Dead Presidents

Whoops.

To be honest, I only intended to take Monday off. You know, President's Day and all. I usually leave guys like Washington and Lincoln to the amateurs and celebrate the lesser-known ones, like William Howard Taft, Chester A. Arthur and Rutherford B. Hayes (Rutherford also B. awesome!). You know, the guys who instead of getting their faces on money got their names on elementary schools in exciting places like Marion, OH and Riverside, CA. Said celebration generally involves eating and drinking a lot and growing a luxurious mat of facial hair. Sometimes I get a little carried away and the celebration lasts even longer than the term of William Henry Harrison. (Him I remember by going outside without a coat or hat no matter how cold and blustery it is. I draw the line at dying, though.)

Anyway, I hope you were able to find other things to do in my absence, like reading Enns's blog or trying to figure out why a guy with a signature railed seat would get a signature frame with a built-in Pivotal post or trying to decipher the wildly entertaining (and entertainingly wild) interview with prodigal BMXer Chris Duncan over on EXPN. And I've been recharged by my week off, so I'm ready to get right back into it with my invaluable opinions on fixed-gear freestyling, and a big-time shootout between two products that only differ in weight (or do they?????). I also think I discovered the true source of many recent "innovations," and I'm willing to divulge it at risk to my own safety. There are videos to watch, new products to ponder, and movies to mine for labels (speaking of which, fuck the Oscars—Mickey Rourke should have punched Sean Penn in the face).

But that will all start tomorrow. In the meantime I gotta get those Woodrows.

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