On riding a fixed gear in New York
I was riding across the bridge tonight, racing faster than I usually do. I had a good ride home—beating all the stop lights, slipping through the LES crowds, singing out loud. One of those nights.
There’s a hill at the entrance to the Williamsburg bridge that doesn’t let up until you’re over the water—somewhere at that invisible Manhattan-Brooklyn line under the East River. You grind the crank until your legs burn and your lungs heave. When you reach the peak, the massive skyline looms behind, and you just let go down the other side, past the sugar factory and the teenagers making out in the shadows. If you had a freewheel, you could finally stop pumping your legs and feel the wind in your face and end the day doing a thing you love—that feels part of you.
Four years ago, when I first started riding in the city, I refused to ride a fixed gear. It seemed like a useless, hipster trend and I was one of those lame people who protested against useless hipster trends. It also seemed unsafe, what with the no brakes and all, especially in New York. I was a freewheeler. On principle.
A bike shop manager convinced me to give it a try. He flipped my single gear and I rolled around the block (and fell on my ass half way). I was converted. Saved even.
People who ride fixed often describe a “mystical connection” with their bike. You move continually, with no rest. You feel in control because your own legs stop, start and slow down the bike without ever touching the brakes. Your body becomes one with it in a way you’ve probably only felt with lovers.
On my ride down the hill, I pumped my legs faster. I wanted to be in control just a little bit longer and own the street beneath me.
I whipped by two girls on freewheel, vintage bikes. They coasted down the hill, their long hair flickering behind them. I felt a cringe in my stomach. I wished I could stop pedaling.
After I passed them, the bike path was free. I crouched down, gripped the handlebars and nearly launched out of the seat, I rode so hard and fast.
I mean you could try to cooler than Gillian, but what’s the point?
Billy Idol - “Eyes Without A Face”
I feel compelled to sing this at karaoke. It’s probably only fun for me. Les yeux sans visage!
(131 plays)That new Lady Gaga song reminds me of “One Night in Bangkok”—enjoyable camp that takes itself seriously. Good luck not getting this stuck in your head. Does anyone say “concept album” anymore? Bringin’ it back.
Young American Bodies
Did you know that there’s this IFC mumblecore show about twenty-somethings called Young American Bodies? Four seasons of it available online in 6 minute installments. It pre-dates QuarterLife, doesn’t make you want to punch the lead, and features a lot more full-frontal nudity (ah lot—of both sexes). Same director, Joe Swanberg, as Hannah Takes the Stairs and Nights and Weekends. Muse of the genre Greta Gerwig’s (Hannah) in it for a minute. I’m only in season two, but I’m pretty sure she’s not coming back. It’s addictive, the annoying bits are supposed to be that way—life-like. After watching half, I think the editing is deceptively sharp. I can’t tell if the casting is on point or the acting’s that good (doubtful) or they’re friends and all really honest with themselves about their looks/range. The uptight girl could never be anything but— skittish and pinched and thwarted. Swanberg cast himself as the shlemiel. He’s mostly painful in his insecurity/lack of filter, but occasionally winsome. You could try to resist, but Mumblecore could end up our country’s/generation’s Dogma 95. Ha. But sort of. [UPDATE: 3rd season gets funny!] Gerwig on her working relationship with JS:
What’s your dynamic with Joe normally like, when you’re not estranged?
There isn’t a normal dynamic between us. Our entire relationship is based on work, and because of that, it’s sort of like we don’t know how to be any other way than completely intense and absorbed with one another. It’s never really been like, “Oh yeah, let’s just go grab coffee for an afternoon.” It always ends up with, like, screaming accusations.
I gave Nights and Weekends so many extra points for the fact that they were patient enough to wait until their hair grew out to show real passage of time—no stupid wigs or extensions, which is one step above the merkin showercap for when characters get chemo/buzzcut themselves in a fit of self-actualization/etc. But according to the interview, they actually just stopped talking to each other for three months. In the real world he’s married to the girl who plays Dia on YAB, who’s also a director, getting her master’s in education, and a fancy ice cream maker. Look at those fucking hipsters: Chicago edition.
rhino clit? yeesh.
Sonic Youth - “Bull In The Heather”
Fittingly just reading about how Chloe Sevingy ended up working for X-girl:
(309 plays)How did you become involved with X-girl as a teenager? It’s very convoluted, but I can walk you through it if you really care [laughs]. I was spotted on the street by Andrea Linett, fashion editor of Sassy. She asked me to do some shoots. Then she asked me to intern. She was friends with this woman Daisy von Furth, who is the sister of Julia Cafritz, who was in Pussy Galore and friends with Kim Gordon of Sonic Youth. So Daisy became friends with Kim and started styling them because she was a stylist—that’s how I got in the Lemonheads video [“Big Gay Heart”], but that’s further down the line. So then she was styling this Sonic Youth video [“Sugar Kane”] and called Andrea, or maybe Kim called Andrea, and said, We’re looking for a girl who’ll be naked in our video and do you have anybody? And Andrea says there’s this cute girl who’s interning for me called Chloë. So then Kim called me at home in Connecticut, while I was still in high school, and asked me to be in the video…That’s always exciting. Oh, my god, I was beyond anything you can even comprehend. It was so bananas, I was trembling. I’m still so nervous around her.
Billy Wilder on writing: (scroll past the kite-flying) “We get to the office like at 9 o’clock in the morning, you know like employees of a bank. And we sit there and we try to find something.” It’s not particularly sanguine, but it’s a treat to see him in writing mode, dictating with a fly swatter in hand. Watching him in color in Malibu feels like an anachronism somehow. Related: Wilder on pacing.
