Delancey "bike bus"

When my rear axle broke, that incredibly unlikely accident, it happened when I was coming down off the Williamsburg Bridge in the middle of Delancey. Thank goodness it happened when the traffic behind me had stopped, and not as I was dodging cars. The thing is there isn't a bike lane on Delancey, a straight and speedy through-fare that delivers Brooklynites into lower Manhattan. WIthout this little piece of infrastructure, cyclists are forced to weave in and out of the cacophonous car traffic coming off the bridge.

It was this, as well as hearing other less adventurous riders express their hesitation in riding in Manhattan, that got me riled up for this very simple demonstration organised by Marin with Transportation Alternatives. We started at the corner of Chrystie and Delancey, and once we had the light, we rode as a pack (aka a "bike bus") into the centre lane, where we coasted all the way down Delancey to the entrance to the bridge.

To our surprise, no one honked, the officers directing traffic smiled at us (we obeyed all traffic lights), and we picked up a few commuters here and there and escorted them to their destination. It was a really fun and positive awareness action, and I really wished I had more Monday evenings to contribute.

CONUSMED: Delancey Avenue, between Chrystie and the Williamsburg Bridge (Manhattan)

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If you want to get involved, they are doing it the 1st and 3rd Mondays of the months in the summer. Just show up at the corner of Delancey and Chrystie at 6pm of afterwards. You can also in touch with Transportation Alternatives for more info.

Inauguration tchotchkes

Kalin came all the way from Vancouver to attend the Inauguration ceremony with Dory. They left Sunday afternoon and returned late last night after spending 7 hours slowly making their way from DC to New York. They then spent another hour or so recounting (in part due to my insistent questioning) their first-hand experience of the Inauguration ceremony. And while the stories of the million-person crowds struck terror in my heart, a small part of me felt regret for not participating in person.

These souvenirs, if they should choose to keep them — a nametag, a small paper American flag waved vigourously on the National Mall, an unused DC metrocard, pictures taken with frigid hands — will be worth the memory exercise and bragging rights in the future when they recount their participation in history to the next generation: "I was there when the first black president was inaugurated."

CONSUMED: my apartment; Brooklyn

Lincoln Memorial

That *other* politician from Illinois will be inaugurated today. Perhaps one day, he too will have his own memorial, being the first black president and all.

It's time to deliver on the hope.

CONSUMED: Lincoln Memorial; Washington, DC

cover of Diner Journal

I've been trying to write a mini blog essay about how New York has changed my outlook on food. If Toronto was where I received my fundamentals in politics, and Montreal where I learned about the importance of community, then I can safely say that New York is by far and large the city in which I have received my food education. But the essay-in-progress is awkward and wordy and doesn't say anything new.

I was inspired to write the essay, however, because I kept stumbling upon this incredible cover (Click on the image to enlarge. Go ahead! You won't be sorry!) from Diner Journal, a small food magazine published by a local restaurant. Turning the patchwork of neighbourhoods into crop fields is many a New York foodie's wet dream. As one of the most inspiring images I've seen this year, it speaks volumes about the politics of food that many in the city are aspiring to change.

CONSUMED: at my friend Emily's house, then on the F train, then finally at Brooklyn Kitchen

Declaration of Independence

I was in DC with my parents for (American) Thanksgiving this year. And though I had been to the city several times before, I had never made it to a monument save that presidential phallus that sits between the National Mall and the Reflecting Pool. It was my mom's idea to take one of the tour buses that ran around to all the memorials at night.

One of the first stops was the monument dedicated to Thomas Jefferson, the president credited with the creation of the Declaration of Independence. I was standing there peering up at the text beside my mom and said without thinking, "It's funny, how this statement is still being discussed today."

"How so?" she asked. I realised it was too late to take those last words back. I knew that not long ago, my parents' church had a petition speaking against gay marriage. I didn't know whether they had signed it, but I did know my parents were firm believers in the faith.

"Well right now it's the discussion of gay marriage here in the States, you know, with Proposition 8," I admitted. I cringed inside.

A moment of silence. Then, co-opting a poignant quote from Animal Farm, she said, "I guess here, some men are considered more equal than others."

CONSUMED: Thomas Jefferson Memorial; Washington, DC

we hold these truths to be self evident

Call me a romantic, but these signs seem to mean more when they're posted in poorer neighbourhoods.

CONSUMED: Dyckman/200th St A-train subway station; Dyckman and Broadway, Inwood (Manhattan)

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P.S. Happy American Thanksgiving, everyone.

celebration

New York celebrated last night. With parades of clanging pots. With high fives and honking horns. With spontaneous amalgamations of people singing the Star Spangled Banner in the middle of street intersections.

Yesterday the world changed. And New York knew it.

CONSUMED: all over the East Village and Williamsburg

SAVE DOMINO >> VOTE OBAMA

When traversing the Williamsburg Bridge at night, especially using the foot bridge, it's impossible to miss the red tube lights glaring through the darkness. Lining the side of a building north of the bridge, they typically read "SAVE DOMINO" supposedly voicing the building residents' fear of the razing of the Domino sugar plant in favour of waterfront high rise condo developments.

But recently, the sign changed to read something very different.

It continues to amaze me that the building residents hold such solidarity that either of these messages were even possible.

CONSUMED: Brooklyn/Queens-bound J Train; Williamsburg Bridge, Brooklyn

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SIDEBAR: Get out and vote today!

absentee ballot

Monday October 6th: [12-noon] I call Elections Canada and discover that my original mailed ballot got lost due to an understandable misinterpretation of a handwritten "S" as an "5". Hesitantly, I ask if another ballot could be mailed (well aware that the election was happening in 8 days). I am told that yes, one will be sent out that day. [5pm] I receive an email: "TNT is pleased to advise you that ELECTIONS CANADA has arranged for a shipment to be collected from them on 06-Oct-2008, and delivered to you in BROOKLYN." I am slightly upset that taxpayers money is going to paying for courier services for absentee ballots, but mostly excited that I still might be able to vote.

Tuesday October 7th: [4pm] I go online to check out the voting history of my riding. Despite the fact that the Liberal party has held our riding for the past 4 elections, I was shocked to learn that they won the 2004 election only by 744 votes! All of a sudden, I realise that my riding is one of those contentious electoral districts! My vote CAN count if I want it to. [11pm] I arrive home only to find a "delivery exception notice" on my door. I frantically call the courier company and get them to promise to attempt a delivery at my work, as a redelivery attempt to my apartment would be futile.

Thursday October 9th: My ballot arrives! I quickly fill it out (voting "strategically" rather than honestly) and go straight to a courier company here in New York. I pay $40 to ensure that my vote makes it to Ottawa on time.

CONSUMED: at work; New York, NY