Basura

When I graduated college in 1999, I left behind a case of beer above the acoustic tiles and the 200 channel bliss of cable television.

Today, after a long day of work and play I came home and decided to ditch the TV. 7 years of waning interest came to a crux. Mind you, the TV I own sucks. It is a circa 1991 hand-me-down from the 'rents, 27 inch cathode ray tube that didn't have s-video ports, only RCA. Forget the fact that within a years time the TV has warped the picture to -- in recent viewings -- a distorted lens of the enertainment.
The bottom inch was black. Blank. Nada.
About 3 inches down from the top, about where most close-ups place the hair and forehead (of That Guy on That Show that used to date Paris Hilton's ex-boyfriend), yeah so that section of the screen warps the picture long then the bottom 3rd of the screen fights to fix the problem. So everyone has ginormous foreheads. And tiny dwarf faces.

Basura. Garbage. I chucked it tonight, unceremoniously in the nightly garbage. I put the remote on top. I probably should have kicked the screen in so that some poor bastard doesn't try to drag it up to their apartment.

In the time since I last remember watching regularly over a year ago, I've learned what it takes to run a business, I've found a lost love for solo road rides, I've been downhilling for the first time ever, started to learn to ride street, gone singlespeed to multi-geared and back again (and back and forth too many times). I can speak Spanish now.

So here's the cliched setup as I write this:
I'm getting really excited for the Vermont 50. In bed with my cat and a burrito that's getting cold. I have a luke-warm Pabst (with backup in the freezer), my new book Fuck You Heros and my new Match Videozine #8, plus the last 2 issues of The Alpinist which will likely remain un-loved until I go climbing in France this October. My new bike is being planned.

Life without TV isn't all that bad, huh?"