|The food flies in non-stop, and the predators can't get in. Why leave?|
Thursday, October 23, 2014
Wednesday, October 22, 2014
|The lights are on at Copper Falls in Scottsdale|
Part 1 We are Strangers When We Fall
Part 2 So Soon a Patina Dulls the Light
The lights component of this new public art in Scottsdale were recently activated. In the early evening, they are bright enough to catch the passing eye on Scottsdale Road nearby, and, for the fortunate one stopped at the light in just the right position, broadcast tranquility of falling, splashing water toward the rushing crowd and roaring wheels.
|First add copper, then falling water, then point-shards of light|
|I'm telling you: a cold, clear winter night bike ride when all is quiet will be ideal for viewing and listening here|
The copper bowls, the sounds, the falling droplets in the light, waters I want to know you. The oceanic feeling far from any ocean that validates itself. I entertain the notion that if I sit her long enough, and if it's quiet enough, and if I calm my thoughts sufficiently, and center my attention effectively enough, I might actually come to know these waters. Hello, waters. The grace of the falling water, its even, relentless, peaceful consistency, I would melt these with my riding, I would make an amalgam from the stuff of point-shard lit droplets cascading on copper with the round circular pedaling of my steel bicycle. Tonight I make myself of that, and disappear.
Tuesday, October 21, 2014
|Me want bumper! Me eat bumper!|
Not today though. Today Bumper Monster emerged!
Bumper! Me want bumper! Me eat bumper! Cut me off, stop short in front of me, nom nom nom nom nom nom! Rawr!
All cars cutting me off, all vehicles parked in the bike lane, row upon row of neat ranks of beautiful bumpers parked at the mall, all so delicious! Red bumpers, blue bumpers, black bumpers like chocolate, plastic, steel, chrome and rubber, I can taste them grinding between my teeth, yummy yummy fresh bumpers just like mama Bumper Monster used to bake!
Expensive diamond plate masculinity-enhancing pickup truck bumpers are sooooo delicious, Bumper Monster drools to think about sinking his teeth into one and tearing it off with bolts and plastic flying, nom nom nom. So yummy. The foam inside them is so sweet and delicious, Bumper Monster dreams of opening them up and savoring their creamy filling!
Imported sports car bumpers make such a satisfying sound when I tear them off and eat them!
SUV bumpers I crunch them!
Oh so many bumpers in this city of cars and trucks to eat! NOM NOM NOM!!! BUMPER MONSTER LOVES HALLOWEEN!! BUMPER!! PLEASE CUT ME OFF I EAT YOU!!
|Oh yes, the rubber-coated foam-filled yummy bumper NOM NOM NOM|
Saturday, October 18, 2014
|Cartel Coffee Lab in Scottsdale|
|Latte, hot, with handlebar bag|
Those bags of whole roasted beans that we buy that have use-by dates six months out, or longer? That's utterly untrue. Don't believe it. If you could park an espresso machine operated by a skilled barista at the outlet of a roaster run by a expert, you might just catch a full dose of it. The coffee at Cartel may not be that fresh, but the roaster(s) and baristas there know exactly what I'm talking about here. They want you to experience that in a cup that they serve.
I discovered this about them when I mentioned to a barista there on a hot summer day that an iced coffee on such a day seemed warranted, but that icing coffee squashes it. He told me to try some of their cold-brewed coffee, and that's when I knew that they understand the essence of coffee.
|Cartel bike parking|
|Cartel Coffee Lab Scottsdale ambiance shot|
|Identity crisis resolution postponement: new cog!|
Perhaps sitting there more often, with one of those excellent lattes before me, will clarify that essential connection for me. Is it possible to love coffee? Or to love riding a fixed-gear bicycle? Of course. But try explaining either of those. Try spelling out the essence of those feelings. It might be done, I think. In the right setting.
Distance ridden: 10 miles.
Friday, October 17, 2014
|One guy with one leaf blower sure can make some massive billowy clouds of dust|
At a steady commuting pace, it's not easy for me to hold my breath for more than ten or fifteen seconds, and afterwards, I feel the deficit. But it's better than breathing in lungfuls of that stuff, I'm pretty sure. Some of the blower guys pause when they see cyclists approaching, which is nice/kind of them.
|The lights are on, the quest to see and to be seen continues|
And drivers notice it: on tonight's commute, two drivers entering from the right paused rather than cutting out in front of me because they saw me, while one oncoming SUV driver turning left stopped short of cutting me off because he also saw the light in plenty of time. I really appreciate that, after experiencing the contrasting SMIDSY nighttime cutoffs coming in from the right, and turning left in front of me.
That's it, week. Weekend, I'm yours, send me on bike trips wherever you wish.
Wednesday, October 15, 2014
|New public art by Robert Adams at SE corner of Scottsdale and Camelback Roads, now with falling water|
The sound made by water falling on these suspended copper hemispheres surprised me with its muted, subtle, susurration. No bell tones, no metallic ringing whatsoever, only the combined flow of streams falling through rectangles cut in the plate above them, controlling the direction and volume for best effect with the hemispheres.
|A patina begins to dull the light|
It's possible, though I don't know if this was actually the plan, that water falling through just one of the rectangular holes onto just one of the copper hemispheres might make a pinging or ringing sound, but that the phases and timbre and tone of all the combinations happening here, on all these different sizes, run together like rain into a tuned chorus of ssshhhhhhhh.
|Morning commute sky|
And in the back of my mind while I sit on the bench with my bicycle leaning against it, I will be thinking that new things like this just-installed public art remind me of the passage of time and aging as much as the old ones do. In the first post, I wrote about differences and strangers, backgrounds and cultural quirks, but these drops now are whispering to me about time and its measurement, a drop exiting the carefully engineered rectangles falling a distance in time t of 1/2gt2, existing in its motion and sound a physical manifestation of the passage of t.
We are strangers in this light because time makes us so, as when the falling drop strikes the patina of the copper and smears across it in the dulled light, and it, and we, no longer look the same. Drop by drop, day by day, the patina intensifies, also in a manner carefully designed by metallurgists for an intended effect. But while hydrology, acoustics, metal work, and metallurgy produced this effect here (against the din of the traffic behind it), this observer sitting on the bench is the random variable moving with his own equation with respect to t, and other variables that are my own. While I measure these changes and feel the flow of the years, remarking appropriately that so soon a patina dulls the light, I also smile at the passage, at the symphonic susurration enveloping me, noting that the light sometimes strikes the patina just so, to make it golden.