You know it was a good weekend when you have an eight-foot magic-marker rendition of a plague of locusts on your wall. The Apocalypse on Friday was Apocalyptic; and Emily and I butchered about as many social interactions as we facilitated. The next day I ended up helping Sibley move, once again, transferring the chaos of derailleurs and old three-speeds and awful giant bins of random parts to the new shop. It was pretty fun; for once I felt useful and warranted; it was zero degrees and we were busyclosing big heavy doors and banging around big heavy stuff. There is so much to be done there and all I can think about is painting the walls orange.