I had this crazy dream the other night

I had this crazy dream the other night.

I was hanging out with Jaime Hyneman and we were in some remote place in the mountains somewhere. It was in the Appalachian mountains during either early autumn or late spring. In the dream the date and location never come up nor does the reason for us being there. It was very green but rocky and steep and some sort of violent storm was over us.

I had a custom made Tilley hat. It was bright yellow like the Gore-Tex Packlite Read more

Porcelain, Iron and a Violin

18 September 2007
New York City

This evening on my way back to Brooklyn in the 59th Street subway station walking from the N to the 4, I saw a mysterious man playing a violin. He played delicately with a silent dignity and deep-rooted passion.

As he played, he stood below a sign guiding the subway riders to the 6 train, a cloth between his chin and the chin rest of the violin. The bottom of the finger board was worn through the varnish. He had large strong hands that fingered the notes with passionate zeal.

I stood for a moment to listen, with no idea of what he played and no idea if it was played correctly. All I know is it sounded so serene, so out of place in the filthy subway under this rotten city, the clangs of iron, shuffles of leather and rubber on concrete and the echo of subterranean hurrying.

I stopped mid stride in the stairway just behind the musician’s promontory looking up at him playing so elegantly – no tuxedo, no orchestra, no conductor. The sweet melody rolled from the bow and glided along the round edges of the porcelain tiles, it curled around the stainless steel handrails that guided 10,000 passengers before. The music rode away through the darkness; over the debris, grey dust from electric motors and big heavy brakes down the tracks into the forgotten memories and lost souls of the travelers before it.

And, moments after my pause and reflection, became just one more traveler, wanderer under the city. We all have these moments of zen and loss of hostility, moments of reflection and of profound simplicity, we stop to look around and just think about being and other people’s being. Well, not everyone, but many people.

Here again, I am reminded of the city’s energy, its contradictions — how I want to leave but I know I will regret every step away from the city I have grown to love, a strange place I can call my home. In as as much as New York is just another city, it is like no place else, for good or ill.

Memorial for Eric Ng

This was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever photographed.

During the ceremony at the Ghost Bike Ryan spoke atop an impromptu promontory next to the bike to a densly-gathered congregation of those who came to remember, mourn and honor a fallen hero.

As Ryan spoke the silence of hte astonishingly large group was punctuated by sobs and the sounds of choked-back tears. A scream from next to me tore through the dense sadness. It was followed by a few smiles and some gentle singing of a blues/folk song everyone seemed to know. I felt like I didn’t belong here in this very private moment, witnessing this. I couldn’t bring myself to photograph anyone crying even though I know it makes better journalism. We the viewer know its a sad occasion … Eric lived 22 years but only died in an instant. Why focus on that cruel instant when there was a life – albeit a short one – to celebrate?

I feel as though I missed out on something tragically good in never having met Eric Ng.

From the out pouring of love, the most wretched of howling sadness and laughter from such a diverse and expansive congregation of everyone in NYC one can plainly see the universe lost one of its brightest stars – extinguished in body by a drunk driver but immortal in spirit in the hearts of the many he touched.

The memory of his explosive and joyous 22 years on this great Earth was celebrated in a memorial bike ride from Washington Square to the site on the Hudson River Greenway where Visual Resistance placed a Ghost Bike in Eric’s name.

Mere despair doesn’t delve deeply into the emotional void left when such a Champion of Decency is ripped from our lives in such a meaningless, violent way. However, one can take comfort in knowing that his life and memory and love and energy were celebrated to the fullest extent of human possibility.

“Do not go gently into that good night”.

Love & Rage.

TIME’S UP! EXPOSES WASTE OF TAXPAYER DOLLARS ON EXCESSIVE POLICE RESPONSE TO CRITICAL MASS

Here is the press release sent to me by Barbara Ross from Times Up. The photos are mine and as always, they link back to my Flickr photo page.

“FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

TIME’S UP! EXPOSES WASTE OF TAXPAYER DOLLARS ON EXCESSIVE POLICE RESPONSE TO CRITICAL MASS

Details of Press Conference:
When: Thursday, November 16, 2006, 10:30 AM Rain or Shine
Where: steps of City Hall, Manhattan
**Video footage showing excessive expenditures on past Critical Mass rides will be available.

Participants:
Norman Siegel, Civil Rights Attorney
Charles Komanoff, Economist
Marquez Claxton, 100 Blacks in Law Enforcement Who Care
Mark Taylor, Assemble for Rights NYC
Judy Ross, Time’s Up!

New York, NY (November 15, 2006)- – Since September 2004, the Bloomberg administration and the Manhattan District Attorney’s office have spent at least $1,320,000 harassing law-abiding cyclists on Critical Mass bike rides. The cost analysis covering the period from 9/2004 through 8/2006 was prepared by Economist Charles Komanoff and Time’s Up! to inform New York taxpayers of the monies spent by the City and State to suppress the monthly rides. New parade permit rules announced by the NYPD will add further to the expenditure of tax dollars on police actions against Critical Mass as well as other gatherings of 10 or more cyclists, motorist or walkers.

The $1,320,000 figure is a conservative estimate of what has been spent by the NYPD, Manhattan District Attorney and NYC Corporation Counsel to suppress and litigate a bicycle ride that lasts 2 hours a month. Time’s Up! calls on NYC Comptroller, William Thompson, to verify its calculations of these expenditures of taxpayer dollars.

“The use of helicopters, scooters, paddy wagons, cars and hundreds of NYPD personnel is simply overkill and contributes to the unnecessary hostile climate fostered by the NYPD toward Critical Mass bike rides,” said noted civil rights attorney Norman Siegel, who has represented Critical Mass riders. The goal should be to create an alternative climate that respects the rights of New Yorkers to ride their bicycles freely and simultaneously be respectful of NY traffic rules and regulations.
###

TIME’S UP! is a non-profit environmental group that has been using educational outreach and direct action for the last 19 years to promote a more sustainable, less toxic city.”

Streetsblog Has an excellent write up of the press conference, which had an attendance of cyclists, the media, concerned citizens and a cameo appearance By Mayor Bloomberg just after it ended.

Protest in front of the Mexican Consulate for the shooting of Brad Will in Oaxaca, Mexico

This morning started with a protest in front of the Mexican Consulate 27 East 39th Street to call attention to a local NYC journalist, Brad Will who was shot to death by a paramilitary group in Oaxaca, Mexico.

The press release:
“For Immediate Release

October 29, 2006, 12:45 p.m.

PROTEST AT NYC MEXICAN CONSULATE CALLED FOR MONDAY, OCT. 30, 9 A.M.

NEW YORK – Friends of Brad Will, the U.S. journalist/cameraman who was shot and killed on Friday by paramilitaries in Oaxaca, Mexico have called a protest rally for Monday, Oct. 30, at 9.a.m. at the Mexican Consulate in Manhattan, 27 East 39th Street. The protest will call attention to demands that the Mexican troops and police surrounding the city of Oaxaca be withdrawn along with the government-backed paramilitaries.

“Brad’s death was caused by the violent atmosphere created by the army and the paramilitary thugs – not by the popular movement that liberated the state from a corrupt and repressive government,” said Brooke Lehman, a New York City activist and friend of Will. “People in the U.S. as well as Mexico have to send a loud and clear message that we won’t tolerate this.”

For latest news about the situation in Oaxaca, please visit the NYC Indymedia Center at: http://nyc.indymedia.org/en/index.html

There was some mystery as to whether the girl was credentialed and what led the NYPD to arrest her and seize her cameras. Its not common for police anywhere to do that – of course in places like Iraq and Equitorial Guinnea, the police just shoot the press. In the photos, she has two lanyards around her neck but neither had anything hanging form them … one had a splinter of ripped plastic. No one around me knew her name or what happened.

What I saw of the protest was what one would expect. Most of the protesters/gathered/spectators were calm and respectful and some of the cops actually were professional (completely unlike the irresponsible, overly aggresive, and wasteful abuse of power they display during the Manhattan Critical Mass). Of course some fo the cops pushed and shoved people – one asshole grabbed my jacket to tell me to move away from where another vop just told me to stand

Nothing new.

Of course a few of them don’t seem to realize they’re in public … with the press watchng them.

I couldn’t stick around very long, I had to work a little (if I could make money fom this blog or writing and/or photography I would be able to stay at rallies and protests all day). As I was leaving, the NYPD was in the processes of moving their dilapitated blue barricades around, moving the gathered with them. The press still had their small pen still also. In one way, I was able to move more not having credentials since I was confined to a blue box (I’m not sure if that’s legal anyway). However, one cop actually told me to get in the pen with the rest of the press while I was shooting, and another one told me to stay where I was while another sort of shoved everyone around.

Halloween Critical Mass

This is edited from the orginal post. I added content and removed some.

The rain started shortly before the Critical Mass got underway but it didn’t hinder the riders from gathering and pedaling in costume. I was splintered away from the stragglers of the splinter group where I found myself. I stopped to take photos of the NYPD scooter squad riding the wrong way down a one way street and then through a red light … I must have stopped too long because the other Massers whith whom I found myself seemed to have faded into the rainy night.

As I was looking for the rest of the Critical Mass, I figured I should head down second avenue, toward some NYPD I saw who parked their scooter in the Police Lane … I mean bike lane.
A cop facing me at red light intersection stopped me to harass me a little. They asked me to stand out of the street but I pointed to the scooter and said

“The bike lane is blocked, I would rather ride there”

The cop asked where my helmet and fromt light were. I told him that I forgot my light at home.

“just like that? you forgot it at home” He questioned as if to quell some back talk.

The cop, Officer Schneider, questioned further asking if there was a helmet law in New York. I replied that I didn’t know. I added that I knew lights were required an hour after sunset and were a good idea. He did the cop thing and asked there was a helmet law.
I said “although its a good idea I don’t think it’s a law – is it?” He neither confirmed nor denied the existence of the law.

“Yea … I know people can’t see me, I get lost in the headlights behind me, even with the reflective stuff on my jacket and bag” I replied, adding “and I know better about the helmet, I just don’t have one. I’m not arguing with you on either point”.

This is the second time in 2 weeks where I out-copped a cop and he “let me go” without a summons (for a non existant law).

The last one was on 7th ave when the cop decided I was going to go through a red light without stopping, although I was crawling along to make a left on red with the traffic and … well, the cop was in my way. He grapped me by my arm with both hands while I was moving to ask me if it was illegal to such a turn.

I told him flatly that I didn’t know and asked what the law was. He neither confirmed nor denied the existence of the law. After some back and forth, he gave me a lecture about protecting my safety (uh … by pulling me off of my bike in traffic while I was moving?) and saying he would have to call my parents to tell them he had to hose me off of the street because I HAD to make an “illegal” turn.

I was going at a slow walking pace looking toward the traffic and not even at the crosswalk yet – nevermind the actual intersection.

OK, so the NYPD has ESP now? Not really. I imagine its part of some sort of power trip thing and I imagine it works sometimes.

I kept riding downtown, right onto Houston Street where I decided to just head to the Times Up! space for the after party, which was gets getting going as I aarrived. There was a bountiful feast of food ranging from … well, it was loaded with chopped vegitables, cheese, baked goods, chips and other food stuff that escapes me at the moment. A DJ spun a mix of cheesy 80′s pop and some party rolling, ass-shaking music while the costumed Massers rolled in. Bikes were parked on the sidewalk in a semi-organized bike valet.

Rude Mechanical Orchestra got the place bouncing. Really, the floor was BOUNCING. I never thought a brass band (well, drums, too) could get a crowd going like that. They played some covers as well as what seemned to be original tunes.

It was good to see people – some names I remember and some I don’t. Tammy, Tracey, Rachel … Rich (wait, is it Rick?), Irena on her swanky black chopper and the people whose names I can’t remember like the guy who drives a burly cargo bike and pedicab. Possible a girl I only know by her Flickr account name: Blue Cinema.

The costumes were fantastic – both during the ride and the party. I was very impressed to see people riding bikes in some serious costumes.

Even though I ducked out at around 11:30 – ish I had a blast. I’m not always the most social but that didn’t mean it was a drag.

I was the guy editing photos on the laptop literlly in the corner as the party got started.

Kings of New England – New Haven alleycat

Super Evil Brian (Brian McGloin)

Kings of New England
Part three, New Haven

My second alleycat brought a new set of mistakes, serious dehydration (and the accompanying physical complications) and most of all, a damned good time.

Began behind the Devil’s Gear bike shop in New Haven, CT.

After a delay to clean up some errant urine, the starting horn choked a cloud of gas and we were off.

Our bikes were locked to a fence that was out through a gate and across the street. As we ran toward the gate, someone had shut it. One other guy and I figured it might not be locked so we slid it open and gained some time over everyone else … they ran around the building.

Moments before the start, some burnout gave me shit about me locking my bike to his, saying I had better get there first. I didn’t see the loser again until much later at Rudy’s – at the pre-after party. I out sprinted him to the fence as was rolling immediately after. Mattio came charging around the corner just as I rode away.

I had a route in my head – roughly – but for some reason I decided to follow the guy who got away from the fence first. I have no idea what his name is but I do have a photo of him. He knew the streets of New Haven well whereas I didn’t. I can get around in places where I’m not familiar and I can navigate where I do know but, as I found out, navigating to specific checkpoints while racing is something different completely.

Our first manifests were given to us in sealed envelopes along with the location of our Dispatch Point – where we were to meet after the completion of the first manifest. At the time, that seemed easy enough. In fact it wasn’t too bad.

Many of the checkpoints were time consuming. One had us skipping around a tree, another involved hopscotch, still another has us rolling dice. And there was the one (after taking a very wrong turn) that had us run around a garden and the check point under the tree where we had to play a hand or two of blackjack. Time was tight and each moment spend rolling dice or answering trivia questions meant we had to ride harder to make the cut off time.

The second manifest proved to be brutal. Add to that the impending doom of dehydration. I should mention that the race had a cut-off time of 4:30 where ALL of the checkpoints had to be done to even finish. Somewhere halfway into the second manifest, at the checkpoint at the hill “that’s a category”, as the race organizer told us, the announcement came to return to the Dispatch Point. Here I lost my race companions and I was really starting to fade and get a little disorientated. I got near the Dispatch but the time cutoff had passed so I thought I just didn’t finish and decided to find something to eat and relax.

I wandered up and down whatever street I was on not realizing there was a real finish line and a few extra checkpoints. I almost went home (for some reason I couldn’t find anything that looked right – hey, it made sense at the time) after wasting a good 30 minutes.

Then suddenly I ran into one of the girls in the race who was looking for a certain street. I might have helped her out but I doubt it. We talked for a bit and she mentioned the finish line.

“Finish Line? There is a finish line!?” I asked. It wasn’t far away either – it was in the direction of the other racers I remembered passing about 40 minutes or 17 years later, somewhere between there. I bolted down the hill toward the Devil’s Gear bike shop where the ordeal began a few hours earlier.

There, in the shady oasis was Everyone. Everyone and water and watermelon.

I made it. I survived, although I think I placed a few spots after last. But, given that I almost went home and given how lost and confused and tired I had become (seriously, I KNOW better than let myself degrade like this) I think I did OK. The group went to Rudy’s after to bullshit about race stories, drink beer and relax. I stuck with soda and a tasty cheeseburger (this of course, further deepened the dehydration) and the limited amount of socializing I can handle at any given point.

It was fun.

The proper after party was at Bar. The race results were announced, prized given out and general good times for all ensued. Well, I left after a few minutes so I imagine every one had a good time. The physical effects of dehydration were just too much and I crawled home.

For the record, I’m not a sissy – I had a serious migraine and a pounding abscessed tooth at the same time. There is more to it but I’ll save that for another time.

The last race in the Kings of New England was a good time and I’m glad I went.

Arsenal of Democracy

Super Evil Brian (Brian McGloin)

Here is my very late write up of the Arsenal of Democracy alleycat held on a rainy June 3 2006.

Arsenal of Democracy
Bridgeport, CT
03 June 2006

With Matt perched atop his wooden promontory under the bandshell in Seaside Park in Bridgeport, the race began. Off into the rain and mud and grit 15 or 17 or so of us sped away, throwing ourselves to the cruel mercy of the Park City.
As for what really happened, I’m not really sure. I mean I was racing, well, sort of.

I do know I had some trouble getting going and was bringing up the rear, I gained two and lost one place by the first checkpoint up the grueling Park Avenue.
By the second checkpoint, I made two places but blew them by talking to Chris at the Spoke & Wheel.

Oops.

From there it was a wet burn to the Congress Street Bridge – I think. Another mistake I made was not reading the manifest carefully and planning a proper route. I know better! Now, the next day, I’m having trouble remembering the order of the checkpoints.

At some point, we got to the GE checkpoint. I thought the guy manning the check point was kidding when he said we had to touch the building on the other side of the fence. I opted to slide under the fence at the wider gap, another guy went over the top. I touched the building, noted the 14 1/2 MPH sign and was on my way when the tight, dense traffic let it be.

Stacey was the checkpoint for Steel Point, I talked to her for a second blowing my two places again. Which I made up. She took photos of all of us I think and I owe her a beer for standing in the rain for our race.

I spent most of the race making up those two damned places.

I gained the places back more of less until just before the last checkpoint and finish at Black Rock Castle.

I forgot that Howard Street was only accessible from northbound lane of Railroad Avenue so I went waaay out of my way to get there. After, I took a route that went very far out of my way to get to Black Rock Castle.

“I know EXACTLY where I’m going, this is the Fast Way”.

I went a route I normally go home that avoids Fairfield Avenue, which was a big mistake. I should have gone back down Rail Road to Fairfield and right down to the Castle.
Well, I took the DFL award. Oh well.

Back at Black Rock Castle, we settled into a darkened corner of the place like moss in a damp cave. Pitchers were ordered (I don’t drink and one or two others skipped the beer) and the gritty battle stories started. To our surprise a band played – but this band was made up of kids who may have been in high school if that. They jammed some old Led Zeppelin covers while their parents egged them on. We, the damp and dritty, applauded and cheered with gusto.

I didn’t take as many photos as I thought I would. I’m glad I had my digital P&S instead of the usual Nikon SLR … well, maybe not. There were a few photos I missed because either it was raining too much and I didn’t want to completely destroy the camera (It is already acting up) or because it was too slow – when the light is dark and crappy, the camera has a slight delay when it fires, unlike when its brighter.

Who cares?

It was a good time.

A huge thanx to everyone who helped us out and who traveled to ride in the rain, grit and mud of the Park City … once known as the Arsenal of Democracy.