If you're wondering why some New Yorkers get so upset about cyclists when drivers regularly plow into retail establishments, the answer is that they're fucking idiots--which, as it happens, is the same reason people eat the bagels at Dunkin' Donuts.
Meanwhile, in the ongoing effort to coddle you until the police fail to charge the driver who runs you over, the New York City Department of Transportation is turning 12,000 obsolete parking meters into bike racks:
This retrofit merely legitimizes the way people have already been using parking meters for decades, which is why the city will also transform its over 11,000 public telephones into urinals. Most cyclists are pleased about the additional bike parking these new racks will offer--with the notable exception of David Byrne, who declared the program "Bullshit," adding that, "for $2 million I could have designed 12,000 racks that would be far more useless." Given his recent work at the Brooklyn Academy of Music, it's hard not to believe him:
With 12,000 characters to work with, Byrne could have written a novella in inconvenient bike racks.
Also in New York City cycling news, the dream of a Brooklyn velodrome is officially dead:
Because Brooklyn is now too expensive even for gazillionaire philanthropists:
“You can’t build a facility of this nature, at this site, at this budget,” said Greg J. Brooks, the executive director of N.Y.C. Fieldhouse, the nonprofit group behind the project. “We’re very excited and eager to find a new home for this recreation center and velodrome. The funding remains intact.”
Not that anybody wanted it in the first place:
Some Brooklyn Heights residents who live near the proposed site, at Furman Street near Pier 5, had objected to the size of the building and its potential effect on traffic and parking. Others chafed at the notion that a millionaire could, with a large donation, impose an obscure sport on a city park.
I agree with them on the "obscure sport" part, and certainly any recreational facility should serve the activities and interests of area residents. That's why I'm pleased to announce my gift to the city of a new state-of-the-art Wankotorium in Brooklyn Bridge Park, where the people of gentrified Brooklyn can engage in their favorite pastime of "foffing off" over themselves. Each seat in the Wankotorium will feature a lubrication dispenser, a high-definition LED screen that allows the wanker to gaze lovingly upon himself, and full Internet connectivity for sharing details about the wank across social networking sites. This should provide an attractive alternative to the currently favored onanistic practice of Brooklynites, which is furtively pleasuring themselves in the bathrooms of new condo developments during open houses. (It's a rare gentrifier that can gaze upon a state-of-the-art open plan kitchen without experiencing the need for immediate release.)
On-site bike parking at the Brooklyn Wankotorium will of course be designed by David Byrne.
Speaking of bad taste, it's hard not to think "That's the way the ball bounces" as you read about this zorb ride gone horribly awry, as forwarded by a reader:
Sometimes in life the unthinkable happens. Other times, someone dies after bouncing around on top of a mountain inside of a giant hamster ball. In any case, this is the biggest large orb-related tragedy since the Flaming Lips guy got stuffed into a hairy vagina ball:
By the way, that video was filmed in Portland, and it remains the definitive document of the local ethos:
Even the naked mass riots in Portland are polite, boring, and racially homogenous.
Of course, dreamy music videos with bikes in them aren't restricted to Portland--even though they should be:
Needs more hairy vagina balls. And maybe a concerned Scottish guy with a camouflage beard:
Brunette girl with bike bleeding morning of NYE - m4w - 28 (SoHo)
Date: 2013-01-10, 7:14AM EST
You were standing on the corner of Mulberry and Prince with blood running down your knee just above your black stockings and I couldn't help but notice all the blood on your upper thigh as you lifted the edge of your shorts to look at your wound. You caught me starring at you and looked up with the cutest smile I've seen in a while you said sorry and moved closer to the edge of the sidewalk. I asked you what happened and all you said was " I got hit by a truck on Canal street." and laughed like you were happy about it. All I could manage was "You poor thing" as you just smiled and laughed a little and said "Sick jacket." You were on my mind that whole day and I know this is weird but I've been thinking of you and i'm pretty sure I saw you on the damn bike in the city the other day you were cutting through 17th wearing some shorts a black sweater and a denim jacket. Before I could attempt to say something you glanced over at me then took off and turned down on 8th ave. I've never written one of these before and i know you'll more than likely will never see this. but Id like to see you and that amazing smile again. If this is that girl let me know the color of your bike bag and the color of the beanie you were wearing the day you were hit.
-Scottish guy with the sb camo jacket and beard
Your beard should always match your jacket.
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