My night with Jesus Freak 2000

Ungh, ok, so I lined up a place to say with this dude Jay up in Troy, NY. From his profile and the conversation, he seemed like a decent enough dude. I got to Albany around 7, had a look around the town to get my bearings, and found a kinkos to do some work on the Internet. I give a call over to set up a time to stop by 9:30, we're set.

On the ride up, I listened to the whole Beatles catalog in my ipod, but once I got to town in order to get all psyched up, I switched over to Kid Rock. Aaaah, yes, nothing quite like white boys pimping like the K-I-D, strapped with A-K's straight from the Chinese, to stir up a little anti-authoritianism. On my way over to the house, I remember those Israeli guys who crashed over my place, and how they came walking in with a six pack of Corona's. The illustrious Mister Rock had just been bragging about how he could drink about 15 Heinekens. Perfect, to supplement that bag of apples I picked up at an upstate orchard, I'll bring a six-pack of Holland's finest.

So I roll in, and am met by an older woman who informs me that I should park the bike in the garage, and come on in, and so I do. I get inside, and introduce myself; the older woman's name is Carol, and she's Jay's mom. A 29 year old guy still living with his mother? Seems highly irreuglar, however I don't know the story; maybe he's keeping this ship afloat. Jay's just outside on the phone. When I ask where I should put my stuff, and she says that Jay's room will be good, and that this black girl sittin' there in the kitchen could show me where it was. She appears to be between the ages of 18 and 23, and I assume she's Jay's girlfriend.

I pull out the six pack, and offer beers around, declined universally, and ask if Carol minds I have one, go on ahead she says. Beers in the fridge, I hand over the bag of apples and tell her how much I appreciate the place. After about 20 minutes of mildly awkward small talk (experience with couchsurfing, work, etc.) during the course of which I meet Kyoto, the Japanese foreign exchange student, Carol heads on upstairs for bed, and Jay comes in. I offer him a beer, which kinda freaks him out a little. He tells me there's no alcohol in the house, so I ask him what to do with it, and he says to put it out in the garage, and I respectfully oblige. I am after all a guest, and I want to respect the house.

More small talk with Jay. After about 15 minutes I learn that in addition to doing marketing consulting work for Phillip Morris, Jay travels extensively doing evangelical work.

NYCBiker: Dude, that's really cool that you get to travel around so much. That must be awesome to have a job that let's you see so much of the country.

Jay: Yeah, I have to say that my life has really changed so much for the better thanks to God.

NYCBiker: Who?

Jay: God.

NYCBiker: Oh yeah, that guy.

Turns out Jay's a Jesus Freak, and he travels extensively spreading the word of Jesus, as if there's anybody out there that hasn't heard of him by now. I have a look around the room, sure enough there's bibles everywhere, and instead of artwork, there are framed psalms hanging on the wall. Oh Fuck. The weirdness continues when Omboogway comes walking in.

Omboogway is introduced to me as Jay's brother. Carol and Jay are white. Omboogway is black and clearly has a Nigerian accent, and like the black girl I met earlier, appears to be between the ages of 18 and 24. If you've ever seen the movie Garden State, there's a scene where Zack Braff first goes over to Natalie Portman's house, and it's kinda shabby, and there are animals running around everywhere, and then her Nigerian brother comes walking in. Well, Zach Braff is kinda overwhelmed by his surroundings. It was that type of experience. Jay also refers to the young black girl as his sister as well.

So, everybody heads on off to bed, and I'm thinking "Hell Yeah!" because I'm exhausted and want to get some sleep, when in walks Ming, a young Asian chick. I'm spread out on the couch in the living room with my sleeping bag. and she wants to chill and talk. Now being a guest, I didn't want to be rude or anything, so I have to chill and BS with Ming. She refers to herself as Jay's sister. Ming breaks out her laptop, so I figure I'll get on that WiFi, put up an ad on Craigslist Casual Encounters, see if I can't get some Albany pussy while I'm up here. Eventually she goes to bed and I can get some zee's. Or so I though.

I pass out for about an hour, but wake up to the sound of music playing. Now it's not blasting out the speakers, but it is playing loud enough to keep me up. I look over, and see that Jay's got his door open, and I hear its... its... Jesus music! Jay's playing fucking Jesus music! What The Fuck! Now, I'm thinking, "Ok, so this dude clearly loves Jesus, and many people like to listen to music to fall asleep, hopefully the CD will just play through, and won't be on repeat". Again, I'm trying to be a gracious house guest, but this is extremely rude and inconsiderate. I might think that Miles Davis is the shit to relax to, but I would never expect a house guest to share my taste in music, and I would never do something to disturb a guest while they're trying to get some sleep. The fact that it was Jesus music only made it that much more annoying. Equivalent to me playing George Carlin or Bill Hicks all night.

So it's not a CD, and it's not on repeat, but it's not stopping. As the night goes on, I'm thinking "this mutha-fucka is playing his whole Itunes Christian rock catalogue. I hear some bitch preaching about how we have to testify, and getting more and more pissed off by the minute. This SOB is trying to subliminally Jesus-ify me while I'm sleeping!

Around 5 in the morning, I start thinking how awesome it would be if I had my special isolation headphones so I could play the ocean sounds in my Ipod, get some Zee's and say Fuck-all to this rude, Jesus-loving piece of shit. But the headphones broke, and I sent them in under warranty. Bastard. Takes me another half an hour to come up with the bright idea of downloading some kind of nature sounds mp3 to drown out the Jesus. Brilliant! Jungle rain mp3 in, set to repeat, play. Jesus go bye-bye. First thing in the morning, I'm packing up all my shit, and hitting the road. Here comes the sleep.

NYPD Extortion Racket.

NYPD Traffic Division came and towed my bike last week. Yeah the bike was on the sidewalk, but that's not why they took it. That's why they were allowed to take it. I've been parking my bike on the sidewalk for years. I try to be considerate about it. I park it in a way that will have the least possible affect on the pedestrian foot traffic. Never block doors or entranceways to businesses or establishments. Don't pull it up if there are people present. It wasn't bothering anyone, but they came and took my bike.

Why. Why would they come and take my bike? Why would they go to the trouble of calling in a special unit to cut my $100 chain, and grab my bike? Why indeed! It was for the money. They came and grabbed my bike because there was another $185 they could add to the city budget.

"Oh, but Mister Biker man, you shouldn't have been parking on the sidewalk, that's illegal."

Shut-up you! Have you never in your whole life exceeded the speed limit? Or jaywalked? If you've ever driven around with a burnt out taillight, you've broken the law, and let he who is without sin cast the first stone. But I digress, this is all beside the point.

The point is, tow trucks and impound lots are a state sponsored extortion racket. If goomba the ginzo came along and grabbed your shit, and said you could only get it back if you paid him $200, he could be arrested for extortion. If he went around doing this to a whole bunch of people, he'd be looking at racketeering. There are only two justifiable reasons to tow, and they are:

If a vehicle is interfering with the flow of pedestrian or vehicular traffic - it needs to be removed.

If a vehicle is abandoned - it needs to be removed.

The Hobbs Act defines "extortion" as "the obtaining of property from another, with his consent, induced by wrongful use of actual or threatened force, violence, or fear, or under color of official right."

Traffic Enforcement is just how the government euphemistically describes one of it's many extortion rackets.

Power to the People.

Last Friday a coworker asked if I would be in on Monday, as there was a consultant coming in and if I would be available for meetings. So I had a look at the vacation time I requested a while back (never heard a confirmation from my boss), and discovered I had this whole week off. So, I decided to head on up to the state capitol, Albany to do some legal research.

A few years ago New York State instituted a new law wherein they're able to impose a second fine for traffic infractions under a specific set of circumstances, which are very easy to trigger. Known as the Driver Responsibility Assessment, it was passed in late 2004 as part of a budget bill, ostensibly as a way to generate more revenue. It's a bullshit law, and I've been meaning to start up a PAC specifically to lobby for it's repeal. But I needed more information. I wanted to find out who drafted and sponsored this bill, who voted for it, and how much money the state is collecting from the citizenship as a result of this.

Having 2 years intimate experience with a state institution (SUNY Buffalo), and the machinations a person has to go through to get the simplest things done, I fully expect this trip to be an exercise in futility. I'm sure the civil servants of New York State will be working their hardest at what they do best, which is being the most difficult and uncooperative SOB curmudgeons they can be. Under the pretense of serving the public interest, the primary motivation of Public Officials is to do as little work as possible, and get you out of their face as fast as they can. This means the run-around, feigning ignorance, and downright incivility.

I've lined up a place to crash off couchsurfing up in Troy (5 miles northeast of central Albany) with this dude who seems alright. Lets see how it goes.

Couchsurfing

A couple years ago, I was planning a cross country motorcycle trip, and I arranged for a place to stay in every city I was planning on visitng through Craigslist. The ads offered a place to stay at my place here in NYC, if they put me up at their place when I was in town. Unfortunately, I crashed that bike on the Long Island Expressway coming home from a weekend in Montauk, so I didn't get to go. About a year ago I was thinking how great it would be if there was a website where people could exchange a crashpads while traveling. That's how I discovered Couchsurfing.com.

I've got next week off, and I've decided to go up to Albany for some political activism. I've lined up a place to crash off couchsurfing.com. Lets see how it goes.

Vendetta Off.

I'm sitting there in the barber's chair; mop of shaggy hair freshly shampooed and conditioned. Sal the barber takes up position- shears at the ready, just about to begin the arduous task of taming this unruly mess before him when... my phone rings. I hate being one of those douches who whips out their cellphone at the worst possible moment, but I did have to take this call. It's building security.

According to the head of security for my office, the building had nothing to do with my bike getting towed, and the cops took another bike just down the block. Now, I'm speaking to him on the phone, so I can't look for the nonverbal pantomimes that give away a lie (Thank you Quentin Tarantino via Dennis Hopper), and I'm not good enough to tell from vocal inflection, so I guess I'll have to take his word on this one.

OK, so maybe the cops decided to get on out there, and grab every bike on this one street yesterday, but why now? Late October, on a rainy day? Why not the middle of July, in the height of bike season, when there's tons of bikes around? I guess I'm gonna hafta just let this one go. My coworkers are telling me that $185 for a few years of parking is a good deal. That's a good way to make some lemonade out of it.

Life is tough here in the Big Apple, and you got to be tough to get by. I'm not hurting anybody, and I never do anything that would endanger anyone besides myself. My chosen form of transportation does not contribute to traffic or parking congestion, gets vastly superior gas mileage, & wears out the roads at a minimum of 1/7 the rate of a typical car. Yet I have never taken so much heat as I have since I switched from a car to a bike. And I used to drive around like a maniac in a black '97 Trans-Am!

Having to take lumps from The Man all the time for no reason is bullshit. Any conjecture that bikers bring it on themselves is naive, simple and narrow-minded. The cops are specifically ordered to target motorcyclists. That's a fact I've had confirmed by every police officer I've asked (half a dozen). They can be remarkably candid here in NY.

Vendetta On.

After work yesterday, I took a walk on down to chelsea to get my bike out of the impound at pier 76. Quite displeased at having to lay out $185 of my hard earned money just to get my bike back. Yeah, it was parked on the sidewalk, yeah your not supposed to do that, but it wasn't bothering anybody, wasn't blocking the sidewalk or the entrances to any businesses. It was a victimless crime, with an impact so minimal as to be insignificant. So why would they come and cut my chain (which cost over $100) and take my bike? Somebody must have called in and complained.

Despite my offer of $100 cash and a lapdance at the hustler club, the guy who escorted me to get the registration out of my bike declined to let me ride away. I told the clerks that I'm an Ecological Superhero doing battle with the forces of Global Warming, but it didn't matter. It still took them an hour to process the paperwork and I still had to pay the full fine. While I'm standing there, I see another dude with a bike helmet, so I strike up a conversation. Turns out, his bike got towed off the same street, albeit a few avenues over. When I finally got it back, I went to speak to the pound supervisor to find out who I should sue for the damage to my bike. I showed him one of the cut chain links (the chain was still hanging off the bike, locked up to the frame) and asked if the NYC tow trucks had the necessary equipment to cut a chain of this type. he said no way, the police had to call it in. Off to the Midtown North precinct I flew.

I initially went to file a police report for destruction of personal property. My exchange with the secretary went a little something like this:

PO'ed Secretary: What time did you park the vehicle?

NYC Biker: 9 am.

PO'ed Secretary: What time did you notice the chain had been cut?

NYC Biker: 1:30 pm. But, the bike was still there, and the chain was still intact when I went down for a cigarette at 10:30 am.

PO'ed Secretary: But the incident occurred between the hours of 9 am and 1:30 pm?

NYC Biker: The incident occured between the hours of 10:30 am and 1:30 pm. I went down there to smoke a butt and everything was still fin...

PO'ed Secretary: (Rudely interrupting) The incident occurred between the hours of 9 am and 1:30 pm, is that correct?

NYC Biker: (Annoyed) More specifically, the incident occurred between the hours of 10:30 am and 1:30 pm.

PO'ed Secretary: Did the incident occur between the hours of 9 am and 1:30 pm?

NYC Biker: Yes, the incident did occur between those hours.

I don't know what it is about me that makes these civil servants , who always seem to be black and surly and female and middle aged, even more blacker and more surlier. But they are some of the most frustrating people to deal with. Worst attitudes. Anyhoo, when I tell her my bike got towed - it is a felony to file a false police report, and I know that one would come back to bite me in the ass real hard, she goes over and tells the lieutenant what's up.

Lieutenant turns out to be a decent guy, and spends some time explaining the whole process. I show him the link, and he tells me they would have had to call the Emergency Services Unit in to cut a chain like this, because only they've got the gigantic, gas powered rotary
saw that can cut this type of chain. When I ask if this team just drives around the city cutting bike chains, he says no, it would have had to be called in special.

I leave with the impression that some uptight douche called and requested the bike be removed.

Vendetta on.

My bike got towed today.

At 1:30 this afternoon, I was coming back to work, and took a swing around the block to have a look at my baby; my pride and joy, my sun, my moon, my guiding star, but she was gone. The lamp post to which I had chained her every working day for the last 4 years was missing not only my motorcycle, but also the super-duper, industrial strength, highest grade steel, mega chain used to secure my wonderfulness, and keep her safe from the clutches of the evil, scum-sucking bike thieves prowling the streets of this city. And the chain had worked, until today.

The messed up part about all this is that I had just been down there on the sidewalk at 10:30, and noticed an NYPD tow truck idling down the block. I even said to Bruce the maintenance guy, that I hoped the truck wasn't there for my bike. But it was. And he was waiting for the emergency services unit to get there with the gigantic, gas powered circular saw to cut my super chain. I had approximately 4 hours to ponder who would have requested my bike be towed.

There was that POS new head of security at the building across the street. He gave me some shit about the bike on the sideway, but it was worked out when I pointed out that the bike across the street had no effect on him or his job.

Maybe the head of security for my building called it in. I got his number from the front desk and left a voicemail.

Maybe it was the manager of the clothing store on the first floor. Can't imagine why he would care though, the bike is parked in such a way that it doesn't impede the sideway, and is nowhere near the entrance to any business or establishment.

Let me think and see if there was anybody I might have offended, inadvertently of course.

I'm going to figure this one out. It's a vendetta, I must have my revenge.

Whoever did this must be made to...

Suck.

My.

Balls.

I'm looking to get my first motorcycle, what kind should I get?

I've been spending some time on the Yahoo answers board, answering motorcycle related questions. One question I've noticed keeps coming up, and that's "What kind of motorcycle should I get for my first one?"

Short answer:

A 1984 Honda CB750

Long answer:

You should go and get yourself an early 80's Jap bike of between 500 and 800 cc's.

and here's why:

1) They're cheap. There are TONS of these bikes around and you can get a decent one for $500. You don't want to spend alot of money on your first bike, because it's your first bike. You're going to drop it. Probably a few times. You might even crash it. Imagine how pissed you're gonna be when you find out replacement plastics for that Ducati 1098 lying in your driveway are going to cost you $2,000. With the money you save on the initial purchase price, you can go get yourself some proper kit (jacket, boots, gloves, helmet), a 150 piece toolbox from Sears and a shop manual for your bike. All of which (including the bike) are availabe on ebay for cheap, by the way.

2) They're reliable. And that's what you want. You want to RIDE a motorcycle. Not work on it. Those jap bikes from the 80's are like most Japanese things from the 80's. They're so well made, people get tired of them before they break. My dad's still got a Sony Trinitron from the 80's that works great. He'd probably like a new plasma, but he's too practical to relace something that's in perfectly good working conditon. Jap bikes are the same. They were/are so well made, they'll run forever if properly maintained. What's that? You've seen some hipster rocking around town on a '69 Triumph Bonneville, and think it looks so cool? Yeah it looks cool, but you (or your mechanic) will spend more time working on that bike then you will riding it. I've got a buddy who just bought a 2006 Moto Guzzi back in July. Against my strongest protestations. I told him to get a Honda, but he went for it. The bike's been in the shop 10 times already. In 3 months!

3) They're easy to work on. Those Japanese have an extremely rational culture. The bikes that come from the land of the rising sun have had a little more thought put into their design, and it shows. You can tell they thought through and planned for maintenance. European bikes can be a puzzling maze of emotion and idiosycronisity (Yes I realize that that word doesn't exist. I've created a malapropistic neologism, so fuck you).
But I thought you just said Japanese bikes are more reliable, and that I didn't want to work on it! What gives mister? Well, little Billy, I'll tell you. All machines require maintenance to keep them going. You can either pay someone to do the maintenance for you, or you can learn how to do it yourself. Which one sounds more in the true spirit of motorcycling? There may also come a time when you'll HAVE to get that bike running yourself. You'll be out on a lonely country road dozens of miles from the nearest town. You haven't seen a car for hours. The battery in your cellphone will be dead, or there'll be no signal (most likely the former). The sun will be rapidly setting, and you'll hear hungry wolves howling in the distance. The bike will be dead, and you'll be left with a 2 choices: sit there and cry, or get the damn thing going. Will you know enough to check the reserve tank? The fusebox? Will you have spares? Will you know how to get the bike started after you've drained the battery cranking the starter for 20 minutes straight?

Most likely, you'll get a flat tire somewhere. Somewhere where there isn't a motorcycle shop. But there will be auto garages. Lots of them. But despite your most earnest protestations and begging and pleading and pledging your first born, they will all refuse to repair your tire. Every single last one of them. Even though they have the equipment and tools, and material and half their employees are having a farting contest. Do you know how to fix it? Will you have the plugs, so you can limp back to your shop?

4) You will learn alot about motorcycles. And cars for that matter. The underlying technology on a motorcycle is exactly the same as on cars. With a cheap old japanese bike, working on it won't be as intimidating as on a $25,000 Harley. If you fuck it up, so what? The damn thing only cost $500. But you won't fuck it up. Over time, you'll see how easy lubing and adjusting chain tension, changing the oil, filters, brake pads, fork seals, spark plugs, adjusting the valve clearences are. You will derive a sense of satisfaction from the work, feel great about saving the money, and build competence & confidence in your mechanical prowess. You'll be suprised how easy it is. You'll learn all about what everything does, and how all the components are interrelated. Knowledge is power they say, and in this case it's power over yourself. So you won't be dependent on some bigoted redneck out in the sticks to fix your tire. Ever hear anyone say something about motorcycles and freedom? If you can't take care of your own, you're just another punter.

5) You will learn what kind of biker you are. When you get the motorcycle bug, you get excited by every bike you see. You find yourself staring longingly at a shiney cruiser on the street, or your head snaps every time you hear a sportbike fly by. Starting with a standard motorcycle, you'll find out what you like about it.

You might get off on the adrenaline of a well executed run through some twisties, want to go faster and challenge yourself. You're a sportbike rider.

Maybe you like to just cruise around enjoying the scenery. You're a cruiser.

Maybe the standard you've got is just fine. Awesome. You're all set.

In the highly unlikely event that you don't even like it, well, you only spent $500, so no biggie!

How to live out your childhood knight fantasies, without coming off as a nerdlinger.

Cruising down the Astoria Blvd service road to the Grand Central Parkway tonight on my way back home from Long Island, it struck me how the accoutrements of the contemporary biker are very similar to those of the medieval knight. We wear helmets with visors, heavy leather jackets, gloves and boots as armor, we participate in an activity considered extremely dangerous by the vast majority of the populace, we have specialized games to demonstrate our machismo and virility, and of course, our method of transportation is the modern equivalent of a horse. Once in a while, we can get into fights. But that's not the primary purpose of this activity.
As I'm riding down the street I looked around, and I noticed my jacket was black leather (albeit with an orange and white stripe across the chest), my helmet was black, and a good percentage of my bike is black. That's when I was reminded of the black knight, a minor character in Arthurian legend, but one that resonated with me when I first heard the story of King Arthur as a kid (watch Disney's The Sword in the Stone, he makes a very small appearance, trying to yank Excalibur out).
So, then I went and looked up Black Knight on the repository of all human knowledge, Wikipedia. And here's what it says:

A black knight is a soldier or knight who either is not bound to a specific liege or does not want his liege, or himself, to be identified and so does not bear any heraldic standards or has blackened them out.

How appropriate, and surely more then just a passing coincidence that the figure with whom I most identified as a kid in King Arthur is an independent, free agent.

I think most boys dream about being a cowboy, or a knight at one point growing up. Unless you're in the Southwest, living out that Cowboy one is a bit tricky. It hasn't been fashionable to wear cowboy boots in public for about 30 years now. And unless you want to get labeled as one of those medieval festival freakshows, you best be leaving that suit of armor at home.

Get yourself a bike though, and you can actually live it, as opposed to playing dress up.