June 15-18, 007
Bayview, Potrero Hill, the HaightSF
ITEM! The Heavy Pedal Cyclecide Bike Rodeo’s annual PEDAL MONSTER has been confirmed!! July 13-15, 2007, at locations throughout San Francisco, expect a mutant bicyclist gathering of epic and idiotic proportions.
Black Label Bike Club (everywhere), Dead Baby Bikes (Seattle), C.H.U.N.K. 666 (Portland / NYC), Rat Patrol (Chicago), Chaingang (San Fernando Valley), Skidmarxxx (lotsa places), Choppercabras (LA), Banana Bike Brigade (St. Louis), Chopaderos (San Diego), Sprockettes (Portland), Cutthroats (Richmond VA) … I’m talkin’ to all yall. Time to buy plane tickets (or ride yer bike) to SAN FRANCYCLE for some ILLEGAL MAYHEM SO DANGEROUS AND MAYHEM-TASTIC I CAN’T EVEN TALK ABOUT IT ON THE PAGES OF THE INTERNETS WITHOUT BEING SUED BY EVERYONE ELSE WHO WON’T HAVE AS KICKASS OF A TIME AS WE WILL.
Ahem.
And if I forgot any mutant bike clubs I’m sure yall won’t hesitate to let me know.
yes, GORGAR the vain and belligerent urine-eating monster will be there. Tremble in your toe-clips
Also.
ITEM! Cyclecide and the Mousetrap and the Disgusting Spectacle all appeared on the Jimmy Kimmel Show as part of his taped segment on the Maker Faire! Takes a while to load the page but it’s worth it. (P.S. CRAP, I HAD NO IDEA THE EEPYBIRD MENTOS AND DIET COKE GUYS WERE THERE. That’s how slammed we are during shows. Who wants to join Cyclecide? We need some interns so we can wander around and look at stuff occasionally.)
So. This past weekend? Naaaa.
I didn’t go to Simone and Dave’s RoboGames/Combots (a.k.a. “Robot Wars” even though we’re not supposed to call it that because of some copyright issue but that’s what they are) — even though I had free passes because last year members of Cyclecide clowned for the robots and their masters in between battles, clattering around in cardboard robot costumes (the boys) and Beer Can Can-Can ™ skirts made of repurposed barley-soda aluminum. And Dannygirl went all the way, painting herself silver and walking around like a robot all day in a silver helmet and go-go skirt. Last year. This year, we were too overextended from all the see above.
A friend in the Vau de Vire Society / Xeno could’ve gotten me into a special Scion show on Alcatraz, in which they opened up a portion of the world-famous prison that had never been seen before, not even on private tours — the porcelain hose-down-the-crazy-prisoners room and the meds room. My friend played a junkied-out inmate trying to get his meds while a hula hooper went off in the background, ostensibly symbolizing his brain on drugs. And shit! The A’z were there. Yadadamean? That song gets stuck in my head about as often as the Trunk Boiz’ Scraper Bike track currently blowing up cyclists’ email lists.
So. The weekend? Naaaaa.
Tora and his rock’n’roll band Tiger Honeypot played “Double Delicious” at ArtSF. The show feted the release of SF author Virgie Tovar’s Destination DD: Adventures of a Breast Fetishist with 40DDs. So that meant breast-themed art, breast-themed food, breast-themed erotica readings, breast-themed history, and local rock’n’roll bands who very probably enjoy breasts and looking at breasts.
(This is the part where my dad, barely able even to listen to the events I’m recounting so far without rolling his eyes, would shake his head and bemusedly mutter: “San Francisco … the Land of Fruits and Nuts.”)
Even though I’m already a fan of Tora’s wife Trinity Cross’s Field Day Fashion brand clothing line, I only just made friends with Tora Thursday night, when riding in the back of the Waaahmbulance with a bunch of goons, going to the noise metal show on some bus somewhere in Potrero hill. I showed him the Urban Cowboy method of staying upright while sitting on the floor in the back of a van that’s speeding through the hills of San Francisco like the chase scene in Bullitt: Lean in the opposite direction your body’s trying to lean, and stretch at least one arm out for leverage. Just like riding a mechanical bull.
See? I went out. Thursday night. Another atypical punk rock slash crusty event, complete with secret meeting spots and repurposed vehicles and oogles sitting around on the sidewalk with 40s in paper sacks. The bus — was it a MUNI bus with a loft built up on the back of it? … whatever it was, it was awesomely ghetto — pulled up and everyone swarmed it. Short attention spans and the threat of a cover charge determined that we didn’t stick around for the bands to set up. Not when Lowtech was appearing at 5lowershop’s monthly jungle night at UndergroundSF for free.
That’s when the magic happened.
It’s always entertaining when a crowd of well-adjusted partygoers befuddles the Asshole In The Room into spinning out early. It reminds me of electrons and protons and neutrons all colliding with each other — the thing with the negative charge gets pushed away with equal force, bounces off something else, which also pushes it away, so it bounces harder…
One of the gals in my party fell victim to this asshole neutron’s masochistic attention-getting ploys.
“STOP GRABBING MY BOOB,” she thundered, standing safe amid a patio full of peaceful people smoking peaceful plants. Asshole neutron then drunkenly boinged over to me. Puffing on a Camel, he glared at her from across the way.
“He was grabbing my ass earlier,” another Amazonian hollered from a corner. Big girl. Brave dude.
He looked at me. I looked at him. I smiled.
“You’re That Guy, aren’t you?,” I asked him. “You just can’t wait to get your head kicked in.”
He smiled back, stubbed out his cigarette, and went inside. Ostensibly in search of other body parts to fondle on the countdown to the ambulance ride.
Sure enough, half an hour later, I was standing again in the same place, and so was he, and some girl’s boyfriend smashed a pint glass upside his head.
And rather than lunge for the smasher, Asshole Neutron acted as if nothing happened. While the boyfriend yelled, and boyfriend’s friends held him back, and the electron tornado swirled and grew, Asshole Neutron’s countenance morphed from surprise to ecstasy.
Fewer things are more surreal than a zombie lurching next to you, strafed and bloody, casually smoking a cigarette with pieces of broken glass pointing out of his face.
I mean yeah, I feel for the guy. I really do. We’ve all been wasted. But seriously? He kinda got off easy. If any of my male friends had been up in the club, they would’ve dragged him outside and used the sidewalk to ground the glass down into his skull.
But this way … it was sort of … poetic. Never have I seen a man be such a willing slave to his own self-loathing. Also: GO TEAM ALCOHOL.
What’s the point in going out for the weekend when the finale already happened on Thursday?
[...] cockroach to a shoeless hillbilly with overalls and a mountain-man beard and a corn-cob pipe two Pedal Monsters ago. Maybe I’ve talked about that in these pages before, now that I think about it, but that was [...]
wow – i liked to think that i stay up on the internets and all. can’t believe i’ve just now read this.
but now that i have, let me start by saying:
what a load of Total Fucking Bullshit(tm).
“One of the gals in my party fell victim to this asshole neutron’s masochistic attention-getting ploys.”
yes. there was a person that said “STOP GRABBING MY BOOB,” – i did grab her boob. i was fucking with her on purpose.
she arrived there with *me*. we walked there together after drinking a bit at her place. she and i have been friends for more then 4 years.
all those things being absolute FACTS, i’m guessing she was not in your “party”.
and yes – i did, lightly and playfully, slap that womans ass. she had just put her hands on my hips/top of my ass to move me to the side as she was trying to get by. we had all been dancing, and i assumed it was a gesture that it turned out not to be. totally my bad.
none of these things had anything to do with the altercation.
the reason for our argument had nothing at all to do with *any* interaction i had with any other person at the bar that but him. the rumor that i grabbed someones ass hadn’t even had time to spread to that thick witted (and meth’d up? that’s what i hear…) ass.
he got irrationally mad because i said he looked like the Tyco character from “Penny-Arcade”. it’s a web comic about computer gamming. look it up. it’s funny. it’s also fairly popular, and as such i thought he might have heard of it. again, my bad.
when he started to escalate, i suggested that we go outside, or perhaps even move over into the corner to be away from other people. i was totally down to fight the guy. i was drunk after all.
i turn my head to look out the door, turn halfway back, and get blindsided in the fuck eye by a tumbler glass. he was going for the back of my head as far as i can tell. guess he had just watched “the departed” and thought it would be a smooth move.
not a pint glass, mind you, a tumbler glass. you know – just to add to the compendium of total fucking INCORRECTITUDE the article represents.
and, to top it off, “boyfriend” ran off after blindsiding me. doesn’t really seem like he was being the big hero that you seemed to have wanted him to have been. by the time i was able to get outside (pretty much immediately), he had already gotten more then a block away, or at least was hiding between vehicles. guess he wasn’t ready for the follow up. i don’t really blame him. well i do, really. but you know.
word on the street was his girl dumped him the next day. guess she thought it was really cool too.
thanks for
a) completely fabricating shit
and
b) screening what you didn’t fabricate through the haze of all rumors i’ve found to have surrounded the *many* retellings of the events that night.
i’ve got enough problems of my own.
if i didn’t give a shit for the arts scene in the city, i would have called the cops, had them go to where i *knew* he lived at the time, and had him arrested. i’m sure that would have turned out great.
i guess thanks is owed for making a character in your fantasy.
i recently titled a performance “regression therapy for compulsive dilettantes”. how apt!
ps: we never spoke. maysbee you just talked to yourself?