Not The Way To Commemorate Michael Jackson

For all of his foibles and questionable behavior, I always thought Michael Jackson was one of the greatest entertainers of his generation.  True, he made all of his worthwhile music before he turned thirty. (In fact, I think that was one of the things that caused or exacerbated many of his problems:  The only way he could "outdo" himself after those great albums and videos was through outrageous behavior.)  But you had to admit:  He could always put on a show.

Somehow, though, I doubt he did much cycling, ever.  I don't think much he ever did was conducive to pedaling two wheels.  And his fashion sense, as interesting as it could be, simply doesn't work when you're in the saddle.

One example of what I mean was his practice of wearing one white glove.  For one thing, about the only white articles of clothing I ever wore on a bike were the socks I raced in:  Back then, the USCF and the UCI didn't allow racers to wear anything else under their Detto Pietros.  Wearing white while cycling simply never made any sense to me; for that matter, I rarely wear much of anything in white because, when I do, I ruin it.  Also, when I haven't had much sun, I look sickly in white.

But back to Michael Jackson:  Wearing one glove isn't very practical on a bike.  Sometimes I ride gloveless, but not when the weather is anything like it's been the past couple of days. 

Sometime during my workday yesterday, I managed to lose one of my gloves.  By the time I was ready to leave, the temperature had dropped to 18F and a brisk wind blew out of the northwest.  The college in which I work is about half a mile from a strip of stores, all of which were closed. 

Another few blocks away, there's another strip.  By the time I passed it, only a Rite-Aid Drugstore and a Mandee's were open.  RA didn't have any gloves, though they had things like electric socks and blankets.  That left Mandee's, which had only those too-cute fingerless gloves that has a "hood" you can slip over the fingers--but not the thumb.  They weren't much, but I figured they were better than nothing.

So I bought a pair and, every few minutes, brought each hand to my lips and blew hot air (Some people tell me I'm full of it.) over each thumb.  Still, by the time I got home, my hands were tingling and my thumbs were numb.  I was only too happy that Charlie and Max wanted me to stroke them!

There are lots of good ways to commemorate MJ.  Emulating his sartorial style when you get on a bike isn't one of them!