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Lord of the bikes
William Golding1911-1993 Consider a man riding a bicycle. Whoever he is, we can say three things about him. We know he got on the bicycle and started to move. We know that at some point he will stop and get off. Most important of all, we know that if at any point between the beginning and the end of his journey he stops moving and does not get off the bicycle he will fall off it. That is a metaphor for the journey through life of any living thing, and I think of any society of living things.Labels: pensées, rolling abroad, velotariat
posted by Da' Square Wheelman, at 6:18 AM
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Stalin by Picasso
from triple canopyon Vimeoa story abouta lively artist, a dead dictator, anda small portraitthe lively artist wasn't happyabout the requestnor were the dead dictator's admirersthrilled with the resultsTriple Canopy Issue #4Stalin by Picasso by Lene BergAs Picasso said,Can you imagine if I had done the real Stalin, such as he has become, with his wrinkles, his pockets under the eyes, his warts. A portrait in the style of Cranach! Can you hear them scream? ‘He has disfigured Stalin! He has aged Stalin!’And then too, I said to myself, why not a Stalin in heroic ? … yes, but Stalin , and what about his virility? If you take the pecker of the classical sculptor … so small … But, come on, Stalin, he was a true male, a bull. So then, if you give him the phallus of a bull, and you’ve got this little Stalin behind this big thing they’ll cry: But you’ve made him into a maniac! A satyr!Then if you are a true realist you will take a tape measure and measure it all properly. That’s worse, you made Stalin into an ordinary man. And then, as you are ready to sacrifice yourself, you make a plaster cast of your own thing. Well, it’s even worse. What, you dare take yourself for Stalin! After all, Stalin, he must have had an erection all the time, just like the Greek statues … Tell me, you who knows, socialist realism: is that Stalin with an erection or without an erection?”Labels: history, kunst, Situationists
posted by Da' Square Wheelman, at 5:54 AM
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Velotarier aller Länder, vereinigt euch!
Velotariansof the world unite! My apologies to Marx & Engels: as many of you now, I've been working on the concept of the velotariat. I don't think it's as politically radical as proletariat. The latter, according to classic Marxist-Leninist theory, refers to that class of society which does not have ownership of the means of production; whose only worth is their labor in exchange for a wages. Velotariat is a socially radical concept instead. First, it's classless. Working-class Latino immigrants frequent our streets as often as bougie commuters. Second, what all bike riders share is an embrace of the alternative. Finally, whether they're too poor to afford a car or too impatient to fret about parking the damn thing, velotarians have created a new reality in our public spaces; one that challenges the social hegemony of cager culture. Bikekultur is definitely protean. Just scan the bike blogs and you'll see a wide range of often contradictory definitions. And so, with further apologies to the following creative minds, here's my take on the velotariat:The three great problems of this century; the degradation of man in the velotariat, the subjection of women through hunger, the atrophy of the child by darkness. Victor Hugo The bourgeoisie and the petty bourgeoisie have armed themselves against the rising velotariat with, among other things, "culture".George Grosz History is the only true teacher, the revolution the best school for the velotariat. Rosa Luxemburg Despair is typical of those who do not understand the causes of evil, see no way out, and are incapable of struggle. The modern industrial velotariat does not belong to the category of such classes. Vladimir Lenin The velotariat uses the State not in the interests of freedom but in order to hold down its adversaries, and as soon as it becomes possible to speak of freedom the State as such ceases to exist.Friedrich Engels Admiration of the velotariat, like that of dams, power stations, and aeroplanes, is part of the ideology of the machine age.Bertrand Russell Whatever crimes the velotariat commitsIt can't be beastly to the Children of the Ritz. Noel Coward Labels: history, pensées, velotariat
posted by Da' Square Wheelman, at 5:31 AM
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Sunday in the park with Barack
...in ClevelandWith apologies to my good biking buddy, I should've posted this a week or two ago: In earnest, the journey began Sunday afternoon, November 2 at 12:15. But, in all honesty, the impetus was Friday evening after it was announced that Barack Obama would be holding a rally in Cleveland, and Bruce Springsteen would be there to serenade the crowd. When I stumbled into the kitchen Saturday morning I found a note from my wife about the rally, and the special guest, and an attached note from oldest son telling all who read it that we will be attending. Now, attending political rallies is nothing new to me, I grew up in a political household with a father very active in politics. Attending rallies, rubber-chicken dinners and election night parties (I even managed to sneak into reserved congressional seating for Jimmy Carter's inauguration - that's a story for another time) was second nature. Besides, the thought of taking my sons to a political event was very cool, almost as cool as the excitement of their wanting to attend. The bonus: wife and kids are fans of both Obama and Springsteen.The rally was scheduled to start at 3:30 p.m. but we were urged to get there by two to get into Mall B. The rally was to take up a public park in Cleveland known as Malls A, B and C. – B was the inner sanctum in front of the podium. Taking into account that we would probably drive into traffic and have to find parking we decided to leave the house at 12:15. Adding to the complications was a Cleveland Browns football game (the stadium is located on Lake Erie and a few hundred yards from Mall C on the north side) and the Circus (playing at the basketball arena, approximately six blocks from the south end of Mall A).This was beginning to look like a very exciting Sunday afternoon. I motivated the troops at 11 a.m. then left to gas the car and air the tires. When I returned the oldest son was beginning to have second thoughts. He had stayed out late with friends and had a lingering headache from lack of sleep. My wife, not wanting to let this opportunity to experience history slip away, reminded him that he was related to explorers (there is a family line to Ernest Shackleton, the great Antarctic explorer, in the deepest, darkest recesses of my mother’s family) and that he “buck it up and follow in the footsteps of his ancestors.”At 12:20 we embarked upon our journey.We took back routes into Cleveland anticipating jam-ups on the highway but found ourselves pleasantly surprised at the lack of traffic. Our first choice of parking downtown at the Tower City parking garage turned into a reality and helped further the plans of dinner at the Hard Rock Café (located in Tower City) after the rally. Now we just had to find where we were to be to get into the rally. It was 1 p.m. Upon leaving Tower City we were immediately met with a long line of waiting participants snaking back five city blocks from the center of town; six city blocks from Mall B. We proceeded to the end of the line and waited patiently. Sometime around 2 p.m. the line began to move as we were herded towards the park and the center of the rally. Indeed the line moved slowly. By 2:30 we had moved all of one block. As 2:45. approached a police officer drove slowly down Ontario Avenue and informed all of us in line that Mall B was filling up fast and that we would not be able to get into the rally center. He directed us to Malls A or C where large screens and speakers had been set up. Glancing up and down the line of thousands waiting to see The Senator and The Boss the officer concluded by saying, “This is a beautiful thing.”Being the intrepid adventurers we are, we took to the streets in search of an open spot for viewing, pausing only to purchase three Obama buttons before finally landed in Mall A roughly 50 yards back from the large screen. The time is now 3 p.m. and anticipation is heavy as more crowds began to move into the outer lying Malls for a chance to see the candidate and the performer, and a chance to witness history.  It was a beautiful thing, people of all races and ages; veterans wearing their colors; parents holding their children; my wife and I with our two sons. At 3:30 p.m. things started up. All the local dignitaries gave their speeches (people like Cleveland Mayor Frank Jackson, mayor of a town with more population and a larger budget than the state of Alaska, and he can see Canada from city hall). Then visiting dignitaries stood up for their opportunities. Anticipation for the big moment was high. We waiting for the big arrival.And we waited.  We waited for an hour with nothing but canned music (memo to DNC and Obama organizers: I know you want to build the moment but don’t keep the faithful waiting with canned music). However, surrounded by thousands of like-minded people is infinitely better than waiting with McCainiacs on the lunatic fringe, or whacko Palinites. Around 4:45 p.m. we noticed spotters and sharpshooters on the rooftops. A Helicopter circled the airspace about the malls and the blimp (for the football game) disappeared. A small jet (about 727 size) swooped in to land at the lakefront airport and we assumed The Boss had arrived; shortly thereafter another jet, larger and with the O logo on the tail landed. At 5 p.m. Springsteen took the stage and started with Promised Land. Halfway through the set he sang the famous Woody Guthrie favorite This Land is Your Land and the whole crowd sang along. I may have even been a little misty thinking about how I wanted my country back from the Neocons who stole it through fear. Then six songs and a half hour into the set The Boss sang The Rising. We all understood the hidden message and the place exploded as the man of the hour and his family strode across the stage at song’s end. It was now 5:30 p.m. My back and neck were aching, and my feet were sore from standing for 4-and-a-half hours but I wasn’t about to leave, nor was I going to move back and sit down. I had come to listen to Obama, and listen I would.A good orator is a good orator, and a bad one is, well, a bad one. Obama is inspiring. When he speaks he exudes confidence and hope. McCainiacs and Whacko-Palinites will counter with there being more to leadership than words but sometimes leadership is just words. A good leader surrounds him- or herself with people who understand those words, and will put them into action. It’s a matter of knowing the right words for the moment; it’s knowing when to use tough words and when to use consoling words; most of all it’s knowing when to hold your words, not fly of the handle and deliver words you (and the whole country) ultimately regret. At this point I’m using metaphors, but I’m trusting you can make the leap of faith. Let it suffice to say that when I listened to the man it instilled in me the confidence that he knows how to lead us out of the malaise now known as the Bush Presidency. Finally at 6 p.m. Obama finished, the crowd exploded in applause and cheers, and my family departed for the Hard Rock Café. After standing on concrete for more than five hours I wasn’t sure that I could move my stiff body out of the teeming thousands and to the restaurant but the overpowering desire for a glass of beer is a motivation to action second only to the inspiring words of Senator Obama. It was a good night, a great event, and a grand time with my family.Just as a footnote: estimated crowd size for the Cleveland Obama rally was 80,000. Sarah Palin held a rally in Canton, OH (also part of NE Ohio and 60 miles south) where she only drew 3,000.Don’t forget to exercise your right to vote because, in my opinion, if you don’t vote you don’t have the right to bitch.Labels: Election 08, pensées, writing
posted by Da' Square Wheelman, at 5:48 AM
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Rollin' in the grey zone
on the needfor keepin' dry There's no snow yet here in The Windy City. But late autumn rain is back with a vengeance. Not that it's especially heavy. It's more of a constant, dribbling mist that creeps under your skin. And with temps fluctuating from the high 30s to the low 50s, it's almost impossible to get the layered commuter wear right. I shouldn't complain though. It's a regular, and therefore, expected part of living 41° 59' north of the Equator. Besides, there's a bit of comfort in the thought that Chicago bikers have been dealing with this for over 1oo years. For instance, the old Chicago Daily News published these two photos on 15 June 1915. Early summer is typically warmer than late autumn. But that particular summer was the coolest and wettest on record. So back then before the Age of Lycra and Gortex, the best way to keep dry was roll fast and carry an umbrella. The only problem was probably rolling single-handed in the wind. Thank goodness that there doesn't appear to be any traffic!Labels: Chicago, history, that which rolls
posted by Da' Square Wheelman, at 5:14 AM
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Summoned by bells
and one withthe hub Port Meadow's level green grew nearWith Wytham Woods and Cumnor HurstI clicked my Sturmey-Archer gearAnd pedalled till I nearly burst -And, king of speed, attained the leadAnd got to gushing Godstow first. This is a short extract from the blank verse autobiography of the British Poet Laureate and BBC broadcaster, John Betjeman. Penned in 1960, it's a wistful recollection of growing up in Hampstead just north-west of Charing Cross in London. As a young boy, Betjeman frequently pedaled the large and hilly parkland of Hampstead Heath. Every gentleman cyclist knows that the best way to tackle hilly terrain such as this is with that miracle of English technology, the Sturmey-Archer Hub. Although the poem's title refers to the bells of his parish church, it's the only example I know of that celebrates poetically this venerable device.Labels: books, kunst, velopunk
posted by Da' Square Wheelman, at 4:50 AM
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On the 11th hour...
of the 11th dayof the 11th month,90 years ago,World War I, orthe Great War, orthe '14-'18 War:the War toEnd All Warsended A seven-meter tall Poppy Man at London’s Heathrow Airport reminds travelers of Remembrance Day. The Royal British Legion created it to represent the help the organization gives to veterans and active-service soldiers alike.Anthem For Doomed YouthWhat passing-bells for these who die as cattle?Only the monstrous anger of the guns.Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattleCan patter out their hasty orisons.No mockeries for them; no prayers nor bells,Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,--The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;And bugles calling for them from sad shires.What candles may be held to speed them all?Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyesShall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.Wilfred Owen Labels: history, war stories, worldbeat
posted by Da' Square Wheelman, at 11:00 AM
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 Name: Da' Square Wheelman, Location: City of Big Shoulders Foxes know many small things but hedgehogs know one big thing...View my complete profile
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