I haven’t been riding my bike much this summer. There hasn’t been a great deal of need or inspiration, plus it’s so hot, you guys!
Still, it’s bike time, and I recently found this unfinished post from way back. I’m honestly not sure when I started it; the troubles to which it refers happened as far back as 2006, and the crash that inspired me to write it can’t have been later than spring 2008.
It’s also worth mentioning nearly all of these accidents happened on the bike I had before Clangours. In hindsight I don’t know why my second bike got named for the accidents since it’s a longer-standing issue than that. I even recently said, in all seriousness, “Getting hit by a car isn’t so bad after the first three or four times.”
Maybe the issue is me?
When I was sixteen and seventeen and eighteen and nineteen and twenty, when I was learning how to be who I’d eventually become, I think it was safe to say that I was an idiot. Like the time I destroyed my wheel hitting a curb on the way to see Primus, then rolled the car back in the jack. Then the show sucked.
Anton Corbijn is one of the key image-makers from the post-punk era, so obviously, when I heard that he was directing a movie based on the life of Ian Curtis, I had to see it.
Here’s the part where I speak—again—about how awesome it is to live in New York, where the movie is playing at the Film Forum.
Control is crushing. The movie tells the story you need to know, even without a familiarity with Joy Division. Curtis is not a sympathetic protagonist, but he’ll still break your heart.
I woke up facing the windows, enjoying what little time I have to use my entire home as sanctuary. Outside, the bright light night was subdued by the ominous cloudcover, the same that had let it out on me and my eight million neighbors just a few hours earlier.