bicyclemark

De-Liberations

December seems like a month where, besides celebrating a whole lot of birthdays, we also pause and remember some of the worst atrocities the earth has ever seen. I love using big phrases like that, cause then someone will think “you say tomato, I say tomato sauce,” and who am I to argue. Just a blogger folks. Just a blogger.

Back to the point, before I do the usual drifting like Tom and Huck, Dec. 11th 1994 was the anniversary I wanted to point out; Ten years to the date, when the rusty Russian war machine invaded the Chechenskaya Respublika. I’m not here to try and debate why they did it or who was wrong, for me there is no debate. The images and statistics that so much of the world have ignored: 50,000 killed in the first war alone, air strikes that bombed Grozny back into the stone age, the (now repeated in Iraq) acts of rounding up all the men older then 16 and imprisoning them. I’m sure it was worth it… this liberty and freedom from terrorism that Moscow promised. So much of the population had to be wiped out, so you had to do some torturing/raping, and then maybe you had to destroy everything in site… it’s all for a better future. Trust mother Russia, and her friends in Europe, US, and around the world, who – if they even noticed- spend those years doing business as usual.

I myself sat in the library of a tiny University in southern France when the second Chechen war broke out. I sat reading 4 newspapers per day, scribbling articles which I’d never have the nerve to send to a newspaper, other than my tiny column in my college newspaper in NJ, and then posting them on my geocities site, which later became this here blog. I guess I’m alot like certain governments and international organizations, I sat around talking a mighty talk and writing articles, and then at night I put it to the side and went to have another glass of wine at Les Deux Gar?ons. Which in retrospect may have not been a good place to meet women. (?)

I joke… cause well.. it’s part of dealing with all the bullshit. But still.. It’s a crazy anniversary… it was 1994, modern times. Now, with all the stupidity of the so-called war-on-terrorism, people who speak on behalf of Chechnya are suspect… dangerous. The government they elected , whoever still lives, is in exile in the US and UK. Hell, I’m sure Chechnyans themselves would tell me to shut up, cause they must be so tired of hearing about all these politicians with blood on their hands…just wanting to live a somewhat normal life. Whatever’s left of it.

So here’s to you Chechnya, in recognition of all the hell you’ve gone through (a reality I cannot even being to understand from my comfy seat)… the world governments may not a have a spine, but bloggers do, bicyclemark’s commmunique (and always has) recognizes the independent and sovereign Chechenskaya Respublika.. if there’s anything left to recognize.

Today’s Sounds: Curtis Mayfield – Best of

FIRST PODCAST

The Next Wave

Did I mention bicyclemark’s birthday is in fact a 3-day festivus for the restofus? It is. Day two.. well.. let us call it “evening two” was inspired by Swedish fellow birthday gal. At her party of Friday I noticed she was playing the Selecter. I love the Selector, though not as much as I love the Specials and the Beat. Who the hell are these bizarro groups you’re wondering? They are relics long forgotten from the 70’s Two-tone second wave of ska which took place in the UK, primarily. A time period I only wish I could have experienced first hand; I would’ve had my pork-pie hat and my rude boy suit. Well, I sort of wear that now anyway… but that part comes later.

I immediately turned to Swedish birthday gal all excited and asked who the ska fan was? Like she had just set foot on the moon, she reported that it was her. We went on to listen as tunes like Too Much Pressure and Three Minute Hero. BAM – I was in a timewarp. Remembering my high school and college days where this shit was my lifeblood. And it didn’t stop there…

“Let me show you something” she said after a few drinks, already latched onto my arm dragging me apparently to her room. Many thoughts flashed through my head at one time… mostly… “Is this how Swedish Girls Work? They just drag you into their rooms when it suits them. -Exciting.” She pointed to the corner of her room where a tiny tshirt was plastered to the wall. It looked recently worn, and right in the middle, in illegible black marker was the name of the Selecter drummer, which looked vaguely familiar. As I inspected the evidence, she told me to brace myself for the next artifact, which was in fact, her two-tone inspired checkered thong. That’s what I call a rudegirl.

So naturally she invited me to join her and some friends to see none other than Dr. Ring Ding and the Rotterdam Ska-Jazz Foundation at Melkweg last night. With all the ska names suddenly coming back to me, I instantly said yes. Dr. Ring Ding, who my buddy Styles and I used to listen to all the time in our college days… cruisin North Jersey with the top-down in freezing temperatures singing “pick-it-up pick-it-up rudeboy!” and so on. Turns out the good doctor is German, got a new band, and is making a comeback. He joins the Selecter, Special’s frontmen Neville Staple and Roddy Radiation, who are all staging comeback tours. Brain of J tells me lots of the east and west coast US ska artists are touring again as well. All this tells me the 4th wave of ska could be laying its foundation.

The show was fantastic. In my pseudo rude-boy suit I joined the packed crowd and did the drunken man skank that would make Prince Buster himself, the godfather of ska, proud. I learned that Germans and Swedes know their ska, and oddly enough – young Dutch fans mix ska with drugs. The whole time I kept thinking, could this be the next wave? Will it be based in northern Europe? Maybe the underlying theme would be an anti-war and tolerance message? And more than that, maybe I should come out of retirement and put together an international Amsterdam based Ska-jazz ensemble?! (how bout the name “The Dam Allstars”)

Today’s Sounds: Rotterdam Ska-Jazz Foundation

Recovery Through Highlights

Whoa Whoa… those are some bright lights. I know you wanna know how it all went down. You want to hear how the birthday debauchery unfolded. And I’ll tell you… but considering today is the “day-after,” no sudden movements, bright lights, or loud sounds please. Thanks — The management.

My birthday evening was both a pleasure and a blast. Even if those two things are kind of the same. A blend of good company, old friends and complete strangers-turned-friends over a glass of wine. Dining on the End of the World is always a pleasure, especially when it’s MY night. At one point, Ms_Think and I were waiting to pay Frank Zappa (the brotha in charge of food). He was doodling numbers on a tiny scrap of paper. In front of him, just next to the list of how many people are eating what, were two giant tobacco pouches. One was filled with tobacco, the other was filled with a different plant. Just as I was noticing this, he looks at us in defeat and says in Dutch: “Umm… maybe you could take a look at this and tell me if its right, because I’m in no condition to be handling numbers.” In that same transaction, moustache man starts hammering on the cash register, “Umm if you don’t mind, I can’t give you any change because I can’t get the machine opened.” We told him that was fine… and stoned Frank Zappa went over to try and help pry it open (unsuccessfully).

It was then time to head over to the Dec. 10th birthday party. Hosted by a lovely Swedish gal who was born on the same day around the same time in the same year as me. And so we co-celebrated, along with my favorite Bavarienne, another Dec. 10th person. Later some British guy named Guy walked in and turns out, it was his birfday too. Madness ensued.

While me and NoCommunicado spoke about how digital photos have reduced the value of a photograph. Just behind us, a wild German gal simulated sex on the dance floor with a gay Israeli. Huddled in another corner, Bearded G and other members of the bearded man club (im a member but I was busy) passed around the wacky tabacci and talked about nothing. As the night went on I kept falling in love with Swedish girls, reminding me of Jamie’s post about the girl on the subway.

There was a moment where I felt like I was in a teen-movie when some random student, staring into space, suddenly announced “OH yeeaaaa… it’s so simple. It’s so simple I should’ve known.” Wanting to see how far I could take this, I asked him what was so simple. He looked at me like I was invading his mental space, saying “Oh its just a mathematical proof that I just figured out.”

– I started looking around for cameras, to see if I wasn’t on the set of Revenge of the Nerds 2000. Any second the Alpha Beta’s would come and trash our party. I didn’t find cameras, but I did find THE TORONTONIENNE!

All in all, it was a successful Amsterdam birthday evening. The third I have celebrated in this town. Each one of them unique and memorable for their blend of kindness, madness, and style baby… style.

Photo’s of dinner and the party are both here and here.

PS- I had the bicyclemark team of lawyers work out the trademark disputes, and there are now new items in the souvenir shop.

Today’s Sounds: The Roots – Tipping Point (bday gift!)

25 and still alive

The following is a very me-centered post, so new readers should be horrified at the shallowness.

Through careful ethnographic research I gathered the following information about myself at birth:

As far as I know, I was born on this day 25 years ago, at 15h EST, at some holy hospital in the Portuguese colony of the Ironbound, Newark.

I was a boy.

I was healthy except for the fact that I have two different ears. (one is pointy, the other is folded… just like A-Ren!)

My parents expected a girl, my name was to be “Tammy” which I suppose is short for Tamara. Just imagine visiting BicycleTammy.org to read my blog.

Big Daddy J, one of NJ’s finest delinquent bloggers, at the time 4 years old- was excited at the prospect of a playmate. He wanted my name to be Barney Rubble.. or Fred… something fintstonish.

I believe mine was the first birth that my father, also known as the king of portugal (in exile), actually witnessed first hand. After which he was so horrified he told my mom, no more children; he never wanted to see her go through that again.

They eventually named me bicycemark, in an elaborate ceremony written by Alex Haley, where my dad raised my naked baby-bum up to the heavens and shouted in Portuguese: “bicycle-mark… behold the only thing greater than yourself.” And of course this was Newark, so there was a lampost over us, and ever since I have a great respect for nudity under bright city lights.

Shortly after birth I started blogging. My parents were so proud. They bought a home-personal computer that took up the entire room. And well, for the sake of today’s post, the rest is history.

I meant to do lots of things with my birthday post, but instead I produced this digital poop-post. Should have made a list of what I have never done, like the world-reknown radiohumper. Ah well.

One of the coolest things about being me on this day is all the blog-comments and emails that I got today. What an honor to be honored in blog posts here, here, and who knows- maybe somewhere else. Did you see what my favorite blog mistress xtx’y wrote about moi!! *Blushin.* All I can say is, you guys rock the hiz-ous and meeting all of you thru this here bloggy was the best part of 24… that and the hookers.

Today’s Sounds: Mates of State – Team Boo (a couple from S.F.!)

Who From Tuvalu?

I walk into the fishtank for the evening shift, and the joint is completely empty. The lone person surfing the internets is my Dutch Fishtank supervisor colleague. The conversation went something like this:


BM: (shocked) What's going on?

Dutch Fishtank Supervisor: (calmly) The Germans are coming.

  They're going to occupy this place around 19h40... again.

BM: (looking at the time) Holy shit.

Stop me if you’ve heard this one: The US Refuses to Participate in Talks About the Kyoto Protocol. Yeah I know… old news. But it still baffles me. I listened this week to a representative from the Island of Tuvalu talk about the importance of taking action to slow global climate change and global warming.

Tuvalu. I can’t stop thinking about Tuvalu. In 2001 the government of Tuvalu announced they would have to begin evacuating the population to other countries because of rising sea levels. In so many words, Tuvalu won’t exist in a few decades. Rising oceans. A country won’t exist anymore. How the hell do you face these people if you’re the leader of a wealthy country that refuses to take some really basic steps so that maybe more islands won’t be submerged in the near future?

I guess that’s why they don’t even want to show up to talk – they don’t have the nerve. If I ever meet a Tuvaluian, I’m just gonna give him/her a big hug and a solemn look and say, on behalf of the rich part of the planet, I’m sorry my fellow human. I can’t explain these fucks, and I promise I didn’t vote for them. If I were a real do-gooder, I’d write to the government and offer to shelter a few at the bicyclemark ranch. But alas, I’m not a do-gooder, I’m a lazy blogger.

But wait, I won’t let you go today with out an excellent lightbulb joke that the Verbal Chameleon posted.

And everybody’s wondering “Was he or wasn’t he poisoned?” I still won’t believe it, somethings fishy and it ain’t my fridge (for once).

Today’s Sounds: Morcheeba – (Something the guy I’m renting from left)