Playing a little rugby at the finest liberal arts school in the country I sang that song with beer in hand while earning an anthropology degree to be put to use immediately in the food service industry then later used as a bike messenger later still at a small carbon fiber wheel manufacturer housed in an old Wallingford bakery heavily influenced by the aerospace industry followed soon after by a small nonprofit community bike shop in an old house in Columbia City.
I used to work in Chicago in an old department store.
I used to work at Mad Fiber I don’t work there anymore.
I used to work at Bike Works I don't work there anymore.
Yesterday Steve sent me this visual of a recent donation at Bike Works maybe you saw it on instagram like 18 hours ago but it brings back memories of sitting on a stool in a windowless room with semiadequate ventilation hunched over a Mad Fiber wheel that looked exactly like the last wheel and exactly like the next wheel grinding away with a dremel tool in hand wearing two pairs of gloves goggles ear protection and a respirator...
the other Tuesday I picked up a rather large box out in the 98115 and to bring it back into 98195 I used two long bungee cords to strap it on top of the cargo box. Rolling south I visualzed wind tunnel testing a cargo bike with a stack of boxes on top and it felt like this
finally, in conclusion, because I'm into product placement, brand recognition, consumer loyalty and buying locally I'd like to draw your attention to that slow boat water bottle from the Slow Boat Tavern in the heart of Hilman City.
Darwin was desperate for proof that animals wept. It wasn’t enough that houseflies hum in the key of F or that Dall sheep keep lifelong their horns, adding like trees a ring each year. Darwin wanted tears.
Being the only species that weeps was lonely, thought Darwin, dreaming of manic animals. No, it wasn’t enough that honey bees can count to four. Darwin wanted more.
Or less. Confess it— the reason why humans cry is the mess they fashion in comparison to the paradise they can imagine. Animals, if they imagine, must be less distressed by the severity of the disparity. Or maybe they have less disparity. Or less mess.
As to why Darwin hoped that animals cry we can only guess— which is a form of imagining, and could lead to the emergence of tears. Instead let us hum in the key of F and count to four or more. Or less, and know the aurora borealis as glimpsed through the fretwork of a construction crane is a metaphor for our brain and also an analogy for why we cry, all the while— like Darwin— humming against the immensity.