Hon Fest this year was kind of boring for me, though.  It was the same thing as last year.  Even more ignorant county yuppies, too.  Not all people from the county and not all yuppies/buffies.  It’s a special brand of white asshole who walks with zero awareness of other people (just how they drive, which is scary as hell); wears special boring white people clothing that you can only find outside the city limits; displays a sense of entitlement to own Hampden because they went to Cafe’ Hon once — at night!  “Look, Chahllles, the city’s not so frightening!”

I think that a large part of Hon Fest’s popularity is that it’s an excuse for white people who fled the city to come back to it in a way that they feel is safe.  Hampden is still mostly white, and most of the people at the festival are white, too.  Don’t think pointing out a minority you saw this weekend proves me wrong.  I said “large” and “most”!  And I’m only half kidding.

Personally, I don’t enjoy celebrating Hampden’s “heritage” in itself.  The Hon stereotype comes from a lack of money, education (if you say “lack of class” I’ll kick your nuts!) and exposure to other cultures.  If you’re actually from Hampden, you know that the neighborhood’s non-Hon heritage involves racism, punks and blandness, underneath all the things Cafe’ Hon allegedly celebrates.  The only thing to celebrate about Hampden’s past is that it’s gone.

Instead, when I celebrate anything about Hampden, I celebrate what’s new and better about it and about The Avenue.  Places like Atomic Books and Atomic Pop, Salamander Books, Common Ground, Dogwood, Golden West, bike racks, a night life, people who aren’t all white — these are things worth celebrating.  This is all much preferable to the shithole Hampden was in the 80s and early 90s.

Yes, it was a shithole.  If you don’t know that, that’s not my fault.  You weren’t here.  But it’s true.  What’s also true is that Cafe’ Hon didn’t save anything on its own, no matter how much that gets repeated.  It took a lot of people and a lot of business owners to make that happen.  I’m sick of seeing one person get all the credit, and someone who lives in the frikkin county at that.

Bikes locked together at the Ecofestival a few weeks ago.  Mine is on the right.

Photo Friday: Difficult Shot.

Dan’s wheel was wobbling and hitting his brake arms. What the frikk?

We decided to walk the four miles home, rather than risk an injury or further damage. Dan was afraid that the heat of the descent warped his rims. I thought maybe he snapped or bent an axle. I mean, I can true a wheel like a sumbitch (for not getting paid to do it and having very little experience, that is). But I didn’t have any spoke wrenches on me.  We got home fine, though, and all was well.  I ate half a pizza for dinner.

Talked to Dan Sunday, and he found the problems. Bent axle, but also a snapped spoke. It was still attached to the nipple (huh huh huh), so we didn’t see it. No prob! We hit the shop, bought a spoke and went about getting it on. The freewheel was being a bee-otch and had to go into the bench vise.  The lockring tool had to, that is. That took a while. But then it came off, got cleaned up, Dan put the spoke on, and I got the wheel nice and trued up.  Working on bikes is a hell of a lot of fun.

Also, I was introduced to Lava Soap. Awesome.

[Also for Photo Friday: Professional.]

Last time the weather changed, I was embracing darker images. That was a very very hot day in October, at Robert E. Lee Park, just north of Baltimore City. I was excited about bunking down for the eventual fall and the winter. I was livid that it was so hot, especially since we were to take a daytrip to Washington a day or two later.

Now, I’m happy when the forecast is warm. I am thirsting for some color, some sun, sandaled feet. I am bummed at this weekend’s forecast, which means movies and reading and cooking. But no fun outside awesomeness, especially since I woke up with a tickle in my throat today.

Poor me.

It’s been cloudy and crappy so many days this spring that I would enjoy a nice, sunny, hot day today.

Remind me, in two months, that I said all this.

Photo Friday: Fragile.

I suppose one could respond that the nature of his gear was to prevent a wreck, not to protect himself. Maybe he likes his bike a lot and does not want a crash. Maybe he likes cars and does not want to mess up people’s cars that might hit him.

Or maybe he thinks that getting hit from behind by a car that does not see him is the only way he’s going to get smashed. Not the Door Prize. Not jerk-ass joggers who avoid empty sidewalks to walk swiftly with jaunty hips in the bike lanes, with traffic, not against it. Not holes in the road or old storm drains with grates that run parallel to the street. Just saying.

I’m genuinely confused — not trying to start a helmet vs. no-helmet fight. I’ll cop to riding sans helmet during the two months in 2005 between when I bought my bike and when we sold our car.  I’m confused most by folks who clearly have safety in mind but still don’t wear helmets.

I went to a St. Patrick’s Day Tea at The Crown and Thistle this weekend with my parents and aunt.  I was wearing a very green sweater and my red beard.  A quiet lady who worked there put her hand on my shoulder as she was walking by our table and told me, “You look like one of our real Irishmen today.”  I took that as a compliment.  I wore several pieces of green yesterday to a family party.  More today.  I’m drinking Irish tea and listening to Celtic music and enjoying the sun.  I am not much in the mood for drinking, though I think my heritage requires at least a pint or two of Guinness tonight, with the cabbage I am eating for dinner.

I delivered a head of cabbage to my parents’ house in Hampden on my bike rack today, wearing green.  I’m like a leprechaun today, I swear.

Next year, I want to use bike trailers instead of pickup trucks.  Like these.

[While I'm nicely bearded currently, that is not me.  That is my friend Zack.  Nor is that my father in the other photo.  Just saying.]

Yes, people sitting in their cars with the engine running kind of creeps me out.

I looked, and amidst all the colorful lights and dingies and flingies and beep-beeps [I imagine], there he was.  Quietly winding his watch.

How strange.

Happy Valentine’s Day, from a happy little Valentine. I know, tons of people hate this holiday. It’s Hallmark, the Devil, the Man, the Machine, yes. I am sorry. But.
I don’t care.

I love Valentine’s Day.

That’s easy for someone with a soulmate to say.

I know.

I am sorry if I break your heart with my exuberance, I really am. I will give you chocolate and a hug, if you require. French press of coffee and another hug.

We are off tonight (after Mrs. P. gets off work, actually) to what I consider my (maybe not the; I don’t know) most romantic place to eat in North Baltimore, the Papermoon Diner. I went there on my first real Valentine’s Day date when I was a teenager. From there we proceeded on a double-date with my brother to watch A Pyromaniac’s Love Story, a film chocked full of mid-90s optimism and impossible romance. Too bad it’s not on DVD and that I don’t have a VCR. I own a VHS copy, which I should digitally convert and offer the world on my website until the Man shuts me down.

So many acronyms.

The Papermoon does not remind me of a person. No, it’s a feeling. I miss the 90s and our feel-good apathy and when coffee made you almost cool. Now we are all afraid and all over-caffeinated. You can get good coffee at freakin’ McDonalds. Geez. There is nothing special about drinking strong coffee after dinner anymore and knowing what’s in all those fancy drinks.

But I digress. We insisted on a $20 price limit for gifts this year because whenever we decide on no gifts, we both break that rule. Twenty bucks is for sweet presents. Thoughtful things. It was my idea for homemade cards. So I pulled out my watercolors yesterday and painted extensively for the first time in over ten years, decorating the craft paper gift wrap and making a card complete with red ribbon and superglue all over my hands. Mrs. P. made me a giant cookie card. Yum and dang.

I hope I am not the only one to have a nice V-Day.

[Also for Photo Friday: Infinity.]