Cold Fury

Harshing your mellow since 9/01

The Explanation

Okay, I suppose we ought to just go ahead and get the complete shocker out of the way first — and for those few of my close friends who don’t know about this already, a shocker it will indeed be. There.

Now, everybody, breathe; just breathe, okay?

No, we haven’t done it yet. But the big news is that we will at all, and soon, and because we both very much want to, and that’s a truly historic first for each of us.

I thought at first I might treat you all to one of my patented 2500 word barnburners on the irony of how I had to go all the way to Wisconsin to meet a girl who’d lived in NYC her whole life, hung around a lot of the same places I did when I lived there, and even knows a lot of the same New Yorkers I’m pleased to call friends. I considered regaling you all with tales of how I panted after her like a thirsty pup all over Oneida Casino and Bingo; I knew most of you would be amused at the whole sordid tale of my ham-handed efforts at the timeless art of seduction, or of how her mom (a truly wonderful woman, by the way, and we hit it off immediately somehow; the apple never falls far etc.) sat barside indulgently smiling at my clownish attempts to get her daughter’s attention, laughing now and then and even offering me something like advice once. But then I thought better of it; sometime later, maybe, when I feel like humiliating myself even more than I usually do around here. But for now, this brief encapsulation’ll have to do.

We went and got the license on her birthday last week, and that’s when the amusing little coincidence came along. See, Muir evidently got good and bored one day and drew up a companion for good ol’ Angry Guy up there unasked, and he sent it along in an e-mail last week. I was honored as all hell, and immediately fired off a response telling him so in no uncertain terms. But Chris didn’t even know about the new girlfriend yet, see. And he damned sure didn’t know either that his rendition of Angry Girl was eerily reminiscent of my real-life Christiana, or that C is a quite capable ranter in her own right, or that there had already been serious plans made involving marriage licenses and new lives together and all that mushy stuff.

And then I told Joe all about the whole thing, and he ups and asks: so, she’s going to be blogging with us, right? And I immediately thought: well, of course.

So there you have it: the new logo, and the new contributor in these parts, explained in something like full. Chrissie will most likely be posting only occasionally, as she tends to have a life outside of the Intarweb, incredibly enough. She’ll be rhetorically rolling her eyes and curling her upper lip (and what an upper lip it is, too — uhh, sorry) at things normally not talked about all that often here; things cultural or personal, not political. Knowing her as I now do, I have a sneaking suspicion that there will be much discussion of classic cars and such, among other topics near and dear to our hearts. But really, she can write whatever the hell she wants. I’m happy to have her, and I mean that on every level you can possibly think of.

Oh, and below the fold is a pic from the Myrtle Beach HD rally last week, just for grins, and because I think it’s cool as all get-out. Enjoy.



One of the reasons why I’m still the luckiest SOB currently walking the earth. Or, here lately, hovering a few inches above it. No, the Sporty was not responsible for the oil spill. This time.

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"America is at that awkward stage. It's too late to work within the system, but too early to shoot the bastards." – Claire Wolfe, 101 Things to Do 'Til the Revolution

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