bulletproof glass

Michele just sent me an email about this blog which read:

update it.you have some things to say.say them.

Umm. Ok.

It's 1:00 AM Monday night. I just got back from an open mic at a bar called Fergie's, on 12th and Sansom in Philly. I played three songs accompanied by the drummer of the house band. We had never played together before, he had never heard the songs. But it went ok. Better than last week, my first performance since being back Stateside, which was less than stellar.

But the details of my music career are quite inconsequential.

Well, sort of.

I ride my bicycle through the streets a lot. I generally enjoy it. If I have my iPod in, I'm rocking out. If I don't, I'm usually either running through some of my songs, or thinking about riffs and lyrics and melodies for new ones.

So I've got an idea for a new song. It is called Bulletproof Glass. I conceived it waiting on line at the post office. A thought along the lines of "why the fuck is there fucking bulletproof fucking glass across the fucking counter at the fucking post office? Who the fuck is robbing the fucking post office?"

It was probably hot, I'd probably spent a frustrating day pounding the pavement looking for a job (speaking of, if anyone reading this would like to employ me in any capacity whatsoever, I am open) and running errands and trying to put a life together here in America. Easier said than done, and it's not even easy to say. Just looking at that sentence makes me cringe, makes me think about the DMV and other such sucky places.

So let's get back to the bike. I ride my bike.

In Sapporo, I also rode a bike. A heavy silver metal one with a basket like all the old Japanese ladies ride. I'd go blasting through the downtown area with the iPod on at all hours of day or night, in all states of consciousness, and never once worried about anything or anyone, ever. Period.

The other night I was riding along on my way to go eat Mexican food with my friends down in South Philly. I was heading into what was obviously a "rough" neighborhood. My bicycle is old, and creaky. When I've got the iPod in, I forget how much noise I'm cranking out as I barrel on and off the sidewalks. So anyway, I come up behind this black kid, probably a teenager. And I've got the earphones on but I must be making one hell of a racket, the old rusty frame straining against the tires, the pedals going round and round defying ten years beneath my parents' back deck.

So as I pass the kid, he turns, and swings. Closed fist. That is his instant, and natural, reaction. He does not hit me. He stops himself when he sees my face, when he sees that I am not . . . . I don't know who or what he thought I was. A threat, obviously. I mutter (or scream, probably, in order to hear the apology over Tupac, who I think was playing on shuffle at the time) an apology, pedal hard, and do not look back.

Moments later, I make a decision to get out of that neighborhood and onto Washington Avenue, a well-lit main drag.

Buddy Evan Young, a magazine editor and comic book writer and almost novelist, provides a startlingly accurate description of the smell of Philadelphia somewhere in the pages of his unfinished novel. I won't even attempt to reproduce it here.

The point, though, is that I would like to somehow figure out a way to describe how the streets of Philadelphia feel.

There are a great number of wonderful things about this city. Say what you want about the sports fans, but they are among the most knowledgeable in the country. The musicians at Fergie's pub on Monday nights, to a man (or woman), are kind, open, funny, welcoming. The art museum rocks, the traffic doesn't seem to bad, the skyline is well on its way.

But when I ride my bike through the city, day or night, I am afraid of almost everyone I encounter.

Perhaps I am a big pussy. Or perhaps my sense of what is safe is skewed. Perhaps I am misinterpreting multiculturalism for racism. Perhaps I have been living in Japan too long.

Let me ask a question. There is a lot of talk about rights these days. What we should be allowed to do as citizens, what our government should be allowed to do as a body. But in the year 2007, at the pinnacle of civilization and culture and technology and awareness of diversity, shouldn't everyone on the planet, and not just those in Japan and a few other countries around the world, have the basic right to walk outside of their home and go somewhere without having to worry about "rough" neighborhoods?

Travelers to foreign lands, historically, have always had to worry about safety. From the first hunter-gatherers all the way up. Fear of an unknown person or entity is a natural human reaction.

But there are very few unknowns anymore. At least not in America. We're all very well aware of whites and blacks and hispanics and Asians and other. We have a pretty good understanding of what each race is about, what they eat and how they interact with each other and how they get married. It's all right there in front of us everyday.

So why am I afraid riding my bicycle through the streets? Where does that energy come from?

Please don't tell me I've been away too long, that I don't know what "reality" is. And please don't tell me that it is only my perception of things because I've been out of the country for so many years. People who live and work in the city and have been here for a long time have told me which neighborhoods are safe and which ones are not. They've told me to watch my back, to be careful, to avoid talking to strangers. Somebody offered to buy me a can of mace, and somebody else told me that I should not be so "aggressively friendly".

I don't want to expand this into a broad comment about fear and anger and race in America, because not all the facts are in, and because I am not yet informed enough about these topics. I am simply talking about how I feel a lot of the time. And why there is bulletproof glass at Taco Bell, and at filling stations, and, as I said, at the post office. It has become, I suppose, necessary.

One final point. Living in a safe world is a basic human right. But often rights must come with responsibility.

In a word, the safety of our world is all of our responsibility. So, like, what are we going to do about it?