Happy Father's Day. You guys know I appreciate my dad every day, and it's not lost on me for a second that I pass for a well-adjusted human in large part thanks to his influence.
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I've had some time/regained my momentum in "Americanah," and got to the parts that made me realize I'd read (and loved) excerpts in the New Yorker. People say it's a brilliant study on race, but I also find it to be profoundly insightful with regard to immigration.
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I went on the most bizarre bike ride this morning. It was not one of those bike rides where everyone politely yielded to each other; in fact, there was a bit of passing without warning, and even one douche canoe who wouldn't get back into his own lane even when he saw me coming the other way (and I called him on it). But what was super-bizarre was this woman who rolled up behind me and gently asked me whether I was comfortable with my saddle "so high." Um, my saddle is exactly where it needs to be--such that my leg is fully extended on the downpedal--so I said, "yes." She pedaled away, but not before saying, "well, if you're not comfortable, you should think about lowering it." I couldn't figure her out. Had she never seen a hybrid--was it my more upright position that was throwing her? Her clueless busybodiness was--by definition, I guess--so well-meaning and so misguided.
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I had another JHLA sighting this week. It's getting ridiculous. If I had his phone number, I'd disregard my own advice--which brings more people to this blog than anything else--and call him.
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