Pedaled to Daily Grind for coffee beans. As I passed my local cop shop, traveling over fresh new pavement adorned with blinding white sharrows in the middle of the lane, with officers getting into cars and what not, a dude in a Cadillac pick up honked at me. Wanted me to get over. Wasn’t safe, so I didn’t. He honked again. I didn’t. Then the parked cars were no longer and I pulled over to let him pass, which he did. I pedaled the next block smelling the stank from his stogie and storing away the experience. Tossed it in a big pile of similar ones under which I have placed a cardboard sign that says “Laws Don’t Mean Shit.” Not when people don’t know them. Not when the police don’t enforce them. They are just there, raising our expectations for a very brief moment until we pedal in the real world and find we’re all basically alone (Andrew Bird–Imitosis).
Got a mediocre falafel at a new to me falafel hole on Lark. Guy said he’d been open for two years. Huh. It came with tzatziki sauce (yogurt). Huh. I need to get out more. I forget that some folks make falafel with yogurt (rather than tahini). Didn’t have the energy to talk to him about it. Next time I will just go to Hot Dog Heaven and have them fry me up a Field Roast dog (hope that train is still running). Got my beans and crossed the street to Fuzz Records. Bought Dum Dum Girls’–Only in Dreams. Surfy goodness is punching out of the hifi now. Pedaled home. A block before the cop shop I got two more honks to pull over. Didn’t until it was safe, then they passed. On the block of the cop shop a car passed me within a foot. I pulled up next to the driver at the light and asked her to leave three feet when she passes. I said it was the law. She said she didn’t know that was the law. I said now you do. That was that.
All very cool, but golly it would be nice if the city ran a PSA with a few helpful tips. Something like learn then follow the ef’ing law a-holes. I’ve been doing great ignoring losers but when they accrue on a short ride, my deputy dog badge starts a tinglin’ right through my vest pocket. I sometimes can’t help myself. I interact. Don’t want to, but there I am doing just that. Gotta cut those puppet strings. Anyone have some comically big scissors?
Parts & Labor are still making me smile. Just watched them cover Kanye’s Runaway. I stopped the video half way through to check out Kanye’s work. I hadn’t heard the song. Glad I did. Muy pleasant, and fits with my sort of cross mood courtesy of my motoring neighbors.
Part’s & Labor’s version:
Part’s & Labor killed it, don’t you think?
Have a swell weekend, folks.