This Is Getting Easier

In my quest to better understand the direction the media seems to be headed these days, i'm always rewarded with nuggets like these:



Which, in most cases, always leave me asking more questions than i had in the first place. Like, how is news prioritized so that this comes between stories about how nicer dressed employees are more prone to receive promotions (awww) and something about "Miley Cyrus" hanging up her "Hannah" wig, which makes me feel about a thousand years old for not getting whatsoever.

But here, this cat, i can understand this. This is big news, Jesus on the cat. I'm intrigued about the obvious black/white dichotomy we're dealing with here, as the other kitty is most definitely bound to be equally representative of the dark prince, Satan himself, sooner or later. I'm surprised they didn't hit the black one over the head with a shovel during the interview for that matter. Also, isn't this the first biblical sighting since the Virgin Mary appeared on that old woman's grilled cheese? Shouldn't we be assembling all those scientists out there working on the cure for cancer together in a conference to determine what the connection might be between the grilled cheese mary and the kitty named Sissy with the blurriest picture of Jesus i've ever seen on its tufty butt fur?
Here's what i want to know: When did we, as Americans, just give up entirely on those exciting visions we had for the future, when technology and invention were peaking, and nobody worried about gasoline or homos whatsoever? Those were the days we were hot on the trail of the American Dream, an antiquated and bygone concept that may never again rear its head, thanks to the guano of stations like CNN. I hope that cat poops a John Paul II and nobody even notices. I hope aliens come soon, also.

They're Going To Love This In Williamsburg

Billy's Back.

Friends and nemeses, lo how the miles have fallen off the map since the 1st of June. Something about not working for 7 weeks has made it considerably easier to neglect you, the faithful few, who continue to frequent these sites, and that's wronger than the clown porn they made me watch in that sexual sociology class i took back in "college".. No, wait. Nothing is so wrong as that. Well rest easy, for your Uncle Billy's back in California, though not precisely when he planned to be and thoroughly drained of cash-ola after a stupid few weeks in the center of universe, NYC. Yes indeedy, it's back to the golden state, where i intend to finish up the classwork, crank out the jams, and refill my wallet before the next big excuse to get back on your couches. Look out for more posting more often these days, as i hope to reward you/slowly win you back/fail out of school/shark sandwich. Let the tales begin.

Happy Birthday, Nation

Where better to celebrate the nation's 232nd b-day than real heartland, America? After nearly two weeks of meandering the Midwest post-Royals ride, i'm spending my last night in the middle, before a dastardly long and controversially stupid bus ride to the east coast. I fear for my sanity, but more for my body- I've committed to a nonrefundable, surely-packed full of hillbilly goblins, inexplicably snow-cold greyhound bus ride all the way from Indy to New York. I'm not going to say the number of hours it's going to take out loud, but the only way to go into a ride like this is to trick one's mind into thinking that life has always existed within the confines of the terrible bus, and to pretend that it might never end. That way, if i do ever survive, i might be pleasantly surprised by the time its morning and i'm stumbling out of Port Authority to be slammed by a rampant taxi. Goodbye east coast. Goodbye body. Happy birthday, nation.

Minneapolis..

Upon the suggestion of the ever-wise and occasionally within-contact Benny "Stigler" Beall, here's a map of my progress thus far. What won't be shown is the map of my bank account, which has gone from hero to zero with the help of just a few psychotic friends, who have apparently all become rabid booze-mongers, bent on ruining any and all of my hopes of doing any real writing on this trip, in favor of setting their midwestern cities ablaze. But i digress.

The Cawker City Shuffle

I'm sitting in the public library in Cawker City, Kansas, about midway through our 500+ mile ride to save the Kansas City Royals. You might know this town for its lack of a gas station, leaving me famished, but more likely, for housing the world's largest ball of sisal twine, started in 1950-something by this guy who ohmygoditdoesn'tmattermyassistired. I continue to promise extensive diaries and recollections of the endless highway, all the cool roadkill sightings, and every truck that almost blew me into a ditch. But first, i want to get there. So, farewell twine. May you unravel in a tornado and end up someplace rich in Dairy Queens. Amen.

St. Francis, Kansas

Today we're headed to St. Francis, Kansas, after riding over 100 miles through Eastern Colorado and suffering some setbacks that put us at the mercy of the great people of Last Chance and Limon, Colorado. With some miraculous luck, we're back on the open road, peddling east for Kansas City with the stadium awaiting us. There will be full diaries and accounts of our voyage, but for now i must sign off, stay the course, avoid potholes and unenthusiastic bison, and ride another 42 miles before sundown. Lil' Philly is alive and well. The sun is hot, the bike is blue.