Shut It.

Meg White of the White Stripes said she avoids interviews because "the more you talk, the less interesting you become."

Well, I, uh, hmm........sigh.

I'm Lovin' It!

Two observations:

1. I see McDonald’s has a new ad campaign. Every day I see a billboard that reads

“My kinda shoppin’ spree!”

Never mind the fact that they're going for the hip vernacular angle. As my comrade pointed out, it always seems to be women who are a size one who are in these ads. Have you ever seen a size one female in a McDonald’s? I sure haven’t. Holy sweating Jesus is that place evil.

2. Virtually every day a letter comes across my desk that closes with “please don’t hesitate to contact me”. Where and when did this originate? It gives me visions of a guy calling a number and hanging up over and over in a most OCD-like fashion because they just couldn't commit to making that call, like a nerdy high school kid agonizing over calling someone up for a date (yeah, that was me).

I Have No Egrets

But regrets? Boy howdy.

I could easily burn up the world’s bandwidth if I chose to list them, but that would be seriously counterproductive, now wouldn’t it? The best you can do is just keep on keeping on. But I will throw one out there:

Applying for a credit card when I was 18. At the end of the day, it all seems to come down to that.

Anyway, as in my usual fashion, I have ceased my quest for a supplementary band. As I explained to one of my favorite oracles this morning, I think I just might be trying to fill a void with something familiar instead of really searching for the right thing to fill that void. It’s like eating a donut when you’re starving, when you know damned well it won’t stave off the hunger but will make you feel like doodoo for the next couple hours. All because you were too lazy to find something real. Watch this space.

Blech.

Thirty-four. Jesus. It was exactly a half a lifetime I ago that I graduated from high school. And now my little bro is a senior in college. I don’t ask the question “where did the time go?” I know exactly where it went.

It got whiled away by driving really damned far, twice, just to find a headlight for the ‘Wing. The first time I went, the salvage yard gave me the wrong one. Interestingly (read: infuriatingly) it was the exact same wrong headlight that I had gotten shipped to me in July. You see, I foolishly assumed that the guys who run these salvage yards just “know” what will and won’t fit a certain bike. I base this assumption on the fact that it’s what they truly believe. Well, they’re wrong and I’ve since stopped entrusting them.

Businesses are often borne of one’s frustrations.

Cause: Complete ineptitude of purveyors/few if any sources for a small yet rich market
Effect: Start your own business to fill that niche

Am I talking about opening a salvage yard for Goldwings? A place where you tell them “I need a grab rail for a ’77 Goldwing”, they know to send you one from a 75-77 because it has the collars for the rear turn signals? A place where they won't send you a rail from a ’78 and tell you it’s the same thing? Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about.

Sadly, the state I dwell in (yeah yeah, hysteria, discomfort, often catatonic, I know) is curiously devoid of bike salvage yards. You either have to drive ridiculous distances to get to one with normal hours, or you have to show up at 2PM on a Wednesday or you’re out of luck. Opening one of my own and serving a small yet devoted community sounds good on paper, but as it is, I live in a condo and have to work on my bike at may parents’ house.

So I finally got the ‘Wing to a streetable status with the headlight and turn signals. Thrilled by this new status, I set out to go for a pleasure cruise at long last. Well, it just wouldn’t run. I got it to fire a couple times, but it was abundantly clear that it has a major fuel delivery problem. It was evident that I could no longer delay the inevitable and rebuild the carburetors.

Well, after a good deal of struggle, I got them off. When I opened them up, I discovered just what being immersed in gas for almost 30 years does to castings: it dissolves them. The parts on the inside are super-fragile and I managed to break off a most crucial part. I have a spare set of carbs, but it just so happens that the one I’d use to replace the bad one is also no good.

Suffice it to say after having spent several hours inhaling gas fumes and defeat, and I decided to mothball the entire project until further notice.

The score?

Defeated and Disenchanted Restorer of Classic Bike he Just HAD To Have: 0

Time: 1