I was reading Michael Moore's new book, Dude, Where's My Country? when I walked out of a shop and saw two middle aged white dingdongs knock over my bicycle and kick the living shit out of it:
"Oy! Why are you kicking my bike?"
"Because it was in the way," says Dingdong #1.
"I beg your pardon. You are now in my way, should I kick you?"
"It was parked on public property," Dingdong #2 contributes.
"So is every car, SUV, truck, and mini-van on this street, do you go around kicking them?"
"Well, you should park your bike somewhere else."
"Okay, where? Where else should I park my bike?"
They look around at the chaos that is Grand Street.
"Um, on that big pole?" says DingDong #1.
"No, she can't park her bike there, it's too crowded," DingDong #2 chimes in helpfully, looking around some more. "What about that fence?" he says, pointing to the parking lot.
"Yes, it would be more convienent, but that's private property, I'm not allowed to park my bike there. So, where else should I park?"
"..."
"But your bike was in my way!"
"Dude, we are in New York City, in the middle of Chinatown, for crying out loud. Everybody's in everybody's way, but you don't go around kicking them!"
This is where the Michael Moore influence kicked in:
"It's this little thing called personal responsibility, dude! I ride my bike because it's the best choice for the environment. If half the people who drive in this town switched to bikes, there would tons of room! My bike takes up like half a square foot --- I pay taxes, I have a right to be here, I'm just a little tiny thing and my bike is smaller than a dog, and a lot more necessary. Do you kick dogs? So why are you kicking my bike? You owe me an apology!" I was definitely starting to get a little Hillary-esque and stern in my delivery, but at least I wasn't swearing at them.
"Sorry, lady," concedes DingDong #2.
"Thank you," I smiled at him, and then we both turned to DingDong #1.
"I ride a bike!"
"And?"
"I do, I ride my bike on the weekends!"
"..."
"..."
Dingdong #1 (who, incidentally, was wearing a fishing hat like Gilligan's) looked me square in the eye. "Fuck you, lady."
I wish I could've thought of something funny and withering to say, but all I could do was shake my head sadly and intone in my most Gandolfian voice: "Shaaaaaaaaaaaame." I mounted my bike like it was Shadowfax. "Shame on you."
And rode off down the one-way street the wrong way.
posted by LauraB 9:35 AM
Eat pizza on basketball courts and incur the wrath of Mr. Spudnuts.
posted by LauraB 1:22 PM
Not even my bandmates liked this letter:
To: The Board of Directors at WCWM, Williamsburg VA's Colonial New Music Source
Re: Did you know Michael Powell is the ultimate overlord of WCWM in not one but TWO nefarious situations?
Hidi-ho, campers!
And allo allo from one of your alums. My name is Laura Bootsy Boutwell, and I was a DJ for 4 years at WCWM, and its publicity director for one year, (which at the time involved making a lot of collages with Bob Dobbs' picture and making pigs-in-the-blanket for the Flaming Lips' pre-show pot luck. And I do mean pot. luck. It's probably a lot more complicated now, eh?)
Did you know that Michael Powell, pampered, privledged and altogether nefarious hegemon of the airwaves and squisher of independent music stations (including the pirate-types, so lovingly cited on your bumperstickers) is not just a member of the College of William and Mary's Board of Visitors, but an officer on it? This is a/n HORRIBLE revelation! He's not only got WCWM (and many other radio stations) by the short hairs as Grand Poo-bah of the FCC, but now this! I'm gonna write him a very angry Lazlo-Toth stylee letter, you can rest assured, but I thought you might want to know about this double-indemnity he's got you in, so that you can organize a protest or a flash-mob or something really subversive. I mean, who better than YOU, Campus Purveyors of all that is New, Fresh, and Beyond the Pale of Hip New Music, to fight the man?
I stand ready to assist you, should you decide to do the right thing in generally making his life difficult. (Don't get shut down, though!) If you need a NYC branch of Rockers Against Powell, I am your whoaman!
Anyway, this has nothing to do with the price of soap in Honolulu, but it is a little cranky; to prove my mettle, if you will: I'm in a pretty weird little band called Den Of Size now --- we're very college-radio friendly, doin' a little college tour in New England this month. I think we sent your our CD, Flighty, but if we didn't, just let me know and I'll send another one. Of course, I'm always happy when we get radio play, but actually, I point out the presence of us because I just saw your most recent chart on that handy, handy internet, it was like a time warp, man! I mean, I'm all middle aged and all, so I had to put on my bifocals to make sure, but you've got Frank Black, Superchunk, Stereolab, and David Byrne on your top 30! Dudes, that shit was washed up when I was there, and I graduated in 1989! And the Lost in Translation soundtrack is mostly old stuff, too. Don't get me wrong, most of the stuff on there is pretty nifty, but come on!
Please, for all that is right and proper in art, rock, and college radio: stay radical! fight Michael Powell! and play my CD!
Okeydokey. I still love you guys and listen whenever possible.
posted by LauraB 4:48 PM
Overheard in Greenwhich Village last night:
Three- or four-year boy with his dad. The kid is shuffling his feet and looking very intently at the sidewalk, as kids do. He shrikes, points downward, and cries "DAD! DAD! Another CRACK! Another crack in the sidewalk!"
Dad: "yes, that is another crack, son, you're right."
Boy: [clenching his little fists and stamping his little birkenstocks, sort of muttering very slowly, and at the top of his lungs]: Another crack. Another crack. More American SHIT!
posted by LauraB 3:36 PM