(All You Haters Scrutinize My Bicep)
This photo was actually sent to me by the wearer himself, and as you can imagine I spat Froot Loops and root beer all over my monochrome computer monitor (monochromatic blogging is totally "zen," like fixed-gear cycling) as soon as I laid eyes on it. It seems like only the summer of 2008 that photographer Tod "Sucka Pants" Seelie sent me a photograph of a lime green rim with the words "All You Haters Suck My Balls" on it, though actually it was the spring of 2008 (time sure does flew), and here is that rim in all its testilingus-demanding glory:
Like Proust's madeleine, this rim sent me on a flight of nostalgia. Back in early 2008 the fixed-gear "scene" was still open, and there still wasn't consensus as to which sex act the "haters" should be forced to perform. Proposals ranged from the relatively benign (handjobs and fingerbangings) to the profane (stuff involving fruit), with a few extremists even advocating for baroque forms of intimacy such as the so-called "rusty trombone." However, slogans such as "All You Haters Pleasure Me With Produce" just weren't catchy enough, so when the AYHSMB rim "dropped" it caught on immediately. The "SMB" part was just dirty enough to be offensive but not so dirty as to be criminal, and while it was obviously phallocentric this did not preclude women from using it ironically. In short, this wheel-stickering was "the rim job heard 'round the world."
Like Proust's madeleine, this rim sent me on a flight of nostalgia. Back in early 2008 the fixed-gear "scene" was still open, and there still wasn't consensus as to which sex act the "haters" should be forced to perform. Proposals ranged from the relatively benign (handjobs and fingerbangings) to the profane (stuff involving fruit), with a few extremists even advocating for baroque forms of intimacy such as the so-called "rusty trombone." However, slogans such as "All You Haters Pleasure Me With Produce" just weren't catchy enough, so when the AYHSMB rim "dropped" it caught on immediately. The "SMB" part was just dirty enough to be offensive but not so dirty as to be criminal, and while it was obviously phallocentric this did not preclude women from using it ironically. In short, this wheel-stickering was "the rim job heard 'round the world."
Eventually, though, things changed. People experimented with other slogans. The "depth wars" began as companies like H Plus Son and Velocity competed to see who could provide people with the most sidewall surface area for their personal expression. The fixed-gear scene also began to close, and people who had been riding them for upwards of two whole years began to look down on those who foolishly attempted to enjoy the fashions and lifestyle they were espousing. The hated were now becoming the haters, and it was becoming increasingly unclear whose balls needed sucking and why. Once a rallying cry, AYHSMB began to sound a bit hollow, and eventually became the stuff of YouTube parodies:
There are a number of ways to interpret this tattoo. On one hand it could represent a point on the phrase's shark-jumping arc that is just past its zenith, meaning there's nowhere to go from here but down. On the other hand, it could be a return to sincerity, since this person apparently believes so strongly in the message that he has placed it mere inches from his armpit. Either way, while he may be taking things a bit far, at least it's just some letters and not an illustration of actual ball-sucking. At worst, in five or ten years when people ask him about his tattoo, he can make up some alternate meaning and save face:
There are a number of ways to interpret this tattoo. On one hand it could represent a point on the phrase's shark-jumping arc that is just past its zenith, meaning there's nowhere to go from here but down. On the other hand, it could be a return to sincerity, since this person apparently believes so strongly in the message that he has placed it mere inches from his armpit. Either way, while he may be taking things a bit far, at least it's just some letters and not an illustration of actual ball-sucking. At worst, in five or ten years when people ask him about his tattoo, he can make up some alternate meaning and save face:"Oh, that? I'm a member of both the American Youth Hostels and the Society for Mathematical Biology, and I just wanted to show my support for the great work they're doing. If you don't like it, you can give me a 'rusty trombone.'"
"I like the cut of your jib. You're hired!," the manager at Arby's will reply. All You Haters Serve My Burger.
Speaking of jobs and stuff I was pleased to receive, a writer named Gabriel Thompson just sent me a copy of his book, "Working in the Shadows: A year of Doing the Jobs [Most] Americans Won't Do:"
I had assumed that the book was about being a domestique for Lance Armstrong, but it turns out the author actually spent time working at a bunch of jobs that are, to put it impolitely, really crappy. In addition to cutting lettuce (yes, I know this is crappy because I once made a salad) and schlepping chicken guts, he also delivered food by bicycle in Manhattan. I haven't actually read the book yet, but I'm looking forward to it, partially because it looks very interesting but mostly because I'm quoted somewhere in it, which is why he sent me the book in the first place. Also, I understand Gabriel Thompson has a tattoo that says "Do Not Put Anything In My Flower Box," but he assures me this is merely a coincidence. If you're like me and you prefer reading about miserable jobs to actually doing them, feel free to order a copy, and perhaps we can convene some sort of BSNYC Book Club at a later date.
While I'm gloating over stuff people have given me, I'd also like to disclose that I recently received something from Ahrens Bicycles. If you're unfamiliar with Ahrens bikes, they have the enviable distinction of being found underneath Liz Hatch:
I had assumed that the book was about being a domestique for Lance Armstrong, but it turns out the author actually spent time working at a bunch of jobs that are, to put it impolitely, really crappy. In addition to cutting lettuce (yes, I know this is crappy because I once made a salad) and schlepping chicken guts, he also delivered food by bicycle in Manhattan. I haven't actually read the book yet, but I'm looking forward to it, partially because it looks very interesting but mostly because I'm quoted somewhere in it, which is why he sent me the book in the first place. Also, I understand Gabriel Thompson has a tattoo that says "Do Not Put Anything In My Flower Box," but he assures me this is merely a coincidence. If you're like me and you prefer reading about miserable jobs to actually doing them, feel free to order a copy, and perhaps we can convene some sort of BSNYC Book Club at a later date.
While I'm gloating over stuff people have given me, I'd also like to disclose that I recently received something from Ahrens Bicycles. If you're unfamiliar with Ahrens bikes, they have the enviable distinction of being found underneath Liz Hatch:
As it happens, Ahrens has pioneered a bold new form of integrated headset spacer/bottle opener technology. (This is the sort of stoner toy innovation we've come to expect from California, home of the "epic" burrito and the iPad.) While I've made light of the cycling world's obsession with beer and things that open bottles containing beer, the truth is that even I can be beguiled by the right top-popping contrivance. In fact, one of my prized possessions is my SSWC08 bottle opener, custom etched with my triple-digit finishing place:
That, however, has been retired to a safe deposit box along with my Metallica ticket stub autographed by Glenn Danzig, so when Ahrens offered to send me one of his "WiseCrackers" I gladly accepted. Sure, I realize that you don't need a dedicated bottle opener on your bike, and that you can easily use a popular brand of pedal instead. However, I don't always ride a bike with that popular brand of pedal on it, and even though I've pared my keychain down to the bare essentials I still welcome any opportunity to remove yet another item:
By relocating my bottle opener to my steer tube I can finally remove that pedal, meaning I'll only need to carry around the frame pump, the extra chainring, the 15mm wrench, and the cheese grater. Not only will this configuration be slightly more comfortable in my pocket, but it will also make it that much easier for me to find my single key:
Anyway, I'm pleased to announce that the WiseCracker finally arrived:
Here's a closer look:
I elected to install the WiseCracker aboard my Scattante "test-cycle," on which there was ample room:
By the way, I know what you're thinking: "Who would put a Thomson stem on a Scattante?" I realize it seems a bit indulgent, but rest assured that it is only there for the photo shoot and that I usually "palp" a custom threadless carrot that I "machined" myself with a butter knife. At any rate, after spending 12 hours reading the Park Tools website and posting questions on Bikeforums, I finally felt confident enough to attempt the installation, and here is the result:
In retrospect, I probably should have swapped it with the spacer beneath it, but I figure this way there's more wheel-to-opener clearance for extra-long bottles. Here it is from the front, hiding behind my excessively long cable housings:
From the cockpit, you don't even know it's there:
(Is it in yet?)
Yes, I am now the proud owner of bottle opener with a bike around it. While I haven't actually used it to open a bottle yet, I'm pleased to report that I have used it to hitch myself to moving cars and it's performed admirably. So if you see me parked I encourage you to use my Scattante to open the beverage of your choosing. (Nothing washes down a "meh-pic" New York City burrito like a Jarritos.) As for you haters, feel free to suck my test-cycle.