pilderwasser

Monday is a Bobo Day

Not quite right. Like under inflated knobby tires on a newly paved smooth road. But not all wrong. Like a full suspension mountain bike with drop bars, slick tires, full fenders and bar ends with rearview mirrors on both sides.

Not warm and fuzzy like a hot toddy by the fire, fluffy white Bing Crosby snow piling up. But cold and dreary late March just that side of freezing rain hand numbing feet soaking I’m so over this winter weather snow fall.

whatever it takes

take it

I have no recollection of the events in question. I am without sufficient information and therefore can neither confirm nor deny the allegations.

The guy in the orange hat. The orange hat you just might see in a small town in Iowa on RAGBRAI. The orange hat you just might see at a top-secret underground boxing match. The orange hat you just might see in a cheap bar or an expensive bar with a friendly bartender.

Bought a Daryl and an unexpected bonus cereal bowl came along for the ride. Had it shipped to the office because UPS won’t touch my apartment building. All my co-workers were very curious, loving, touching, squeezing the strange package, thinking I ordered some sex toys or male enhancement products from a California sex toy company called Swobo

If you pour yourself into a relationship for 6 years, then walk away, you’re removed from the situation but never completely clear of it. A piece of you left behind and a piece of the relationship lodged in your heart like shrapnel. It will always be there and it’s sort of lumpy but with time it smoothes over a bit.

A swath of buildings including the historic Eileen Court Apartments will soon be torn down to make way for the Capitol Hill light rail station. I am all for progress and mass transit and would love to hop on a train and get to Sea-Tac Airport in 20 minutes, but I have some attachments to this old building after living and working there for 6 years. Not only as the manager but for two of those years also working for the remodeling contractor. Working overtime, it not only felt like around the clock, it was. I couldn’t go home and relax and forget about work, I lived at work. During that two year stretch I would occasionally sub at WA Legal on nice sunny days. That two year taste of residential remodeling is one of the things that pushed me back to the messenger world.

About 11 years ago the owner of the building went into bankruptcy and a trustee took over. A short time later a real estate company bought it for under a million. Which is a steal for a 24 unit apartment on Capitol Hill. Over the next few years they remodeled it from top to bottom. A new roof. Replaced the white trash Bavarian stucco exterior with beige vinyl siding, All new plumbing and electrical, new light fixtures in the hallways, new carpets. They even refinished all the original wood floors. High ceilings, huge windows, gas stove, claw foot tubs, old world charm with all the modern conveniences.

When I moved in, a studio apartment was $300. After the remodel, studios were $950.

Last year Sound Transit bought the building. I delivered some of the legal documents before the final sale and had a chance to flip through them. I’m not sure what the bottom line was but a fully occupied apartment on the hill in 2007 is worth some money and the monthly stream of income factors nicely into the value. Add to the original purchase price the extensive remodeling, and an expensive drawn out...

When the dust clears I’ll be starting up a new website. A live web cam 24 hour feed available to members only, who with a password, will log on and check the time. The web cam image will look a lot like this, actually exactly like this, because it will be relaying digital images 24-7 of this old clock that has been broken for years. It is 3:33 twice a day and this clock holds steady. But don’t tell all those suckers out there that are looking for something to spend their money on. Membership will of course be expensive and exclusive and desirable. The more, the more, the more. In the lower right hand corner a digital clock will indicate the actual correct time in the Pacific Time Zone. Why wear a clunky old wrist watch when you can pull out your iPhone and log onto my site and see what time it is. Don’t trust the clock that’s built into your phone or computer. Buy into my site.

A follow-up site will be a 24-7 live feed of a VCR with its clock blinking 12:00am and in the lower right hand corner of the screen a digital image of an analog clock indicating the correct time.

Analog vs Digital
Or just digital with a price tag on the nostalgia of analog.

Ten years ago venture capitalists would've been throwing start-up money at me for bullshit like this.  

jump to conclusions, make connections, assume.

Sometimes it's the right thing to do. It's in your best interest. It's survival instinct.

Snap judgement, label, stereotype, compartmentalize, pigeonhole, evaluate in the blink of an eye...then move on. Work your way back later and clean it up if there's time. Or not. go with it. Dig deeper.

In the blink of an eye this morning, a white Mercedes came out of nowhere, came as close to T-boning me as a car has been in the last 3 years. My fault. My bad, sorry bro. My eyes blinked and my half-ass slow speed under caffeinated decision making almost cost me the RB-2.

It's hard to make snap judgements with your eyes closed.

Sacha‘s T-shirt idea

appropriate for crowded elevators and clogged escalators

Return to your cubicles
Nothing to see here
Shows over
Keep moving
slowly through the feed lot
Get fat fatter
Dumb it down
Keep your head down
Get up       get get get down
Extract some pleasure from that
microwave popcorn or one
last box of Girl Scout cookies
Whatever it takes to
avoid confronting the truth
You’re standing in line
Smiling content peaceful obedient
On your way to the slaughter house
Stop asking questions
Pay your taxes
Pick up some food to go on the way                                                                                                  in a Styrofoam clamshell
Read the memo
Get a haircut
Get in line
Get with the program
Get up      get get get down
Conform
Conform copy and return
    to do it all again and
Again the next day

On paper or as-the-crow-flies they appear to be a block away from each other. However, 516 3rd Avenue is a world away from 517 4th Avenue. Worlds apart in terms of convenience, elevation, social strata, spare changing, ratio of attorneys to bus stop detritus, free-locking bikes. How long does it take to replace a sidewalk? How big is a government contract? How much milk can a contractor milk if contractor must milk milk?

You’re telling me to grow up, acknowledge the facts and get serious. I’m telling you I’ve seen those facts and if that’s growing up, you’re kidding yourself.

Stop kidding yourself, get serious.
Stop being so serious, laugh a little.
Fucking up because you’re too serious. Or
Fucking up because you’re not serious enough.
It’s a fine line, so fine in fact, the end results, the final products, the sum totals are the same. No matter how you slice it, it comes up peanuts. Peanuts Nothing but peanuts in the end, so you might as well laugh a little.

It continues to be a quality of life issue. (it’s all horseshit)

It’s in my bottle cage on the 3rd Ave side.

***

stale Monday aftertaste?

have a grilled cheese sandwich 

the Dude abides 

sit in an office chair and ride a bike... the Dream Machine

I'm getting hard on myself sitting in my easy chair

In Seattle you can be an aggressive athletic rider and be a more passive rider at the same time, so order both options.

...it's so easy to see...

I took a picture of Seth taking a picture of some photo guy taking a picture of Leland and Steve. Behind me is Todd attempting to take a picture of me, Seth, photo guy, Leland and Steve. Justin is along for the ride watching the whole thing, laughing.

Sugarbear brought the party with him last night. Nothing goes better with cheap beer on a Friday night after a long week of work, than Godiva White Chocolate Liqueur, peppermint schnapps, Pimm’s, and various other hard liquors. The party kit even included swizzle sticks, colorful sword toothpicks, foo-foo umbrellas, and an official glASS rimmer.

 Hey you, yeah you in the purple fleece vest made from recycled plastic bottles toting the yoga mat made from organic rubber and free-range bamboo fibers waiting in line at Café Fiori for your soy mocha served in a 90% post consumer recycled paper fully compostable cup smiling your big environmental smile living in your 4 million dollar LEED certified green home high atop Queen Anne Hill with your double pane windows and your dual flush toilets and your non-volatile organic compounds, yeah you. If you really want to help out, take a look at the environmental impact statement for raising just one of your cherubic blonde kids sitting in the back of your Cayenne that's running out front. Just one kid, we won’t discuss the SUV, the Weimaraner or the Vizsla, or your Tri-Delt Nordic Princess Corporate Tax Lawyer spouse’s spending habits.

I’m not angry. I’m laughing. I don’t ride a bike for the environment. I ride a bike to ride a bike and I drink black coffee and today is my Friday.

Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale...

 A tale of a fateful trip to the Seattle Office of the Washington State Insurance Commissioner. Housed in a dark stinky corner of an old building on 3rd Avenue. The door is always locked but there’s a doorbell, an intercom and a phone. These three methods along with old fashioned knocking can be used to try to gain access to the office. The three options are offered only to slow you down a bit, to make you wonder if one isn’t working, should you try another, or should you try all three and then try knocking. The door isn’t locked for security reasons. The door is locked to slow you down, to give the office workers inside a chance to clean up, put their pants and shoes back on, fold up their cots and pretend like they’d been working for the last 5 hours before the messenger showed up.

Any actual work done by the Insurance Commissioner’s office is done in Olympia and consists of schmoozing, lobbying lobbyists, long lunches with politicians, eating, drinking, playing golf and other bullshit. The Seattle office appears to have no real function. When they finally opened the door and let me in, I couldn’t help but think of the seven deadly sins and how they were represented well in this stale government office. Represented better here than on Gilligan’s Island.

I handed the letter to John Doe office worker and said I just need a stamp on the return copy and the messenger slip. This was a tremendously confusing request to Mr. Doe. A long puzzled stare at the documents then at me then back at the documents. Then I said, do you have a received stamp? He said he’d look for one and asked which letter was for him. I said the original, the one on beige heavy stock paper with the embossed letter head at the top and the original signature in blue ink at the bottom. The copy is the other one, the one that says “copy“ on it , the one that’s a photocopy of the original which is in your other hand,  the copy is the one I need a stamp on.

He went off and found Jane Doe office worker who seemed to know where there was a rubber stamp stored in the office and they discussed the task...

I can’t go for that (no can do)
Do what you need to do
What else can you do
glistening with dew
It’s long over due
What should I do
What can you do
Do what you do

DANK bags...show me the money

money talks

Day night. Night day. Light dark. Up down. Yin Yang. Front back. Good Evil. Heads tails. You make the call. Give me a call. Missed your call. Called you back. A two way radio. Cuts both ways. It’s a two way street. A string tied between two cans. Two can minimum before 11. Open at 11:00am. This one goes to eleven. Equinox.

Whole package. Big Picture.

Take it all.

In.

Out.

Work it out.

that's Jonny Sundt in the Kelly Benefit kit

that's Chad in a Kelly Benefits long sleeve

12.67 months later...what goes around, comes around.

coincidence, I think not.  

Reduce, reuse, recycle. Or just cycle.

From the land of recreational cycling, of occasional joy rides through the sunny warm fuzzy beautiful landscapes. Where bike maintenance and repair was a labor of love, done proactively. With no time constraints. With music in the background With a beer in my hand. With a smile on my face.

To the land of messengerville, bike riding every single day through the gritty grimy rainy ugly streets of the city. Where bike repairs are reactions to parts falling apart, disintegrating, completely failing. Maintenance becomes field medicine. And repairs are done triage style. Tolerance for “issues” with my bike has gone way up. Ignorance isn’t really bliss, but it makes for a less stressful day. Turn up the iPod and ignore that creaking. Continue to go with the assumption that the source of that rattling is the paper clip some joker put in my seat tube and not a cracked locknut on my rear hub.

It’s not quite right, but it aint broke and the last thing I want to do after work is fix it.

Aw, mom, you know I’m not like other guys. I’m nervous and my socks are too loose…and I stepped in dogshit.

Mom proceeds to try and scrape the shit off junior’s boot with a dainty little straw from Monorail. Successfully removing a small pile of it right in the middle of my office.

Kid, you’re wearing boots, you stepped in shit, big deal. That’s what boots are for. Walk it off. The most traumatic part of the whole experience for you has probably been us ridiculing you, taking pictures, laughing.

When I was your age, there were no leash laws, no poop bags, no worries about all the kids on the field that might slide tackle in that Irish Setter’s shit at tomorrow’s soccer practice. We’ve all stepped in shit. Whatever. It’s how you handle the next step that distinguishes you. If your mom sits you down and tries to clean you up with the straw from her iced latte…that’s not just dog shit, that’s horseshit.

It’s OK kid, just walk it off. It’s not your fault, but you have to live with it.

Two people sitting at the bar. Drinking. Venting. Unwinding. Talking shit about co-workers, bosses, underlings and work in general. They could be attorneys, construction workers, studio photographers, bike messengers, actuaries or electricians. Change the wardrobe, the titles, the locations, the vocabulary, the jargon, do you speak the lingo? But keep the stupid shit, the petty details, the complaining, the politics, the junior-high-level human relations problems. It’s all the same, only the names will change. I'm a messenger, on a steel horse I ride. 

Gotta go to work gotta go to work gotta have a job.

Ask Cat about Horatio Alger and how important his work has been over time and continues to be in each of our daily lives. Ask Cat about what really matters and about what’s horseshit. Ask Cat what it all means.

                                nice shirt Hurl

Sugarbear told me about this article in Momentum Magazine read it

Hello Hurl. Hello Carl. Hello Minneapolis.

Any resemblance to actual people, locations or events is completely intentional.

Relax. Get over it. Roll with it. Move forward, look back.

they make nice bags down there at DANK

got me three of those DANK bags

I heard they're pretty cool guys at DANK bags

heard they have DANK t-shirts now

heard they like to drink some Indiana Pale Ale

heard they wear full-face helmets on the way home from the bar

heard they throw southpaw

that's what I heard

Are you going to sit there and complain

Are you going to play the hand you’re dealt

Are you going to get up from the table
and walk away

it's the end of the world as we know it

I don't drive a white van 

and I feel fine 

doric ionic corinthian whatever it takes

unused potential

Limitless potential

death warmed over 

Death warmed over. And not very warm at that. This guy looks as if he died 20 years ago but has been showing up for work ever since. On time. Every day. Never missed a day. Going through the motions. Pale grey lifeless. No sparkle in his eye. No no no nothing. Emptiness. It’s not as if he’s counting down the days to his retirement with full pension. It’s more like he’s in some purgatory, some spiritual limbo just this side of hell, with no end in sight.

If it wasn’t so spooky maybe I’d feel some sort of pity for him. But what I really feel is grateful that this guy is here, that this mailroom exists in this shithole government building. Because Mr. Luke Warm will sign for anything and it’s a lot easier to find him in the mailroom than it is to find some DB government worker with just a mail-stop address and nowhere near a suite number.

Do you feel that?

Please make a note of it.

Visions of RAGBRAI dancing in my head, dancing in the street, standing in the beer garden, beers per day, beers per hour, beers per dollar, dollars per ounce, pound for pound, power to weight ratio, alcohol by weight, alcohol by volume, turn up the volume, there are 15,000 people dancing in the streets of this small town in Iowa.

Mark your calendars, buy your plane tickets.

EAT more,

DRINK as much as you want,

BE MERRY, the bike riding is the easy part.

I’m not joking.

there's a story here. I'll tell you about it.

to your face. in person. for real. really.

Or you can try and figure it out 

Like Claire said, she's probably somebody‘s bucky   

See Steve Young for Slow Monday tickets. Available until Noon.

I can spot a rookie from a mile away. Which makes it very easy to recognize a seasoned professional. I’ve been a bike messenger, on & off, since May 12, 1997 and I’ve been hanging out in bars, on & off since August 25, 1987.

Of Bartenders and Messengers I speak. Two vocations close to my heart. Two vocations I’ve spent some time observing. On & Off, but mostly on.

Mostly on.

There is something attractive about naïve, virgin, bumbling cluelessness. But confidence, intelligence and experience are sexy. Given the choice I’ll go with the pro every time. The choreography, efficiency and energy of a professional create a beautiful dance. No wasted movement. No backtracking. Carving graceful lines through the chaos, taking care of several things along the way. Making it look easy. It is easy at times. It gets that way after 10 years. But to the untrained eye it looks as if the pro is slacking, cruising, moving slow. These untrained eyes also see the rookies moving quickly, expending lots of energy and assume they’re working hard. But the truth is the rookies are working hard on not much at all, working hard on stupid little shit that the pros would do without thinking if the rookie wasn’t in the way, taking up space, collecting a paycheck.

When the shit goes down and the work cranks up, so does the pro, taking it to another level, the next gear, getting it on. The efficiency and production go way up. The work gets done correctly, on-time. The rookie continues to crank at the same pace, appearing to be working just as hard, but fucking up important details when the pressure is on.

Getting it there efficiently, doing it right the first time, is a whole lot faster than getting it there in two minutes and fucking it up. That was an Ex Parte by Noon, now try to go back and fix it. Ex Parte is closed until 1:30. That was a veggie burger with bacon, now try to go back and fix it. The customer’s lunch break is over.

I respect rookies, I used to be one. I enjoy watching them, seeing their confidence grow, charting their progress, noting changes in style. The learning curve is steep and in just a few weeks a new body language is displayed, a new confidence gained.

It’s all very interesting, unless...

A warm spot in the sun, cold beer in hand
A warm cup of coffee, a cold seat on the cement

Step into my office, pull up a chair, find a spot on the coffee beer continuum. We’ll talk with Andrea about how groups of people adopt public space for private use. Taking over a street corner, a bench, a hangout. Hanging out. And we’ll discuss how these groups of people, can be intimidating to the average passerby.

TK said it best: “Being a messenger and paying to race in an alley cat after work, is like being married to a porn star and renting one of her movies."

I'm looking California feeling Minnesota

today is my Friday

October 2006

March 2008

She got exactly what she asked for
But she didn’t get what she wanted
Because she didn’t ask for what she really wanted
Pointing fingers, assigning blame, blaming the messenger

I did some research at the courthouse yesterday, 442 pages worth. Locating, printing out and delivering documents to a legal secretary. The documents she asked for. She got every single page of the documents she asked for. Unfortunately they were not the documents she wanted. Attorneys blaming secretaries, secretaries blaming messenger companies, dispatchers blaming messengers, and finally the messenger saying “fuck all y’all, because I did my job, I did it correctly, quickly, professionally and efficiently”



Ask for what you want, directly. Save all the social niceties, all the Pacific Northwest indirect passive aggressive shit, all the dancing around the subject trying to be the cool guy nice guy good guy. No need to attempt to finesse it out of me or manipulate the situation attempting to achieve your goal.  Say it. Ask for it. Get to the point.

Say what you mean
Mean what you say
Ask for what you want
When you get what you asked for but not what you wanted
Don’t blame the messenger

Tyler, Stacy, Fever and AG...1997ish

Like Adam Smith said, we’re actually just a few degrees from PM Legal. If you’re reading these words right now or if you’re a messenger or if you live in Seattle that's the truth. A few more degrees and everyone can be traced back to PM.

Bonzo Goes to College (1952) sequel to Bedtime for Bonzo but did not star Ronald Reagan

Reagan Bonzo status quo business as usual business casual casual Friday casual sex no strings attached the price you pay the cost of doing business business as usual

all the time every time most of the time half the time my time out of time this time War Time election year recession transition chain of events connections relationships cause effect conflict drama climax resolution transition status quo this time there might not be a next time this could be the last time

commas semicolons punctuation you catch my drift you make the call you decide proximity chronology astrology proctology

220...221 whatever it takes

uncork a bottle of fizzy wine 

laugh while you can monkey boy

Erik Jahnz photo 

Once upon a time, in a land not so far away, I used to run other people’s errands all day. With a brick-sized radio turned up full blast and a purple vest worn at all times. Riding on the sidewalk was forbidden. From Fremont to Georgetown. From Pier 55 to Madison Park. From East Aloha to West McGraw. Nine hours in the saddle, 55 miles on the bike. A few dollars in my pocket. Caloric output consistently exceeding caloric intake. At the end of the day a pint of beer would kick my ass.

Today I run errands for a few attorneys all day. With a cell phone as big as your land line. Riding on the sidewalk all day. From the Courthouse to 2101...and not much further. 8 hours on the clock. A couple hours in the saddle. A few dollars in my pocket. Caloric intake, yeah, yeah whatever. A pitcher of beer isn’t enough.

To all you kids taking a week off. A seven day sobriety test. A detoxifying detour from your routine. Here’s to your liver. Here’s to your kidneys. Here’s to you.

I’ll drink to that.

The next piderwassser design.

Visualize this fish in grayscale on your chest, on your back, on your rib cage, on your new T-shirt.

Send money.

On the seventh day of spring
she said “let there be exposed skin”
and it was good

March 1st, it is. Nearly time to Spring Forward, which is cause for celebration up here at the 48th parallel. Do you need another reason to celebrate? Do you need a reason to drink more? Do you need a reason to drink less?

On their second date
she said “we’re not really dating”
and it was what it was

Looks matter. If looks don’t matter, don’t look. If looks don’t matter why do they make white spandex? If looks didn’t matter why’d you look? You looked.

On the fourth day of RAGBRAI
she said “I like your RB-1”
and it was like, love

I have no recollection of the events as described. I am without sufficient information and can neither confirm nor deny the allegations. My attorney has advised me to shut the fuck up.