All Sorts of Trouble

A confession: I don’t usually wear my bike helmet. To fool myself, I say

not going very far
not going very fast
following traffic rules
invincible

Even if all those things were true, all of the time, they are completely unrelated to the necessity of wearing a bike helmet.

Well. This week, one of my co-workers saw me leaving and asked where the helmet was. She was horrified when I said “Uh, don’t wear one.” and then told another co-worker who bikes a lot and used to work at a cycle shop, and I got a very very worried email from him. And then my boss found out and called me a dummy. In a roundabout sort of way.

This on top of the fact that Shelley always has a flash of horror when she sees me getting ready to bike, before she squashes it down and we take off.

Alright already. I will start wearing my helmet, if only to stop having to explain how I actually really am invincible and thus have no need of such prosaic things as helmets.



Other trouble: the PMR is tonight, and so I will be hosting three readers at my apartment. And I managed to sweep the floor they’ll be sleeping on tonight and scrub the bathtub. I’m gonna try to convince them that we should go see Partyline at Irene’s when they’re done reading.

Saturday, I will be *trying* to get into trouble at the MSTRKRFT show and forgetting that I am not swooning before Kepler. You all should go see Kepler for me. It’s your last chance, and they’re amazing. Samir is one of my favourite songwriters, and [redacted].

Sunday, Jennifer and I are going to get tipsy drinking sangria and talk manners in the afternoon. When evening rolls around, a meeting with Aaron about the dirty days/time again/caught my eye project. Recipe for a good day: creative people, etiquette, booze, pornography.

[edited August 27]