Aftermath: The Calm After the Storm

Here in New York this past weekend, we were visited by a severe storm that caused trees to fall, power to fail, and rumpus rooms to flood throughout the area. While some actually chose to race bicycles in these conditions (venturing into a deadly storm in order to take part in a criterium may be a sign you are desperately avoiding some greater truth), I interpret such weather events as signs from the mighty Lobster God (succulent be He) that I should remain indoors and "tend to my own garden," as Voltaire might have put it. No, garden-tending is not a euphemism for onanism or the trimming of the auxiliary hairs; rather, it is a metaphor for not only attending to one's household and domestic affairs but also taking inventory of oneself. For example, an afternoon of tending to your own garden might involve cleaning out the refrigerator crisper, meditating on ways to become a better person, and then making a delicious sandwich, and I'm pleased to report I successfully completed two of those three tasks.

By yesterday though, the worst of the storm was over, and I ventured out to survey the damage. At this time of year, the world often seems simultaneously haggard and invigorated after a nor'easter--kind of like an amorous couple after a vigorous mutual garden-tending session. Even though debris was scattered all over the streets, the first buds of spring were also in evidence. So too were the first Republics of spring, a sign surer than any that winter's vicious figure four leglock has been broken:

Last week's fair weather brought out many a Nü-Fred who had not turned a pair of double straps in irony since last November (not to mention the traditional Freds and the Cat 4s freshly detached from their CompuTrainers), but once the Republics come out you know the season has really begun. Republics are like white people in "ethnic" restaurants in that the more of them you see the milder things probably are, so if you don't like your weather too "spicy" then wait until you see plenty of Urban Outfitters bikes. This one's so vernal that it's even got a seasonally-appropriate verdant "colorway."

Besides strange Republics there were also tourists from strange republics. Many of these tourists ventured out onto the Brooklyn Bridge where they proceeded to gaze at the mist-enshrouded skyline, gawk at traffic helicopters as though they'd never before seen machines that can fly, and of course stand right in the middle of the bike lane:

There are some cyclists who will shout wildly at tourists standing in the Brooklyn Bridge bike lane. (Usually they're the same sorts of cyclists who are partial to DayGlo windbreakers, helmet mirrors, and hybrid bicycles--and yes, they look even funnier when they're angry.) I am not one of these cyclists, for while I do look funny I also think it's foolish to expect people not to wander about in a daze when they're standing on one of the greatest engineering feats of the modern era and beholding one of the most spectacular cityscapes in the entire world. Do the Parisians try to thwack you in the back of the head with a baguette while you're staring at the Eiffel Tower? Well, they probably do, but that doesn't mean we should shout at people for enjoying the view on the Brooklyn Bridge.

By the way, I should say that I don't know for sure that the people in the above picture are from a strange Republic. For all I know, they may be American tourists, or even inconsiderate locals. The only way you know for sure that someone is visiting from overseas is when he or she is wearing shoes like these:

Yes, the "international community" seems to love the velcro sneaker-sock, and they will evidently don these useless slipper-like things to go sightseeing even when the standing water is ankle-deep. Speaking of the "international community," it is often critical of the United States for its disproportionate oil consumption. However, the truth is many Americans are trying to mitigate this by riding bicycles, only it's very difficult for them to do so when you come here and stand around in the bike lanes. This is sort of like telling a starving nation they should be more careful with their food supply and then flicking lit cigarettes into their grain stores.

Eventually, I made my way into Brooklyn's Prospect Park, where a fallen tree reaffirmed for me that I had made the right choice by hunkering down indoors:

The tree also provided a perfect photo opportunity for a family of "fakerjacks," who will no doubt go around telling people that they felled the thing themselves.

Besides the fallen tree, there was also a pond where there isn't usually a pond, and word of the new "spot" had evidently spread throughout the duck scene because a bunch of them had descended upon it and were in the midst of a sick balls-out ducking "session:"

If you want to know what a ducking session involves, it's a lot like a fixed-gear freestyle session in that it's mostly a bunch of posturing punctuated by the occasional nose wheelie. However, as you can see above, the big difference is that unlike the fixed-gear freestylers most of the ducks have girlfriends. (Also, nowhere did I see a mallard with a video camera, though it must happen because I have seen ducking session "edits.")

I will admit that ever since my hawk encounter awhile back I've become a bit of an amateur birdwatcher, by which I mean I will occasionally look at birds when they enter my field of vision. Newly awakened to the beauty of the avian world, I tarried for awhile and regarded the the ducks--and I can say with confidence that they are ducks, for as an amateur birdwatcher I can now positively identify a number of bird species. Among those I can now readily spot are hawks:

(Actually, thanks to my hawk sighting I can now spot pigeons too. They're usually found dead under hawks.)

Chickens:

(Chickens are often seen traveling in bags.)

Ostriches:

(Those are the weird birds with the long necks--evidently they are also quite comfy for sitting.)

And, of course, ducks, seen here practicing their trackstands:

After learning all that I could from watching the ducks (it turns out their asses really are watertight) and now looking forward to Classics season, I finally bid them adieu. (Click here to hear "adieu" in Duckese.) By the way, speaking of taking an interest in the natural world, while I'm not sure birdwatching will the Next Big Thing I do think that beekeeping is going to be the next fixed-gear. In fact, it's following exactly the same trajectory as the fixed-gear trend--it's slightly obscure, it has an element of danger, and now it has that all-important catalyst, a trend piece in the New York Times:

Notice this reckless new breed of urban apiarist doesn't even wear a beekeeping suit, which I suppose is the equivalent of riding brakeless. (It's "totally zen, like being one with the bee.") Frankly, I'm not sure how I feel about this trend, or about the city legalizing beekeeping. Sharing the streets with people who can't handle their brakeless bikes was bad enough, but living next-door to a clueless amateur beekeeper could be disastrous. Honey-tasting parties will be the new alleycat. Plus, just as the fixed-gear thing became a big social scene and moved to stunting, we're eventually going to start seeing trick beekeeping "sessions" in the park. Sure, it all seems far-fetched now, but check out the sorts of people who are keeping bees. There's the trust fund "hipster:"

The weekend warrior "fakiarist;"

And the smug guy who somehow discovered bees while campaigning for Obama (which we've also seen in the world of fixies):

Things are going to get really ugly when beekeeping moves into it's "tarck" phase. Worst of all, what's the hive equivalent of this?

(eBay auction, forwarded by a reader)

I don't know, but I'm afraid to find out.