Posted 3 years ago in the early evening by oso
I am an evangelist of two things. The first should be no surprise, it’s blogging. I am obviously alone in this, but I think that everyone should have a blog. They ask me why, I ask why the hell not. Leave something for their grandkids. I wish I could get my grandma to blog. She’s one smart cookie and occasionally she leaves comments on here, but mostly she just emails me telling me to stop using such fucking filthy language.
Not really. Here’s a bit from something she just emailed me:
I became engrossed in the last issue of Harpers. It has some fascinating articles on the moral split going on in our country. One was a comparison of Jefferson’s Bible (which I didn’t even know about) and the book of Thomas that was left out of the biblical compilation put together by the early church. In other words, the “Christianity” I was raised to believe (and makes me a liberal) and the Evangelical Christianity (that seems to produce conservatives) Since I attended church with my folks almost every week of my life growing up and my Dad chose a “Christian Mission” type of work for his vocation, I found the article clarifying for me. (Also adds to my nervousness about having five Catholic Supreme Court Justices, as belief system is the basis of judgement) The magazine this month seems to be full of some very intersting and pretty profound sets of eyes looking at the world unfolding around us.
See what I mean. She comes up with this sorta stuff all the time. And I tend to listen to what she has to say. Hell, she’s been around thrice as long as I have. And that’s just the thing, the people on our planet right now that I really wanna hear from aren’t the 20 and 30-something cyber-hipsters all listening to the exact same music that supposedly no one else knows about. I wanna hear from someone raised in the depression. Someone who remembers thinking that we shoulda gone into WWII much earlier or maybe not at all. I wanna hear about someone’s afternoon during the Cuban Missile Crisis. You wanna know what I really wanna read? I wanna read some old perve tell me that he had sex in all 1,384 positions the night of the Cuban Missile Crisis because he didn’t think he’d wake up the next day. And not just domestically. History is dying off as I type. Somewhere in Russia there’s an elderly lady who’s about to bite the dust as her grandson teaches himself C++ instead of teaching her how to blog about the day she realized Stalin was not the great idealist she thought he was. It’s a shame that the most valuable voices we can hear from these days won’t be heard at all. Luckily, my grandmother is one hell of a feisty woman, so I still have plenty of time to squeeze some history out of her. In fact, we’ve already recorded a couple conversations about her past and I’ve scanned in some of her photos and letters to be preserved in digital eternity. I recommend that all do the same.
Now that is called a tangent. Because I didn’t mean to blubber on about my first evangelical habit at all, but rather the second: cycling. And I’m not talking about your K-mart blue-light-special Huffy; I mean serious road cycling, spandex, clip-in peddles, and yes, soon-to-be shaven legs. I mean flying at a steady 27 miles per hour down highway 1 as the giant, fuzzy peach sun slips behind the bruised-purple Pacific. I mean feeling the twitch, pull, and strain of every muscular fiber in your calf as the calming marine layer creeps over the coast like odorless incense; the white herons escaping one by one from the salty marsh lagoon of San Elijo while minty eucalyptus infiltrates inflated lungs and consciousness in what could very well be mother nature’s finest bong hit.
You should be a part of this. That is what I tell anyone and everyone. Cycling, you see, (when you are on a well-crafted and well-tuned bicycle) is like flying. It requires momentous effort and yet at the same time is effortless. You do not ride, you glide. You slice your way ahead and without realizing it your legs become powerful, agile pistons that purr like a new porche.
To my utter-surprise and endless contentment, my message seems to be having some impact. More and more of my friends are purchasing these fine contraptions. They are coming to the realization that cycling is better than not cycling. We fly together.
Not only that, but now with podcasts from all over the world, I am at the same time connected to the passing environs around me while I listen to voices and music from Spain, Chile, Mexico, Japan, Argentina, and around the States. Yesterday afternoon I was in desperate need of a haircut and so I rode up to the only place I ever go when I need a haircut: Solana Barbers. This place is an institution that one day deserves a post of its own, but yesterday I was lucky enough to get a cut from Elías whose chair is second closest to the door (marking his well-deserved seniority). Elias and I have talked quite a few times in the past. I already knew he was from Guadalajara, but yesterday I learned for the first time that he was a professional cyclist there in the 1950’s. When he saw my bike (Spanish Orbea frame), he got pretty excited and, after my cut, came out to kick the proverbial tires. He was amazed by how light it was. Back in his day bikes were probably at least 10 to 15 pounds heavier. Elías is well into his 70’s now, but he said he was still riding 10 years ago until his knee started to bother him. There was heavy look of regret as he said it, but still, a new bond was created between us, 50 years apart - as we stared down at my bike in comfortable silence.
We shook hands and I kept peddling north. Soon after, this podcast by Slate’s Andy Bowers came on, entitled, “Nobody Bikes in L.A. - But they’d be a lot happier if they did.” It’s well worth a listen.
Damn, snap, shite, dude…I wish I had a grandma like yours. She rocks.
I see how thinkers run in your family. It’s beautiful to see that, and really, our society has that tendency to dismerit one’s thinking, opinions and even just their being just because they’re old.
I worked in a nursing home in high school and let me tell you, I got stories. These people touch my life, and I have high respect for the elders. Blogging for elders, beautiful idea.
I can’t balance myself on a bike worth shit (sorry, Granny Oso…), so my love is running, as you know I’ve written and yapped about it to anyone who gives me their ear. Talking to you the other day, made me want to run again, and not stop. I have a co-worker that runs marathons, like, every day. And whenever I talk to her, I feel like a big fat, lazy sloth. Whatever happened to the old me who loved to get up at 4 am in drizzly 30 degree weather and run (in shorts and short sleeves) for a long time. I miss that guy.
Bike on, amigo. Bike on.
I’m starting to envy these beautiful posts. . . .
But I’m with you on both blogging on biking (though my preference is for the mountain kind) and I’ll be passing this around to all the people I’ve been trying to force into the blogosphere.
I won’t be sharing it with my biker buddies, however, because it will only remind them (and me) how little I ride these days. A few years ago I, too, was the biking evangelist, insisting that everybody get a bike even if they had to sell some of their earthly possessions to do so. My ex-boyfriend has now even become a avid adventure racer as a result, and still very generously introduces me as the person who got him into biking (although once his spanking new Specialized once flew off a bike rack attached to my car and landed in middle of a highway–how it wasn’t run over is still a mystery. . . . )
It’s raining now in Trinidad, but as soon as it stops I’m going to pump up the tyres on the green Raleigh M-55 which, it now occurs to me, celebrates its 10th anniversary this year.
So thanks again for this.
GAP
Quero a tu awelita:D
Tanto tiempo sin verte, es que la escuela me absorvio, porque ya es mi ultimo semestre de la carrera y tenia que salir amigo.
Pero ya estoy de vuelta aqui para molestarte y convertirme en tu peor pesadilla, ñaca ñaca ñaca… jajaja
saludos compi.
Wow! Esas abuelas si que son de las buenas. En cambio la mia me daba de bastonazos cada vez que me veia tumbar sus macetas. Eres afortunado de poder aun compartir esa clase de mensajes con tu abuela. Que envidia!
Saludos!
makes me feel even nicer than the feeling of surprise and joy for not waking up with that expected hangover. That Harpers is incredible. My fave article is by my Grandad’s homie John Berger…THE CAMERA AS AN INSTRUMENT OF KNOWLEDGE. It’s what this Saturday morning was meant for writing about. Much hugs Oso, to you and everyone. Loving life right now.
Oso,
I’ve been thinking about how much I like your transitions. They don’t even seem to be transitions, you just flow very damn well. Maybe it’s like cycling, I don’t know. It just made me think of an excellent post on the new Miami Metblog by a woman who teaches writing to students who have experienced many tough transitions in their lives.
My octogenerian grandparents have stories for days. My mom has actually been bugging me about having them dictate stories to me in somewhat of a life history so that they are never lost. Some day down the road, my kids will be able to read about my Papá Chepe’s experiences as a bracero and how my Mamá Toni managed with a young daughter while her husband wa hundreds of miles away picking lettuce in Salinas.
I really regret that I lost my paternal grandparents before I really had the chance to pick their brains about going to school in Nebraska in the 1930s or working as a ranchhand in Texas. Thankfully, my dad, his siblings and my greatuncles/aunts know these stories. I’ll be seeing several of them over the holidays. I can’t wait.
My advisor would LOVE you. For her birthday last month, another of her advisees (kiss ass…) planned a cycling themed surprised birthday party in the office.
well done dave,
everytime i go up torrey pines i imagine my feet are the piston heads and my legs are the connecting rods. And fueling all this are the enchiladas frome pokez. We should do this tuesday.
uhm
saluditos
aki de rapidin saludandote
kero chokolates raiii nauuu
jajjajaja
guenuuu
estoy muy aburrida
y no kero hacer tarea
uhm
ariuuus
kuidese
yazz*
jajajaja……… la yazz esta arriba de mi……jajaja… es que asi le gusta a ella =D.
Hermano!!!…. Gano Tigres!!!!!! No lo creo!!!
saludos y cuidate
Don’t know about cycling, but agree with you entirely about listening to what the older generations have to say. A couple of months ago I found a letter that my dad’s eldest brother had written to my dad (the youngest of the lot) while recuperating in a military hospital. The letter was an eye-opener and served as an insight into my family’s life decades ago. Here’s my post on it.
http://blogpourri.blogspot.com/2005/09/chacha.html
A nice thought: we’ll be the blogging grandparents in a few years. The ones who lived through the oil wars, saw space shuttles and rockets explode in humanity’s fumbling attempts to conquer outer space, the grampaw and grammaw who saw internet be born and who where there when blogging began. Who experienced nothing on Y2K, who bridged across the millenia and who on December 21 2012 will get to see what the Mayans meant by stopping their calendar then.
I’m assuming we’ll have our hands busy writing things down ’till then.
Oso wrote: “I wanna read some old perve tell me that he had sex in all 1,384 positions the night of the Cuban Missile Crisis because he didn’t think he’d wake up the next day”.
Back when I was in the Air Force…….I heard of many Gulf War I vets talk about ‘meeting’ European women to try to get as many *ahem “positions” out of a one night stance as possible. Many were stationed in Europe right before getting deployed to Iraq.
Men! Damn pervs!
Oh well….I suppose they have to get it out of their system before going out into war. I heard some pretty funky stuff that the European women would do to the GI’s. Oops. Did I just say that? 
I wish I had the same kind of relationship you have with your grandma with my abuelos…would your grandma mind adopting another grandson? Let me know alright
Elias is the man! Man, I miss Solana Beach. I worked right across the alley from Solana Barbers for years - lunchtime we’d eat greasepit glop from the Hideaway Cafe or get Sush from Kevin down at Station Sushi or pizza and occaisonally a sneak-one beer from Pizza Port, and when I needed a cut, in was in to see the boys. Next time you’re going, Oso, let your beard grow for a few days and have Elias shave you. Getting a bare blade shave from someone who really knows what they’re doing is a rare treat. Warning : DO NOT under any circumstances get a shave from anyone else in the place! They will cut you, man, and you’ll walk around for weeks looking like you got caught on the wrong end of a razorblade fight with an angry guerita. Trust me on that one.
Jen, Mando, Luiz, Gustavo,
My grandma does indeed rock.
Kayita,
Gracias por el rapidin (saludo). Jaja. No dejes un comentario abajo de este o Mando se va a encabronar que me quedaria encima de ti. Jaja.
EMC,
Run on amigo, run on.
Georgia,
You are a much better sport than I am. When I introduce someone to something (like rock climbing) and they get better at that thing than me (like everyone I’ve ever introduced to rock climbing), all I want to do is break their knee-caps.
Revazito,
Hugs to you tio. I hope you guys pulled off a big win sunday.
Sparsh,
Just where do you get Pokez enchiladas between your house and the Torrey Pines grade? And why did I get no wake up call this morning?
Mando,
Me dicen que los tigres son para las fresas y los rayados son para las verdaderos callejeros como yo. Viste el boton de Hipo con el logotipo de los Rayados? jajaja.
Sujatha,
I’m glad you stopped by. I had somehow lost your blog during my change of RSS readers. You really made history come alive with your Uncle’s letter and your description of him. I’m reminded of an essay by Milan Kundera which said literature’s future will be in reinvigorating our past. Both he and Carlos Fuentes do an amazing job of exactly that.
Medea,
I really do hope that we will all still be bloggers as grandparents. I hope that we will continue to meet new friends while not letting go of the bonds we’ve already created. I love seeing all those little flags on this comment thread.
DD,
I raise my glass to the day we (umm, as in “humans”) sexually experiment as a celebration of peace rather fear and war.
Jon,
I was hoping that this post would reach someone who actually knows Elias. The man is a legend. If only he were a blogger. Your comment has given me the courage to have a shave next time.
Good luck with your Grandma. Mine won’t even use email.
Dear OSO,
I like the way you think. Enjoyed the visit to your mind.
Regards - Juan Calypso
OSO wrote: “I raise my glass to the day we (umm, as in “humans”) sexually experiment as a celebration of peace rather fear and war”.
Ok….you twist my arm. I can toast to that.
Cycling is the best!
I remember, as if it were only yesterday, the day I came to a sudden stop and couldn’t release my toe-straps in time. The day I hit the tarmac in a pair of black shinny spandex shorts was one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. But you’d be hard-pressed to get me to stop peddling the streets of L.A.
Oso, what brand of bike do you own?
[...] A year ago, I started this blog and it’s been my means of expressing myself. In doing so, I’ve discovered so much about who I am and what I stand for—now, I’ll stop here before I begin to sound so self-overblown. I’ll let my posts and each comment speak for themselves. A dear amigo of mine recently advocated that he thinks everyone should have a blog, even our abuelitos. In a way, I agree these weblogs are, to a certain point, our very own chronicle laid public. The subject of privacy, respecting one’s own overt leaning to criticize and analyze our relationships with others through a weblog can be overlooked without much regards to the pros and cons, at least not initially. [...]