Happy holidays, all y'all!

Now rub my belly!

Tuna foot

Looks like tuna
tastes like feet

We just returned from a trip to the lovely island of St. John. It was our annual trip with my parents, and we all had a great time.

Even though my dad still doesn't understand a few key concepts that help make travel a lot more fun for everyone involved:

• Tipping
• Not walking out into moving traffic
• Tipping

When Barb told him he can't walk out into moving traffic, his immediate response was, "You can't!"

Meaning, neither could she. Technically, he was correct. But Barb wasn't the one stepping in front of moving vehicles. He was.

Doesn't matter.

To begin day two, our first full day on-island, we headed to one of my favorite beaches on the planet: Cinnamon Bay. Usually, it's a tranquil beach that's a great place to swim, snorkel, or just hang out in the water.

But on this particular day, there were some nice waves breaking over the reef on the west side of the beach. I could see some three-footers, so I informed my family that anyone looking for me would know where to find me for the next few hours.

Me being me, I was all jazzed up about the waves, so I was in a hurry. I don't wear anything on my feet when I don't have to, and on this fateful day, I finally paid the price. In my haste, I stubbed the bottom of my foot on a tree branch hidden in the sand.

The force of my gait meeting the branch ripped a gigantic slab of skin off the bottom of my foot.

As I raised my injured left foot a few inches from the sand to the planks of the beach shack where I would be renting a body board, I was surprised to find out that I was actually injured. As I sat and inspected said injury, watching blood ooze and coagulate with the help of a bunch of dirt and sand, I decided that my foot was officially "f*cked up."

Luckily, the dude who worked at the rental beach hut, Christian, was an EMT. He did a little impromptu surgery right then and there, slicing a giant chunk of skin off my foot with a razor blade.

"You're good to go. Let the ocean do its thing, brau," he told me as I headed off into the waves.

I was kinda pissed at the whole deal, but my guess is that nine out of 10 people who saw that injury would have recommended stitches. And that would have meant no swimming for the whole week.

Not an option.

So, it could have been worse. Much worse. I could have had stitches.

Or, you know, ordered the tuna foot sandwich.

Woo hoo! Back in the saddle, baby!

I want to ride my bicycle, bicycle, bicycle

Wow. That was a long three months.

But it's over. And I promise to be more careful. I swear. A lot. Maybe too f***ing much, but that's not the point.

So, while out on my first ride since wiping out so bad I needed surgery, I decided to take my second or third selfie ever. I was so excited, I sent the picture to my two favorite biking buddies – even though I haven't seen one of them in 20 years.

Not that he needs to get his *ss down here right now or anything like that. (Cough, cough. Turn. Cough. Cough.)

The other recipient of my wonderful selfie was my bike sensei, Jason. His response was awesome.

"Keep the rubber side down, my man," he said.

How true. Because the last time I was out on my bike – three f***ing months ago – the rubber side was above my head. Then below it. Then above it. And then below it again.

Then 10 feet away in a bush.

As I said, it was a wipeout. But that's all in the past, baby. Onward and upward! Because all that matter is that today, I was able to get back on my bike.

Therefore, I leave you with a what may become my tagline: Where your helmet.

This weather is for the birds!

At the end of our lunchtime walk, 

Cricket, Lula, and I  met up with some friends

I couldn't help it. I had to check what the temperature was in Chicago today. It was 21-degrees.

It was a little warmer here in Fairyville – 70 to be exact.

"This is mail man weather," my mail man told me.

He should know. 

So I guess it's mail man – or mail carrier, to be more inclusive - weather down here in the AVL. It's definitely not for the birds. I was being humorous.

During the holidays, I think it's best to come right out and state when you're being humorous. Even when people do get the joke. It just makes your life a lot easier on the back end.

Trust me on that one.

Inspiration: A backstory

Reach for the stars... 





Sometimes, when I catch a glimpse of true genius, it makes me feel inadequate as an artist. But, as always, I regroup and carry on. It takes a while, but I always get back on my bike and begin pedaling again. Like the resurrection of my improv "career," a decade in the making.

So I was both happy and sad to see my favorite aspect of Cleveland's Rock and Roll Hall of Fame was right where it was the last time I visited the place a few years ago.

Happy, because it's an amazing glimpse into the impetus of one of the greatest works in the history of rock and roll. Sad, because it reminds me that I may never reach that level. Put another way on one of my down days, it reminds me that I suck.

 



 Intimate stadiums?

Back in the Hall of Fame once again, I headed up the elevators to take another look at the exhibit for Pink Floyd's The Wall.

Turns out, Roger Waters was pissed off at himself. But he's so brilliant, he used his childhood education as a metaphor.

 

 Uh oh, it's magic

 

Leave them kids alone, indeed

 

It's kind of shocking to learn the backstory: He was talking to himself as well as a system that beat him down. Not only was he angry at an educational institution that walled him off, he had internalized that and later built his own wall between himself and his fans.

 

It's hard to blame him. Unless you're one of those egotistical showbiz freaks - I'm looking at you, Bill Cosby - I'm sure it's a very, very strange thing to find yourself adored by millions of people.  

 

People who don't know you, despite the fact that your work makes them feel like they do.

 

 The burden of insight

 

A long, long time ago, a guy named Mike Starcevich told me that the true greatness of improvisation was in "turning your fuckups into triumphs."

 

I think that's the lesson I learned here. The only problem is that I've learned this lesson about 20 or 30 times. So apparently, I'm not a genus jeanius genius. I guess I may never make it into the Writer Hall of Fame, strategically located in Woodfield Mall, Schaumburg, Ill.

 

But this time, instead of getting angry and spitting at myself - like usual - I'm writing this blog post to drive the point home. Let's see if I make the right choice this time.

 

How about you?





There's a peanut on your roof

Peanut Wallenda

I love yard work. I hang outside in the sunshine, work weird muscles that only come into play when shoveling mulch around 33-degree corners, and try not to step in dog poo.

You know, living the dream. The only thing I miss is improvising with funny people. The last part of that sentence is the tricky one. I'll figure it out, but I'd better do so soon before I lose all my marbles. (I only have a few left. One is glittery pink, which I can't stand.)

Anyway, there's been a lot going down in the backyard at 54 Madeline lately, but before I catch you up on everything, I had to stop my diligent work to show you what happened as I was shoveling mulch yesterday.

Just like Batman, kind of

Every now and again, as if it was a ghost floating in the wind, I heard Peanut's meow. I looked around, but he was nowhere to be found. As soon as I would pick my shovel back up, I would hear it again.

"Meow."

Then I looked up. There he was, that idiot.

"How did you get up there?" I asked. "More importantly, how the f*ck are you going to get down?"

So cuddly, so dangerous, so destructive

We figured out how to get him down, but a minute later, he was right back up there.

"Suit yourself, idiot," someone might have said.

Awesome yard art

I... am... Iron... Man!

It's been a while since I've posted pictures of the wonderful yard art around Asheville. That ends right here, right now.

Here's a unicycler located a few hills away from our house. 

Is he alive or his he dead? You tell me.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Oh, Billy BaRue...

This is a big one Billy

Son of a...

I recently returned from my six-week, post-surgery appointment with my surgeon. While he might be a genius, I did not like the words that came out of his stupid, stupid mouth hole.

Essentially, he said, "For guys like you, this is the most dangerous time. You feel great, your flexibility is back, and you're strength has returned. So you want to fly down another mountain."

True, true, true.

And TRUE.

"But," he continued, "if you take a shot to your shoulder right now, it will completely undo everything we just reconnected. And I might not be able to fix it."

Of course, as I was writing this, my roommate from college – plucky rider Brian Mears, who himself had a downhill incident with a tree that wouldn't get out of his way – sent me the following picture. It's the shoulder of a friend of ours who used to ride semi-professionally in Europe.

I'm going to start a bike team 

called "The Clavicles"

Clearly, said shoulder has seen better days.

As a highly-respected doctor on the Internet, I can tell you that's a broken shoulder. And that pin. Holy shit, it's a big one. It also looks like the surgeon left a few needles in there.

Rookie.

Hello... hello...hello...

Is there anybody out there?

There'll be no more, "Ahhhhhhh"

...But you may feel a little sick. (Continuation of Pink Floyd lyrics from above, yo.) Especially after I tell you what Cricket, Barb, and I found on a wonderful hike over the weekend.

Cricket started licking something on the trail. After he refused to leave it alone, Barb went to investigate. Turns out, it was a bloody helmet.

Actually, it was a piece of a bloody helmet. I'm hoping the reason the helmet shattered into 50 pieces was because people were riding over it and not because there are helmets out there that explode upon impact.

Based on all this, I keep asking all my friends who ride an important question, "What have we gotten ourselves into?"

Each and every time, the response is laughter. Maniacal laughter. Because if you have a certain disposition, and you experience the hard work of biking up a mountain, followed by the adrenaline rush and exhilaration of flying back down that mountain, you're hooked.

And you're screwed. Pun intended.

Therefore, today's blog post ends with a plea: For the love of god, always wear a helmet!

I don't care where you're riding, for how long, and if there's only a 0.003 level of difficulty, wear a helmet. If you don't, you're an idiot.

I'll still love you, even though you'll most likely be a drooling idiot.

Fairyville cat update

I'm... very.. confused...

Hi friends! Hope you're having a super-duper spectacular week! Because it was a good one for the Fairycats.

As you can see above, Peanut became daring. Which set the stage for everyone else.

Wait... what?

Sugie woke up from a nap and realized, "Hey, I can blow this joint if I want to!"

Dude! Where are you going with my bird?!

And Honey killed her second bird.

Picking Apples in Fairyville

Pickin' ana grinnin'

Did you know that many grocery stores chemically ripen their apples? It's true.

But you don't have to worry about that if you go to Sky Top Orchard and pick your own apples. 

My man MCA's got a beard like a billy goat

I've picked apples before, but holy moly, STO has some delicious apples. The Honey Crisps are unbelievable.

Finding some good ones

Barb was so inspired by the day, she learned how to make apple sauce!

I don't work here, I'm stealing this tractor

I don't see the parts about GMOs, 
picking them before they're ripe,
and then spraying them with chemicals

33 times per day

Let me in

Honey – aka"Killer" – loves to go outside.

And then come inside. Then go right back outside.

Repeat ad nauseam.

I said, let me in!

Since I work from home – diligently, if I do say so myself – I constantly hear her meowing at the front door. So, I'll let her in. Half the time, she runs right back out the side door.

Oh, the glory of living with cats.

Horrific porch death

Murder

Whoa. Now that's a f*cking circle of life if I've ever seen one.

Am I right? Or are you too busy trying not to throw up? I know I am.

And I had to clean that shit up.

Should I have titled this post "Horrific porch death" or "Horrific porch murder"?

You tell me.

As you get a hold of yourselves, I'll give some background. We have three cats: Large, medium, and small. Also known as Peanut, Sugar, and Honey.

Honey is the athletic, adventurous one of the bunch. Today, she caught up with our dog Cricket for confirmed animal kills. The score is now tied at one.

This gruesome struggle for life - or lack thereof - took place approximately 10 feet away from my desk, where I was busy working diligently.

I followed Honey around later in the day and saw how she hunts. She hangs on our side porch, watching and waiting. When she feels like a bird is most vulnerable, she launches off the porch, takes a hop or two, and is on top of a bird in mere seconds.

Not sure how to feel about this.

But as a guy I work with said today, "Points for separated limbs."

Dead people in the river!

I see dead people

Dearest Asheville:

As if the unbelievable free music last night - the final 2014 Downtown After 5 for 2014 - wasn't enough for this weekend, now we're going after a world record.

All I can say is: OUTSTANDING! We need 635 people linked together, floating on tubes to break the record. I'm thinking we're going to go over the 1,000 mark. The river is going to be littered with zombies.

Awesome.

Though I'm still in a sling and cannot participate, I'll be routing for us. I have a feeling we're going to pull it off.

Why? Because on any Saturday in the summer, there are between 400 to 700 people floating on the French Broad River. All we need to do is get those folks to join up.

Let's do this AVL!

The number one way to become a real cyclist

All smiles

...before the pain blocker wore off

Apparently, you're not a real cyclist until you've destroyed your shoulder.

Check.

In fact, as of Friday, September 6th, I broke my first bone! Now that I live in an area quickly becoming the new U.S. hotbed for mountain biking, it was hilarious to note the lack of reaction to the complete destruction of my shoulder - not just from other riders, but from all my healthcare providers as well.

My favorite nonresponse happened at the urgent care center right after my accident. I told the Physician's Assistant that I had seen a bunch of Patrick Swayze movies where he - or one of his friends - pops his shoulder right back into place.

"It looks really easy," I said. "I'll stand facing the wall, and then you smash my shoulder against it. Done and done."

She lifted my shirt, took a very quick look, and then laughed.

"That's not happening," she said. "This is series three. All your tendons are disconnected."

"No Patrick Swayze?"

"No Patrick Swayze."

So now I'm a real cyclist, but not a Patrick-Swayze-ripped-body-cool-hair real cyclist. Maybe that's just setting the bar too high.

Before we close out, I have to give huge props to my current, noncelebrity wife, Barb. She's been wonderful.

Except for that moment at 4 a.m. last night when I heard her mumble, "This is going to be fun."

That wasn't helpful. Speaking of not being helpful, where the hell is my celebrity girlfriend Rihanna when I need her? I'm starting to think about breaking up with her.

Although maybe I shouldn't be so rash. She's out on tour, so she's really busy. Or maybe she's waiting until I'm done smelling like surgery.

Holy wipeout!

Right shoulder, wrong

After working diligently all day yesterday, I hopped on my bike late in the afternoon. I climbed a wonderful 1,300-foot peak called Spivey Mountain. As I've mentioned before, the ride takes 20 minutes to go up and two minutes to come down.

Yesterday, I was on pace to make it down in about 1:45. But in the end, it took more like 15 minutes.

I've ridden Spivey about 10 times now. Unfortunately, that familiarity made me think I could handle a wicked turn at about 31 mph. Nope. I came all the way across the road, skidded into a ditch, hit a two-foot embankment and flipped through the air.

Get on you bikes and... oof!

See the arrow? My speed drops for the left-hand turn, then I wipeout on the sharp right-hand turn. Everything after that is the drive home.

Luckily, my awesome wife bought me one of the best helmets out there, so even though I clearly landed on my head, my brain is fine. So even though I landed on my head, my brain is fine. So even though... uh oh.

My new headshot!

My right shoulder, however, is a grade-three mess. I guess I'll need surgery. Though I'm still hoping a miracle worker will shove it back into the socket.

After returning from urgent care, I sent a text to my friend, neighbor, and bike sensei, Jason.

All I said was: "I suck."

He was over five minutes later to check in on me. Jason was already aware of what happened, so it was great to talk about the details with an expert.

"Yeah, you came into that turn too hot," my sensei told me.

That's for sure.

Ironically, 48 hours prior to my wipeout, Jason was out riding in Pisgah Forest - an area many are describing as the new mountain bike mecca of the U.S. - when one of his friends went down hard. Dude broke his clavicle.

Yikes.

Big shout out to my new friend Jerry for refusing to let me ride out of there, throwing my bike in the back of his pickup and driving me home. He even wanted to take me to the hospital. 

That's what most people are like around here. They're not in a hurry, so they have time to help others.

The people are just one reason I love it here so much. Obviously, I also love the mountains. And I still love Spivey Mountain. I'll be returning soon, perhaps with a little humility, but for sure with 100 percent functioning brakes. We're not going to talk about that right now.

The Inaugural Madeline Avenue Bike Parade!

Get on your bikes and ride!

Holy cow! What a wonderful time the first Madeline Avenue Bike Parade (MABP) was! Even though my celebrity girlfriend Rihanna wasn't there.

While planning the MABP, my current, non-celebrity wife and I started coming up with perfect scenarios in our heads. Barb's big dream was that we would formally close the street. You know, making the parade safe and all that jazz.

Ha! Reach for the stars baby!

...Now grab that end of the table and help me move it into the street.

Spring's bike has a cheeseburger ding-ding!

My big idea was going to be an awesome opening ceremony - complete with a wonderful speech and a crowd-pleasing ribbon cutting. It didn't happen. Because as soon as we blocked off the street, Eli took off like he'd been shot out of a cannon. 

For about 10 seconds. Then he wiped out.

"Well, we got that over with nice and early," my friend Matt said.

Funny because it's true. Although, probably not so much if you're Eli's parents.

Spring and her cheesy burger bell

As someone who's a little too into biking, I've always admired those people who go the extra mile and get a little bell to let people know they're coming.

When flying down narrow trails or giant downhills, I've recently taken to just yelling, "Coming through!" a few times. 

When your vision is a bouncy mess because you're speed down a trail full of rocks, tree roots, and drop-offs, it seems a lot easier to just yell "Here I come!" than slam into a tree to slow down.

Am I right? Yes. I am.

Lookie-Lou Avenue

You can't have a parade without a crowd. And this was an awesome one.

It's magical

We even had wizards!

Tyler, daughter, Molly,

and the former President of Collyforni

Again, I'd like to thank everyone who participated. Riding a bike is a pretty important thing, especially these days. If we can encourage each other to ride our bikes as much as we can - instead of hopping in a car - we're headed in the right direction.

Even when it's uphill.

Biking is delicious

Rihanna: My celebrity girlfriend

Lookin' good honey!

I took a quiz and I found out that my I have a celebrity girlfriend. I had no idea!

I love my celebrity girlfriend. Her name is Rihanna. She's a singer.

I've been told we have two celebrity children, but I've never heard of them, so I'm just going to pretend they don't exist.

Please don't tell my celebrity wife about my new celebrity girlfriend. And for god's sake, don't tell my real wife!

Praying Mantis

Meow

After diligently finishing all my work projects that were due today, I segued to home projects and mowed the lawn.

This big guy helped.

For his next project, he's going to build a fire in Brad, the fire pit.

Images from the hood

Hi friends!

Since many of you out there are huge PolPro fans, I'm sad to tell you that the pilot programs for both the PolPro 2.0 ShoulderPro and the PolPro 3.1aspx BackPro were such a bust, we're not going to take them to market.

I apologize. Anyone with a valid coupon - it was only available for three minutes, you cheapskates - can redeem them via the website. For three minutes.

Starting now.

Since we want to keep things moving forward in a positive direction, while we work out the PolPro kinks, we're going to share some wonderful photos from around the hood this week.

Right after we let you know that we just fired our newly hired - some might add "much needed" - graphic designer/photographer/web site admin. She'll be missed. Even though she never actually started working for us. (Take note, IRS.)

Enjoy!

Okra flower, garden

Honey, front yard

Typical haul in Fairyville, kitchen

Another great haul, scary hand included, side yard

Flowers, front yard

I hope these images pacify you. 

Those of us (still left) here at FirstYearinAsheville understand your concern about the PolPro product. Rest assured, we'll make sure to position the PolPro product suite to meet your video needs now and in the future.

In fact, you're soaking in it now.

The family that mountain bikes together...

Look! No hill!

I'm extremely proud of my wife. I love her to death. (Hers, not mine.)

A year ago, she was fresh off of shoulder surgery. Watching her go through that experience, I would advise anyone to do as much rehab as they can before "choosing" to have a surgery that will really, really f*ck them up for at least six months.

Possibly a full year.

But it gets better. Look at her now, riding a real mountain bike in an area that's quickly becoming the mountain biking mecca of the US. Go Barb!

Unauthorized image

The only issue we face as a team is this: I always get into trouble for not perfectly describing all the hills and then communicating exactly how Barb's body will react to them. Mostly because it's her body, not mine. And mine has become friends with these hills.

Here's a sampling of some of our riding dialogue:

"Is it a big hill?"

"Yes."

"Big for you?"

"Nah."

One minute passes.

"It is a big hill!"

"Ok, then it's a big hill."

"Why are you lying to me?!!"

I love my wife. And I love riding with her. But I hope that someday, someone will be able to explain to her that the flattest stretch in the greater Asheville area is approximately three-feet long - and it's not my fault. 

By the way, this next hill isn't really a hill.

When the going gets dumb, the dumb turn PolPro

Obviously, this is an epic PolPro fail. But for those of you who don't ride bikes, you'll get a feel for what it's like to go around 40 miles per hour.

On a god damn bike.

This is Spivey Mountain, which is about three miles west of our house. It took me 19 minutes and 40 seconds to climb up and two minutes and 40 seconds to fly down.

Good stuff, indeed.

With 1:04 left, you'll hear me yell, "Woo!"

That's a shout-out to a few guys I passed on the way up.

One of my favorite things about Asheville is how you can just start talking to people. No one gives a shit if they don't know you, they'll just jump right into a conversation. I don't know if it's the mountains or what, but you're able to form immediate friendships here.

I'm sure I'll be seeing those guys again. At both 0.5 mph on the way up and 40 mph on the way down.

"Famous" Asheville road signs

The folks on this street?

Total knob gobblers

As usual, after working diligently all day long, I needed to get out for a ride around town.

And, as usual, I saw a bunch of hilarious stuff. Today it was mostly road signs.

So I thought to myself, "Hey Scoop, why don't you share these funny road signs with the world? ...Or at least the eight people who visit your blog."

So I did.

What's it like this way? 

Eh

If you take Gobblers Knob until it turns into a dirt road, which is immediately, you want to keep your eye out for old man Johnston's bath tub. He's usually in it, so yell hello if you see him.

Most likely, he'll be fully clothed - and fully loaded. Same same for his gun. So be polite.

And never stop pedaling.

I'm not making this shit up

"After you take a left on Soso Way, take a right on Four Wheel Drive."

"Oh. I drive a Nissan Sentra. Do you think I'll make it?"

"Make what?"

"Make it down your street."

"Four Wheel Drive?"

And so on...