Trains, relaxing, hotel, museums, concert, walking, people watching, exploring, book shopping, coffee and tea. It’s going to be a nice weekend.
I hope yours is, too.
Remember one time you were truly and absolutely and completely, even unabashedly, stupid about your possessions. Remember what you were stupid about. Remember your life without that piece of material and how it still works, how you still sleep and poop and laugh, how maybe even your life is better now.
Your pretty red Ford Focus in 2003: You parked at the bottom of parking lots away from other cars that might ding it, only to be in it when an SUV totaled it. That chocolate stain was meaningless forever then.
That new cell phone in late 2007: How you worried about scratching the screens and getting lint in them? How it got dropped from a bicycle multiple times and how it’s cracked in half at this minute, with bits of its guts spilled out now? How you have a new phone that will also hit the street a few times in your time with it.
Each new camera: How you lose photo opportunities for the sake of the pretty screen’s life.
That new bike in 2006: How you worried about it’s pretty looks and the integrated headset, only to crash the damned thing in 2009 anyway.
That cool mug you got when you finished your Master’s Degree, that you hand-washed to preserve its Thoreau quotation, only to find it broken from when someone dropped the box it was in helping you move.
Because, if you’re like me, you forget how stuff is just shit that will leave you one day and that you will, in fact, continue to live a fun life without. And, if you’re like me, you might need to remind yourself in ways that are relevant to your life, i.e., times when a piece of plastic or metal or glass or etc. drove you crazy, only to disappear one day anyway. When someone says, Oh, it’s just stuff, man, don’t worry so much, that is not helpful. Well, I want to say, You worry about your car and your shoes and your X, so go learn yourself some peace before you get up in my face with your pseudo-Zen routine.
I will not feed you such puppycock today. Instead, I will suggest to you, if you’re like me, that you think about times you were stupid, not times someone else (like me) was stupid.
Unless you’ve never been stupid about possessions and have never been possessed by them, owned by what you own or been the tool of your tools, in which case, you should please teach me your secret.
(More on PERFECTIONISM from 2005.)
[Pictured simple fix: A $5 bracket from Planet Bike for getting your rear bike light onto your rack. It's one of the best bike gadgets I've ever seen. Ever. If there were a simple fix like this for materialism, well, wow. Wow.]
I’ve fallen into the rut of letting my worrying about all my shiny possessions get the best of me again. My new bike’s seatpost slips. After messing with the quick-release and grease and etc., I am nearly positive it is because the seatpost collar is a poor design that doesn’t work. Not the end of the world, and I wanted to replace that quick-release anyway, having had my seat stolen before.
Friday: I call the bike shop, and when they offer to order me one, I say, No thanks, I’ll be in later to get something anyway. But I never make it because I get mad at the idea of crushing my frame (as if steel is not stronger than that $5 part or as if I’m even that strong!). My phone rings. I don’t recognize the number, and I throw it. Hard. It explodes on the floor, and I almost have a melt-down because of my shiny shit. I mean, I’m fucking shaking, as ashamed as I am to admit it.
Then the messenger bag that I had sent away for a warranty repair (which was itself a replacement for a very very defective bag and on which I have spent $55 in shipping to date) came back un-fixed, after they told me they fixed it. I was even madder. Tried to call them to yell at them (which I never do), but they were not there even though they were supposed to be. So I sent them an email at the end of business Friday. An angry email. When I left to go to dinner at Golden West, though, I felt better. Shit is shit, and fuck it all, I thought. It felt fantastic. I didn’t give a fuck or a shit or a hill of fucking beans about anything material and ate spicy food and washed it down with Pabst and had a very relaxing weekend.
Then I let my seatpost woes ruin my week again. Have I ordered a new collar yet? No. That would make sense. Can I plainly see that I have not, in fact, wrecked my frame? Yes. Am I losing my fucking mind over this? Possibly. I mean, I should cut myself some slack. I did go three months off of a bike, and my three bigger injuries (hand, wrist, foot) bother me regularly when I cycle. But still. I am getting distracted at work reading about slipping seatposts on forums at lunchtime, instead of my favorite lunchbreak activity (taking off my shoes and reading for an hour).
Perhaps the solution is to burn all my shit? Heh heh heh. Tempting.
On the bright side, I’ll get a new seatpost collar, it will probably work, and all will be well on that front. My new phone comes today, and I was due for a new one anyway (and it was free). And the company in question responded to my pissy email with a, Pick whatever bag you want, and it’s yours, response.
And I’m going to Washington DC to see Tori Amos this weekend, an early birthday present from my sweet wife. A long weekend in DC and then a little shindig Sunday for my Dad’s 60th birthday. Not bad. A normal person would be excited about this and not worried about a piece of fucking metal.
Oh, and I turn 30 four weeks from Sunday. That, I’m not happy about. I wanna skip this decade and just turn 40 — it seems like more fun. I’m afraid my 30s are going to be another decade of doing stupid shit and worrying about stupid shit and so missing out on awesome shit like my 20s have totally and completely been.
But, I guess, you never know.
OMG. Bike helmets do not help. But it is Okay. Peppermint soap showers, AC and iced coffee. And the faster you pedal, the better the breeze. (What?)
There I was in my office Friday, trying to get out to lunch for crepes. My bike was pissing me off, and I was having a very terrible week. Low and behold, my phone rang while I was covered in bike grease. I pulled it out of my pocket, didn’t recognize the number and threw it. At the floor. In a fit, like a little kid. Of course I broke the damned thing. We’re due for new/free phones anyway, but being without a cell phone is weird. It works, sans speaker and screen. Well, that isn’t working. I can, following my wife’s identical phone, forward my pictures to her. It’s taking a lot time, though. No more fits for me. Not this week. Friday, we’re off to Washington for the weekend, for a Tori Amos concert (my early 30th birthday present). Ordered a new phone tonight, one reviewed well for durability.
[Larger.]
Shakers at French Roast in Greenwich Village. June 2009.
Photo Friday: In Shadow.
I’ve saluted Papa a lot on this site, seeing as how I seriously have to be his biggest vegetarian fan (!). Let me not repeat myself this year. CLICK HERE to search for Hemingway goodies on Pragmatik.
And a HAPPY BIRTHDAY to Papa!
Planet Bike Superflash Stealth. OMG. Best taillight ever. I run two: one steady, one flashing.
Photo Friday: Shiny.
I’ve been behind on Photo Fridays and very late now. These days, this is my favorite spot: on my new bike. Seen here Thursday night when my buddy and I took a nice ride from the Watertower to Fell’s Point and then to Canton and back through ArtScape.
The University where I work awards seed funding to awesome faculty project in Central Baltimore. I helped to recruit applicants and continue to help support/promote their projects. One such project is an analysis of the Jones Falls River, the lower falls. If you ride along the trail, you’re aware of the, uh, poopy smell around the Streetcar Museum? That’s a leak. That’s one of the four test sites.
It’s much nicer than you’d think down there, though, along our urban river. There are tadpoles, frogs, fish, ducks, assorted birds that our Ecologist can identify but that I certainly can’t. There are even tomato plants growing near the poopy leak.
“Do you think they’re being….fertilized by what’s coming out of here?” I asked.
“Probably. And you know what else I thought of, John[ny]? What if they weren’t planted?”
OMG. GAG. There are also cuke vines. Some are above the water, on the side of the trail. But, as my friend Dan points out, the seeds could have been picked out of the water by birds.
Still, there is some genuine beauty and peace down there. And it was fun to play scientist for a day, spending an afternoon making up for my relatively useless major.
With all the bullshit we keep hearing about rats, garbage everywhere, trashcans with lids and idiots complaining about any kind of change that will make them take an extra step to do anything, we’re forgetting about our yet-again-improved recycling program. In case you’re not lucky enough to live here, One PLUS One started this week. That is, city residents get their trash picked up on one day of the week and their recycling picked up on another. Everyone’s mad at DPW. God forbid anyone try to improve something, wait, I mean, CHANGE something and force people out of lazy habits.
This is the kind of thing that can get Baltimore some good national press. How much better can a recycling program be than to take everything recyclable from your home every single week? Do cities like Portland and Chicago have recycling programs like this? But this is Baltimore, right? And our local news is run by a bunch of complete DOWNERS.
Two years ago, we got cans, glass, #1 and #2 plastic picked up once a month and paper picked up once a month. It was, at best, a basic recycling program for a large, modern city. Then Sheila Dixon started us on twice a month single-stream recycling. Not only that, but if you paid attention, the plastics they would take increased from #1-2 to #1-7. A lot of household plastic is #4-5, so this was an awesome, if quiet, improvement. More recently, it was announced that these plastics even included things that had oil like butter containers, etc. Up until last week, city residents could put all their paper, metal, plastic and glass out twice a month and have it recycled for them. Up until last week, we had a very nice recycling system.
Starting this week, we get the same single-stream recycling pick-ups, but we get them every week. EVERY WEEK! How many cities are there where you put out basically everything in your home that is recyclable, and the city takes it all away every single week, without even requiring you to have a special container?
We don’t hear about this in our local news. All we hear about is that “trash” pick-up has been reduced to once a week. “And I been having dat pick-up day fer ferty years!” Oh, shit! There are gonna be more rats! More trash in the streets! People are gonna ferrgit! “Now I gotta git me a ke-an wiff a lid!”
Well, folks, you were never supposed to leave your fucking trash out without a can in the first place. This has always been a law, but it has seldom been enforced. Do you leave your trash out behind your home in bags? Well, blame yourself for the plague of rats in this fucking city. You did your part to bring them here, so why don’t you take a few in as pets or at least name a few of the fuckers and keep feeding them your trash that you leave all over your alley? You think trash is gonna be all over the alleys? Simple. Put it in your can. Did you know that trash in cans with tight lids usually stays there? (I know; HOLY SHIT! What a concept!)
You don’t think that three 32-gallon cans is enough for you? You create more than 96 fucking gallons of trash a week?! What are you putting in your trash? Do you use it for a toilet also?
Guess what? Sheila figured out a way to FORCE you lazy fucking 35% of Baltimoreans who don’t recycle at all. Ha! Ha! You think recycling is some liberal bullshit? Fine. Be stupid. But now you’re gonna be stupid and recycle, fuckers.
There, I’ve cussed enough on the innernetz today.
Got to take a short ride with my two bike pals yesterday. It was hot, and we were on a tight time budget, but it was a blast. We only rode about 12 miles, but it kicked my ass around a little. In my defense, I haven’t been riding regularly for three months. I had just re-spoked Zack’s rear wheel, trued both and patched a tire. Wouldn’t you know that at the end of the ride, when we were standing around talking, the HIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSSSSS of a blown tire interrupted us? We had ice water and enjoyed some AC in my apartment. Then we fixed it up over beers. Had it not blown, I would probably have gone home alone and taken a shower and read for a while. Having some beer and working on bikes was much better. Not a bad way to spend the afternoon!
Yesterday, I took a [hybrid!] bus to work, with my floor pump in my backpack, my helmet in a box on my lap and my rear-mount kickstand. I put the stand on at lunch and was shaking with excitement and nervousness all day at the idea of getting to ride again. I mean, my last ride didn’t go so well. My wife had to work late, so we had dinner at the delicious Cafe’ Mocha near Penn Station after work, and then I set off to North Baltimore! I stopped by my parents’ house in Hampden to show off the new ride to my folks, my brother and my aunt and uncle — and to have a cream soda.
Then I rode home, up Roland Avenue. At one intersection, I was behind another cyclist at the red light, and there was another gent coming from the opposite way — and it wasn’t even close to rush hour anymore. Being out of commission all spring and early summer, I missed the increase in ridership. The gentleman in front of me ran a red light I didn’t want to run after a block or two, so we parted ways. I rode around Evergreen, through Stony Run Park and back home, not really wanting to stop. I came home, took off my sweaty shirt and had some water with lemon in the lazer-etched bike pint glass I got for Valentine’s Day this year and watched “The Simpsons.”
Sweet first ride. Chromoly steel rides like a freakin dream, but I kept hearing something bell-like when I hit bumps. I think the rear brake cable was banging the toptube because the little rubber things weren’t on right (my fault). That steel literally rings. But it also could have been the dangerous thing I found when I got home. When I was installing my front fenders last week, I forgot to check that the stays were tightened at the dropout eyelets. Holy shit, that could have been disastrous! Also completely my fault.
Rode to work this morning with the Mrs. — our first joint commute. I was completely drenched with sweat when I got here, and I wasn’t cycling hard this morning at all. I have to go back to a shoulder bag and away from my backpack. Thank God for the baby wipes and extra shirt I keep in my desk. I was a mess.
But I’m sitting here with my helmet on the AC vent, my new tires dirty and my bike begging me for 5:00. I am very happy.
They’re more fun when the holiday is on a Monday and when you have a short week to come back to. Seriously.
Other guidelines to get you through this long-ish week:
1) If you show up a few hours late to a party, don’t bother bringing food. It’s just for you. Don’t pretend you did something nice. Eat the food you brought.
2) If you’re at a party and come up to two people who are talking and you know both of them, you have to greet both of them. Even if you don’t like black people.*
3) If you’re at a party and sitting at a table of like six or seven people, all of whom you’ve known for years, you are required by the most basic fucking etiquette to talk to more than the person to your left — at least to say “Hi” or something like that. If you don’t like people and don’t want to talk to people, don’t ever go to any fucking parties!
4) If you’re not cooking or helping or doing anything but sitting, no one gives a shit if you think the food is taking too long to cook or how much better your grill is.
5) If you’re the guy who likes grilling and does so through several people bitching, coming over to look at the food like they’re helping, etc., you are a very good guy (no, this was not me). You are a credit to your art. And when people ask you to grill bizarre things you don’t like to eat but you do it anyway, your awesomeness is proven again.
6) If you make it a habit to come to people’s homes, get into their pool and then skim the surface for leaves and bugs, you are a very good guy (no, not me, either).
7) Let me repeat: If you don’t like people and don’t want to talk to people, don’t ever go to any fucking parties!
*[But don't talk to me. I don't like crackers.]
My new bike has been sitting in my office since Friday, since I was stupid enough to wait too long to order my new helmet. My new tires, rack, fenders, lights, tubes, kickstand and computer are here, too. It smells like rubber when I come in every morning. And it’s so…tempting to just go riding. But, you know, I haven’t had the greatest luck lately. Working on my accessories at lunchtime is fun, but I have a lunch meeting today. Boo.
Fatherhood
