other people confuse me.
I'm putting together next month's Wind Dancers newsletter, and am in a bit of a sticky spot with one of the advertisers. She wasn't happy with how her ad ended up looking in a previous issue, so I promised to look at the JPG and tweak it. It turned out that most of the issues were caused by the original JPG being about a quarter-page size, despite her company having purchased a business-card sized space. Naturally, a 6" JPG is going to look a bit compressed when put into a 2" x 3.5" space. I tried to write a polite email to explain this.

Must be polite to people who give us money.

I need to put together some content for this issue, too. I'm two months behind on putting in an article on the Arlen Ness HQ trip. I need to write up a blurb for Diana and my upcoming ride (August 9, and we haven't even started thinking about it at all). I need to write up Pacific Rally committee notes. I shouldn't do any of this right now. God only knows what it would end up sounding like ("ride. go zoom. 8/9/03. diana. leopard hair diana. zoom. go ride. nap now.").

learning experiences are a pain in the ass.
Summary: I spent six weeks writing a feature article for Rider magazine, only to find out that the photos I took aren't of good enough quality (resolution-wise, not aesthetically) for a feature article. Insert your own mental images of the last few days of utter tweaked-out panic.

The good news is that I wrote the article in distinct enough sections that I think I can divide it up into four separate, non-feature, articles. This is obviously not as cool as one big feature article, but it allows me to still use the material I've written and the photos that I took. The alternative at this point is shoving my head into the garbage disposal.

The experience has also taught me that I have some very good friends. My graphic designer friend/coworker Justin spent about 30 minutes earlier this week talking me out of a tweaked-out panic that I was getting myself on The Master Copy of Every Editor's Shit List for having the wrong kind of photos. He also helped me play around with the photos to see if we could end up using them after all. Justin is my hero of the week.

In case anyone was wondering, editor Tuttle at Rider is a very flexible and patient man. He's been really great about dealing with my tweaked-out panic emails (which, to be fair, were a bit more coherent than, say, this entry). Everyone should go out and subscribe to Rider right now.

where am i going, and why am i in this handbasket?
I just sort of looked up and realized that I actually have a freelance motojournalism thing going here. I mean, that I actually get paid for. This is very cool, in an "overly optimistic about the amount of free time I have" sort of way. I spent some time last night researching travel writing and what sort of things can be written off as business expenses. The problem now seems to be convincing Danger that I should go out and take more vacation time. For some reason, they seem to prefer that I work on their projects. Funny, that.

beware the skid demon.
This has been making the rounds lately. I'll include it since it amuses me, and because I think I'm about done with original content for the moment.

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Taken from a 1962 Honda Motor Cycle Instruction Book. Translated by Honda for the American Motorcycle Rider:

The following rules for motorists are so successful in Japan, that American motorcycle riders might profitably paste them in their hats.

1. At the rise of the hand by Policeman, stop rapidly. Do not pass him by or otherwise disrespect him.

2. When a passenger of the foot, hooves in sight, tootel the horn trumpet melodiously at first. If he still obstacles your passage, tootel him with vigor and express by word of mouth, warning Hi, Hi.

3. Beware of the wandering horse that he shall not take fright as you pass him. Do not explode the exhaust box at him. Go soothingly by.

4. Give big space to the festive dog that makes sport in roadway. Avoid entanglement of dog with wheel spokes.

5. Go soothingly on the grease mud, as there lurks the skid demon. Press the brake foot as you roll around the corners, and save the collapse and tie up.

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If you explode your exhaust box at me, I will be forced to tootel melodiously at you.