Bicycles clanging

Last week, I made this video. Being there, taking notes by Pedicab, I felt so freakishly happy to be in Portland:

Around 4:30, after practice, Jason Fromme climbed into the back of a pedicab and prepared to conduct a symphony. About 40 bicyclists stood parked before him, singing a "low, pleasing melody."

"All right, let's see if we can make something nice," he told them, and they set off.

The event director, Mattie Kaiser, looked part bicyclist, part musician, wearing a white gown and a helmet as she led the crowd. Kaiser's the head of Classical Revolution, a group of 20- and 30-somethings dead-set on making classical musical accessible for all. During Pedalpalooza, that means taking the music -- by bike -- to the streets.

The group performed "How I came to Chicago and why" while riding along the Park blocks.

Galen Huckins -- a 22-year-old composer whom Kaiser calls "Boywonder" -- wrote the piece after a cross-country bike trip two years ago. He woke up in Indiana one morning, determined to bike to Chicago by nightfall. The symphony is what the 144-mile trip sounded like, he said. It's the sound of countryside giving way to urban sprawl, of a body long worn out, of a bike's natural squeakiness.

Not that any of that sounds particularly gorgeous. Wednesday's symphony was more Portland weird than orchestra pretty. But the musicians were smiling the entire time. And the onlookers who stopped to watch the noise-makers riding by seemed to like it.

The cyclists whooshed. They rang bells. They banged on their bike frames with silverware.

"I'm not getting a good sound out of this," one guy said, clanking a fork against his frame. "I think it's my bike."

The street offered its own improvised melodies: Motorcycles blared by, birds chirped, a couple fought over a suitcase, a man asked for change.

To hear a snippet of the symphony, watch the video.

Portland Bike Symphony from Casey Parks on Vimeo.

Spring in motion

What I did this Spring:

Spring 2009 from Casey Parks on Vimeo.

Love the hell out of

The house across from Natalie's street is abandoned. But otherwise, much of what I loved about New Orleans was the same, including Jessica -- wild and electric, wearing outfits only she'd come up with. Walking through the French Quarter, a man hollered to her, "I love the hell out of that hat."

I did, too.

"We went to the swamp today"

We were eating at Cafe Du Monde when this kid next to us started making the craziest faces at us. "We went to the swamp today," he told me, then started making these flirting funny faces. His parents said, "Christopher, make a nice face" for the photo, and this is what he did:





Also, I don't love this photo as much, but I love this kid's ears immensely. After much persuading by his old brother, this was his good face:



I let him take a picture of me, and I, too, had powdered sugar on my face:

John & John

John #1 (John Hoswath) has been playing this long harmonica since he was a little kid. He's a retired chemical engineer who now hangs outside this convenience store with his friend of one year John #2. The cosmos opened up and gave them to each other, they told me. John #2 is an engineer of some other sort, he said.

John #1 played "When the Saints Go Marching In" for me then wrote his e-mail address down in careful cursive so I could mail him a picture sometime:








As we were walking off toward a junk shop, my friends pointed out this wig and a pack of Rave cigarettes lying near the store. I bent down to take a picture of then John & John said, "We know the person who wears that wig. Take a picture of him!"

Then they hollered into the store, "Hey, Reginald, there's a nice young journalist out here who wants to take your picture. Come put your wig on."

A deep, tired voice called out from the store, "Fuckkkkk you."

Reginald walked out, obviously not amused. He was wearing maroon velvet pants, pretty sandals and a purse. A few paper towels were stuffed into the top of the pants, and a big beer belly hung over that. I worried that John & John were making fun of him, so I tried to same some nice, "No worries have a great day" then headed off to the junk shop.

Hung up

This guy tied a hammock high-up between two poles on Magazine Street. He worried too many of his pictures show him drinking. It was 2 p.m.

Water rope

Hot as F in New Orleans. We found what Jess called a "water rope" and went to f'in town: