If you missed yesterday’s post, I finished writing a book this weekend. No, not a sequel to my Parasitic Twin novella, but a collection of short stories. As I warned I might do, the title has already been changed to “Beyond: Tales of the Afterlife.” But there were other milestones reached this past weekend.
I’m not sure how it happened, but I got my 500th blog follower over the weekend. I don’t promote this blog. I don’t follow people back. My content is, well, suspect at best. I mean, really, 180+ cartoons about dust mites not to mention occasional mulch cartoons?
I’m sorry if your other hobbies didn’t work out, but thank you for following this rat’s nest of nonsense I call a blog.
I Got Greasy
There are those that would argue I am inherently greasy, but it felt good to get even greasier this weekend. Thanks to my youngest daughter who crashed her bike. She’s okay, but her bike’s brakes and derailleur were messed up pretty good.
I was tempted to load the bike in the car and take it to a bike shop. But I always used to enjoy working on my bike in my younger days. I’ve just gotten lazy lately. Recently, I changed my bike brake pads this year without using all the parts, so I figured I’d take a whack at getting my daughter up and cycling again.
A normal person would get right to work on fixing the broken bike. Not this guy. I hauled my middle daughter’s bike from our shed where it has resided for the last 7 years. I cleaned it, adjusted the brakes, inflated the tires, and forced my daughter to ride it against her better judgment. The whole process to get that piece of crap rolling again only took a couple hours. Then I turned my attention to her broken bike and had it fixed in under an hour. In fact, my daughter tells me it rides better than ever. I think she just never wants to ride her big sister’s old bike ever again.
As for me, I’m addicted once again to bike grease as of this weekend.
I Reached Twitter Nirvana
My favorite DJ at 93.1 WXRT in Chicago, the world’s greatest radio station, followed me back on Twitter this past weekend. I can now die. My life is complete.
Maybe those milestones pale in comparison to writing a book, but they are important to me. That could be the reason I don’t write more books.