I don't talk about much except comics and toys here, but two things you probably know about me is I like to bike, and I'm currently working a ton of overtime. So you can imagine the string of expletives I dropped after finishing a thirteen hour day, and coming outside to a completely flat rear tire. I got to ride, for only three days. Three days. I rarely lose my temper, but I damn near threw that bike into oncoming traffic. It's lucky it's not flammable enough, too.
The amount of cash and time and effort I've put into that bike, for it to utterly fail me like that...I know it's only a thing, but it's a thing I use almost every day (when it's not raining, snowing, hailing...) and am attached to and depend on. Like a guitar, or more aptly for this site, like a shield or a hammer or a surfboard. And it should work every time, like Colt .45.
Of course, my wife brought out the voice of reason, pointing out I've had this bike for several years and have put a ton of miles on it. I do think I might change bike shops, though--it was just tuned up, and they didn't even mention any tire problems; but we'll see if I calm down by the time I get the bike in to be fixed. Tomorrow: less rage, more Green Lantern.
Why do I think rage, and think Bill Sienkiewicz art? From Batman #400, written by Doug Moench; and Voodoo Child: The Illustrated Legend of Jimi Hendrix, 'created and produced' by Martin I. Green.
Things are supposed to work, dammit!
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