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.

a bold[sprints] adventure

Having gotten my polo fix earlier this week, and today being a holiday, I was on the look-out for some weekend bike-related goodness.
Thank God for Boldsprints!
It was snowing as I left for Cambridge, and it felt like I was getting facial acupuncture as I pedaled. And then nature and gravity decided to show me that my conviction that "I have a 'cross bike so therefore I can bike over/through anything" was just totally wrong. Good thing I wasn't with anyone though, as sliding down Mass Ave on my ass is one of my less charming moments.
I made it to the Middlesex, though, in one slushy piece. Hats were delivered, old faces seen, new ones met, and [some of a] beer consumed. And while 'Sprints didn't happen due to some impossibly difficult technical problem, fun times were had.

Until, of course, I was faced with the choice of pedaling home in the snow. With the roads not that plowed, fate seemed to imply that I would either be walking it or sliding home on one buttcheek.
But lucky for me, a friend offered me a ride home...if I biked to his house/car in Somerville. There was walking involved, but I'd like to think much less sliding.

Then a whole other adventure ensued in which the guy who was parked behind my friend wouldn't wake up but we could hear the TV on. Oh, and sliding sideways down the hills of Somerville when we finally got on the road. But of course, it was well worth it.
So...when is the next Boldsprints, again?

my very own baileyworks

I love the anonymity of the internet.
I can show people I have never met before what I'm doing, tell them what I'm thinking, and have a long trail of blog posts and pictures open for pretty much anyone with an internet connection to read/see.
It's like Facebook stalking taken to a creepier level. The most frightening part being that I'm actually voluntarily providing this information (sans the pictures of drunken debauchery...well, for now, at least).
So this is kind of a bold move on my part. It's taking the internet life and applying it to my real one, which means that people might figure out who I am. My excuse though, is that my Baileyworks bag needed some customization.

It was fairly easy - I printed out what I wanted to eventually paint on my bag. I decided to paint this onto another piece of fabric for two reasons: 1. I didn't want to mess up all over my beloved bag, and 2. if it got dirty or worn, I could easily replace it.
After figuring out where I wanted the text, I cut out the letters. This process is easier with an X-acto knife but I'm running a woefully amateur operation here, and made do with a pair of regular scissors.

Using a fabric pen (it's a water soluble ink pen made for drawing on fabric - a pencil or tailor's chalk should work just fine, although finer font will be more difficult), I traced the outline of the font.

I painted it by hand with a very fine paintbrush and some fabric paint. Actually it was silkscreen paint. Like I said before, I'm making do with what's around my apartment.

After letting it dry overnight and ironing it from the back (as per the silkscreen ink instructions), I figured out where I wanted the giant patch to go on my bag. I chose to sew it on by hand because I was afraid my sewing machine may not be able to take it, and I didn't want to punch holes (however tiny) into the vinyl lining. The edges were left raw on purpose, although finishing the seams would give it a cleaner look.
Hopefully I'll get a picture of what it looks like when it's strapped to my back. Now go and make your own patches!

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.