I love David Byrne.
The Talking Heads were a significant portion of the soundtrack to my college years; Stop Making Sense is my second favorite concert film (behind The Last Waltz); a girl I was dated in college broke me and a friend into a RISD building to see him speak there as an “alumni artist (he dropped out); I played his building; I even caught him performing a concept album about Imelda Marcos and her love of shoes at Carnegie Hall. He also recently described better than anyone I’ve seen the joy I discovered this past year in biking around NYC:
I’ve used a bike to get around New York for decades. There’s an exhilaration you get from self-propelled transportation — skateboarding, in-line skating and walking as well as biking; New York has good public transportation, but you just don’t get the kind of rush I’m talking about on a bus or subway train. I got hooked on biking because it’s a pleasure, not because biking lowers my carbon footprint, improves my health or brings me into contact with different parts of the city and new adventures. But it does all these things, too — and sometimes makes us a little self-satisfied for it; still, the reward is emotional gratification, which trumps reason, as it often does.
Unfortunately, I learned about the flip side of that coin last week; on my way to work Thursday I hit a wet spot right as I was about to go over a curb I go over every morning on my way to work, fell, and broke my (non-dominant) left wrist. It’s my first cast. All things considered, I’m doing well, and will be back on my bike the second I can. However, at least for the next 2-4 weeks when my arm is in a long cast past the elbow (and very possibly for the 4 weeks after in a short cast), my blogging will be severely restricted, as one-handed typing is slowing down my life significantly.