So I'm sipping a coffee this morning at Butter, where I decide to pick up the latest issue of the Southwest Journal. Who's on
the cover but our own Gene, accompanied with Fred and Shaun riding down Hennepin; it's a question and answer from these three on the future of bicycling in the city. Somewhere in there Gene veers off into a tangent discussing how we need to license bicycles and their riders - not sure what chemical he's on during this interview, but I can't say I'm a fan of re-instating a mandatory bicycle license, for one it gave the cops a legal reason to confiscate your bike while you're on it - a tactic used in several critical mass rides (a gathering in which I do not endorse) a few years ago. No, I don't think we need to give the cops any more reason to eff with us when they're having a pissy day - see Christine's story
here (bottom letter) about her husband getting violently tackled off his bike while riding down Nicollet mall.
So it's bike to work week - how time flies, seems like just a year ago.
Okay, so what happened Monday night? Rode the new steel Gary Fisher (pics at a later date) to see the The Kills/Horrors at First Avenue. I wasn't around long before FacePlant hands me a beer for my second hand, moments before the Miller High Life girls show up, swag in tow! Have I gone to heaven? Yes, quite likely. So after I finish my non High Life products, they buy me a couple of 16-ouncers, shortly before I score a sweet hat and a 12-pack beer coozie - all without having to redeem any of my hard earned points, which I'm still collecting by the way. Note to self: wear more eyeliner on the next visit to First Avenue.
My Electric Fetus story. So Melissa and I walk into the
Electric Fetus on Saturday, I check my bag at the front counter, give a hello to the frequent counter guy, who recognizes me. I walk into the store and the alarm goes off, you know the one that tells them I'm stealing patchoulli and CD's from their store - but the alarm goes off on the way
into the store. The front clerk says it's okay, and I remind him it happened to me once before - they had waved me in saying that it happened sometimes. But this time another man comes around the corner donning shorts and shaved ankles. He tells me this is a problem and we need to fix it, it will only take a few minutes, probably some new clothing I just purchased - not likely, as I scan down at the thrift store outfit I'm modeling. So he wants me to take out my wallet, that's the likely cause - I do so and reluctantly walk back through the security gate, setting off the alarm again. The guy starts talking about what else we can do, though I'm not really listening - do you want me to take off all my clothes? I know I must be living in a pre-9/11 world, but I don't like to be treated like a thief when I haven't even walked into your store yet. Am I supposed to put up my arms and have this guy pat me down, John Ashcroft-homeland security style? There are other record stores in town and I tell this guy my business could be used elsewhere. Off I went to Treehouse, where I put my bag behind the counter and sorted through the records, where I was treated as a law abiding citizen.