I:Zine

Critical Manners: We Aren't Traffic - Are We?

2007-04-16T22:58:00.001-07:00

The idea behind Critical Manners was simple enough: bicyclists who assembled at the Main Library in San Francisco would proceed in single file, and stop at every red light for the duration of the ride.

“We take obedience of the law ridiculously seriously,” read the notice from the self-styled Missy Manners.

OK, I responded, thanks for the invite – even though my manners suck! I suppose there is always room for improvement.

“There's always room for improvement,” Missy Manners primly assured me.

OK, OK – I get that. I can try to be civil. It might be a stretch, come Friday evening, after a taxing week of work. But I’ll try. Anything. Once. If it isn’t clearly hemlock packaged as Kool-Aid.

I did worry about the date – Friday the 13th – hardly an auspicious day to ride. But hey: I will fear no evil.

Obviously the intent of Critical Manners is to demonstrate radical courtesy in contrast with the aggressive misbehavior of “the testosterone brigade” which has been the subject of copious harsh and often one-sided reportage of the March Critical Mass bike ride.

If cyclists simply follow the rules of the road, then conflicts with motorists should magically disappear. And they might even begin to like and respect us, woo hoo!

So at 6:05 I arrived at the library - too late to be read the rules of the road by Missy Manners, as the ride was just getting under way. There were 16 cyclists counted in the news reports – it may have been a little higher with some other latecomers, but no more than 20, tops.

Maybe 4 or 5 motorcycle cops took turns following and in some cases preceding us. Because we stopped at all the lights – and it seemed they were timed so nearly each one we hit was red – progress was slow.

In the news coverage that appeared the next day in the San Francisco Comical, a rider opined “You know, there's nothing really wrong with red lights."

Playing devil’s advocate, I’d suggest they are most needed for reining in motorized traffic. Also, the vehicle code does not require bikes ride in single file – there was no reason we could not ride two abreast and hold the lane we were in.

But I came with what I hoped was an open mind, and was willing to observe the premise of this ride’s organizer.

The route took us up Polk Street to North Point. Did the helicopter hovering ahead of us belong to a news organization or the police? This eye in sky remain fixed as we plodded northwards towards the Bay.

A few of us waved, sardonically disbelieving that we could be worthy of such lofty attention. At least it did not trail us to Embarcadero, which we then followed down to Market Street.

Bicycling single file does not promote conversation, apart from warning people about obstacles – “Debris bin ahead” – and traffic. As I am not the chattiest person to begin with, it essentially eliminated the ease of conversing with others as we were hardly ever alongside one another. Even at lights we tended to be strung out in a line, keeping a wary distance between us.

At the traditional starting point of Critical Mass, we walked our bikes onto the promenade across from the Ferry Building. On the sidewalk leading to Market St. Missy Manners thanked the police escort – who congratulated us on a tranquil and uneventful ride that could serve as an example for all.

With that bizarre encomium, I took off on my ownsome, musing that apart from a few fleeting moments of surrealism, this must have been the most boring bike ride of my life.

Unlike other rides - with friends, or casual, impromptu companions, or en masse - the extreme self-conscious effacement and submissiveness of Critical Manners precluded my developing any sense of riderly community. Riding together is an interactive and spontaneous joy when it is unfettered by inflexible and illogical restrictions.

After being immersed in an atmosphere of milquetoast deference to any and all rulers of the road, I now felt an urgent need to flout the law and break something. But instead of smashing a windshield or keying a double-parked car, I contented myself with breaking wind in the general direction of the hyperpolite Messrs. Manners.

Well excuse-say moi!

Critical Mass New York 23 February 2007

2007-03-10T11:42:00.000-08:00

On my lawyer's instructions, I did not bring or ride a bike. But I did show up at the meeting point in Union Square to show my support. And found NY cyclists even more embattled than the last time I was there.

At least there were no arrests on this occasion - but it wasn't a "ride" in the manner in which I am accustomed, after riding Mass in SF, Toronto, Vancouver, and the Apple.

After the police demonstration at the beginning with aggressive parking tactics, sirens and flashers going to intimidate the gathering Mass in Union Square, the cyclists responded by walking their bikes for several blocks to E. 21st St. in a musical assault on Precinct 13. The Rude Mechanical Orchestra provided tunes and inspiration.

At the 13th Precinct station, a retirement gift was presented to retiring Assistant Chief Bruce Smolka. Unfortunately Smolka wasn't there to receive it!

Sophomoric Humor

2006-11-19T18:17:00.000-08:00

SmithsonCCA1691.JPG

at CCA. But ya gotta love any place that invokes and genuflects before the memory of Smithson.

Another example in this genre of work place injury humor, I see ekai has posted this:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/ekai/301470841/

Jesus Loves Me Verizon sticker

2006-10-17T21:21:00.000-07:00

JesusLovesMeVerizonsticker.JPG
Originally uploaded by Amor de Cosmos.

A cubo-religious carrier epiphany?

The Revolution Will Be Commodified

2006-10-03T22:26:00.000-07:00

The Revolution Will Be Commodified
Originally uploaded by Amor de Cosmos.

Last week I went to the opening party at the Beat Museum at 540 Broadway, in North Beach. Black Oak Books was the previous occupant - another casualty of a contracting book market. The space is commodious enough for the relics, the art, the books, and the stage. On this celebratory occasion, it featured the likes of Michael McClure, Wavy Gravy, current San Francisco poet laureate Jack Hirschman, and others.

COMPRAS: altered billboard on Valencia St.

2006-10-03T21:01:00.000-07:00

Compras: altered billboard on Valencia St.
Originally uploaded by Amor de Cosmos.

This AT& T billboard bears the slogan "Compras a tu alcance"! Looks like someone had fun with some cutouts and glue, adding this inquisitive speech balloon: Where are all my thylacines?

St. Stupid's Day 2006, San Francisco

2006-04-09T20:22:00.001-07:00

Behold the sermon of Bishop Joey and friends at St. Stupid's Day, April 1st, 2006:

Here is a short video from the end of this year's St. Stupid's Day march in San Francisco. Because of ground wet from the rain, instead of ending in Washington Square Park, the last minute change of venue was Joe diMaggio Park, which had a school yard feeling that helped the stupid regress into the dimmest recesses of childhood.

The march met at noon at the pointy building (TransAmerica Pyramid), its weekend rendezvous point, and followed a shortened route with fewer stations of the cross than the years it happens on a weekday - when the march processes though the financial district.

Its stupidest station of the cross was the Scientology building on Columbus Ave.

The other notable visitation was Caffe Trieste, marking its 50 anniversary and 85th birthday of its owner.

Frank Chu - interviewed after Kaboom festival, 10 May 2003

2006-02-19T16:36:00.000-08:00

Frank Chu - 12 Galaxies explained
10 May 2003
on the Embarcadero
of San Francisco
after KFOG's Kaboom fireworks festival

Homeland Security in the Mission

2005-08-19T06:54:00.000-07:00

"Their whole doctrine is to screw with your head. That's what they do," explained this kind agent, whose name I unfortunately did not note. He was ably directing traffic around the site of a bomb scare in the Mission District of San Francisco.

Last evening about 7:15 I came on this scene of a suspected explosive device which prompted Homeland Security to shut down the block of Mariposa Street between Hampshire and Potrero Ave.

Was the package found in the gutter behind a line of parked cars sidewalk trash or something more sinister?

Here is the scene outside the police line. I could not see the object in question, and when I rode by the Verdi Club a couple of hours later, all trace of this earlier drama were gone; the smokers airing themselves between dances in the club were blissfully unaware of the measures taken to ensure their security.

I felt like a killjoy when I asked if anyone had heard or seen the disposition of this nettlesome object, and when I explained to their widening eyes what was behind the question, instead of answering, they all nervously backed away from me.

I was tempted to echo the ICE agent who earlier had explained these precautions, "It's a new thing, you know."

Rube Waddell at Odeon Bar's closing night, 2005-05-21

2005-08-13T15:48:00.000-07:00

Here is a musical treat, my favorite hobo jug-band of the apocalypse, Rube Waddell - performing a song on beast-love. Further proof that when you start reforming marriage in San Francisco, it's a slippery slope leading to bestiality and who knows what!

Failed Film-Goer

2005-01-09T17:46:00.000-08:00

Few beings as sad and dejected - in this status quotidian American kakocracy - as the frustrated audient, wannabe audience member, turned away from a sold-out show. This then was my humbling experience today at the Berlin and Beyond Festival when I arrived a half-hour before the screening of DOWNFALL, with Bruno Ganz in a controversial depiction of the last days of Adolf Hitler. Ganz is one of my favorite actors, but in classic slacker fashion I failed to obtain a ticket in advance and faced the predictable consequences for this negligence. Not the first, and won't be the last time I'm turned away from a capacity theater crowd. Some of the down-est days of my life have involved being so turned away, but this was only a minor self-annoyance.

At least I received the bad news from friends. They were waiting hopelessly in line, but seemed resolved to not getting in themselves. Perhaps I should joined them in an optimistic but likely futile exercise in radical patience. But I did not even finish locking my bike. The sun was setting and with the rain in abeyance it was at last good riding weather.

On route home, I saw an all too common sign of superfluity and excess: an abandoned living room couch cluttering the sidewalk. The graffiti behind it was a poignant but enigmatic scrawl. If I can figure out how to, will link to a picture of this bit of waterlogged ejecta.

Bowling with Cherry

2005-01-04T15:06:00.000-08:00

Call from my friend Cherry to wish me happy new year, and to schedule lunch for when we are both at our respective jobs in Berkeley. Next week some time.

She tells of her blog at bowlofcherry.blogspot.com. I check it out, and am suitably impressed. Good way to ventilate holiday issues, and other issues of the day by writing about them in an online medium. In c-space we might all hear each other dream.

As a long-time futurist, late-blooming early adopter, I am way overdue to end my days sans blog. Here it is then, one of many "probes" - as McLuhan might have called them. Queue e-D!