bike crush

"Save your crushes for the unattainable."
That's one of the strangest pieces of advice I've ever gotten from a friend. I didn't get it at all at the time. I still might be misunderstanding it. It sort of requires a sense of self-confidence that borders on the delusional, and that sort of turns me off. But it's oddly comforting advice for when you do get crushed by your, um, crush, because in the end, unless they're unattainable, you were way too good for them anyway. And if they're unattainable, the crush wasn't going anywhere to begin with.
I'm trying to save my bike crushes too. It's hard though. What can I say? I fall in love maybe a little too easily.
Or more accurately, maybe I just like falling in love. Unfortunately that sort of tends to lead to poor decision making - like when I'm unable to find a track frame small enough to fit me and I actually start to consider buying another "entry-level" bike when I'm really looking to invest in something a bit better.
But fortunately for me, Cambridge Bikes came to the rescue with some sage advice: Fit's important. Keep looking. Don't buy something that I'm not in love with.

So basically, I shouldn't sell out to the materialistic whore in me that's screaming for another bike. Which seems painfully obvious to any outside observer, but really isn't if you've forgotten - like me, sadly - how not to sell out.
It's time to start retaining my integrity I guess [although I think I've lost too much of it to actually go back to punk rock and pink hair]. And I suppose, like most crushes, the hunt is part of the fun. Even if the whole roller-coater ride of getting my hopes up that a frame will fit, only to have them come crashing down on me, is...not so fun.
But hey, I'm too good for those frames anyway, right?

party dresses and piercings

For most of my life, all I ever wanted to be was a fashion designer. I ended up in law school instead. Yeah, long story which involves, among other things, my realization that I wasn't talented enough, my eternal status as the less talented sibling, and sheer spinelessness and terror at taking a chance and jumping into an industry with little stability. It's a choice that I still regret.
Needless to say, this love of making and designing clothes translated easily into buying and acquiring clothes. And shoes. And bags. And accessories.
But when I met the other love of my life [the bike, obviously, not a boy], fashion design sort of faded away. I find spandex more comfortable than Marc Jacobs. I'm so awkward that I know I'll fall and shred one of my vintage shirts if I ever tried riding in them. And heels + bike can only = complete disaster and lots of blood.

When my best friend - who has several closets I would kill a few puppies for - heard my excuses, her response was:
"This whole bike riding's really getting in the way of you bringing sexy back."
So the goal this year - other than the whole "riding no handed and being able to do trackstands and all the other basic stuff that other normal people can do" - is to ride in a skirt. And figure out a way to wear my earrings with a helmet strapped to my head. And not lose them.

Because, even if it's to bring sexy back, I will be seriously pissed if I lose my Vivienne Westwood earrings.

salty

Any delusions I may have had concerning that elusive concept of "free time" are slowly melting away. What I seem to be left with is a big, dirty, slushy mess of new deadlines, more work, days I'll be "on call" in class, meetings, and that ever-persistent feeling of guilt I get when my nose isn't buried in a book.
I'm feeling as worn out and salty as the bike that's sitting out in my hallway, drying off. Yeah, I've been neglecting it.

I know I shouldn't and I know I have to wipe it down, lube the chain, and clean the damn rims, but for now, the pile of papers and books and the possibility of falling behind in my work intimidate me more. This weekend, I promise, really. Hats too, after I get some stuff done. It's there on my list - people are there on my list - and I'm frantically trying to check things off, cross them out, and get moving on, well, everything.
I even tried to promise myself to write longer posts, make them more interesting and all that. Yeah, it's not really happening yet. Soon, though, soon. I promise.
I promise, I keep my promises.

1F

When I was younger, I [irrationally?] feared having a squat, ugly nose [I'm Asian, so the fears might not have been completely irrational]. I remember trying to relate this concern to my mother, who suggested I keep a clothespin on my nose to "train" it to become pointy.
She was joking, but I was five. I actually did it, although for about 5 minutes at a time. Because, hello, it hurts.
I mentioned this to my mother a few years ago who a) didn't even remember that this had happened, and b) concluded with "well, it worked, didn't it?"
I guess.
But those same irrational fears are coming up again. In the frigid cold Boston's been experiencing lately, my balaclava's coming in pretty handy. Except...it squishes my nose.

This is sort of unacceptable. What if my nose now regresses, and becomes more squat? I don't have clothespins here! Now that I'm older, do I have to keep the clothespin on for longer? Which clothespin should I be using?
This is all very frustrating and troublesome. It's good to know, though, that that nice, thick layer of fat that's grown on me since I've moved to Boston, and the fact that I'm ridiculously out of shape, are coming in handy for dealing with this weather. Both are keeping me warm enough to pull down that pesky balaclava a third of the way into my commute.
Thank God, really, because with this economy, my dowry really can't take any more hits.

bike polo...indoors!

A few months ago, feeling that I really had nothing left to lose, I randomly biked to the William E. Smith playing field in Allston to watch my first game of bike polo.
My appearance was, being totally random, awkward. But a firm believer in the power of enthusiasm, I showed up again the next week...and the next...and the next.
And while I could barely take a hand off the bars back in October, I can now hold a mallet and [sort of] "play."
But improving bike skills aren't the only reason I kept showing up, week after week, in the increasing cold. It's one break in the almost endless cycle of 12-14 hour days, where I can forget about grown-up things like "being responsible." I can pop open a beer on 2pm on a Sunday and laugh at things I actually find funny, rather than doing the polite, courtesy laugh and pretending to be interested in things that are...not that interesting. And though there's something definitely terrifying about seeing three to four aggressive, skilled polo players pedaling towards you at full speed, mallets drawn, bike polo - and the people that play - has legitimately kept me sane.
So when the possibility of playing polo indoors came up, I chose to forget my schoolwork, my ever-persistent jet-lag, and the reality that it's kind of cold out to hitch a ride to Hockeytown in Saugus with Boston's finest [polo players].
Bikes stacked into the back of Tyler's truck, we impatiently made our way through rush hour traffic and made it just in time for our free trial hour of polo.

The court, made for roller hockey, is made up of plastic panels; and let me tell you, it's huge.

Games immediately followed our arrival, and though it was a little chilly, the hour was over all too quickly.

Lucky for us, Hockeytown has some openings during the week and weekends. Seems like we'll be making a few more drives to Saugus until the weather gets nicer.

how to get a hat...

Remember when Bape was popular? Not like when it was still obscure enough to be hip but when it was just underground enough to get you some scene points? And then how it exploded into this black hole of shameless consumerism?
I remember the shirts, the secret stores with no signs, and one of the most amazing shoe stores I've ever stepped into.
It's gone now. The shoe store, that is.
But I still like Bape, mostly because of the incredible irony of the whole brand/situation. Nigo (the creator of Bape) based the brand name on a Japanese proverb to describe complacency: "like apes bathing in lukewarm water." He thought Japanese youth suffered from lazy, luxurious, complacency. They were the same people that would unquestioningly snatch up his products several years later (enabling Nigo to stud his teeth with diamonds).
I didn't want to be a Bape. Neither do I want to stud my teeth with diamonds.

Which might explain my aversion to outright selling my hats. I'd rather trade. I'd rather see people love what I make. I'd gladly give a hat away for free if it gave someone an excuse to do something they loved to do. Taking money is too easy. Besides, words like "profit" coupled with words like "art" sort of make me sick.
But at the same time, there's only one of me; and while I speak an Asian language, I don't have 18 fingers (+2 points if you get that reference). So to answer the emails that have been appearing in my inbox lately - how do you get a pedal-strike hat?
Go to Cambridge Bikes, or
Make me an offer - something you are willing to do in return for a hat. I don't mean "bring me beer" (unless it's Hitachino White Pale Ale). I mean do something. Make something. It doesn't have to be outrageous, as long as it's more interesting than cash.
Or, watch this site (and try your luck...more info on that soon, I promise).
Oh yeah, and say hello if you ever see me around.