doom metal up in this diner

I’m at an all-night diner, working on an op-ed about currency manipulation. it’s almost midnight.

this place is okay. it’s a little loud in here, and I hadn’t planned for that. a miscalculation on my part; I figured 11 pm on a Monday this place would be quiet and thinned out. but I guess I’m a dummy, because there were a ton of people here earlier and the bar (the place also has a bar) was bumping.

but when life gives you lemons, well … so I’ve got my headphones going, and I’ve been cranking doom metal. and this has worked, kinda, in that I’m actually getting some writing done. doom metal, I recently opined to a buddy, is mostly about ambiance. maybe atmosphere is a better word. but whichever the case, it’s right for the moment; it’s hot as hell outside, it’s freezing A/C in here, I’m surrounded by drunks and caffeine addicts, I’ve probably done permanent damage to my ear drums by listening to this bullshit at full blast, and as a result? I’m more than halfway through an op-ed draft, and I don’t think it’s halfway bad. so maybe this is working, kinda.

if the spirit moves you, here is a great article about doom metal. from the New York Times Magazine, no less.

tough grandma

I rode my bike up to Rock Creek Park yesterday, so that I could go running around on the horse trails. I really like doing this. it’s a great way to spend an afternoon in the summer.

so on my way up there, I’m cruising down a hill on 13th Street northwest — not far from where I’m sitting right now, matter of fact — at about 25 miles per hour. going fast. dumb fast without a helmet. and suddenly there’s honking and noise and an engine and and the realization that I’ve got an angry driver, pissed off by my presence in their lane, right on my ass.

sometimes I feel like I’m getting too comfortable on a bike around here, in this bike-friendly city, and that some sort of equalizing force is going to take me down a peg — like an act of god delivered via a bump from a Volkswagen Jetta, or a driver texting in the midst of traffic, something banal like that — and that I’ll end up in traction for months.

but back to the hill on 13th Street. why is this person honking at me? what is it? what, do I have a boog hanging? or is it just someone acting tough, cranky that they’re forced to do the speed limit behind a bike on a hill?

I figure it’s that, just some entitled asshole in a car. so I don’t give up an inch, and they lay on the horn a little more, and then they cross the center line and begin passing me. and I glare to my left, ready to mouth a fuck you at this person and their grief. and it turns out to be an elderly woman driving a Buick who doesn’t bother to return my stare. no, she just guns it past me, races to the bottom of the hill, and stops at the light. of course she ends up stuck at the light.

and you know what, I just didn’t know what to do with that; her indifference and age left me tongue-tied. two thousand pounds of Buick, driven by indifference. man! what a sour-ass old lady.

alright. I should get home, it’s a school night and it’s late.

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1 comment so far

  1. Anonymous on

    wear a helmet.


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