Sunday, August 04, 2013
I like the Riverwest summers and their weekend festivals. Usually, I think the whole motorcycle culture is a joke played on aging fat white guys seeking to pretend to rebel against the shitty world they basically created.
My goal was to see an Indian motorcycle, because that movieThe World's Fastest Indian sold me on the idea that those ones aren't lame because they dudes who own them actually work on them themselves. I saw one early on and decided it was time to start drinking at noon because I had nothing better to do. Wrong idea. I did manage to see some pretty cool custom bikes, like the one made from rusted old tractor parts, one that was decked out with skulls and had a real coffin as a sidecar and one with a hollowed out log for a sidecar. I also saw the most disgustingly tan woman I've ever seen, which seems to play right into the stereotype of bike shows. Her skin was the color of a football. Apparently, she wants cancer or something. zfurther playing into stereotypes, I saw a lot of fat dudes smoking cheap stinky cigars and that had Hulk Hogan-esque facial hair. Poor bastards. When the AC/DC tribute band that didn't have a guy in shorts started their set, I saw the girl with the fire engine red hair coming down the street. At one point, she was standing less than five away from me with her friends. Were I not five beers in at that point, I would have made some other excuse not to talk to her. I've got to quit waiting for the perfect moment and make the perfect moment happen myself, preferably not when I'm drunk. But I've also got to have something better than "Hey! You know you're hair looks really awesome?" to say to her. That's where I fall way short because I lead a fairly uninteresting, mundane life of trying to hide the fact that I can't use my left hand.
said Tommy T. at 10:42 AM - #
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My goal was to see an Indian motorcycle, because that movieThe World's Fastest Indian sold me on the idea that those ones aren't lame because they dudes who own them actually work on them themselves. I saw one early on and decided it was time to start drinking at noon because I had nothing better to do. Wrong idea. I did manage to see some pretty cool custom bikes, like the one made from rusted old tractor parts, one that was decked out with skulls and had a real coffin as a sidecar and one with a hollowed out log for a sidecar. I also saw the most disgustingly tan woman I've ever seen, which seems to play right into the stereotype of bike shows. Her skin was the color of a football. Apparently, she wants cancer or something. zfurther playing into stereotypes, I saw a lot of fat dudes smoking cheap stinky cigars and that had Hulk Hogan-esque facial hair. Poor bastards. When the AC/DC tribute band that didn't have a guy in shorts started their set, I saw the girl with the fire engine red hair coming down the street. At one point, she was standing less than five away from me with her friends. Were I not five beers in at that point, I would have made some other excuse not to talk to her. I've got to quit waiting for the perfect moment and make the perfect moment happen myself, preferably not when I'm drunk. But I've also got to have something better than "Hey! You know you're hair looks really awesome?" to say to her. That's where I fall way short because I lead a fairly uninteresting, mundane life of trying to hide the fact that I can't use my left hand.
said Tommy T. at 10:42 AM - #
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