Going by the Book: Signs from Above

(Forms are already beginning to trickle in.)

Throughout history, humanity has sought to impart meaning on life and to create codes for living. Over the centuries, these codes have been assembled into various books which serve as guides and moral templates. Such books include the Bible, the Koran, the Bhagavad Gita, and Bob Vila's extensive canon of works on home improvement and remodeling.

I too live my life strictly according to "the book." More accurately, I adhere religiously to two books. These are my generic Bicycle Owner's Manual:

And Stanley's Solid Gold Dream Book:


The Bicycle Owner's Manual is the book I turn to when I have doubts, questions, or moral quandaries related to bicycles, bicycle maintenance, the act of cycling, or bicycle ownership. As you can see from the image of the cover above, sometimes you don't even need to open the book to receive guidance. "Turn Front Forks to Face Forwards" is the sort of advice that will take you far as a cyclist. It's also something a surprising number of people do not know how to do, as evidenced by this photo which was sent to me by a reader in London:

Stanley's Solid Gold Dream Book, on the other hand, is the book that addresses the more abstract spiritual quandaries in which one can find oneself. It can also help one harness the power of the supernatural and the otherworldly. For example, even before doing my morning Jazzercise and eating my bowl of Franken Berry, I always make sure to check my Daily Numerology Vibrations:

I also make sure to interpret my dreams:

Stanley is not always politically correct, nor is he an accurate speller:

However, the truth is that great mystics can be coarse people. Remember, both Jesus and Bob Vila are simple carpenters (Jesus still carpents in Heaven where he drives around in a beat-up van with "God and Son" painted on the side), and I'm sure when they smack their thumbs with a hammer they both curse accordingly. Remember too that Yoda's poor grammar less powerful his wisdom did not make. So when I have a dream that I'm brunching on omelettes with a bunch of Dutch "podium dudes," I know that I must do all I can to salvage a friendship that is in distress. That's why this morning I called some close personal friends and apologized for sneaking a bunch of greasy bike components into their dishwasher when they had me over for dinner recently. While the machine was not repairable, fortunately our friendship was. Thanks, Stanley. Best $3 I ever spent.

And so it was that, beset by precipitation, I headed into the wilds of Brooklyn yesterday on a twofold mission. I won't bother you with details concerning the first fold of this mission, but the second fold involved wetting my pants:

I will address the pants-wetting in some future post, but in the meantime it's the journey and not the destination with which I am concerned. As it happens, my damp voyage took me along Bedford Avenue, that hotbed of controversy which is currently the Gaza Strip of the "Hipster vs. Hasidim" religious wars. Unwisely, I had undertaken my trip just as the local yeshivas were letting out, and so I got to witness a child drop-off in action:

(All You Buses Protect My Jews)

The way it works is that the bus comes to a sudden diagonal stop in the middle of the block, bringing all vehicular traffic to a halt. Thus protected, the child then emerges on the leeward side of the bus where she is collected by a doting mother in a schmata.

Obviously, whether you're driving a car or "palping" an Ironic Orange Julius Bike, this is somewhat irritating. Unsure of how to comport myself, I consulted my Bicycle Owner's Manual, but the only remotely relevant bit of advice was this:

"Watch out for the other guy-ridedefenal very."

I'm assuming that "guy-ridedefenal" is Yiddish, but lacking fluency in that tongue I was unable to watch out for one. It did specify that I should watch out for the other guy-ridedefenal, though, so I imagined that a first guy-ridedefenal would attempt to distract me while a second stole my bicycle. This, however, did not transpire, and I didn't even bother to consult Stanley's Solid Gold Dream Book because no eggs or "faggetts" were involved.

Ultimately, I chose my default mode, which is "watch and contemplate." While the Hasidim are inconsiderate sometimes, it's obvious that their lack of consideration is motivated by a strong protective instinct. Probably the unwisest way to deal with fiercely protective people or animals is to intimidate them, which is essentially what the "hipsters" who intended to ride naked through their neighborhood were planning to do. In a way it all comes down to what you think New York City should be. Traditionally, it's been a place where each neighborhood has a strong character with its own behavioral code that is not necessarily scrutable to or convenient for the sojourner, and where he or she might be expected to behave deferentially or at least respectfully while visiting. (Such respect was really the imperfect yet functional mortar that held the city together.) Increasingly, though, New York is becoming a place that is expected to conform to some higher ideal of what the current post-gentrification wave of "urban planners" believe a "livable city" should be. As a cyclist, I appreciate the latter, but as a person who likes to "watch and contemplate," I appreciate the former. If you expect smooth and unfettered passage some New York neighborhoods can be a real pain in the ass, but you may end up missing them when they're gone.

In any case, it was really only a few moments before the bus moved and I was able to resume my journey. While the Hasidim may have their shtetl, the "hipsters" or "gentrifiers" or whatever you want to call them have theirs too, and it is expanding into areas where once those who advocated for "livable cities" (in the literal "I don't want to get murdered sense," not the "We need more bike racks in front of the Apple store" sense) once feared to tread. With a few moments to kill, I nipped into a "vintage" clothing store in order to get out of the rain:

This, it would seem, is where "hipsters" happen:

I didn't buy anything because I have no real desire to look like Louis Winthorpe III post-arrest:

And once the musty smell became overpowering I went off and took care of the completely legitimate and perfectly legal business that had brought me to this neighborhood in the first place.

On the way back, I noticed with dismay that the new bike lanes which had made a previously death-defying traffic circle pleasantly rideable have now been taken over by the NYPD and are serving as truck and bus parking:

This is actually a pre-automotive superhighway of sorts, since the brown lanes are dedicated to horses and the green lanes are dedicated to bikes:


Even when there aren't police buses in the bike lane though you will often find plenty of manure. It seems the horses like to leave their brown in our green:


As you can see, this particular pile also contains a compact disc, and a closer inspection reveals that it is some sort of Torah study guide:

I'm not sure how this got there. Did someone intentionally discard it, or are New York City's horses now being fed on rabbinical CDs? Either way, I didn't need to consult Stanley's Solid Gold Dream Book to know that this was a sign: In one neighborhood you may be king, but in another you're just manure. Also, sometimes not winding up in crap is a simple matter of paying attention to where you're going.