A Loner, A Rebel

have my seat

I won't deny the comedic timing of my bike seat thief pulling their heist outside of the Hollywood Theater while I'm watching Pee Wee's Big Adventure inside. My bike!

I had time on the long walk home to process it. The bike was fine. Really fine! It still had two wheels, handle bar, the bell... Other than the stump where a cushion used to be this wasn't too bad! I couldn't ride it without giving myself a second appendectomy, but in the grand universe of two-wheeled vehicular theft I could imagine worse. (I actually probably couldn't. As previously suggested I don't know too much about bikes other than them being famously two-wheeled and having fun, loud bells.) Who could be sad about a bike seat? Imagine describing a bike piece by piece to someone. I doubt you would get to the little chair bit within the first five parts. Just try! (If you do in fact try to do this right now, you’re not allowed to say the seat. That’s cheating. You’ve been reading about one now for longer than you probably wanted and we’re deep into the Streisand effect. I apologize if a haunting image of a bike seat persists into your dreams and nightmares for the next few nights.) I'll just say it because we're clearly all thinking it now: chairs are kinda mid.

Sonic Youth felt endless, like the locked groove on "Expressway to Yr Skull." They sang about forever. They came to an end on a Brazilian music festival stage. It's not a good show! The world may yet see a good rock concert in the midst of divorce proceedings but this ain't it. Given that, I do prefer the myth that the Brooklyn 2011 concert was in fact the last real show.

Talk of theft can make you want to turn on the thief as a person but I just can't. It's too hard out there already. A machine like late-stage capitalism is greased by preying on your desire to hoard dessert. Dear readers, she's ordering the $60 flan. But I think there's enough to go around.