Come On Feel The Wednesday.

So I think I figured out my hives.

It's stress.

It's gotta be.

Let's take a look at my life.  First, I live in a hectic metropolis.  You know, the "rat race" and other clichés.  Where you live there are probably trees and birds chirping and stuff.  But this is New York City, and where I live I step outside every morning into a harsh and forbidding cityscape:

(Nobody "boogies down" here, but they do daven.)

Then, I go check out a Citi Bike and have to circumvent paratransit vehicles in the bike lane:

Worst of all, though, are the cats:

("What, you've never seen a cat lick his scranus before?")

Everywhere, fucking cats!!!

So now you see what I'm dealing with: the trees; the convenience of bike share; the cats.  Oh, the cats!  It's no wonder I'm all burned out and hivey.  And on top of that, I have the pressure of being a father, which means I occasionally have to do stuff like prepare macaroni and cheese or say, "Goddamn it, hold the Lysol away from your face when you're spraying it at the lighter!"  (Hey, I have to train somebody to scare off these cats.)  All of it is enough to drive me to drink--or, worse, to bathe:



That stupid dog will never know that the only thing between him and death was a bar of soap.

Fortunately, I don't have to bathe, because I've discovered a retreat upstate just for burnt-out cycling urbanites like me.  It's called "Douche Valley."  In fact, I'm here now.  (Technically, we're not supposed to use the Internet here--something about relaxing--but I told them Who I Am, and after they told me to go fuck myself I paid them $50 to let me use the computer in the office.)

It's really great.  First, we wake up and enjoy a delicious breakfast made from ingredients grown right here in Douche Valley, most of which we urinated on the night before.  (Something about fertilizing it, I don't know much about sustainable farming.  Also, I'm not sure how peeing on chicken eggs helps fertilize them.)  Then we relax with a colonic, after which we go for a leisurely ride through the forest, stopping every few miles at rustic gazebos were we recover with more locally-grown produce and receive more colonics:

(Typical "colonic gazebo" in Douche Valley.)

Then it's back to camp, where we're free to read, or participate in arts and crafts (artisanal mayonnaise making is a big favorite), or simply meditate, just so long as we receive our mandatory half-hourly colonics.

Overall, it's paradise.  Sure, there are some things that take a little getting used to.  For example, because we're supposed to be "detoxing," we're not allowed to have coffee--unless it's administered in the form of a colonic:

("Would you like cream and sugar with that?")

Also, there are a lot of annoying people from Brooklyn, but now that I've gotten to know them and we've gone through so much together (well, colonics mostly) I'm sure they'll be my friends for life:


Sure, at first I was like, "For fuck's sake, you people live in Brooklyn now!  This isn't California.  So could you stop like, inflecting?  Everything you say?  As a question?"  But soon I was won over by people like Jaidee and Andy and their fantastic insights into tattoos:

Jaidee: "I feel like mine are more like art pieces?  You know, they usually don't mean anything but they visually look good?"

They usually don't mean anything but they visually look good?  Wow, Jaidee probably doesn't realize it, but she just put forth perhaps the most elegantly succinct and stunningly accurate description of the people of Brooklyn to date.

Andy: "I think that ever since I started collecting tattoos I care literally less about fashion because I feel like my sleeves are my ink…"

Wait, you collect tattoos?  No, you don't.  It's just some shit you put on your skin.  A serial killer who skins people alive and keeps their tattoos as trophies collects tattoos.  Andy saying he collects tattoos is like me saying I collect hives.

My friend Justin is also a real cut-up:

Justin: "I kind of like embodying a whole look with everything I do?"

Really?  You're just wearing a slightly-longer-than-normal shirt.  Is that such a big deal?  People have been doing that since the Middle Ages:

(Nice tunic.)

Anyway, just as Douche Valley started working its magic, I made the mistake of visiting Streetsblog, where I learned this:

The 25,000 figure represents criminal court summonses for sidewalk riding, and does not count cyclists who were ticketed for a moving violation, which is less serious. So the disparity between sidewalk riding stops and neighborhood speeding stops is at least somewhat higher than 6,000.

If I were a skeptical person, which I am, I'd say the police are trying to harass cyclists out of existence, but the silver lining in all of this is that it's still completely legal to run down pedestrians in the intersection with a police van, so at least there's that.

But while I may have made the mistake of checking Streetsblog, I have at least kept my resolution of only paying attention to the Tour de France if something interesting happens--and it has:

Patrick Lefevere has confirmed that a fan threw a bottle of urine at Mark Cavendish during stage 11 of the Tour de France on Wednesday.

Cavendish was competing in the individual time trial to Mont-Saint-Michel when the incident happened and Lefevere believes that the it may have stemmed from action in stage 10 when Cavendish was involved in a coming together with Tom Veelers which left the Argos Shimano rider on the tarmac after a high speed crash.

Yes, Mark Cavendish finally came together with Tom Veelers.

As for the urine, there's a pretty simple explanation for that one.  Basically, an Omega Pharma plant was attempting to surreptitiously slip Cavendish some clean pee in the event of a post-stage drug test.  So clearly this was a botched urine hand-up.

"Maybe you have smell his jersey before you believe," he said when one reporter asked how he could confirm the substance.

Yeah, I smell a cover-up.

Otherwise, I understand that this Froome guy is winning the overall, which zzzzzzzzzzzzzz...


Sorry, I fell asleep.  Because I don't care.

Lastly, a spectral presence on a white bicycle is inspiring New Yorkers to keep riding:

Sexy Bicycle Rider on Cool White Bicycle - m4w - 38 (Midtown)
Just wow. You were a vision, not only because of your beauty but because of how relaxed and natural you looked on your bike. I want to ride bikes with you and see what makes you tick. I rode 20 miles after I saw you, so you inspired me to keep riding tonight. You were on a white bike around 57th street, you made a right and disappeared along the West Side Highway Park. Your hair was wet from the rain and your outfit was quite bold while on that bad ass white bike. If anyone else sees her, let me know, $$$!

I'm fairly sure what this person saw was a phantom on a ghost bike, which is great news for the NYPD because it means now they can ticket the undead.