This bike was made for ridin

and that's just what I'll do!

DAyum bitches!

I'm bike-riding fool!  Rode all the way to work, then back home.  It took about 25 minutes, seeing as I was riding slower than your old dial-up connection, but still.  It's fun, healthy, and totally hip! bike riding 4 lyfe!!!  i'm a girl about town and nothing can stop me now.

yee-haw,

tianasaurus

Mr. Effing Softee

Apparently, there's an ice cream truck distributor less than a block from my office. In the winter, I was blissfully unaware of this fact. Now that it's summer (sorta), and hotter than a crotch, we keep all the windows open. And Mr. Effing. Softee. plays all day long. That tinkling loop of song (it's not even a song! tantalizingly close to 'Bicycle Built for Two,' but not quite) is drilling itself into my brain. I wake up singing it. I leave work singing it. I imagine that if I were ever to become a serial killer, this is the tune I'd be singing as I cheerfully, efficiently offed my victims.

The madness has got to stop. Or, we've got to get an air conditioner.

Autobots, Assemble!

Another day, another concert. Went to see the first performance from Ben's new band, tentatively called the Autobots, and they ROCKED! They rocked the house down!

No, seriously. Large sections of the basement ceiling were coming loose and crashing to the ground. At least one of these chunks fell onto my head, and I started laughing really hard. My boyfriend rocked a house into pieces. My life is awesome.

Busdriver + Dizzee Rascal + El-P at First Unitarian

It's been a long time since I've seen live music. I didn't realize how much I missed it.

Busdriver got this party started. I'd never heard (of) him before, but was pleasantly surprised. His flow sampled a bunch of styles and cadences, which was occasionally refreshing. Every song different from the last, and energy stayed high. Other times, I wished he'd developed a tighter, more consistent style. Some songs sounded derivative, disappointing for such an innovative rapper. When Busdriver shined was when he did his own thing, delivering lyrics in staccato-scat rapid fire, sounding more like gun claps than words. Busdriver also does his own DJing, to which I can only give mad respect. Omnivorous beats, adventurous and sometimes creepy--carnival stuff and bubblegum twisted to sound insidiously threatening.

Then! Surprise guests Kidz in the Hall!! Well, they were a surprise to me. I've seen them live once before, opening for GZA at the Troc. It was a disappointing show, not due to them, but to the audience. A bunch of drugged-out wannabe thugs impatient for the Wu. They didn't even give Kidz a chance to win them over. Their loss. This group is fresh, and I don't just say that cuz I'm from the Chi.

They came out rocking a prep-to-death look, 2 musicians, 1 MC, and tore it up for 5 - 6 songs. Delivered a couple old hits and a few new. Most notable for me was their last, 'Driving Down the Block'. A little dirtier and cockier than previous stuff, and Double-O even got to rap! As usual, here's Kidz in the Hall treating traditional hip-hop themes in clever ways, managing to make a song about cruising in your car sound smarter and sharper than most. Naledge ended the set with a brief speech about supporting up-and-coming artists, not giant pop stars, and doing that by buying albums from people you respect. God, Na, I want to support you guys, but how can I do that when I already shelled out all my dough for my ticket?

Then Aaron LaCrate comes out, another surprise for me. He's a gutter DJ from Bodymore who came to my college a couple years ago. I had a good time dancing to his stuff back then, but a half-empty freezing room at Swarthmore was not his place to shine. This man has worked with Spank Rock, Amanda Blank and Diplo, for crying out loud! He gets up and starts playing 'Know How' with Young MC, which I hadn't realized was his stuff, then Spank Rock's 'Blow.' Two awesome songs. After seeing Kidz and knowing their work (which many in the crowd seemed unfamiliar with), recognizing Aaron and the songs he was spinning made me feel super up on the Philly hip-hop scene. Finally, reading podunk Philly music blogs pays off! Sweet!

Finally (for me) Dizzee Rascal. First off, I'd like to thank the anonymous dude at US Immigrations who processed his visa, cuz you just made my week. Dizzee delivered a tight, driving show. His flow was non-stop and professional as on his albums. He never got out of breath despite constant dancing (I love a rapper who can groove to his own shit), and almost non-existent pauses between songs. He kept the energy high, telling us that hip-hop should be fun. Word. Up. Dizzee talked to people in the audience, organized shout-offs and even created a circle in the crowd for people to break-dance. Few stepped up to the plate, but it was great to watch a rapper confident and swagger as they come still creating space for the crowd to shine. Not acting like he's on TV, but making sure we recognize the live nature of the experience, making sure we stay in the moment.

That doesn't mean Dizzee ignored his celebrity status: at one point, he had the whole crowd chanting his name. I can only imagine that to be the best feeling in the world. He set up a good mix of old and new material, only touching on 2 - 3 songs from 'Boy in da Corner.' Of course people went crazy for 'Jus a Rascal' and 'Fix Up.' But they were equally enthusiastic for newer stuff, including 'Flex,' his encore song, a booty-shaker for the ladies. Have to admit, when this song came on I had an (almost) uncontrollable urge to get on stage. I held back. Unfortunately.

After that, I left. Call me old, but I just couldn't stand around any more. Achy back and all that. Plus, I wasn't too worried about missing El-P. I don't know any of his stuff, but more importantly, I always find myself wishing he were Aesop. I know that's not fair, but I'd rather rock to Ian than to pretty much anyone else on his label.

Rain, Philadelphia

Strange day today.  I don't know what it is about Philadelphia, but somehow the rain here only serves to make the city seem dirtier, instead of cleaner.  Packs the filth down, I guess, and spreads it liberally across every surface.  Made for a depressing day.  After work, I decided to head down to Robin's Bookstore to pick up the third edition of Neil Gaiman's Sandman comic series to cheer myself up.

Outside Robin's there's this strange little alleyway, one of those old cobblestone streets you find all over the city.  As I approached the bookstore, I locked eyes with a homeless man sitting on a grate in the alley, desiccated face and wild white hair, his pants and jacket wet from a day out in the rain.  He was looking in the face of everyone who passed, asking them quietly for a cigarette, regardless of whether or not they showed evidence of having one.  When he asked me, I told him, "No, sorry," and went inside.

The comics at Robin's are right by the door, and since I bought Sandman 2 a few days ago, I knew right where to go.  I was in and out in maybe three minutes, and walked back to the Subway the way I came.  When I reached the alley, I saw the man again, lying face-down on the grate on the other side of the street.  When I looked closer, though, I saw that he wasn't lying down: he was trying to make it onto a curb that was maybe three inches high.  He jerked his hips, and I saw the cane that had previously been hidden amongst his bags now lying under his body.  His legs mangled, spindly and useless.  The seat of his pants soaked through, his butt jutting into the cold air as he tried to pull himself into place with his arms.  A man, older than me, older than my father, exposed and vulnerable as he tried to do this one, small thing.

I stood in the middle of the alley, watching him, lost.  Other people were passing, and a few glanced at him struggling before moving on.  I was rooted.  I wanted to help him, or at least offer my assistance, but I couldn't.  I was scared.  Struck dumb.  Like a fucking child.  Useless.  Even something a simple as pulling himself up was a challenge for this man. Night was falling, the air cooling and the rain intensifying.  I who have been given so much, should be able to do t least one small thing.  I wanted to give him a cigarette, to throw all the money in my pockets at him and run, but even as I thought that, I knew that I wouldn't.  I was too scared.  I couldn't even bring myself to ask him if he needed help.  Basic human compassion. I COULDN'T EVEN GIVE HIM THAT.  I felt impotent, and cowardly and furious at myself for it.

After a few seconds, I became aware that I was staring, and hurried on.  As I walked, I found myself crying, not audibly but silently, just tears.  Even as I cried, I felt myself growing more angry.  What incredible conceit, that I could turn an experience like that into something about me.  Why should I cry at my impotence when the injustice of the situation was a far more important issue?  If I really cared, I would have done something.  Simple as that.  But instead I cried, a little for him, mostly for me.  There's no way to end a post like this.  I hope the man I saw today finds something tonight to help him.  Whatever that is,  I couldn't give it to him.

Smells like Butterball to Me

Fan-fucking-tastic run-in with a bum today.  Ben and I were walking to the 15th Street trolley when we were stopped by a jaunty-looking bum who points at Ben, smiles and says "What up, Jay-Z?  How's it going, Jay?"

Now, I like Ben. But there's no way in hell anyone could confuse him for Hova.  And this guy's just warming up.

"How you living, Z?" he asked as we tried to move past him.  "You livin' every day like it's Thanksgivin'?"  We smiled and he beamed back, nodding like we'd just confirmed a long-held belief.  "Yeah, you livin.  I smell you, man, I smell you."  Dude was whistling as he walked away.