It may be a sign of the blogosphere apocalypse but it looks like I'm starting a blog. Somewhere I can be more myself than, say Facebook (which I have an ongoing love-hate relationship with) and decidedly more myself than my departmental homepage (which from the looks of, even I hate myself). Somewhere I can be thoroughly self-indulgent.
Firsts first, I am a guy staring at 40 and wondering what happened to 30 and generally having a hard time with it. My actual profession will likely become apparent with time but to ballpark it, it starts with 'g' and ends in 'eek'. I seem to have a love-hate, or at least ambigous, relationship with many things other than Facebook and I'm sure with time many of these things will also become apparent.
If asked to self-identify a sport it would be cycling. I'm a kind of old-school, retro roadie cyclist and to establish my credentials I have two wool jerseys and two fixies but I haven't gone the full Sheldon Brown with the facial hair (not "yet" but "ever"). I do shave my legs though. As an old-school, retro roadie kinda guy I seem to have acquired a rather snobbish reputation for socks, the rule of thumb being cycling socks (and by extension running socks and athletics socks in general) be ankle-length and white. Those knee-high black ones Lance Armstrong wears should be reserved for births, deaths, weddings and court appearances only (oops, there I go, ranting in my first entry, is that a blogging faux pas or what?). So between the whys and wherefores and woes-are-me I hope to start a critical dissection of cycling socks; I mean it's what the world has been waiting for, non?