notes.unsay

When I watched American Chopper on TV, I never understood where all the tricked-out motorcycles went. After one week in Arizona, they are within a two mile radius of me, give or take a block. Then there are the “normal” bikes — the Harley’s — and only one crotch rocket. His cool factor must increase somewhere north of dirt bike central, Mohab.

This afternoon, I pulled up alongside a biker at a stoplight in my car, which is cool somewhere north of Lincoln, Nebraska. His beard was very ZZ Top, less the drivel.

Even though I don’t like ZZ Top, I liked how when he took off, his beard flew back like dual straights on either side of his cheeks while hearing the sound of a Harley and thinking, “potato, potato, potato.”

Tonight, I read a blog post by a guy who is a known for his contributions to web technology. A couple years ago, I quit reading his blog because what seemed to be regular self-righteousness.

After having a reprieve, I can’t help but feel disgust. He seems more concerned with his current status…that he knows other people know what he’s done for the web.

It’s the artists and creators who do things because they need to create that have more respect for. His legacy would live on wonderfully if he didn’t tarnish it. It’s become pallid silver and one I don’t care to apply Barkeep’s Friend to.

When celebrities answer the telephone and it happens to be the wrong number, do they carry on a conversation just to feel normal?

Looking at the fresh snowfall, I can’t help but wonder about the person who suggested each snowflake is unique. Don’t they realize it all turns to dirty slush in a few hours?