![My deepest sympathies my friend - there is nothing i could say right now to truly convey how moved i am by this passage. I was there when the bike came into our lives and am sad I missed its passing. * one single tear falls off my nose into my glass of sangria*
discrepantawareness:
This is my bike. It got stolen today. I’m actually so angry that I kept imagining beating the tar out of whomever stole it. Maybe I’d see them coming up alongside me on the sidewalk, cruising carefree in the bike lane and I’d casually reach over and clothesline them before stomping on their chest two or three times, just to make sure the wind was thoroughly knocked out of them. Then I’d just casually bike away…
I know this seems overtly hostile, but the irony of the situation just rings my anger-bell more than I can say. This is so for a few reasons:A) I had a cheap bike. I’ll admit it, but that doesn’t mean I have a few hundred bucks lying around to get a new one of the same calibre, however crappy that is. Thus, it’s worth nothing to the person who stole it as far as hocking it is concerned, but it’s essentially invaluable to me.B) I just got it fixed. Literally, just got it fixed. Rather, my friend John fixed my back wheel which had a rough wobble in it, and I had only got it up and running two days beforehand.C) This theft occurs just after I’ve climbed out of credit-card debt, which was incurred to pay off my rent. It’s been a lean month. And let’s just say, this will make it leaner. Back to overpriced Toronto Public Transit…D) I’m usually the type to defend the denizens of the poorer income brackets who are responsible for most petty crime because I firmly believe they’re actually victimized by the upper income types, who force them into existing in a desperate socioeconomic situation through excess and legislation. In fact, when some guy’s Porsche gets jacked, I’m usually secretly delighted (Oh, don’t judge me! Go suck it up and read some Douglas Coupland). The rich can, after all, afford top-notch insurance. And, of course, it’ll be one more story for the charity galas over expensive cocktails…In any case, I’m one of the guys that’s pretty sympathetic to petty criminals… but come on! Couldn’t you have raptored some suburban rich kid’s ride? This is the kind of thing that, if I read it in a novel, would make me say “Now that’s just too much, Dostoevsky!” (He’s the kind of guy who’d write something like that. Maybe God’s a lot like my favourite angry Russian class-warrior after all…) Couldn’t there be a more opportune victim? Cosmos, that was a cold move, a cold move.
Having said that, however, this is the last I’ll dwell on it. My lovely girlfriend cheered me up heartily over the phone and my dear friend John is going to help me find a junked two-wheeler that I can fix up (which, I must say, appeals to the latent hipster in my soul). I’m not the dwelling type, either. I’ll still club the guy if I see him riding my bike, but other than that I have to stamp this event with a great big “c’est la vie” seal. It happens. Life goes on.But, as my final lament, I shall paraphrase the immortal words of Jeff Goldblum as Alistair Hennessey in The Life Aquatic: with Steve Zissou. And I quote (with contextual adjustments)…
Alex: *Reads slip of paper* …This is a message from the [Bloor Street] coast guard. Apparently some crooked fuckers broke [through my bike lock] yesterday.Nameless Aryan Deck-Hand: How awful. Did they nick [it]?Alex: It doesn’t say. They probably just trashed [the bike], I’m so pissed I wanna spit. John… *Alex Spits* …tell Elizabeth to load my elephant gun with buckshot.*Menacingly* We’re gonna hunt down these sickos…
Though I probably won’t do so (I don’t even own a large-calibre rifle), it sure makes me feel better to say so. Thank you once again, Wes Anderson.](http://media.tumblr.com/eFk0HAGHPaebvgiwZgFf6mEv_400.jpg)
My deepest sympathies my friend - there is nothing i could say right now to truly convey how moved i am by this passage. I was there when the bike came into our lives and am sad I missed its passing. * one single tear falls off my nose into my glass of sangria*
This is my bike. It got stolen today. I’m actually so angry that I kept imagining beating the tar out of whomever stole it. Maybe I’d see them coming up alongside me on the sidewalk, cruising carefree in the bike lane and I’d casually reach over and clothesline them before stomping on their chest two or three times, just to make sure the wind was thoroughly knocked out of them. Then I’d just casually bike away…
I know this seems overtly hostile, but the irony of the situation just rings my anger-bell more than I can say. This is so for a few reasons:
A) I had a cheap bike. I’ll admit it, but that doesn’t mean I have a few hundred bucks lying around to get a new one of the same calibre, however crappy that is. Thus, it’s worth nothing to the person who stole it as far as hocking it is concerned, but it’s essentially invaluable to me.
B) I just got it fixed. Literally, just got it fixed. Rather, my friend John fixed my back wheel which had a rough wobble in it, and I had only got it up and running two days beforehand.
C) This theft occurs just after I’ve climbed out of credit-card debt, which was incurred to pay off my rent. It’s been a lean month. And let’s just say, this will make it leaner. Back to overpriced Toronto Public Transit…
D) I’m usually the type to defend the denizens of the poorer income brackets who are responsible for most petty crime because I firmly believe they’re actually victimized by the upper income types, who force them into existing in a desperate socioeconomic situation through excess and legislation. In fact, when some guy’s Porsche gets jacked, I’m usually secretly delighted (Oh, don’t judge me! Go suck it up and read some Douglas Coupland). The rich can, after all, afford top-notch insurance. And, of course, it’ll be one more story for the charity galas over expensive cocktails…
In any case, I’m one of the guys that’s pretty sympathetic to petty criminals… but come on! Couldn’t you have raptored some suburban rich kid’s ride? This is the kind of thing that, if I read it in a novel, would make me say “Now that’s just too much, Dostoevsky!” (He’s the kind of guy who’d write something like that. Maybe God’s a lot like my favourite angry Russian class-warrior after all…) Couldn’t there be a more opportune victim? Cosmos, that was a cold move, a cold move.Having said that, however, this is the last I’ll dwell on it. My lovely girlfriend cheered me up heartily over the phone and my dear friend John is going to help me find a junked two-wheeler that I can fix up (which, I must say, appeals to the latent hipster in my soul). I’m not the dwelling type, either. I’ll still club the guy if I see him riding my bike, but other than that I have to stamp this event with a great big “c’est la vie” seal. It happens. Life goes on.
But, as my final lament, I shall paraphrase the immortal words of Jeff Goldblum as Alistair Hennessey in The Life Aquatic: with Steve Zissou. And I quote (with contextual adjustments)…Alex: *Reads slip of paper* …This is a message from the [Bloor Street] coast guard. Apparently some crooked fuckers broke [through my bike lock] yesterday.
Nameless Aryan Deck-Hand: How awful. Did they nick [it]?
Alex: It doesn’t say. They probably just trashed [the bike], I’m so pissed I wanna spit. John… *Alex Spits* …tell Elizabeth to load my elephant gun with buckshot.
*Menacingly* We’re gonna hunt down these sickos…Though I probably won’t do so (I don’t even own a large-calibre rifle), it sure makes me feel better to say so. Thank you once again, Wes Anderson.
