It Rubs The Wednesday On Its Skin Or Else It Gets The Hose Again

As everybody knows, the Big C (that's C for "confession") with the Big O is now a two-night event, and I'm already cringing in advance:


As I understand it, the first night will focus on the confession itself, and the second night will be sort of a light-hearted free-form riff session intercut with outtakes and bloopers (Oprah tends to giggle whenever she hears the word "testicles") which will culminate in the announcement that Armstrong will become Oprah's new co-host.

Then, their first guest will be Bill Maher, with whom they will discuss the difference between "pedal" and "peddle:"

Apparently he's been reading too many New York Post articles.

Meanwhile, the professional cycling world continues to back away nervously from the whole clusterfuck, and few people have more interest in distancing themselves than reigning Tour de France champion Bradley "Stanley" Wiggins:


In fact, Bradley wants to discard the entire 1990s like an empty bidon:

"The 90s are pretty much a write-off now."

I'm shocked to hear this from Wiggins, of all people.  He embodies the '90s!  Doesn't he realize that if you write off that decade you no longer have Oasis?



Without Oasis there is no Wiggins hair, and without Wiggins hair there is no Wiggins.


(Wiggins with Pat Benatar)

Then of course there was that whole "I never actually raced against Lance Armstrong" thing:

Interviewer: You used to race against Lance Armstrong?

Wiggins: Well that's a myth. I never actually raced against Lance Armstrong. In my whole reign [sic] really. I raced once against him in the Criterium International 2004, never at the Tour de France... um yeah so that was the only time really.

Seems like an odd thing to forget, especially since he inherited Armstrong's podium spot in the 2009 Tour:


Whose ass did he think that was, Condator's?

The old-timers are even more entertaining:


It's crucial to them that the sport look forward, ostensibly for the young riders, but really because they're as dirty as a chamois after a double century but don't want to be held accountable:

"Yeah, you look at the past but today is the first day of the rest of our lives, especially for cycling. We have to leave the past. Maybe that's hard to do in your eyes but the major case of Armstrong this week was from 1999-2005. Puerto was before 2006.

Lefevere, of course, was the Mapei directeur sportif at the 1996 Paris-Roubaix:

 

There was nothing suspicious about that finish at all.

Also, in yesterday's post I said that they should take cycling out of the Olympics, and it looks like that could very well happen:


Looks like some of these young hopefuls better put their bikes on eBay and buy themselves some ice skates.

Alas, when it comes to the sport of cycling, I don't know what to believe in anymore--except for this, which was forwarded to me by a reader:


Inspiring to be sure--though as for the sport of cycling, it's going to take a lot more than rhinestones to bedazzle that turd.

Meanwhile, in Portland, did you know the hot new trend in real estate is the "low-car apartment?"


Big freaking deal.  My apartment is both low-car and amenity-neutral.  I had no idea I was entitled to be so smug about it.

Speaking of parking, people in Brooklyn continue to oppose it for bikes:


The DOT installed the “bike corral” in front of Little Zelda on Franklin Avenue between Park and Sterling places in late November. The corral replaces one parking space with eight bike spaces and two large planters.

The problem?  "Subterranean issues:"

Nugent-Miller, whose family has lived in the neighborhood for two generations, said the dispute over the bike corral is about more than just a parking space.

“This is way beyond just a bike rack,” she said in an e-mail. “There are so many more subterranean issues at play here.”


And by "subterranean issues" she means the hlipsters that are emerging from the subways and taking over the neighborhood:

“A lot of the residents feel that gentrification is more of a takeover than partnership,” Nugent-Miller agreed following the meeting.

It's a shame that something as practical and inexpensive as the bicycle has become so inextricably incorporated into the gentrification wars that are now raging across Brooklyn.  Sure, there are problems with gentrification--like your landlord forcing you out so he can quadruple your rent, or your local grocery becoming an artisanal mayonnaise shop, or tripping over all those stupid cutesy sidewalk blackboards in front of all the cafes and brunch restaurants--but the bicycle is merely an innocent victim in all of this.  It's sort of like the name Adolf, which was perfectly lovely until you-know-who had to come along and ruin it for everybody.  In fact, here's what Adolph means:

The name is a compound derived from the Old High German Athalwolf, a composition of athal, or adal, meaning noble, and wolf...

Is there anything intrinsically wrong with that?  I don't think so.  I mean, what's more noble than a wolf?


Actually, it's only a matter of time before someone brings the name Adolph back, though unfortunately it will probably be some artisanal father in Brooklyn who already named his older kid "Beowulf," and then someone will copy him because that's what these people do, then Franklin Avenue in Brooklyn will be teeming with little Adolphs, and then people will start hating the name all over again only for completely different reasons, and of course they'll all ride bikes, and finally little bicycle-riding Adolphs will become the abiding symbol of the scourge of gentrification.  If this country ever does explode in an actual class war, it will probably start over a bike lane.

That's why I left Brooklyn and took my children Kim Jong, Saddam, and Idi to a neighborhood that's been gentrified for at least 200 years, safe from anything even remotely controversial or interesting.

Speaking of controversial and interesting, I would say that this bike, which was forwarded to me by a reader, qualifies as both:


Maybe Wiggins is right and we should totally write off the 1990s.

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