E-mail: Brian7Morris "at" hotmail.com Archives March 2002 April 2002 May 2002 June 2002 July 2002 August 2002 September 2002 October 2002 November 2002 December 2002 January 2003 February 2003 March 2003 April 2003 May 2003 June 2003 July 2003 August 2003 September 2003 October 2003 November 2003 December 2003 January 2004 February 2004 March 2004 April 2004 May 2004 June 2004 July 2004 August 2004 September 2004 October 2004 November 2004 December 2004 January 2005 February 2005 March 2005 April 2005 May 2005 June 2005 July 2005 August 2005 September 2005 October 2005 November 2005 December 2005 current Blogs Mandapants farkleberries Uranium City Records The C.M. Sienko Foundation Storyteller Musings Solotarian Views Lynne Wiora Tek Poker News Blog Some Biscuits Evil Eye Emporium Niggling Doubts Pressure Release Sara as Mommy runswithscissors Defective Yeti Afternoon Delight trancejen The Terrarium Bird Nird Slipperily Tofu Hut Stereo Gum Links Fixed Gear Gallery Get Crafty This is Grand Featherproof Books Gapers Block Chicago Bird Watching	No one must know my terrible secret... House of Noh! Friday, November 19, 2004 Talking about all this bicycling lately… Do you remember my 9-20-04 journal entry where I very enthusiastically typed out for you the definition of “Hot Carl?” Well, during a visit to my parent’s house I elucidated the term at the dinner table with the same zeal. Andrea, Dusty, Hadley and I all laughed. My mom, however, was not amused. “Thanks a lot!” she said. “I hadn’t ever even thought about” (and then she shuddered) “people pooping in each other’s mouths before. Now I’ll never be able to get that out of my head for the rest of my life!” “I’m sure, with time, it will fade,” I tried to reassure her. “No, it won’t,” she said stubbornly. “You mean, you think that decades from now you’ll be like eighty years old, sitting on a porch swing somewhere enjoying some lemonade in your golden years, and that image will be playing somewhere in the back of your mind?” “YES!!” At the time, that made Andrea, Dusty, Hadley and I laugh even harder. However, now I suppose apologies are in order. But what does all this have to do with bicycling? It’s because the more I think about it, I’ve begun to realize that little images like that can stick with you for life. Specifically, there’s a certain memory I have that makes me shudder, just a little, every time I remember it, and it pops up into my head whenever I ride a bicycle, think about bicycling, or even see somebody riding down the street on a bicycle. I probably wasn’t even fourteen years old yet when it happened - so this is like a full fifteen years ago at least. I had just gotten my ten speed, and my Dad and I had gone out for a twenty mile or so ride (perhaps to encourage me to engage in a hobby that would help alleviate my requiring “husky” sized jeans, which I deplored). The next day I asked my Dad if he wanted to go out for another ride. When I asked, he got this pained look in his eyes, and then, in the voice he reserved for unpleasant but necessary conversations, explained to me that he would have to get some bicycle shorts or something before we went bicycling again. That would have been a good enough explanation for me. But he continued, perhaps needing to unburden himself, I don’t know. “Because, yesterday, when I got back from our bike ride, I went in the bathroom and my SCROTUM was ALL CHAFED,” he told me. And then he kind of squatted with his legs apart and indicated with a sweeping hand gesture the plane at which his scrotum had been chafed. “Like, from here to here!” he said. That’s the image that I will be stuck with for the rest of my life perhaps. Incidentally, and this isn’t related to bicycling, but I have some friends who complain of chafing problems from just walking around on hot sticky summer days. They use talcum powder, they say, and that leaves them gliding free and easy for however many miles they have to walk that day. They swear by it. If you suffer from this problem, why not give it a try? I’ve never tried it or anything. I’m just putting the word on the street. Brian 6:07 PM Comments: Post a Comment

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House of Noh!

Friday, November 19, 2004

Talking about all this bicycling lately… Do you remember my 9-20-04 journal entry where I very enthusiastically typed out for you the definition of “Hot Carl?” Well, during a visit to my parent’s house I elucidated the term at the dinner table with the same zeal. Andrea, Dusty, Hadley and I all laughed. My mom, however, was not amused. “Thanks a lot!” she said. “I hadn’t ever even thought about” (and then she shuddered) “people pooping in each other’s mouths before. Now I’ll never be able to get that out of my head for the rest of my life!” “I’m sure, with time, it will fade,” I tried to reassure her. “No, it won’t,” she said stubbornly. “You mean, you think that decades from now you’ll be like eighty years old, sitting on a porch swing somewhere enjoying some lemonade in your golden years, and that image will be playing somewhere in the back of your mind?” “YES!!” At the time, that made Andrea, Dusty, Hadley and I laugh even harder. However, now I suppose apologies are in order. But what does all this have to do with bicycling? It’s because the more I think about it, I’ve begun to realize that little images like that can stick with you for life. Specifically, there’s a certain memory I have that makes me shudder, just a little, every time I remember it, and it pops up into my head whenever I ride a bicycle, think about bicycling, or even see somebody riding down the street on a bicycle. I probably wasn’t even fourteen years old yet when it happened - so this is like a full fifteen years ago at least. I had just gotten my ten speed, and my Dad and I had gone out for a twenty mile or so ride (perhaps to encourage me to engage in a hobby that would help alleviate my requiring “husky” sized jeans, which I deplored). The next day I asked my Dad if he wanted to go out for another ride. When I asked, he got this pained look in his eyes, and then, in the voice he reserved for unpleasant but necessary conversations, explained to me that he would have to get some bicycle shorts or something before we went bicycling again. That would have been a good enough explanation for me. But he continued, perhaps needing to unburden himself, I don’t know. “Because, yesterday, when I got back from our bike ride, I went in the bathroom and my SCROTUM was ALL CHAFED,” he told me. And then he kind of squatted with his legs apart and indicated with a sweeping hand gesture the plane at which his scrotum had been chafed. “Like, from here to here!” he said. That’s the image that I will be stuck with for the rest of my life perhaps. Incidentally, and this isn’t related to bicycling, but I have some friends who complain of chafing problems from just walking around on hot sticky summer days. They use talcum powder, they say, and that leaves them gliding free and easy for however many miles they have to walk that day. They swear by it. If you suffer from this problem, why not give it a try? I’ve never tried it or anything. I’m just putting the word on the street.

Brian 6:07 PM

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House of Noh!

Friday, November 19, 2004