The Usual 11th Hour Homie Update

Today I received an unsigned letter via email, addressed to a hidden group identified only as ‘Homie09’.  It instructed the reader, as if it were a ransom note, to reapply the attached Homie Fall Fest flier to whatever blog it is he or she writes for, and to pay special attention to the revision which changed the specified meet-up location from Grumpy’s to Whitey's in NE MPLS.  I made note of the fact the odd meet-up time (10:49) had not been altered. 

Curious, I called up the only number I knew to be possibly affiliated with any of the people most likely to perhaps associate with the outskirts of the perimeter of the inner circle of the group which in all likelihood is somewhat responsible for having something to do with planning the annual Homie Fall Fest, which as you may know occurs around here every autumn.   I was given another number and told not to explain where I had gotten it, and then they hung up.  I dialed this number and waited while it rang and rang and rang.

“Hallo?” a vaguely European sounding voice said -cautiously- when it was finally picked up.

“Yes, hi, um, I received a revised Homie flier and I just have a couple questions.  Am I talking to the right people?”

A prolonged pause followed, the receiver of the phone on the other end muffled.

Finally, “Yes.”

“Ah, o.k., great,” I replied.  “May I ask to whom I am speaking?”

Another muffled pause.

“My name is Nels Unterwerer.  I am the undersecretary to the director of Homie relations, Mr. Atticus P. Townehomme.  What is your question?”

What?! What the hell was going on?  I stalled briefly, uncertain what to make of this bizarre series of events, then shook it off and forged ahead. 

“O.K., sure,” I said.  “Why did the Homie location change?”

“The, uh, “ Nels cleared his throat.  “The, uh... apparently, uh, Grumpys downtown doesn’t open until noon,” he replied, and promptly hung up.

I thought on it for a while.  Was it merely a joke? Was it ridiculous mistake by a bunch of bike (and god-knows-what-else) addicted wasters?  Or was it a red herring designed to throw the hounds off the trail?  Any option seemed implausible. Wasters would never have the follow through to pull off something like the Homie, and it wasn't funny enough to be even an esoteric joke, but what kind of people would deliberately and quite publicly change the location at nearly the last possible hour?  And who exactly were they trying to throw off, anyway?  And why?  It was either brilliant or stupid as hell. 
 

Anyhow, there you have it.  I am hereby posting the revised flier.  And of course, please take note of the location change.

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The Weirdos Have Taken Over

From pal Shawn:

Grumpy Girl Ride WINTER, 2009

Come rain, come shine, come snow or sleet!

Alls you need to know is meet us at Grumpy’s Nord East 1:30pm November 7^th.

From Nobody in Minneapolis:

That is all.

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Nick’s Last Wednesday Night Ride

My good friend and longtime Surly-and-before coworker Nick has left town and left Surly.  He's moving to Portland, Oregon, on the northleft coast of America, Inc.  I have known him for almost 16 years, worked side by side with him to help make Surly into whatever it is for the last 8 or so.  Nick and I were among the people who started meeting for night rides wednesdays at Lake Harriet way back in the day.  The other night being Wednesday a bunch of people came out to howl at the moon and send Nick off in local high style.  Brauer and Gene have been lamenting lately the listing, staggering, demise of the WNR as it wheezes its rattling last breaths with deep sea diver sounds but this night it looked and behaved much like it had in its salad daze, a winding dragon whipping its tail as it poured into and out of alleys, actual trails and impromptu ones that may have included a few lawns, snapping people at the end loose one by one.  There was beer and flasks of whiskey and a full bottle of Cazadores tequila, which everyone managed to finish off (not without some prodding).  Eventually we found ourselves at the home of some other friends, where we arranged the vegetables in their kitchen into sculptures depicting male genitalia, then repaired to their spacious back acre for a small fire.  Many stories of Nick were shared and love poured forth.  As we mellowed, small groups began peeling off for home.  After all the other people had gone, it was down to me, Nick, Brauer and Grayboy.  We talked for quite a while and Figured It All Out and finally, when the corners of heaven began to wink on with the faintest purple of dawn we started for home.  First we tucked in Brauer to his bed on the kitchen floor of Hobo Hurl's Home For Wayward Youth.  The three of us continued on, but Dave soon turned off toward his part of town.  I ended up on a quiet night ride with one of my oldest friends, someone I have ridden with more than almost anyone else on this planet.  We met each other riding around at night in Minneapolis.  I rode Nick to where he was staying, his wife's sister's house in my part of the city, where they've been staying since their house sold.  We chatted, hugged, said goodbye, and I rolled home, walking in at 6:22am. 

Nick, this one's for you.

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So Long, Swervy

First off, I hope you like the new website.  Andy and his minions spent a lot of time tweaking it into submission.  We're real proud of them, in a grouchy kind of way.  It's not perfect, but we are continuing to fix those things that need fixin'. 

One thing we are still getting the hang of is this blog thing.  The process has changed from the way it was, and the learning curve is steep for the digitally challenged folks who make up Surly.  Be patient with us and keep those expectations low.  You'll feel better and so will we.

My submission for this week is about Swervy, a.k.a. Nick Sande, leaving the grassy green Surly pastures for the dreary, wet and depressing confines of Portland, OR.  OK, I know Portland is a great place.  Don't email me with your complaints.  We did what we could to try and keep him here, but nothing we did seemed to persuade him otherwise.  We wish him well, and expect to see him on a somewhat regular basis.  Meanwhile, if you live in Portland and you cross paths with Nick, be sure to kick him in the nuts and buy him a cold one.  It will make him feel right at home.

He looks like this:

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