With a Little Help from my Friend
Uncle Mikey came by last Saturday. He needed some cables and I happened to have some. He also seems to need a draft most of the time but that never stops him from hammering. We all love our irascible Uncle Mikey but I now have reason to doubt his fealty.
Here’s how it went south. We were standing in front of the garage looking in and he says, “Have you tried cleaning?” It sort of ruined my day. Not right away mind you. It simmered and festered until Sunday and then it reared up like a cobra and spit poison in my eyes. What if he was right? Did I need to clean my garage?
Everyone will tell you if you need something, I’ve got it. Sometimes I can find it on the internet faster than on my property but I’ve got it. Linseed oil? Got it. A three foot section of galvanized pipe? Got it. Dental tools? You bet. Crimps, patches, ferrules, fender washers, threaded rod, toilet parts, 12/3 wire, shellac, lacquer thinner, fresh eggs, kindling or schmaltz, I’ve got it... Somewhere. My inventory is large but I’m not Fed Ex, nothing has tracking numbers.
Sunday the fermenting mess Uncle Mikey planted in my brain was bubbling up like cheap champagne. Could he possibly be right and was my garage in need of, gasp and gasp some more, cleaning? Everyone will agree that as nice as he is on the surface he is truly an evil old man. He will ride you into the ground when you are least expecting it. He’ll get you on the tandem and berate you for being slow when he’s got his feet up drinking a margarita and smoking a Puro Cubano. (Romeo y Julietta, he thinks he’s a romantic.)
Then again, he’s a physicist and understands how things work in the universe. He’s so smart he could probably just come over and tell me where my stuff is and I wouldn’t have to Googol Earth my shop. Smarts aren’t everything. He still rides 12 hours races even though it is perfectly clear he’s too damn old. If he’d stay off the podium we could have him committed or at least, restrained.
Evil Mikey, Smart Mikey, leave well enough alone? clean the garage?
I would have just kicked him into the ditch on the Sunday ride but he went and tickled cactus instead of being manly. So, left to my own designs, I spent the late afternoon and early evening cleaning a large section of my garage. If you think, for one moment, that I should have cleaned the whole garage, don’t come over asking me for a part you need. You have terribly underestimated the volume of stuff. There is a glass studio, a jewelry bench and a pickup truck sharing the garage with me and my enterprises
So what’s keeping me from kneecapping the sweet, loyal old guy we call Uncle Mikey? After all, he did spoil an afternoon I could have spent drinking beer with the cats. He disturbed the delicate balance of my own uncertainty. Why is Uncle Mikey not a corpse? Why is he allowed to remain in this plane of existence?
His apocalyptic remark was not uttered in hearing range of my wife.
However, should he ever mention cleaning anything other than a bicycle in front of my darling young bride, his life will be a living hell. I’ll tell his lovely charming wife how much he spends on his bikes. I'll laugh my self silly as I polish the baseboards to a solar envy shine.
Oh, just as an aside, the garage looks pretty good.
Here’s how it went south. We were standing in front of the garage looking in and he says, “Have you tried cleaning?” It sort of ruined my day. Not right away mind you. It simmered and festered until Sunday and then it reared up like a cobra and spit poison in my eyes. What if he was right? Did I need to clean my garage?
Everyone will tell you if you need something, I’ve got it. Sometimes I can find it on the internet faster than on my property but I’ve got it. Linseed oil? Got it. A three foot section of galvanized pipe? Got it. Dental tools? You bet. Crimps, patches, ferrules, fender washers, threaded rod, toilet parts, 12/3 wire, shellac, lacquer thinner, fresh eggs, kindling or schmaltz, I’ve got it... Somewhere. My inventory is large but I’m not Fed Ex, nothing has tracking numbers.
Sunday the fermenting mess Uncle Mikey planted in my brain was bubbling up like cheap champagne. Could he possibly be right and was my garage in need of, gasp and gasp some more, cleaning? Everyone will agree that as nice as he is on the surface he is truly an evil old man. He will ride you into the ground when you are least expecting it. He’ll get you on the tandem and berate you for being slow when he’s got his feet up drinking a margarita and smoking a Puro Cubano. (Romeo y Julietta, he thinks he’s a romantic.)
Then again, he’s a physicist and understands how things work in the universe. He’s so smart he could probably just come over and tell me where my stuff is and I wouldn’t have to Googol Earth my shop. Smarts aren’t everything. He still rides 12 hours races even though it is perfectly clear he’s too damn old. If he’d stay off the podium we could have him committed or at least, restrained.
Evil Mikey, Smart Mikey, leave well enough alone? clean the garage?
I would have just kicked him into the ditch on the Sunday ride but he went and tickled cactus instead of being manly. So, left to my own designs, I spent the late afternoon and early evening cleaning a large section of my garage. If you think, for one moment, that I should have cleaned the whole garage, don’t come over asking me for a part you need. You have terribly underestimated the volume of stuff. There is a glass studio, a jewelry bench and a pickup truck sharing the garage with me and my enterprises
So what’s keeping me from kneecapping the sweet, loyal old guy we call Uncle Mikey? After all, he did spoil an afternoon I could have spent drinking beer with the cats. He disturbed the delicate balance of my own uncertainty. Why is Uncle Mikey not a corpse? Why is he allowed to remain in this plane of existence?
His apocalyptic remark was not uttered in hearing range of my wife.
However, should he ever mention cleaning anything other than a bicycle in front of my darling young bride, his life will be a living hell. I’ll tell his lovely charming wife how much he spends on his bikes. I'll laugh my self silly as I polish the baseboards to a solar envy shine.
Oh, just as an aside, the garage looks pretty good.
posted by Speedo at 11:43 PM
3 Comments:
Can you clean mine now?
You say Uncle Mikey is irascible? Maybe I've been away from cycling too long, but I've never known him to be irascible. Although I have seen him perturbed a few times. Then again with his advancing age perhaps he's just becoming an old codger.
Then you doubt his fealty (I actually had to look this one up). I believe his one true loyalty is to himself and the pleasure he derives from befriending you long enough to ascertain your weaknesses, which he then exploits at every available oppurtunity. After all... have you ever seen a bigger possum eating grin than his after he's crushed you?
thats dead on! he'll also stop riding with you once he can't hurt you anymore and go in search of other less fit meat! i feel so used! but we love him anyway!
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