I suggested circumcision followed by a month or two at Camp Kadimah.
It's fucking hot in Havenot, and while I am not complaining, I do have skin folding over and greeting other skin – creating moisture pockets and the potential for mould spore harvesting. And, unless I were to hang myself upside down, this appears to be unavoidable.
What's worse is the Atlantic Jazz Festival has begun, and this steamy city is full of culture-seeking morons sitting around sweating into their imported beer, nodding their heads like Parkinson's victims, searching for a regular beat that isn't there – and hasn't been there since Dizzy Gillespie died.
Modern jazz makes about as much sense as Mayor Kelly putting the kibosh on bicycle paths.
Now, instead of peace and quiet and a special lane for the NDP voters and students who fly around on push bikes wearing gauzy skirts, sipping fair-trade lattés, with no consideration or knowledge of proper cycling signals and rules of the road – we are stuck wondering if the hungover Philosophy major on the ten-speed is making a left-hand turn or airing out his armpits because he ran out of Tom's Apricot deodorant.
Don't get me wrong – before both of our mountain bikes were stolen, we were enthusiasts, for lack of a better word. But as crazy as the little bastard is making me, there's no way I'd let him ride a bike to Chocolate Lake – even for a swim on a stinking hot day. How bloody sad is that Mayor poop in the harbour Kelly? And, I love seeing optimistic bike stores like Halifax Cycle Gallery popping up – but commuting by bike in this back-pedaling backwater is a death warrant signed by city counsel.
Plus, how many times have you wanted to turn right on a red, but found yourself stuck behind an indignant, iPod-deafened cyclist parked in the middle of the lane. God forbid you should honk (and if heard, get the finger), or nudge them gently into the intersection with your bumper, so you could go about your merry way. Cyclists in Havenot are like smokers looking for a place to fill their lungs – then getting all pissy when they get the stink eye from passers by. I'm not talking about the skilled, lycra-clad riders who wisely head out of the city and hit the open road. I am talking about the asshole with the big blue milk carton bungee-corded to the back of his CCM, circa 1972. Get the fuck off the road and take the bus.
My suggestion to the rest of you – keep cool, and safe pedaling.
Halifax Cycle Gallery is at 6299 Quinpool Road, just down from the Athens Restaurant. www.halifaxcycles.com
Read the NS Government cycling rules of the road by clicking on the cycling women over on the right.
Give our silly wabbit Mayor the what fer, at email@example.com.