If I were to buy a motorcycle it would be a mid-70s Honda from the CB line.  The bike picture above happens to be a 1975 CB550F, which was part of Honda’s “Super Sport” range.  The 544cc air-cooled 8-valve engine made 50 bhps with a top speed of 102 mph.  They were competent bikes that handled well and rode smoothly for short to middle distance highway rides.  You weren’t going to win any quarter mile races, but you’d likely to live to talk about the adventure.

For me it’s the aesthetics that make them so compelling.  The simple bench seat, the graceful gas tank, the flat bars, the 4-into-1 exhaust, the chrome finishes, and, of course, those 70s color schemes!  Candy Garnet Brown. Polynesian Blue. Starlight Gold. Jet Green.  And, of course, Candy Jade Green, which is what the bike pictured above features.

Someday…

Here’s to living life, taking chances and conquering fears in the new year.

This is where my head is at today, thanks to a bit of overindulgence at an office holiday party last night.  I’m far too old to be out carousing until witching hours these days, especially when the next morning finds me jarred awake by a bouncing three year old boy.  Fatherhood and hangovers are a terrible mix.

“To live content with small means; to seek elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion; to be worthy, not respectable, and wealthy, not, rich; to listen to stars and birds, babes and sages, with open heart; to study hard; to think quietly, act frankly, talk gently, await occasions, hurry never–this is my symphony.”

-William Henry Channing

Or maybe it’s their gun in the barrel of a soldier’s gun iconic moment?

This graffito is written on one of the steel girders in the Bowery Street J subway station.  The suggestion it’s making is unclear. It may be saying do not, under any circumstances, acquire anything at all.  Alternatively, it could be read as saying that when one does buy items, one should only buy quality merchandise (i.e. things that are not “shit”).

The former rule, while admirable, is nearly impossible to adhere to.  I have no choice but to buy stuff.  I’d like to think I could move to a cabin and live off the land, but the truth is I’m not capable of that level of Thoreau-esque commitment.  (If I did go for the off the grid lifestyle I’d no doubt want an old International Harvester truck or at least some vintage Carharrt gear). I’m an urbanite living in the early part of the 21st century, and buying stuff is part of the bargain. But I do try to buy things that will last, which means I ultimately buy fewer things.

This morning, as I was getting ready for work, my three-year-old son Nathaniel requested that I play “Sheena Is A Punk Rocker.” He requested it by name, correctly identifying the band as well (The Ramones, of course).  I put it on, hoping he’d allow me to get back to dressing.  I was running late, and still had to walk the dog before I could leave.

“Louder,” he said.

I raised the volume.

“Louder!” he said again, more emphatically.

I turned up the computer speakers as loud as they’d go, and reported this fact to him.  He seemed satisfied, and ran off to gather his single drum and some sticks.  He returned, set up his kit and started banging along.  He wasn’t exactly keeping the beat, but he was dancing like a man possessed, so he earned points for intensity and creativity.

The song ended.  He asked for another.  I searched through the Spotify list.

“Do you want to hear ‘Blitzkrieg Bop’?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said.  “I wanna hear bitz keep boff!”

As the familiar opening chords of the band’s debut single started playing I noticed my son’s head begin to bob up and down.  At 22 seconds Joey Ramone shouted the opening lyrics: “hey, ho, let’s go!”  He waited a moment and then repeated the lyrics, under his breath, practicing.

Our musical interlude ended after that–it was time for the real world.  But if I can turn my son into a Ramones fan before he starts kindergarten, I’ll feel as if I’ve done at least one bit of parenting correctly.

Thanks to Spotify I’ve been digging back into the punk and post-punk bands of my youth (and a few I missed along the way).  I’ve also be re-learning the myths, reading as much about the time, the music and the people as I can.  This image accompanied the Minor Threat’s self-titled first album in 1981, and has since become iconic (Nike even tried to steal it back in 2005).  Turns out the photo is of Alec MacKaye, younger brother to Minor Threat front man Ian.  I guess it was just a photo somebody took at some D.C. party in 1980 or something.  Everything about the photo–the scuffed boots, the shorn head, the tattered trench, the trash in the background–says punk rock.  Sort of.  While MacKaye looks wasted, Minor Threat were the leaders of the “straight edge” movement, which swept the nation in the early 80s, preaching the clean lifestyle (no booze, no drugs, no sex).

So it leaves one to wonder–was the younger MacKaye not a straight edge?  Was the photo set up?  Or maybe he was just tired.

For the past six months I’ve been working non-stop on an interesting digital media publishing project with a fine group of creative folks. Gobs of office time, cross-country travel and head-down focus. But the project went on a brief hiatus, leaving me some time to pursue other endeavors. Yesterday I took full Autumnal advantage, spending the day hiking through a massive set of trails in Staten Island.

Yes, that Staten Island.  While it might sound shocking, the little island of Staten abounds with opportunities to escape the crush of urban life, thanks to the Staten Island Greenbelt, a 2800-acre tract of parkland and preserves. It’s not exactly getting off the grid or going full-bore backcountry.  But if you’re looking for a hiking getaway 20 minutes (by car) from Brownstone Brooklyn and/or Lower Manhattan, the Greenbelt is worth considering.

My dog Sophie and I put in a few solid hours on the Yellow Trail, which is the most challenging pathway in the park (in terms of climbs and terrain).  We started the day by bagging Moses Mountain, a man-made peak built from rubble dug up to build the nearby freeways (and named for Robert Moses).  From there we headed through Reeds Basket Willow Swamp, winding our way among tall elms, spruce and maples.  Sophie enjoyed every pond and waterway she passed.  We saw a few people, but for most of the journey we were alone, just a man and his dog, and a large bag of sunflower seeds.

I grabbed my camera before I left, but we were on the road when I realized that the only lens I had was the 50 mm.  As a result the photos are not panoramic.  Deal with it. The first photo is the view from atop Moses Mountain.  The rest are a random assortment of trail shots and failed attempts at naturalistic artfulness.  But do keep in mind–this is Staten Island!!