Bike Commuting in Kansas City

Bike commuting in Kansas City is like wearing a cut-off t-shirt to the Sprint Cup. Let's just say dudes will be apprehensive. After work today, I decided to ride my bike to the coffee shop to do some grading before heading home for the evening. Latte Land is only about fourteen blocks straight north on State Line Road. Granted, it's a busy street, but side streets just aren't accessible from my building. At least State Line carries four lanes, plenty of room for everybody.

As I headed toward 89th Street, I heard the familiar honking from behind. It's not the "Hey, I'm behind you" honk. It's three labored blasts to say, "Are you riding a bike on my street?" honk. As she passed, she yelled something unintelligible even though her windows were down. I imagine was something like "dur-da-dee!" I couldn't tell what she said, but I heard laughter from her and the elementary school-aged girl riding shotgun. Surely this was a valuable life lesson about intolerance.

Certainly, this is not the most humiliating experience of my life. Lets face it, I'm a thirty year old dude on purple bike. Who am I to take myself so seriously. But honestly, "let's laugh at the dressed up guy on the bike?" An overweight woman lazily hurls insults from a car window. There's not even a slight sense of irony? Slow down for at least a moment to give me a chance to respond because, believe me, I could think of a few words.

But wait, what an asshole I must be for using my own legs to get myself to work and back everyday when I could be sitting on my ass consuming more imported oil refined by those impoverished oil tycoons. I don't preach bike commuting. But how foolish must I be, a lucrative high school teacher, for saving my hard-earned gas money and getting some exercise at the same time. How selfish of me to hoard two feet of space out of two lanes of traffic because the city refuses to paint a bike lane. I applaud you Kansas City drivers. Your adherence to the car culture is nothing short of vehement.

Tim Alexander

Here's an observation:

Tim Alexander can make my head bob with nothing but quarter notes on the bass drum.

My resolve:

To play nothing but my bass drum until I can make it swing like Tim Alexander.

Musings on Contemporary Jazz

Most of you already know that I am an admitted bebop fan. Swing is essential to my own playing, and I find quite a bit of inspiration from the expressive nature of bebop drumming. While I usually look back to the great bebop drummers of the fifties - Art Blakey, Max Roach, Philly Joe Jones, and Roy Haynes - lately I have been submerging myself in bebop's contemporaries.

My favorite contemporary jazz drummers have been Brian Blade and Joey Baron. So far, I am most familiar with Blade through the work of saxophonist Joshua Redman. My favorite work has been his more bebop oriented material of the mid-nineties and even some of his more structured, syncopated stuff, my favorite album of this flavor being Momentum. On this record, the band covers Led Zeppelin's "The Crunge" and features Flea on a track, though these aren't the album's best tunes.

Joey Baron has performed on a number of projects, but some of my favorite so far have been with pianist Uri Caine. Baron, in particular, uses every expressive element of the kit to play to the song while always keeping the rhythm interesting and swinging. My favorite records have been Secrets and Uri Caine's jazz renditions of Gustav Mahler tunes on Urlicht/Primal Light. These records establish a unique blend of bebop-style jazz with eastern European influence. These have been my absolute favorite records lately.

A Couple Deals

I should be grading papers but a post sounded like a good enough excuse not to. I made a trip to Half-Priced Books today. The intent was to sell some neglected books from my collection to make room for the pile looming above my desk. While the initial result was a clean desk, better looking bookshelves, and an extra fifteen bucks, I quickly lavished that cash on two comic books.The first is Nate Powell's Sounds of Your Name. I would be shocked to find this at any bookstore in Kansas City, let alone Half-Priced Books. Nate stayed at our loft a few times when his band The Soophie Nun Squad toured through KC. During that time he gave me a couple editions of Walkie Talkie. My apologies to Nate for buying Sounds of Your Name used instead of new, in which he would have incurred at least some profit. Regardless, I look forward to indulging in this "short story" collection of graphic works.

The second book is Scott McCloud's well known Understanding Comics: The Invisible Art. McCloud's book is credited with furthering the validation of comic books as artistic and intellectual works. This should prove helpful if I end up being able to teach a graphic novel with my sophomores later this semester.

While this trip was somewhat counterproductive, these are excellent additions. This is shaping up to be a good four-day week. On Friday, Debbie and I plan to attend the Khrusty Brothers at the Record Bar with Grant and Paige - or Peige (beige with a P) as my daughter refers to her.

Whatever Drops

Hello sorely neglected blog. Rather than guiltily thinking about how I should post, I am actually making sort of weak appearance. Prepare yourself for mediocrity and boredom.

I have a $25 iTunes gift card to burn. Any suggestions? I already picked up the first two seasons of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia on DVD the other day. Now I need some tunes.

This is my most recent tunage:

Bon Iver - Blood Bank
Johnny Cash - Johnny Cash with his Hot and Blue Guitar
Department of Eagles - In Ear Park
Tom Waits - Alice
Handsome Furs - Plague Park
Paul Simon - Paul Simon

I'm itching for a good rock show and a jam session with my buddies. For tonight, I will watch the final episodes of HBO's The Wire and have a glass of whiskey. It's only proper that the two be done simultaneously.

Heed the words of Tracy Morgan by living every week like it's Shark Week.