling? Can't we just smile at the variety that is created around the dynamic sensation and pursuit of flat out fun?

Huh? Can't we?

Welcome to my corner of rants and photos. No time this morning to mash the keyboard, I must away on my steel stallion to my place of employ, but perhaps in future posts I will expound on what it feels like to have your heart take a dump on your head, or perhaps I'll wax on about the wonders of the bicycle, the velocipede and penny-farthing.

no, not penny farting.

this is my favorite accident photo.

boys and dirt and wheels and one cute girl.