G'day Ms. Hooker

Okay, so you've never have heard of her by that name. Heck, I'm sure you didn't know her by her real name.

If you grew up as a male in the 60s through early 80s you do know what this character's name is; Miss Moneypenny. Yes, the double-entendre spewing administrative assistant of the big boss in James Bond movies. God bless her soul she passed away quietly due to cancer in Australia, her final homeland.

I grew up reading Bond books, that is books by Ian Fleming. I didn't see the movies because well, TV sucked in the 60s and 70s in the UP so I didn't see a Bond movie until, well, I no longer cared. By then I'd moved on to John le Carre' instead. Less sex, but far more intrigue. Yet, I always remembered the character of Moneypenny as she was referred. And always impressed with the early films with Connery, Lazenby, and Moore that had the exact same Moneypenny. I liked that loyalty. Loyalty is a big deal in my life. I don't know why or how, but it means something to me.

She was born some 80 years ago in Kitchener, Ontario as Lois Hooker. During WWII she fled home at 15, lied about her age, and joined the Royal Canadian Army to get away from her rural home life. She was a part of the Canadian Academy Entertainment Corp in England until her age was discovered. From there she managed to gain entrance to the Royal Academy of Arts in England where she made friends with Roger Moore whom she'd eventually share the screen with in seven Bond pictures. They remained lifelong friends to the end. She began her movie career in A Matter of Life and Death and soon won a Golden Globe for her acting in That Hagen Girl in 1947 and retired from films in 1989 when the Bond movies no longer came calling.

Lois Maxwell as her stage name, she was in many films in Hollywood including Stanley Kubrick's Lolita in 1962 which was followed by her fourteen picture stint as Miss Moneypenny starting with Dr. No in 1962. She was the perfect foil for the Bond character. Always exact, a little matronly, but yet with just the right touch of smitten for that dashing agent. The most recent Bond film with its new star Daniel Craig was the first Bond picture without a Moneypenny character. The succession of actors that tried to fill the character during the Dalton years, didn't warm anyone's hearts like Lois did.

Some of us are great by birth, some of us have greatness thrust upon us. Others don't achieve anything truly lasting. Lois was content to accept a character that I think is lasting and although small will be a legacy anyone should be proud of. Its sad that at least one Bond character never took her out for one long night on the town or more. She'd deserved that much. Rest well, Lois, you've earned it.

Sometimes

Sometimes, I need help connecting the dots. Time passes and a guy forgets things. Like in this case what scum Alan Greenspan was. And all I thought was he wanted to sell books. Thanks for the screw job pal.


Apologies to Tom Tomorrow. Thanks for keeping me in the know, dude. Keep those cards and letters comming.

When You Fire Them, Make Them Leave Now!

Hilly, I Barely Knew Ye

Rest in peace Hilly. That is Hilly Kristal (photo above) to those of you that don't know. He past away this weekend of complications due to lung cancer according to his son Dana. He created an establishment he called CBGB & OMFUG. This was to mean Country, BlueGrass, Blues and Other Music For Uplifting Gormandizers. Truthfully a Gormandizer is a voracious eater of food, but to Hilly it meant a voracious devourer of music. To be honest Hilly was personally a country music fan. He only began letting almost unknown bands play at his bar when country bands wouldn't come there for he was located in the Bowery and the bands pestered him until he gave in.

The names that he permitted to play are the stuff of legends. And his requirements go hand in hand. They had to play their own compositions. You could get one cover a night, do two and he'd pull your plug and you might not get another gig there for a long time. He fostered the new sounds from the newest bands. The Ramones, Television, Blondie, Talking Heads, Sonic Youth and Patti Smith. Patti was the last artist to play there last fall when CBGB closed permanently. It closed because he was a victim of the old adage, "location, location, and location." The Bowery went from being the last place you wanted to visit, to a hub of artists and upscale renters. He simply couldn't afford the rent because the rents around him went up. Consider that the crafty or lucky Hilly actually made on the order of 2 million dollars just on his tee shirt concession with the simple statement CBGB.

Ah, he could be a pain in the ass. He liked country and here he was listening to guys that could barely play, much less competently. The Ramones are legend among his gripes. They argued, they walked off stage, they played very loud, the members played different songs at the same time, they simply didn't know how to play at first. But he let them come back. Why? Who knows. Hilly was known to say once they became a legend of their own, "Shit, they got better." And maybe that was all Hilly needed. I think he lived for the crazy people that showed up like Wayne Country. His joint became an icon before we of that era knew what icon meant.

I never made it to CBGB. In 1978-1980 I wanted to. I had begun hearing the Ramones, the Clash, Elvis Costello, Patti Smith, and more and they all ventured through those doors. By then the bar was a magnet for more than just bands and their victims, er fans. A close friend got the chance to go while on a NYC trip. He met a mutual friend we knew that lived in NYC and they took the subway and walked down to CBGB. He was really excited. He was close enough to hear it and see the line of people out front.

When out of a dark alley stepped 5-7 Puerto Rican youths. The one closest had the always dangerous "Saturday Night Special." A cheap black .22 revolver not known for accuracy, but its ability to go off at the wrong moment. His graduation watch, his cash, his entire wallet in fact. The pal had used the old trick of holding back a $20 and a few subway tokens in a shoe. It was all they had. They caught a cab/subway home. No tee shirt even.

I've always kept that story as the epitome of Midwesterners visiting CBGBs. Just as likely to see a cool band, you could see some dud that you'd not remember two weeks later. And you could as likely be mugged. Few mention the seamy side of the Bowery. That is how that neighborhood really was. People got beat up in the street. Read any of the books by the people that lived in the era. Drugs were easy to find and so was the trouble.

Just the same, without CBGB a lot of bands wouldn't exist. The goofy guy with the goofy name with the most notorious bathrooms in history made it happen. No one can say what might have not happened without him. Its impossible to separate the music era and its history without Hilly. I'm sorry I missed out. Damn youth is wasted on the young.

With Apologies to Tom Tomorrow

Holy shit if that isn't the funniest in a while.

The Bunnies and Peter Himmelman

That Crucial Last 15 Minutes

In The Know: Candidates Compete For Vital Idgit Vote

Oh, Oh, This Ain't Right

Oh man, lets get out of here...

Probably Not

What the hell was that?

Okay
boys
and
girls.
First
study
the
photo
above.
Try
to
figure
out,
what
the
hell
made
what
he's
pointing
at
on
this
poor
boy.


Think
very
hard
before
you
look
at
the
second
photo
below.

Notice
the
shirt?

I Didn't Do It

This is the saddest tragedy in my lifetime that was actually close enough that I'm sure to know someone that is effected. Here is to hoping all of my friends and their loved ones are as safe and sound (well as sound as I'll ever be) as I am.

So, You Think It Will Sell On eBay?

Kevin McHale Sucks

McHales' WoodMutts. That is what this team shall be called forthwith. Not the Minnesota Timberwolves.

Its being rumored strongly that McHales' WoodMutts will be trading off their finest player. That would be Kevin Garnett. For KG I am grateful. He's going somewhere that he might actually win a few games and work with people that want to win. For us, dog shit. Trouble is, I never ever ever want to see the Celtics win or contend for a championship. Sorry KG. Hating those pricks in Boston comes first. You should have gone to LA or Phoenix.

The trade is being made by old pals Kevin McHale and that feared and dreaded former Celtic partner, Danny Ainge. First of all, let it be said, the Celtics are the Yankees of professional basketball. Have been, and always will be. Since Red Auerbach (bet them ci-gars are easy to light in hell, right Red?) swindled, cheated, and berated every other team into bowing at his stinkin' cheap cigars. I smell a swindle here. KM couldn't pull off a smart trade with a blind, deaf, and dumb person unacquainted with the sport basketball. Ainge, ever the cagey one was a man known throughout his career for getting under the skin of others, regardless if it was legal or not. He's a grade A jerk and a successful one. KM? No so much. He got hit with too many pucks back in Hibbing. Shoulda wore a face mask dude.

Under his fine care the team has gone no where but down hill. From decent to lousy to worse coaches. From a increasingly older and less talented group of players around KG. Can anyone name one successful thing the man did? I can't. I don't know anyone that can. The Wild (gosh I hate that team name) have been wildly successful because they have no competition. Yeah, the pun was intended. And won't for some time.

Good luck KG, you were a good guy for the team and the area. You were never a jerk, you were never in trouble, and you put you heart out on the court. Now get outta here before they change their minds.

McHale, why didn't you stick with playing hockey for cryin' out loud? Sixth man? Shit man.

Stolen!

Yeah, I stole this video from How to Avoid the Bummer Life. So what. Its too good not to share. Everybody needs a hero some days.

Too Funny Not To Pass Along

What some fans in France will do to get their photos printed. Their best side too.

It Ain't Over Until the Drug Tests Come In

If you haven't been under a rock or reading HP7 full time and follow the Le Tour at all you know what I'm talking about. Once considered a top contender for the GC leadership, Alexander Vinokouov of Kazakhstan, rider for the Astana team, won a time trial stage this past weekend. Now a few days later the blood test on his sample from that stage was determined to have blood cells that were not his own. This test will be performed on his second sample (called sample B), but the damage is done. His team fired him. His team dropped out of the tour. His team has said he is guilty until proven by Sample B to be questionable. Vino of course contends it must have been something that resulted from the treatment of his injuries.


Vino? Just how stupid are you? Vino has not had his most successful of rides this year. He crashed in the first week, losing minutes in the flat stages. Time that is often hard to make up then. He crashed again in a moderate climbing stage, losing enough time (almost 30 minutes) that he was thought to be out of contention this year. He then went and won the time trial regardless of his wounds (he required stitches on his knees, considered rather painful for a cyclist. It was the sample from that stage that Vino was tested for and found to have failed.

He'd later won a serious mountain stage, demonstrating he was capable in two areas of cycle racing. His win was overshadowed by a test of wills between two riders, one a rider of Discovery, Contador the new leader of that team and the current maliot jaune wearer Rasmussen. The Discovery rider could not drop the Dane, although there was some signs that he began his attacks too late and near the summit were the telltale signs of the Dane cracking. The idea was to get the Dane to crack, then make a jump to the next group where George Hincapie was riding as your lead out to open a real gap.

This is the third blow to the biggest event in bicycle racing. The first came when a German racer of little note was identified as failing a drug test while he rode for the T-Mobile squad. Following through on a commitment, some German television stations stopped broadcasting the tour. Germans were not always greatly interested in cycle racing until Jan Ullrich won the tour in the 90s. This surely isn't good for their interest. T-Mobile has announced they are reviewing their sponsorship of cycle racing. This generally has meant they intend to drop sponsoring teams as soon as possible to distance themselves. They aren't the first. The team Landis was on last year is no more. Others have dropped out. Even the one American team is again looking for a sponsor after first Motorola, then the USPS, and now the Discover Channel have announced the end of their sponsorship.

Soon after the first positive drug test was announced, it was leaked that the Danish national federation had dropped the current general classification (GC) leader, wearer of the yellow jersey, Michael Rasmussen from their team. The reason was that Rasmussen had not taken the required drug tests, nor advised officials of his wear abouts during the past year. This isn't a large infraction, but large enough that had the Tour officials known, he wouldn't have been riding in it. Some have been quoted as saying if he wins, it will be bad for the tour.

The French police are again raiding team vehicles. Three raids were conducted on Monday before the start of the stage. Riders conducted a protest on Monday suggesting the treatment is insulting.

Harry Potter Spoiler Alert!

Okay, campers, I'm not really talking spoiler here as I have no premature information and I'm not going to any of the "spoiler" sites on book 7. No, these are my predictions. Beware if you've not read book 6 by now. Shame on you, and get reading and I'm not talking about my blog either.

I do not believe that Snape is the evil being he's made out to be, I believe there is a hero inside of him. I think he mistreated Harry in part because of hatred of his father and the treatment he received by him and that it played so well into the need for that borderline traitor that is needed by Tom Riddle, AKA Voldemort, AKA the Dark Lord. He played a part very well and I think he was meant to.

There has never been discussion of how previous Headmaster's died. Nor of great wizards. Is it possible that if when Tom Riddle tried to kill Harry, he passed on his power at some level to Harry that maybe when Dumbledore permitted himself to be killed by Snape, that something likewise can happen. Sort of like Obie Wan in Star Wars. In death he achieved something not even Tom Riddle can match. He is the one Tom always feared.

I think Harry and Tom Riddle will die as a consequence of that last fight. They are the two characters that must die, otherwise there is a reason to continue for the author. I have a high appreciation for the author, but if she's the least bit smart its what she must do. I believe the key to their death is not Snape, who will have proved his mettle before that final confrontation. I believe that none other than Neville will be the one to rise to the occasion. Regardless of the prophecy. Since when did Sybil ever get anything right. Okay, she did predict the return of the Dark Lord. Yeah, like I didn't see that coming too. Pfft.

And what of the rest? Happily ever after? I haven't a clue. It doesn't matter. Hermoine for headmaster? Ron for chief auror? I don't know. Life goes on. Just without any new Harry Potter stories that's all. Hey, all great things must come to an end.

One thing I've really liked is they are distinctly British tales. People don't steal things, they nick them. People who annoy you are buggers or gits, not dolts or buttheads. Youth in authority positions are "pre-ficts" not officers. She didn't make them more American just to gain more readers in America. Bravo to Ms. Rowling both for the way she wrote as well as what she wrote as well as keeping her family out of the limelight. She could teach Kathy Lee Gifford a hell of a lot. Really glad that whore for publicity's career tanked after she bolted her daytime program with what's his name. And she was replaced quicker than undershorts with a skid mark.

Poof and she was gone.

Make no mistake, I'm a big fan of the books and the author. I've enjoyed them. My kids enjoy them and have read them all several times. I don't mind the least bit that she's ending on chapter in her life that brought her bajillions. I don't begrudge her the money a single bit. She's one person I'm glad is rich. She came from pretty humble beginnings and is now earned her dough by creating something I expect to have as long a lifetime as the Hobbit books. I just hope that unlike so many sports stars that can't hang the jock up when they should, I hope she writes something else. Whatever it is, I'll be in line to buy it, regardless of the reviews. She's earned my trust and me as a fan.

Does This Deserve A New Word?

A saw a new book has come out about the Shrubbery's Presidency with the title, A Tragic Legacy. For some reason this got me to thinking about some of the mangling of the English language by the Shrub. Words "the Decider" and "strategerdy" and so forth. Maybe we need a new word that encapsulates the Shrub and Mr. Grimace's legacy? I was thinking along the lines of a "Traggacy" or "Tragercy". Or maybe it should be "Legagic." The upchuck sort of sound at the end of that one has a nice ring, don't you think?

I suspect that there will be great debate over the years what to call the time of the Shrub and Mr. Grimace and their folly of leadership. Leadership heck, you can't even apply that. There should be a new word to describe the lying, revenge getting, war starting, talking point sticking, fear mongering, power abusing, emergency incompetence, junk science spreading, self righteous bible thumpin', anti-environment, pro-capitalism at any cost, tax cut makin' these "leaders" of the free world have perpetrated on the planet. I haven't come up with one yet, but I'm thinking on it. First one with the word gets to write the book defining it. But you'll owe me 10% of the gross profits for giving you the idea. And don't try to flatter me by giving me some stinkin' byline on the cover. I want the cash man, before the crummy publisher takes their cut.

On the other hand, doesn't impeach have a great ring to it?

Gosh, how ballistic are you going to go when the GOP starts trying to name some airport in Technicolor Yawn, Kentucky; Bush International Airport? Good grief, this will never be over. Nixon at least resigned in disgrace, this pair of arrogant twits getting out office scott free is a travesty of ginormous proportions.

Jesus. Would you want to send *your* child to George W. Bush Middle School? I'd homeschool the little carpet climber first myself.

The Boat Anchor or How I Came to Love Fatigue and Friends

Good grief is that a face only a mother can love? I don't know as my mother's been gone a long time so I can't ask. I personally know it to be the face of someone that foolishly rode much further in less time than in any other time in his life.

Rewind. Friday night I went on the HC night ride. Oh it was fun. Twenty two miles of great cool entertainment. So far so good.

After three hours of sleep, I got up, got on the Bleriot and rode to HC and rode with the same bunch and more. Only its 21 miles there from my house. We rode to breakfast in St. Paul. We rode back, and I bailed out early and headed toward home. I arrived home with 56 miles. This adds up to 78 miles. Nice training regime. Dodo. The day before riding 200K.

So I got lots of sleep and met these two at Bill's house at 6:30 AM.Here Jim (in red) and Bill (in green) stare at me in wonder why I'd photograph them. Realistically? They should be named; Kind and Kinder. Why, that will come, be patient.

The train loading process was confusing. We were hanging around the baggage loading area when an Amtrak gal saved us with the ominous question, "What are you doing here?" Timidly we mentioned boxing bikes and tickets and junk. Ultimately, she was a huge help, she got us the boxes, she got us the paperwork, she got us tape to close the boxes, she lent us a pen to write our names on the boxes, she loaded the boxes on the cart upright. Although gruff on the exterior, she was a very pleasant person to deal with.

Soon it was obvious the train was late and there were no spare seats in the waiting lounge. We'd pulled our Carradice bags off the bikes with our helmets and sat around yakking. It was an interesting segment of society at the train depot. While I stood in line for my ticket, I ended up speaking with a fellow out of a long stay in rehab. Four years. Meth. He was as nervous as a cat as it was the first return home since entering rehab. He made a succession of cell phone calls from the train on his way to Milwaukee. I wanted to wish him luck, but I chickened out.

The prime reason I neglected to do my boy scout best was I went to pick up my Camelback from the overhead bin only to discover it was empty. Did I not screw the top on tight enough? Gravity feed? Maybe the weight of the saddlebag was on the mouthpiece? I don't know, and I didn't know where the liquid was so what could I tell some attendant? Um, see, this here sugary blue liquid is going somewhere, maybe you'll have a clue? I hope it didn't get sucked into some poor person's baggage. It was also obvious there were not many getting off and they were in a hurry got get us off and try to make up time.Here you have the "seen better days" of the Winona depot.

And here you can see one of the finer Amtrak baggage handlers about to drop the first bike out of the train baggage car.

I do mean drop as the recipient didn't prepare and the dropper didn't care. They then proceeded to pile them onto the top of the baggage cart which was convex so that they looked rather precarious. Instead of trying to snap a photo of the impending disaster, Jim ran up and politely requested if we could take them right there and save them the trouble? Good lord, what a smart idea.


While he did that, I amused myself thus. And then I took this.


While Jim filled his water bottles and Bill made sure things were ready and soon we were off. Me on a Bleriot, Jim on a Romulus, and Bill on his Redwood.

We discussed what route to start with, and we soon went the scenic route over the bridge in Winona over to Highway 35 in Wisconsin. When we turned North it was obvious the tail wind was favorable. Bill quickly set a quick pace and I tried to hang on close enough to his slip stream. I knew I wasn't in shape to lead this trio. It took hours, but a noon start, and by the heat of the day at 5 PM we were trying to climb the hill outside of Bay City. A nice two mile ride up and a great two plus ride down. Only I sucked. I just no longer had it. I was the boat anchor. Kind and Kinder? They waited for me. I had no business riding with them, but they put up with me admirably.

Soon every peak was an excuse to wait for me.


I can explain how demoralizing it feels to be waited for at every stop. That is the way it is. I kept resolving not to blow up, not to expend needless energy on any chase or efforts to win back my ability to rise to a challenge. I kept remembering the words the commentators would make when a rider in the Tour de France would go off the front in an effort to win a stage or gain a climber points. Then later, they blow up, completely. And the commentator would always say, okay, forget it, stick to your own pace. Recover and ignore it all, the people passing, the lack of cheering, the impending red lantern and the broom behind you. No, I'm not comparing myself to anyone capable of the tour, but the method of sticking to pedaling in circles, to conservation and pushing the pain and the fatigue and the heat out of your mind and just climb at a rate you can handle. Regardless if its an overweight 50 YO climbing at 4 MPH or a racer flying up a mountain at 19 MPH while his competitors fly by at 22 or 25 MPH its all the same. Give up? Go home? Keep going to live another day?

The worst thing about Highway 35 was the fucking motorcycles. On a bicycle alone you can hear a lot. Birds, wind, crickets, cars, trucks, and the stupid harley loud pipes that in their mind save lives. I can tell you from experience its bullshit in the best redneck form. You hardly hear the stupid pipes from their approach. Their pointed backwards, how can you? Oh, Lord, when they go by? Of course you can hear them for miles. Does a horn section face the curtain when on stage? Do they point the loudspeakers at the ball park toward the parking lot? Of course not. But harley riders want you to think they work regardless of the law of physics. I could hear the radio playing and tell the music style on the quiet Honda Goldwings. Sometimes they were so constant it was enough to give them a headache. The police let those assholes get away with that shit, because the cops are surely in someone's pocket. The classic case of the money and bullshit are doing the talking and it surely isn't logic that applies. I will NEVER look upon a loud harley rider as anything but an arrogant idiot. They have NO HONOR and NO CLASS, only self centered arrogance from completly intelligence people who want to desperately be back in a group just like high school. Where everyone dresses alike, where how your bike looks more that what kind of human is and where how loud your pipes are is more important than the rest of your community. This is the very definition of the me generation and the definition of what is wrong with America.
Then there was the two vehicles that went by with the horn blarring, and the middle finger extended. They followed this by swerving off the road intentionally to throw up rocks and dust never realizing their timing was awful. The only thing they taught me was that Wisconsin drivers are bigger idiots than those in Minnesota. That was a first having riding in five or six states even in the south, I'd never seen that behavior before.

You'll note, I have no more photos except the one at the top which came from my house when I was finished for the day. Okay there is one, where the guys stopped for a break to eat stuff and rest a little.


This is a photo of Bill attempting to wash the gnats out of his eyes. Since I always wear goggles or glasses or sunglasses to protect my eyes and contacts from such thing, I didn't have any trouble. Okay, I'm sure I swallow a few and surely inhaled a few. Gnats I'll take anytime over harleys.

I was so fatigued at this point I'm not sure what town it was. Red Wing? Hastings? Gabuti?

I remember eating something. We ended up in a Perkins at 9 PM. Which meant it was really slow, as there was only a minimal crew. As in one waitstaff. One host and one cook. I had French Toast and I'm not a slow eater normally. Its probably why I tend to get food on myself, I'm in a hurry. I didn't have the energy to shovel hot sugary food in. I wasn't looking for a hotel anymore, though. I really knew I could to it, with the help of my friends.

There is no doubt I would not have made the distance without encouragement and hearing, "Hey! We're in no hurry." for the hundredth time and still gullibly believing them. Honest Bill and Jim would have been back at 10 PM or at least midnight without me. Did I make it more fun for them? God I hope so. I hope something came from the debt I owe them both. So the last photo is the Bleriot, after getting hauled out of the elephant. The saddlebag emptied into a carry bag because I couldn't make decisions on what should stay in the garage and what should go in to the house. Can you tell its dang glad it got that 200 pound engine off the saddle finally?

I'm not usually much on mileage until someone pointed out what I'd done. Take the 22 and the 56 and add the 147. Its about 225 miles. Or about 365 kilometers. Okay, I did it over four days, Friday night at 10 through Monday morning at 2:30 AM. I'm ignorant of what needs to be done in a brevet to qualify, but now I know I can do the mileage and with realistic training (not 80 miles the day before) I could manage to do one in better shape. And have more fun, and be more fun to be with. And be much better at ignoring the stupid motorcycles. I am deeply grateful to Kind and Kinder. Thanks for waitin'.