Here we are at yet another installment of passive aggressive, one sided banter, but the December 10th, 2012 edition. Now if you listen to bearded prophets or old timey native cultures, this means we have exactly eleven days left here together. You can either ignore this theory and go about your daily rigamarole, or you can live like Eleanor Roosevelt would want you to, and every day for the next week and a half, do one thing that scares you.
Well, I’ll tell you something… It was on Saturday night when I did just that, and accompanied my lady friend to a lingerie store while she did some shopping.
Please note, this isn’t just any average run of the mill store. This is the place where when you walk in the door, attractive young women pour you flutes of champagne and cater to every need the customer might have. If Chris King made thongs, garters and bras, these are the ones they would make.
Like someone who would shop at this store on the regular might be flabbergasted that anyone would possibly pay $160.00 for little colorful cups of aluminum;
I was literally scraping my jaw off the floor to find that someone would (and according to the sales people, do, with enough regularity that they haven’t felt even the slightest pinch from the recession) think nothing of dropping $150.00 on a thong.
So as I sat nervously in the boutique sipping champagne, surrounded by lacey, frilly and prohibitively expensive things that will all eventually just wind up in a pile on the floor, I held my ground and faced my fears.
No doubt, Eleanor would have been proud.
Speaking of wearing next to nothing, my old chum Sean from Ritchey Deigns sent me an email the other day which gave me pause;
“When it comes to displaying apparel, I think you could learn a thing or two from these guys.”
While that is an intriguing way of displaying bicycle clothing, and as I told Sean, I am the only model I have, and I hate the appearance of my body so much I shower in the dark. I will have to rely on the forms of others, and the head of Chlöie to pedal my wares;
Now then, and not relating to that in the least, I’ll post a video for you if only for the simple reason that it’s been emailed to me, or posted my Facebook wall no fewer than a dozen times;
Ain’t nothing wrong with the Bad Brains.
And kind of speaking of them, I had a random series of thoughts relating to the band the other day after seeing that Gaythiest had been featured in the new issue of OUT Magazine;
Those random thoughts being these- When I was eleven, Alternative Tentacles released a punk rock compilation called ‘Let Them Eat Jellybeans’, though I didn’t actually hear it until the following year. My friend Adam and I would sit in his room and play that, and the P.E.A.C.E. compilation over, and over again.
However, of all the tracks, the one that stood out in my mind was (the one so deftly performed by the Peanut Gang in the above clip), ‘Pay To Cum’ by the Bad Brains. I can remember being dumbfounded by the power of this song, and repeatedly looking at the little thumbnail of the band on the record’s liner notes, not believing my eyes.
“Wait a minute…. These guys.. The guys in this band are black?”
Growing up in Crackerville, Colorado, I had three black friends when I was young, but by and large, never experienced a great deal of racial diversity. And secondly, in the then-burgeoning Front Range punk rock scene, there was nobody but us white folk.
Then, along the way somewhere, my friend Jeff arrived to school with a 7″ record by a band called The Dicks on which was a song that became our anthem of anti-authortianisim;
I was thirteen years old, and an entirely new world was opening up to me. If the Bad Brains being black was a mind bender, you can only imagine my response upon finding out that The Dick’s vocalist, Gary Floyd, was gay.
It was at this time that any underlying prejudices, and all pre-concieved notions went completely out the window, and I have punk rock to thank for helping me along with those realizations.
Just seeing that one article brought all of these thoughts up and I have been dwelling on them for days. I’m thankful that bands like these both have and do exist, and I’m hopeful that they will continue to have a positive effect on people who cross their paths as they did for me so many years ago.
Now in closing, I’ll rally back over to the bikecycle side of things with a clip that my buddy, and committed Expat Lockwood sent on;
What an amazing array of experiences for Alex Revell. It is with an unparalleled grace and determination that he seems to exist despite the fact that he is clearly up to his neck with a thing that would give a mere mortal not just fear, but unadulterated terror.