The quiet scares me ’cause it screams the truth

I can’t possibly leave this one alone…although on a side note, pretty interesting I quote Tony Soprano week before last and he vapor locks last week.

That thin white line.  I’ve been cautious about Paula Deen ever since it came out she was diabetic.  That only got out because she was considering a contract to pitch a diabetes drug.  You mean her style of cooking can cause diabetes?  Say it ain’t so!

So she continues to hawk her cookbooks and television show while quietly spiking it with the insulin.  Awesome.  Buy my shit and get free clean needles!

Now people, Paula Deen’s First Amendment rights have not been infringed upon.  She has been able to throw her plantation style wedding because those black folk look so damned nice in those white jackets, and spout off racist jokes to her hearts content.  She wasn’t even fired from Food Network, they simply chose to not renew her contract.  Probably if you read that contract it had things in it about a standard of behavior that the network expected.  Of her Jew jokes and redneck jokes and negro jokes only one are ok.  Why?  Because you can choose to be a redneck.  Get it?  Paula didn’t.  She should have stuck to the redneck jokes.  Because it’s alright to be a redneck doncha know.

Paula started with playing the Southern card on this one.  Probably not her best play.  Here’s a better play.

Now I give the old girl credit here.  No wiggle words.  She apologizes to those she has hurt.  Not if she hurt someone, the ones she hurt.  This is a proper apology.   She was way out of line.  She knows damn good and well that she shouldn’t have been doing that sort of crap.  If it were ok she’d be using that language on her television show and interviews.  It’s not like she had nice black men dressed in white jackets seating her studio audience was it?  Or maybe a young negro in overalls bringing her in a chicken to fry up.  That would really have a quaint Southern flavor wouldn’t it?  How about a smiling old man with a watermelon?  That would be great for her Southern cooking themed show.  She knew she was out of line.  And now she is going to pay the piper.

Lucky for Paula, America is a racist forgiving country.  She’ll be back when the dust settles.  Hittin’ the insulin and serving up the chocolate gooey butter cookies.

Bonus cheap thrill.


Transcript of the Testimony of Paula Deen Date: May 17, 2013

Loaded up and truckin’ we’re going to do what they said can’t be done

The stupid is strong.

Check out this article and the response by the 11yo kid to the racism he was subjected to.  Sebastian FTW.  Racist assholes have a little problem on their hands.  They are about to be outnumbered.   The United States is heading to the mocha slush I predicted 20 years ago.  I originally thought it wouldn’t happen in my life time, but I’m beginning to think it may occur in the next 25 years.  Which hopefully is my lifetime.

What?  That Old Repulsive crew from the late 80’s and 90’s has been decimated by way before their time deaths.  There were four Advisory Title Officers.  Me, Teri, Jon and Jimmy.  Jon died of throat cancer at 52.  He never smoked or chewed.  Jimmy was 51 when he died of liver failure after he received blood tainted with hep during his back operation.  That leaves me and Teri.  And I suspect there is a death pool.  For the record, I intend to win this thing.  My money is on me.

Of course this is front and center on everyone’s mind with the passing of Princess.  Her funeral was Wednesday.  I spent a lot of time on the AIDS/Lifecycle processing what happened.  What else do you do on a bike for 10 hours a day over 7 days?  I was able to peel away the recent years and remember a lot of the good.  A lot of the old crew showed up for her funeral.  Her mother was afraid that no one would show.  The mortuary was packed.  Even the people who the evil clowns dialed in on forgave and showed up.  The funny thing is Princess’s sister is a knucklehead drug addict and her brother is a head case.  They both did most of the speaking.  She would have been outraged.  I watched the whole affair and thought “this is not what she would have wanted.”  The only redeeming quality was something that her son wrote that the deacon read with him standing there and a heart-wrenching story told by her ex-husband.  He never stopped loving her, despite what he went through.  He never said a bad word about her to me ever, even through all the crap.  He talked about the day they were married.  They took off to the Virgin Islands alone.  And the story had a punch line which was proper for any story about her.  She was 49.  If you’ve had chemo please go get your ticker checked out and make them explain the correlation to you.  Princess was out of moves and this was inevitable.  I was reminded last week that I predicted this.  I reminds me of the finale of the Sopranos.  There’s nothing left to say or do.

About that ride.  I love Day 6, it’s my favorite.  We leave Lompoc and head to Ventura.  I don’t love the part where we ride on the 101.  I almost got pasted this year outside of Mussel Shoals.  I was riding on the far right side of the bike lane and the road dropped off a bit.  I lost traction on my rear wheel and then when the back end of the bike had come around I caught traction which started to propel me into traffic.  On the 101.  I turned into the fishtail and corrected.  And then pulled over and let my heart rate return to something normal.  I try not to be stupid but every now and then when this sort of thing happens I think “God wasn’t ready to punch my ticket yet”.  That was a close one.  Years ago a friend of mine spun out on Mullholland Drive.  We hit the bridge.  If we had been five feet short we would have been in the ravine.  The car was drivable.  My famous quote “Give me the goddamn keys and don’t you dare say another word.”  I drove the car back to Santa Barbara.

Anywho, I love the Gaviota Pass even though it’s dangerous and you have to be really careful.  I love coming around the corner at El Cap and I love the reception we get in Santa Barbara.  This is Phyllis.


Phyllis is 102 years old.  She was sitting out on Meigs with her family waving a flag for all the riders as we went by.  She was awesome.

Sometimes the people as we go by are the best.  These guys were out in the driveway in Lompoc.



Meet Smokey.  He had on his best dress for Red Dress day.  Which was Dress Red Day for about 15 seconds 12 years ago.

Did I mention that we raised $14.2 million dollars?  It was the largest AIDS fundraiser in history.  We broke all records.  Did you know that AIDS was the number one cause of death worldwide?  We did something amazing to stop something terrible.  I’m good with that.  And in spite of how rough of a time I had this year, I signed up for next year.  Whether I ride or not is another story, I will have to re-evaluate in January.

And I totally lost my mind last week.  Not exactly.  I had something hanging over my head for the last year or so.  The lean green machine has 211,000 miles on her.  She would do weird things and scare the crap out of me.  Repairs can be huge.  And my mechanic is stuck in San Carlos with an ankle bracelet.  So I would have to use all of my AAA 200 mile towing to get it over to him if things went sideways.  And probably lose days of work.  I loved that car, but it was time, past time.  Way past time.

lean green machine

She was a trusty steed.  It’s time for her to be moved out of service.

I ended up doing the right thing, even though the original plan was not to buy a car that day.  I wanted to know what I needed to do to be in the position to get a new car because I needed one badly.  My credit is so battered that I figured it was going to take more cash and time.  Turns out I had the cash, and making the payments on this new one will give me the time.  The sales guy kept asking me about color.  I am the worst car buyer ever.  I don’t care about color.  What color?  I don’t care.  Do you like the light colors?  Yes.  Your car is Oxford Green do you like the dark colors? “Yes”.  Any color you don’t like?  No.

So here she is, the new addition, who obviously needs to be named.  I’m thinking Devil in a Blue Dress or Ol’ Blue.  Suggestions?




She’s a six on the floor.  This car is not for pussys.  It is a driver.  The steering and suspension are much tighter than the old one.  And it’s freaking quick.  Basically I can take out anyone on the line with this thing.  I shouldn’t, but I can.  I just have to remember to shift.  That’s been the latest issue.  I’ve only owned two automatic transmissions in my life, the lean green machine and my 1975 Camero.  Two stick trucks, the Mustang is three on the floor and the MX6 was five on the floor.  I remember years ago I almost bought a GMC that had three on the tree.  I kind of wish I’d done that.  It’s a 2008 but that makes her 7 years newer than what I was driving and she has 150,000 less miles on her and 40,000 left on the warranty.  Yeah, the BMW warranty!  Woot.

A huge weight is off of my shoulders right now.  That’s done, I paid off a large credit card last week, I rehired my housekeeper and the office finally solved the transaction coordination debacle.  I even told ownership that solving that made a huge difference in my business.  Basically she forced me to quit using my person and use hers, who was a buffoon.  I was ready to leave when our Team Leader called me in and told me they were bringing back the best that ever did the job for the office.  Then they solved the Broker Review issue.  That’s always been a bug a boo.  The original one, if I saw her coming, I would leave out of the back door to avoid the 45 minute conversation that would grind my soul down to a nub.  The next one couldn’t use the system and we never got paid on time.  The next one consistently moved the cheese to the point that I actually ended up screaming at her to quit moving the freaking cheese.  Now we have this grandfatherly like guy who is reasonable, gets to our stuff on time and I’ve gotten paid on time ever since the new system is in place.  It is freeing up a ton of my time and has taken a huge burden off of my shoulders.  Are you still reading?  I thought not.

Life is short, but this time it was bigger than the strength she had to get up off her knees

This is going to be random.

I’m back.  The AIDS/Lifecycle 12 is over with.  It was a very tough 7 days all around.  Part of the problem was that I missed a shit ton of training rides due to my business.  I did three centuries before we left but the day after day grind wasn’t really there.  And I switched out bicycle seats two weeks before we left.  That is something I should have done back in January but I was just busy and didn’t get around to it.  By the third century that issue had reached critical mass.  I couldn’t ride a century least wise the AIDS/Lifecycle.  So I switched it out.  And I paid for that.  Not as much as I would have paid if I had left it as it was since the old seat was worn out.  At the end of the day I had no break down of skin and that’s the difference between life at the butt clinic and life on the ride.

This ride was the largest AIDS fundraiser in history.  We raised $14.2 million dollars.  That’s mind boggling.  People will get to live because of what we did last week.

I did not get any proper sleep leading up to the ride and I had clients running me all over on the Saturday before I left.  I caught a ride with a friend who had to be there 30 minutes before the cyclists so I was up at 2:50am to go.  Generally I ride in the middle of the pack.  I was slipping into the bottom third but I came into Santa Cruz with time to spare.  The road to Half Moon Bay just sucks, traffic is really close, at least is moves slowly, but it’s a steep climb.  And it just sucks.  Especially when you’re short of sleep.  I found myself thinking about Princess as we went over the hills.

As the miles clicked by, the awfulness of her mental illness started to peel away like an onion.  I started to remember all of the fun we used to have.  I remembered an hilarious night out in San Francisco the begat the Legend of Seamus.  I remembered her birthday at Chevy’s.  I remembered a trip we made to Palm Springs.  I remembered that she did my make-up when I went as Mimi from the Drew Carey show for Halloween.  And the Danny Baker School of Etiquette.  And driving her RX7 across the bay bridge at lunch because she didn’t think we could make it to the City and back during a lunch hour.  She had a racing license at one point.  One of her friends built out Mazdas for the track and that RX7 was a rocket.   Before the RX7 she had a slant nosed Porsche.   And then I really began to miss my friend.

Princess had been gone since around 2008.  She had a nervous breakdown and was taken to County and kept on a 5250 for two weeks.  I remember her showing me the paperwork in 2010 and telling me that the Doctors said she wasn’t crazy.  It was full of words like schizophrenia, paranoid delusions and manic behavior.  Princess was mentally ill.  I said something like, “Did they want you to do any follow up?”  No, she was fine.  She wasn’t of course.  She had lucid moments for sure, but then she’d head down the rabbit hole and it could be very bad.  I remember arguing with her over a jar of piss that she was sure was holy water.  Don’t ask me how she got a jar of piss in the first place.

There were a couple of people who she focused on that were her foils.  They were the ones that planted the listening devices, stole money from her, smoked crack or practiced Satanism.   My only sin was that I stole her gun.   I have three messages on my machine from her right now with varying degrees of lucidity.  Once I realized how ill she was, I went to our friend who was now her most directed foil.  I said “Princess is sick and you can’t hold any of this stuff against her.  It’s her talking but she’s gone.  It’s just the evil clowns now.”  I told her what the medical report said and about some of the discussions I’d had with the soon the be ex-husband.  I said “we have to let it go and hope for the best”.   Apparently I said out loud that I didn’t think she was going to live through it.  Sadly, I was right.  She reminded me of that yesterday.  We both talked about the good times yesterday and it helped.

Out on the ride, I was all alone, and suffering.  In a situation like this you can’t help but second guess yourself.  It’s human nature.  Could I have done this that or the other and would that have made the difference?  By the time we hit King City I was a zombie.  I got swept at mile 93 for lagging behind.  My legs couldn’t ride any harder.  And there was no one to talk to about this.  And I was beyond exhaustion.  I went to bed and was out within about 40 seconds.

The next morning I got up and received the email with the funeral arrangements.  Strangely that made everything real.  Until they buried her she wasn’t really dead right?  It was a mistake, the autopsy wasn’t done yet.  Maybe it was just someone that looked like her that was in her house vacuuming her son’s room.  The mind is a funny thing.  As I walked away from the gear trucks I had tears in my eyes.  I wasn’t crying, just teared up.  I was kind of alone where I was walking.  A man was walking the other direction.  I recognized him as one of the guys from Rest Stop 4.  The Rest Stop 4 boys are the prettiest, most buff, most creative, best fundraisers on the ride.  They are the cool kids.  I’d seen this guy around but never really spoke to him.  He walked right up to me and gave me a big hug.  That’s the kind of community that’s out on the ride.  He didn’t know what was going on, he didn’t ask.  Later that day, he was the star of the show in San Miguel.

smoking drag queen


As funny as these guys are, they have huge hearts.  Every one of them.  The Roadies are amazing.

Later when we pulled into Paso, I decided to stop by medical to make sure the new bike seat wasn’t causing any bad problems.  At this point I was pretty much sleep walking.  And I’d cracked the rim on my wheel.  They got a nurse who apparently had been on 9 rides and was the queen of saddle related conditions.  It turned into this weird thing.  The conversation veered immediately away from the issue at hand, my ass, and went all over the board, and I wasn’t driving.  Then she says “My brother died last week.”  I said “I’m sorry for your loss.”  She said “It’s okay, my family dynamics are pretty weird and I’m good with it.”  We talked briefly about her brother and the fact that she had called and spoke to him recently and they were “clean” to use her term.  It seemed kind of odd to me.  Then she looks me in the eye and says “What is it?”  And it all came out.  In particular the fact that Princess called three times in her last two weeks and I didn’t return a single call.  And then it all came out.   Her brother was bi-polar.  And when it was all said and done, I know I did the right thing as difficult as it was.  And I know why she was “clean” with her brother.  And I woke up the next day and rode better than I had ridden all week.

There’s a bunch of our friends who don’t understand the depth of Princess’ illness.  They have all sorts of excuses or theories.  She beat breast cancer in the late 90’s.  The chemo did something to her heart which is what killed her.  They think the hallucinations that are occasionally symptomatic of the adema caused the whacky behavior.  To me that cheapens the battle she fought.  It was epic.  She died because she didn’t have health insurance, she hadn’t worked in years and she didn’t have the medication she needed to stop the congestive heart failure.   She couldn’t work with her illness, she couldn’t get health insurance and she died alone in a home that the bank took bank and an investor now owns.  She died in a home never wanted to leave.  And now she never will.