Or to poop out all the crayons I ate. (crowns I et)
|Loki did this more than once.|
photo cred: ibluemyself0 (no, I'm not kidding.... ibluemyself0)
As I've mentioned before, occasionally "the darkness" descends upon me, and during these times I often find my voice entirely too vexing and tiresome to inflict upon anyone. (Maybe you should... I don't know.... feel that way more often, Watts.)
What sets it off is a mystery. Maybe it's an exchange. Maybe it's a circumstance. Maybe it's a cloudy day. Maybe it's a loose nut.
I liken it to the power going out. Who knows why? More likely than not, I tried to burn more watts (heh) than my very-basic, built in the 70's electrical system could handle... and I just blew a fuse.
Everything goes black. Familiar becomes different. Routine becomes challenge. Steps are further apart or closer together than you remember. A wall is longer (and harder) than you recall. Furniture is a tripping hazard. Friends are strangers. A pile of laundry is a crouching intruder.
You know it's the same place as always.... and you know that there aren't any monsters lurking in the shadows. But sitting there in the dark.... instead of passively knowing this....you suddenly have to actively remind yourself.
Sometimes it's up to you to solve the problem. Keep it together and find the fuses in the pitch black. And sometimes there is no solution. You just have to wait. The power will come back on eventually.
Either way, you sigh with relief when the light floods back in and you no longer have to worry about using the tightly clutched baseball bat on that sinister looking stack of boxes (aka: evil-death-robot) in the corner of your basement.
I mean... At least I imagine that's how it is. I wouldn't know, because I'm sunshine and daisies... all the fucking time.
Depending on the depth of it, the darkness can make everything difficult... from social interaction to simple conversation to basic oral hygiene. But ultimately... when you come out, you either have to laugh at yourself or flog yourself (What? I don't have issues). Because as real and paralyzing as depression is.... feelings of isolation and despondence in the suburbs don't even make the needle wiggle in measuring real-life-shit.
You know it. I know it.
"Darkness" aside.... there hasn't been much to report lately. As exciting and riveting as I make everyday life sound, you didn't come here for boring stories about the same things you do every day. Nothing much has been happening. There are no epic travels. No adventures. No races.
Just a lot of rain, a lot of time inside, a lot of time at the shop, and a lot of riding a trainer in front of the television.
There is some big news on the shop front, but I'm going to hold off on telling you. Suffice to say, I'm kind of shitting my pants with excitement.
In the absence of new stuff, it would appear that some people have been resorted to reading old posts.
I know this, because I just logged in and checked the "stats" of the blog, something I very rarely do.
I admit to understanding very little about the blogosphere and what drives traffic to anyone's online diary-a, much less to mine.
I mean, some of them I get.
For example, Dicky's kind addition of this turd to his "blogroll" gets us at least one reader per day. (Those poor bastards)
And the shop website diverts people this way, as for various reasons (self-sabotage and stupidity being the most obvious) I link to the blog on the site. All they wanted were the hours of operation and instead they found this. (Poor bastards) Luckily, the "feedburner" on the site seems stuck and people find themselves reading about Interbike. Again.
Chris Muddiman sends people my way. (What's a b-43?)
A shop in Kansas City has added us to their blogroll (Kind thanks. And I need to return the favor.)
The Deathwish Krew sends us folks. (Who tell me "if you're not now, you never were.")
The ever dominant Facebutt sends me readers.
And of course the diarrhea Tyler let me purge on Biketumor funnels flies into my web.
Various people find this through the google.
Maybe they were searching for "daniel higgs" or "john stamstad" or "chuckie v" or "claire danes naked" ...or any other person I've mentioned in these pages. And instead they find me.
One time it was a local racer looking for photos of himself at some events. One time it was a search for "don palermini", which baffled the hell out of me, until I finally realized I'd photocred'd him for Interbike. One time it was a search for "an apple with a mustache is scary", for which I felt more affinity that you can possibly understand.
And then, as bizarre as it seems, there are people out there who actually google "revolting cogs."
But the most mind-blowing of all is that at least one person recently searched for "watts dixon blog."
(Poor(est) bastard (of all))
While these things confound me (why someone would google me or anything I have anything to do with is a mystery greater than life itself).... I at least understand the mechanics of it.
And no... it wasn't me. I no longer google myself...
|...for obvious reasons.|
The one I really don't understand is the porn. I mean.... this isn't Hoovis's blog.
For instance, at least 15 views of my site in the last week have been from "ourmeets.com"
The name makes it seem pretty innocuous. More so than "vampirestats.com" which occasionally shows up as a random readership supplier...But it's not.
Now, I won't feign innocence and tell you that I've never visited porn sites.... (I never have... that was... umm... Mango)... but I will say that I've never visited that particular site, nor do I have any kind of connection to it.
And in talking to an IT guy, even if I was a total porn fiend, all the sex-cookies in the world wouldn't account for blog views on Revolting Cogs. (le sigh)
It would just make me say things in Engrish on some virulent facebook video.
|Watts Dixon commented on a video.|
"wow amaze times!"
Can you imagine trying to find some porn and finding this blog instead? How disappointing would that be?
Incidentally, I just did a little research on the ourmeets thing... and it turns out that there's a beautiful naked girl in Kernersville that totally wants to hook up with me right now! Can you believe it!?
This is what I actually found. (You can click it. Go on. Click it.)
Oh well. That kind of destroys the mystery of the porn traffic.
So.. what's been happening? Outside of fighting doldrums and darkness, there have been a few awesome things.
Our buds Peter and Kevin at SWOBO came to the shop to show off some bikes and pour some beer.
|A pensive Murph.|
|The Swobo van, aka: Halen, and the B.A.D.A.S.S. (Beer Allowance Door Actuated Serving System.)|
|Van Halen... meet Glenn Vanzig.|
|It's this one. (pchew!)|
|I don't know what he was up to.|
You've got to get out of the 'boro when you can.
In other news, the depression "beard" has gone buh-bye. It was getting longer, but failing to get thicker. A la Fyodor.
And I don't know.... I kind of feel like two months of unrestrained beard growth should net a little more than this.
|It's.... well.... depressing.|
|The most minimal of man-scaping would net me five times this.|
This might have prompted the beards removal only a little bit.
In lieu of a beard, I'm growing a horse's mane and letting my neck fuzzies extend as far toward my back as biology allows. Thus far, it has allowed way too much.
The next few months are going to be hella busy. (Do the kids still say that? In case you haven't noticed, I'm like nine years behind the times.)
Secret shop stuff. Frostbike. NAHBS. Kiddo time. Riding a trainer in front of a tv. Fighting evil-death-robots in my basement.
You know... Life.
I'll let you know how that goes. Count on it.