This was the question posed by my wife, Jillian, while speaking over video gchat from Haiti. I sent her the link to this blog, the first question: “why is it called ‘this is an emergency’?” Uh oh. I’m not really sure, and to be honest it just seemed right at the time. Maybe it will change, this is a fluid blog.
The second question posed by my adoring wife was “what’s the point?” Now THAT is a question. She explained that blogs should have a point or a direction. Hers, for instance, is about her journey to Haiti. Mine has none, and started as a diatribe about my current situation. I need a point.
So she has tasked me with looking back, finding what it is that got me to where I am now, a turning point in my life. This is hard for me, my life has included a lot of crazy twists and turns. For one, I was once an acrobat in a traveling circus, something even my closest friends don’t know about me. It was there that I met my wife, she helped handle the dancing bear.
But that’s a lie, and I really would like to do this. So I will, but it won’t all be about me. There will be incredibly witty posts dispersed within this to keep you interested. I think that’s what “Blogging for Dummies” would say is a good idea. But I’ll run it by Jillian before I do it.
On a whole other note, I rode my bicycle to work today. A 6.5 mile trek, the 35 minute ride is more excersice than I’ve done in a while. Also, my choice in bikes has proven flawed. When living in the city it made sense to have a single speed bike for two reasons: first, it was only a mile ride AND second, all the cool, hip, indie kids/couriers were riding them. I was sure I was cooler just by only having one gear…this has proven to be all wrong.
Riding a mile with this bike is heaven, perfection with just one gear. Riding 6.5 miles on it is deadly. The smallest of hills gives me grief, yelling at me to go faster. But I can’t, I only have this one gear!, I say to the hill. He does not often respond. To make matters worse, the fatigue from this one gear slows me down considerably.
The worst is having a 40-something dude whip by me with his satchels hanging next to his back tires on a bike that looks like it was bought when I was only 10 years old. This man is most likely riding his bike because he lacks the use of a car, which he was never allowed to learn to drive because his mother didn’t think it was safe. He is on his way home to prune her bushes and he is beating me mercilessly.