The Things He Loved

This Saturday, I went to the Melrose for the first time in my life with Chloe and two of her friends, Wes (her boyfriend) and Harry (a friend).  I can't remember exactly how we got onto the subject other than that we were talking about funk, or things being funky, and also it turns out that Wes is a drummer for a funk band sometimes.

So he told us about this show that he played in a pretty small venue, and the entire time there was some guy dancing alone up near the stage, pretty apparently drunk, but really just having the time of his life.  He continued doing that through the entire show, and after the band stopped and cleaned up, he went out to find them.

Once he did, he just started talking to them -- keep in mind, pretty drunk.  Most of what he did was basically just hyping them up, talking about how great their show was and how much he loved it.  And then towards the end, he said, "Yeah man, you know I just loooove funk." Then he paused as if he was going to say more.  "...and women."  And he paused once more.

"...and my children."

Peace out.

The Salt on the Earth

My dad always yells at me for not wearing a helmet when I ride my bike and, additionally, not having any lights or reflectors really on my bike.  I know that it's clearly a bad decision and nothing but bad could come from it, but it's kind of annoying =\ I really have gotten lucky for my entire life having not been killed or severely screwed up because of this, though.  I should really probably put some lights on, at least.  But also, I'm planning to not use my bike very much once my motorbike is fixed.

Anyway, I really haven't had any incident on my bike pretty much ever, so I was pretty surprised at how the first one came about.  I was biking back home from my parents' parking garage after the hockey game on Sunday night, and I was through the Convention Center I think on 7th street and was heading towards 9th Street -- that is, I'd be biking past the 7/11 and then turning right to go up 9th.  Since that road goes the wrong way for me at that point, though, I got up on the curb.

I wasn't going very fast at that point.  I would guess maybe something like 10 - 12 miles per hour.  I was hardly looking at the ground because there was no one in front of me, and as I was arcing the path of my bike back to the part of the sidewalk that I wanted to be on, I just felt everything stop responding to what I wanted it to do.  I was still trying to pedal, but wasn't going faster.  I was trying to stay straight up, but was not.  I pulled on the brakes, which only made it worse, and my bike tipped right over onto its left side, completing dumping me in the process.

Once I landed, I knew why it had happened.  That portion of the sidewalk had been salted to a ridiculous degree.  I mean, so salted that I actually couldn't see the sidewalk for most of that area through which I had fallen... with the exception of where my tires had swiped the salt side to side and away.  So basically the sidewalk was just covered with little orbs of friction-reducing death.

Fortunately, I really wasn't hurt.  The chain didn't even come off my bike, which is surprising, because my bike is very much a piece of crap.  My jeans didn't rip despite the fact that they are also pieces of crap, though they did have stains of white salt on them.  I definitely made a pretty loud screeching and thudding sound in the process, and when I turned around to see what was around me, I saw a young black woman on the other corner.  She looked at me, never stopped walking, and then looked away without a second thought.

I do feel pretty fortunate that I as wearing mittens.  If I hadn't, I'm pretty sure my hands would've been torn to shreds.

Anyway, so that's the story of the first time I got hurt on a bike.  And I have absolutely no one to blame, really, but myself.

Peace out.