Los Doggies

There is no more insufferable group of people than cyclists, even more despised than the vegans. Music theorists are a close third in the insufferability Olympics, which is held in Portland each day. My small town wishes they could compete.

One man can only be so insufferable, so I don’t consider myself a cyclist per se, but I do ride a bike all the time. I’m a bike-rider. I don’t wear shiny spandex, so I can’t be a cyclist. I wear plainclothes when I ride, although I do think this gives drivers an extra incentive to want to kill me, as though I don’t take myself seriously enough to wear shiny clothes. I understand the urge to kill cyclists, but I try to suppress this while I’m driving by listening to Ravel’s “Bolero” on repeat in the car.

Anyway I just got this new bell. It was either the hamburger or a very large doorbell, and I chose hamburger.

This bike bell is a trill of C7’s. There must be some kind of trill device inside. I don’t know; I don’t do my own research. Like the ancient Greeks, I just think about an idea, like say atoms or the shape of the Earth, and then set out to prove it post hoc ergo propter heliproctor et tu gamble. That’s Latin for “I read Wikipedia pages.” I’m not about to cut open my bike bell just to see how it works, because then I would’ve destroyed the thing I love. Nuclear physicists and vivisectors take note.

It’s good that my bike is in the universally pleasing key of C. Otherwise, pedestrians would be even more irked by my passing. Can you imagine if my bike was in the universally displeasing key of F#?