Randy has gotten me hooked on Reddit, which is a big community of talented, creative, and anarchic Internet citizens entertaining each other.
One of the funniest things I saw recently was Adam Ellis' portraits, where folks would send pictures to him, and he would sketch them. Never flattering, the portraits are hilarious: everyone looks incredibly seedy. You can see a bunch of his stuff here. Also here, here, and here!
Anyhow, Adam takes requests. You send him a link to a picture and some money, and he sends back a portrait that captures your soul and makes it look TERRIBLE. So I commissioned a portrait of both Randy and myself. Here's the result.
Here's me:
And here's the piece de resistance. Ladies and gentlemen, RANDY SCHMIDT!
Just a few minutes ago, Kate, Randy, and I were walking down High street to get some lunch at Salad Stop. "Whoa", said Randy, and we saw a big cannon set up in front of the Chester County Historical Society. In front of the cannon was a white-haired man in civil-war galluses, looking every inch the seasoned historical reenactor. "Say, wow, what kind of cannon is this?" we asked him. He smiled, turned, and pointed to a man in grease-stained blue jeans smoking a cigarette behind him.
Turns out, the guy in the blue jeans is Jeff Stafford -- a local fellow who is also THE world's go-to guy for taking your hundred-and-fifty-year-old locally-cast piece of ordnance, putting it on a new, correct, rolling mount, and restoring it to the point where you can repeatedly hit a four-inch target at two hundred yards.
The cannon Jeff was standing in front of was cast right here in Phoenixville, PA in 1862. Jeff showed us the markings on the barrel: Cannon number 379, cast by the Phoenix Iron Works in 1862. Weight: 816 pounds. Inspected by TTSL: Theodore Thaddeus Sablinsky Ladlie!
Jeff fabricated the wheels and carriage for this particular gun, including all the staves and coopering, from white oak, all to the original specifications. It's not just his hobby, it's his job! He told us that he restores (and fabricates) cannons for museums and private collectors all over the world. "I bet you have some stories!" I say, and he smiles and says "Yeah, there's some pretty colorful characters." Of course, I assume this means that he has furnished more that one evil genius's volcano lair with lovingly-recreated operational field pieces.
The three-inch ordnance rifle, in front of the Historical Society for a special event, fires a nine-inch, eleven-pound projectile. The grooves in the projectile match grooves in the barrel, spinning it for accuracy. I had never seen a cannon with functional iron sights before -- only pirate cannons and rusty curios in the park that look like they only shoot, you know… thataway.
If you happen to be reading this on Thursday, September 22nd, 2011, you can run down to downtown West Chester and meet Jeff until 6PM today, before he loads his two-thousand-pound cannon up on his trailer (by himself, with the help of a hand winch.) He's in Embreeville, and invited us over for a tour. I can't wait! More about Jeff on his website: staffordwheelandcarriage.com.
Jim Breslin is a local artist, writer, and founder of the West Chester Story Slam. He just made this short documentary about the Insomiknitac — the shadowy, mysterious figure behind West Chester's yarn bombing! You can see both Kate and me in the movie. (And no, neither of us is the Insomiknitac!)
If you know me, you know my fetish for Pelican cases. EVERYTHING looks tougher, more durable, more ready-for-adventure in a Pelican case. Including roller-derby announcer microphones!
I now have not one, not two, but three apprentice announcers for the Brandywine Roller Girls, and so we need two mics to plug into the small mix panel that a great article in Five on Five magazine told me to buy.
I got the boxes around the microphone handles (called "mic flags", I learned) from B&H Photo, and had 2" die-cut stickermule stickers made for them (Stickermule is GREAT, by the way -- they use top-quality vinyl, and their preview functionality is wonderful.)
I'm deliriously happy that there's a whole announcer crew now. It's time to start inventing kung-fu announcer drills: "Announce this jam by reciting Lewis Carrol's Jabberwocky, matching your tempo, attitude, and cadence to the action of the jam! Maintain a precise distance to your cardioid microphone! GO!" I am perfectly serious when I say that my goal is to be the worst announcer in the league.
Here's some footage of what's going on with the Brandywine Roller Girls these days -- these are some rushes that Kevin Corcoran edited together from a shoot last Wednesday. Stick around for the "jam cam" footage starting at two minutes -- I can't wait to see more of this!
…and don't forget, the next bout is coming up on Saturday night, August 20th! You can buy tickets right here!
Just minutes ago, a nice fellow named David carefully strapped my beloved 1977 BMW R100/7 sidecar rig to his motorcycle trailer and drove slowly away. I'm not sure if he turned east or west, as tears of sorrow were dimming my vision.
I was brought to motorcycles by my lovely wife Kate, whose dad was a brit-bike racer of renown. Kate had a stylish Honda CB360 and her motorcycle license, which was just one of the many, many things that dazzled me about her. I immediately enrolled in Motorcycle Safety School, and paid careful attention at her dad's motorcycle events, trying to determine which of the many motorcycle cliques I was to belong to.
I chose Tribe Airhead — grizzled, pragmatic riders of square, greasy, no-nonsense Teutonic bikes. Bikes that rumbled and growled and would take you across the country as easily as across the street. Bikes that looked like they meant business just sitting there. Bikes that you could invite your burlesque tap-dancer friends down from NYC to do a magazine photo shoot, and the rig is cool enough that they would actually come:
Before putting the sidecar on the bike, I took a trip to Martha's Vineyard by myself, and then an epic trip to Maine with Kate's father Bob. Bob's new R1150R pooped out on him, which was a cosmic insult to a fellow who wrestled Lucas electrics for fun. But I solved his problem using a crazy new thing called THE INTERNET. After a short detour to a dealer we found online, me, my R100, and my laptop computer had the Adventure of the Great East Coast Blackout. Only a hundred miles of range in our tank, but a blackout that extended two hundred miles in every direction -- what to do? I used my cellular card to make reservations at Mohonk, a Quaker mountaintop with its own generator system, and we wheeled in after dark to the cheerful glow of a fully-functional five-star resort. There's no better feeling than using your goofy skills to best effect in front of your father-in-law, and I'm eternally grateful for that trip, that bike, and that opportunity.
After I put the sidecar on the bike, we started showing movies to the public at the Guerrilla Drive-In, which we had done just in the back yard previously. The sidecar rig made a great projector platform:
This photo was the product of hours of work by Harold Ross, who bathed the rig in light from various fiber-opctic wands, then stitched it into this photo
I've had a great time riding all over West Chester, showing movies with the Guerrilla Drive-In. We even got on the ABC Evening News with Katie Couric!
I have loved this sidecar rig. It's been a wonderful, faithful bike, and a sidecar rig just seems to make people happy. Lots of smiles and waves, and it's a great excuse to wear the lego mini fig helmet I made (pictured at left.) It's been absolutely wonderful.
However, I'm at a new chapter in my life. I want to take the whole family out for ice cream, and a sidecar doesn't really work well for that. Plus, as weird as this sounds, a sidecar doesn't really describe where I am in my life right now. A sidecar combination says adventure — the kind of adventure where brave, plucky souls battle hardship and challenge. A sort of post-apocalyptic vibe. And, as I become a happy middle-aged dude in a wonderful town, with great schools, raising a charming, brave, and intelligent girl, well… there's not a lot of Mad Max in that story, you know?
So rather than let the bike live in the garage as a reminder of a previous chapter in my life, I want to make room for the next chapter. And I want to make room in my life, my wallet, and my garage for whatever goofy-ass vehicle might be right for that next chapter :)
