Greetings, dear readers. Sorry I left you stranded for so long. It is once again September, which means another summer is over, I am a year older, and the Burning Man cycle has drawn to a close. It’s been alternately a very fun and exciting year and a slow, stressful, painful one. I’m happy to say that I learned a few things, though I won’t bore you with the details. What I will do is show you some pictures from the Burn. Hopefully I’ll be able to keep up this blog a little more consistently this year. I’m still working on the same activism issues I was last time around, but at this point bureaucracy has ultimately failed me. You may be seeing fewer interviews or email correspondence and an increased number of mug shots. I’m sure there won’t be any complaints. Anyhoo, let’s roll this pumpkin!

This was my favorite Mutant Vehicle - a giant scorpion with flame-throwing claws and stinger.

This one isn't bigger on the inside, but it was big enough for our purposes.

Reunited with the kids of Camp Here. You can't find a better group of people on the playa.

Reunited with the beloved hammock where Crash and I fell in love. <3

Squirt gun: check. Boffer sword: check. Bring it.

Gutternaught the chopper returns to the desert in all her creaky, badly lubed glory.

This year I camped with some of my old friends from SCUL. This edifice is the brainchild of MegaSeth, second from the left.

Ok, I’m not really gonna write poetry. I’m no Vogon.

So I lied. (You’ll get used to it.) No Carpunching Gauntlets this time, but it’s only because I haven’t managed to trash pick or road rescue a pair of leather gloves yet. Give it time. The universe will provide.

The weekend before last, The Esteemed Goondocks (mah haus) participated in the first annual Porchfest. If you ain’t been told, Porchfest was a free music event showcasing artists from the area on the porches of the public. Our magnificent Count Sethula, of Goondocks Dungeons, slung delicious foods at passersby, while various and sundry bands sweated and wrought musicky havoc in the FUCKING SUN, CAN  YOU BELIEVE IT? A great time was had by all, but I completely failed to take pictures because I’m dumb like that, and because I can’t be bothered to wear anything with pockets to carry a camera in while I’m in leisure mode.

Here is one picture yoinked from thesapphiresun.com:

Can I just say I love my fucking neighborhood? I live in Ball Square, and prior to the ‘fest my delicious roommates flyered the vicinity in preparation for causing a neighborhood ruckus. I fully expected a bit of dour buzzkill from the older folks who abut us, but nay! Everyone in the ‘hood came out to play, and hung out on their porches to catch the music and the beautiful, nourishing sunshine. We were actually encouraged to repeat the affair as much as we like! I’m thinking that the future of the ‘Docks may be ripe with live band house parties, at least until we’re shut down and deemed an ‘unlicensed club’. Bring it on.

I’m at work for the first time in three weeks. This year so far has been … annoying. Broken toe (incident with a shopping cart).  Frozen pipes, exploding washing machine, kitchen fires, oh my! The Black  Plague (or tonsillitis, I’m not sure) paid our friend group a visit. On top of it all, the death of our sometime friend Eric the Red (see posts from last summer) has Dadoo Climbout in an existential crisis. Oh, and DEAR BABY JESUS WTF SNOW!?

I know, I know. I talk a big fat streak of piss about how I loooove to ride in the winter. Seriously though, kids? I can work from home, and when the roads have three layers of sky diarrhea in various states of frozen covering them, I will do so.  So in bed I have been for the last four storms, and all the clean up in between. As much as I am very appreciative of this opportunity to out sloth the entire community, I was starting to get really bored. So here I am at the office, blogging for the first time since  August. (Sorry guys, shit happened.) Oh, I should blog about the shit that happened.

Ok, here we go.

I woke up in a funk after a long morning discovering that Justin Mattarocchia’s snore can persevere through poking, kicking, punching, pillow smothering, verbal abuse, underwear snapping, and various chokeholds. Apparently the only thing that works to wake him is the Disappointed Look, which can transcend space, time and human consciousness.

We got back from Gloucester on the commuter rail at about 11pm Sunday night, exhausted. We had taken the T to Beverly in the early afternoon, after outfitting Justin with one of Jordan’s tertiary bikes – a huge  monster of a mountain bike. Calypso just wasn’t really up to the task of taking 180lb of man thirteen miles on finnicky terrain. Krankenberry, and BananaShark, Jordan’s new SWOBO single speed, had no problems.

Once in Gtown, we met up with Dadoo Climbout and his new roommate Eric and proceeded to cruise around the shore, ultimately ending up at Crane’s Beach for some swimming and much drinking of Boat Beer (see: Buttweizer). There simply is no better swimming spot in the North Shore area – the water is warmer (and saltier, for some reason) than at any other beach I’ve set foot on around here, and while clear, it boasts an abundance of life – skates, flounders, crabs of all type, various shellfish, even LIVE sand dollars! We didn’t really take the time to explore all the sea life this time, but in my youth I spend almost every weekend there, harassing the indigenous animals. They have lately fenced off all the interior dunes – a fact which has me conflicted, since while I am 100% behind the preservation of the natural state of Crane’s Beach, many of my fondest memories of childhood took place in those dunes.

Photos C/O Jordan

I’m still trying to put together a larger Phillips 3Speed for Justin, but at this point I’m wondering if the cash I’d spend on it would be better spent on a newer, less heavy, but ultimately still used single speed. I’d love to check out what they have at Bikes Not Bombs, but I’m always working during their hours, and also transporting a bike with another bike is a little tricky if you have to trek from Somerville to Jamaica Plain. I hate admitting to the need, but I may have to rent a zipcar for this journey, and that might just negate the money I’d save by going there. Bugger arr!

In January, that is. God I hate the cold. It’s not that I don’t find it manageable to ride in – I have only taken the bus once this winter, and that was to the Slutcracker cast party, because I fully expected to be too drunk to ride (which is a feat in itself) and I wasn’t off with my prediction. It’s just that everything is so sloooowed doown and extra complicated. In May you can just throw your shoes on, slap your lock under your belt and GOGOGO to wherever, when ever. In january you have to check your temp wiget, find extra socks, locate your thermal shirt, whine about the fact that your face muffler is still soaked with boogers, Cat-Crap your goggles. etc etc etc… so not necessary. I mean, necessary, but not in any way acceptable. Grumble.

Last night I rode to Coolidge to be a Tip Monster for the production SHOW – a film, burlesque/drag extravaganza and book signing with local photographer and long-time PRC supporter Henry Horenstein. Haven’t gotten around to unpacking my panniers yet, but I have the sneaking suspicion that a tub of silver glitter has exploded in there, because I was leaving a Tinkerbell trail all the way home.

I’ve finally linked all my hot hot cohort’s pages to my blaaargh so when I write about my exploits, you can follow the link and figure out just WTF I’m jibba-jabbin about. And ALSO, so you can check out all these fine performers and see what they’re up to on any given week, because if you haven’t yet you’re missing out, bigtime. So clicky! Go. DO IT.

This weekend the bf and I rented a Zipcar and drove to P-town. Our goal was to get caught in Hurricane Danny (sadly later demoted to Tropical Storm Danny),  get rained on at a local campsite with other members of the Gozerian Society, and possibly get swept out to sea on my first visit to the homosexual capital of New England. Though we did plow through some pretty deep puddles on the highway, the storm sadly petered out as we were dining at Bayside Betsy’s (which I don’t really recommend, it being typical in the lobster/chowder/deck shoes way of restaurants on the seashore). What I didn’t expect, however, was the mindblowing number of bikes I saw there. There are bike racks EVERYWHERE, and even during this ‘hurricane’, people were pedaling up and down the main strip in flip flops, some even holding umbrellas! All the bikes I saw were of the beach cruiser variety, owing to the fact that there’s only about two miles of rideable area from one end of Ptown to the other.

the moustache helps him blend in

I'm also blending in, with my 'sloppy chic' duds

P-town people relaxin' by the pool.

Ultimately, I give P-town a 6 on the Biketastic Rating Chart, because there’s a ton of great parking, and (apparently) low bike-related crime, but it’s really an all or nothing geography – you have about 5 miles of road altogether in town, and if you live out of town it’s a huge undertaking to get there via bike.