In order to keep all you word whores entertained, I am starting this new column to document odd visual occurrences and rarities that please the mental palate. I really should have started this years ago, before blogs, before the Internet, before I was born – but I get before myself.
Alas, I am truly saddened to think of all the crazy-ass stuff I’ve seen over the years that has leaked irretrievably out of the porous memory cells in my brain - lost forever, never to be documented, never to be commented wittily upon. It all ends here!…or begins here.
Regardless, the point is that I’m writing it down now. I might also send it to the Smithsonian so it can be captured for future generations. That’s how generous I am. Oh, and feel free to add to the dialogue by commenting about your own surreal sightings.
So here goes…
Get off your high bike
I’m on my way to work, minding my own business, not letting someone cut in at the last moment to avoid waiting in line to get on the freeway, and in my rear view mirror I see something spectacular. I say spectacular, because I, along with everyone else, were spectators to the anachronism of a man riding atop a first generation bicycle with the huge front wheel and tiny rear wheel.
I don’t know if it would have been more odd if the man had been wearing a 19th century getup with tweed knickers and suspenders, or like how it was – an aging body-builder wearing shorts and a Gold’s Gym tank top. Either way, it was strange and definitely something you don’t see everyday, or ever, for that matter.
I apologize for the grainy, ill-framed photos, but that’s what you get for me trying to drive, keep people from cutting in, and snapping photos with a so-called ‘camera’ phone. Referring to these mini-pixel talky devices as ‘cameras’ has the same credibility as Britney Spears’ latest marriage. But I digress, when I should be closing.
So that’s it. I hope you enjoyed this little foray into the peculiarities that our fine, spinning globe has to offer. If you think this account is not that strange, just let me know the next time you see me – unless it happens to be when you’re cutting me off to get on the freeway. Then, don’t bother.