winning the lotto

As a diehard believer in the power of postcards, I love getting real mail. For me, it's one of the best parts of Christmas; I am guaranteed a few real cards, complete with paper stamps and postmarks. Handwritten letters on real paper are the key to my heart. Call me materialistic, but packages will always be better than emails, texts, or even gchat. They are signs that someone cared enough about you to put something in a box, tape and address it, and then carry it to a post office. Even if you paid an Amazon employee to do all of the above.
I understand that this revelation of mine is nothing extraordinary. It's a happy event that occurs quite regularly in daily life. Sometimes, when you know mail is headed your way, it becomes something to look forward to, other than 5:01pm on Fridays. I could write a billion words about how real mail makes me feel, and you'd get it. Most people would.
There are no words, though, to accurately describe the feeling of complete, unconditional happiness when your favorite UCI WORLD TOUR PRO CYCLIST sends you something [priority!] in the mail.

A package from the Czech Republic, courtesy of the most amazing Adam Hansen, arrived last Thursday. I've had a stupid grin permanently on my face, since.
"What's your favorite color?" Adam had asked a few weeks ago, "I'll send you a t-shirt."
But what came with the perfectly fitting Hanseeno t-shirt, were Lotto socks, a Lotto cap, Lotto neckwarmer, and a Lotto jersey. I was sweating so much I had to shower 10 minutes after opening the package.

I didn't want to take the shirt or the jersey out of their plastic sleeves at first, but I eventually caved. Unfolded, the t-shirt has these great little details [the logo on the sleeve, and the "Hanseeno" down the side]. The geek in me loves the plastic toy-inspired design [what are those called, exactly?]. It's become my new favorite t-shirt.

As for the jersey, I'd secretly lusted after it on the Lotto-Belisol e-shop and had to take a better look. It's incredibly thin and light but super soft at the same time. It feels dead fucking sexy. [I have the sleeves tucked in here.]

And then I flipped it over, and noticed...

I almost screamed and passed out at the same time.
"Does it fit?" Adam later asked.
"I don't know, I'm going to frame it," I replied.
"No, wear it! I should send you an aero one...those are tiny!" He joked.

Yeah, I still haven't come to terms with the fact that this actually happened. But the jersey's still in my room so...I think it did.

......So, um, does the Universe make any more of these? Preferably very single and totally in love with me? Because I'm calling fucking dibs.
Adam, I owe you major hugz.

an open letter to cycling fans

As a pro cycling fan, I consider Internet cycling news sources to be invaluable. Cyclingnews.com, Velonews.com, Pez Cycling News. Those are the sites I click to first, after checking my e-mail and a quick flick through Twitter. I'd like to say that they feed this addiction of mine, but that wouldn't be accurate; without these news sources, I'd be mostly lost. They transcribe the drama of the races I can't watch live, for whatever reason, and translate the utterings of the pros. If I'm dead beat or just have to get up extra early to squeeze in a longer, pre-work ride, I feel a little less guilty going to bed. I know that I'll be able to read up on all the races the next morning.
Reading about pro cycling while sipping that first cup of coffee is one of the best ways to start a day. As a fan, I tolerate the typos and occasional mistakes; the gist of the race is there, the action encapsuled. As a writer, I often question how - and why - we've let our standards for sports journalism fall so low. For a sport that's not based solely on team names and numerical scores, the drama for which we stay up until the odd hours of the night all over the world, how did sub-par writing become the norm?
Friends who have been doing this longer tend to shrug it off. "That's why smart people read Pez Cycling," a friend once said. Others have suggested alternate news sources with the qualifier, "still not good, but better."
That last phrase? That's honestly embarrassing.
If you love cycling, and are lucky enough to get paid to attend the best races in the world to write about them, the least you can do is run an eye over your article once it's done. Check to make sure your verb tenses are correct. Fix the obvious typos. Break up the paragraph-length, run-on sentences, or at least throw in a few commas. Edit what you write, so you can be proud of what you publish. If you can't meet that threshold - one I've managed to satisfy, most of the time, for a blog that I pay to maintain - then journalism is not your calling. Laziness and sloppiness don't just reflect poorly on you; they also hint at what exactly you think of your readers.
While the Internet places a premium on speedy publication, its existence doesn't mean deadlines can be used as an umbrella excuse for consistently poor writing. With subscriptions declining sharply since the rise of the web, higher standards can't be limited to print publications. Unless, of course, you really want to go out of business.
I believe that sports journalists are more than capable of respecting the basic rules of grammar. Particularly if they're getting paid to write. I also know that the fans - the same individuals who are paying those journalists' salaries [through clicks, page views, whatever] - deserve at least that much.
I know I certainly do, which is why I've emailed an editor of a popular cycling news site. And I'll keep emailing him if that's what it takes. Because we aren't idiots, and we shouldn't be paying people [however indirectly] to treat us like idiots, either. If the poor quality of an article pisses you off enough, I'd like to ask you to do the same. It's the least we can do for our sport.
Thanks, everyone!
Sincerely, K S

brb...

Been doing a bit too much of this...

And this [don't hate on the t-shirt]...

But I'll be back soon!