There is no reality any more. There is no truth. There are no facts. There is only perception and the battle to control it.

And nobody cares.

It's all lies. Everything is a lie. Everybody lies. Everybody is a liar.

And nobody cares.

You're telling me	Thanks Hollywood	Documenting the offenses

They call it diplomacy, professional courtesy, common knowledge, sound policy, but it's lies. And it all stems from one of two beliefs: a) people cannot handle the truth; or b) people should not be told the truth because the powers that be want them to think something else, something false, is the truth.

W lies about Social Security in the SOTU, nobody cares.

Athletes lie about steroid usage, nobody cares.

Politicians lie to the press about everything, nobody cares.

Corporate executives lie about their plans to outsource the entire Engineering organization to India, nobody cares.

Marketeers lie to the consumer about the value, necessity, or cost of their bullshit products, nobody cares.

People lie to themselves about their piety, self-discipline, and integrity, nobody cares.

I am no exception, for I am human. I admit to Machiavellian justification for my meaningless untruths, but I do not do so for financial gain and nobody ever gets hurt.

Hey, you know what, if nobody cares, fuck 'em. They deserve what they get. The only problem is most people are so fucking stupid they don't even realize that their poorly thought out and blindly selfish actions can have adverse affects down the line. Maybe not for a week or 6 months or 20 years, but actions do have consequences. Of course, during W's Age of Non-Accountability, actions in the now never have long-term consequences. 20 years from now when this country is in total financial and social ruin, people are going to be wringing their hands moaning, "how could this happen, what could we have done? Boo-hoo, boo-hoo, the last stock market crash wiped out my private account, why private accounts, why? Boo-hoo, boo-hoo, my grandchildren found out I was one of the fundamentalist bigots that demanded a constitutional amendment banning gay marriage. How can I be held responsible for the beliefs of my time? Boo-hoo, I can't go outside for half the days of the year because the pollution is so bad. Who could've known that industrial self-regulation wouldn't work. Boo-hoo yourself, you fucking deserve it.

On the bike, there are no lies. There is nowhere to hide, either you pull it or you don't. Either your bike runs or it doesn't. Either you finish or you don't.

My buddy Evil Funk Genius turned me on to Buckowski's "Women", which I finished months ago but still haven't returned. I was impressed by its refreshingly honest vulgarity. At once repulsed by his grotesque sexuality and inspired by his naked candor, there is more reality in "Women" than in the last five years of Bush.

"I had never been a dresser. My shirts were all faded and shrunken, five or six years old, threadbare. My pants the same. I hated department stores, I hated the clerks, they acted so superior, they seemed to know the secret of life, they had a confidence I didn't possess. My shoes were always broken down and old, I disliked shoe stores too. I never purchased anything until it was completely unusable, and that included automobiles. It wasn't a matter of thrift, I just couldn't bear to be a buyer needing a seller, seller being so handsome and aloof and superior. Besides, it all took time, time when you could just be laying around and drinking."

Sing it brother.

Oh yeah, the ride. The trails are still a bit muddy in the low-lying areas and obvious drainages, but overall, they're firm and grippy and good to go. That's not to say things are ideal. The ruts and ridges carved into the wet soil of these trails days ago when it was raining have now hardened into challenging and sometimes treacherous trail conditions -- undivided attention is required at all times.

I zipped down the coastal path to the single track south of HMB State Park, but found that the first section of blufftop singletrack calved away into Davey Jones's team car during the last storm. I went as far as the Seymore bridge (capacity 16,000 pounds; built from a flatbed railroad car), then turned around and headed back up to the Fitz. I haven't been to the Fitz in at least a month and I was looking forward to reconnecting with this old friend. I also wanted to see if the fishing hut constructed in Moss Beach County Park for the filming of "Memoirs of Geisha" was still there (this park was also the setting for some of the ambient mood shots for "House of Sand and Fog").

It wasn't. But Hollywood did leave a token of its esteem: an ugly orange security fence stretched along the entire blufftop overlooking the tidal pools. Burn, Hollywood, burn.

Between the lack of night riding and trail riding, and the rain-induced trail changes, I felt like a newcomer, a ha'alli, a cheechuko to these trails. There were numerous wrong turns and lots of "this doesn't look right"s over the course of the ride.

The only technical skill I had going tonight was jumping/bunnyhopping. I credit this to observing a 12-year old kid on a downhill bike approach and clean a curb with perfect technique. I'm pretty good at picking up athletic moves on sight and I was able to quickly see that the key is to lift the front end up when approaching one-off obstacles. This takes the whole front wheel out of the equation and allows you to float right over the obstacle. Now I need to watch some surfing to get my cross-country groove going again. Maybe some "Dog-Town and Z-boys".

The Hoo-E wasn't feeling quite right tonight. The brakes were shrieking like Jeff Gannon crying persecution, the shifting was sloppier than Tom DeLay's money trails, and I can't be positive, but it feels like the rear hub is loose again (See January 20, 2005: Ah crap). The Sugar's rear wheel is with Rich as we speak though, so the old Hoo-E only has to make it a few more rides before she gets a break.

It was pretty mild tonight, for February (mid-50s), with a light breeze carrying just a hint of warmth. I startled a large barn owl down at Maverick's beach.