The Stitch

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As y'all know, I'm quite fond of Colin Beavan and the wonderful progress he has made with environmental education through his 'No Impact Man' project. I'm a regular reader of his blog and when I read his most recent entry I was infuriated. Well, to be fair, I was already pissed off about Dixie's idiocy, but Dixie Corp. isn't running down people with cars.

If you've not read Colin's blog, you can read it here.

If you'd like to read Colin's post about Senator John Klein's behavior, you can click this link to read it on his blog, or you can read it below:

An open letter to NY State Senator Jeff Klein, who yesterday called me a f---ing assh-le after nearly hitting me with his Mercedes

You're never going to believe it folks, but today I had another close call on my bike, but this time the driver was New York State Senator Jeff Klein of the 34th Senate District in the Bronx. What follows is an open letter to the Senator which I will deliver to him today.

I am asking Senator Klein to meet with me and the Executive Director of Transportation Alternatives, the New York City organization that advocates for bikers and pedestrians. Since the Senator has now had first hand experience, we'd like to talk to him about policies that would help keep bikes and cars from tangling with each other.

Bloggers and journalists, please feel free to repost the letter in its entirety (being sure, of course, to attribute it to Colin Beavan at NoImpactMan.com).

Readers, please email this post to every New Yorker you know.

New York State citizens, please register your thoughts on the incident I will describe below with Senator Klein and the leader of the New York State Democrats. I will give contact details below. Please also ask Senator Klein to honor my request to meet with him.

Also, readers, please excuse the vulgar language, which as you know, I don't generally use on the blog.

September 17, 2008

Senator Jeff Klein
Legislative Office Building
Room 313
Albany, New York 12247

Dear Senator Klein,

RE: My request, as a member of the board of Transportation Alternatives, to meet with you to discuss transportation policy as it relates to bicycle safety, carbon emissions, the cultivation of New York City quality of life, breathable air, and traffic congestion.

Though you may not know my name, you may recall that you and I met today under rather unpleasant circumstances on New York City's Broadway, just north of City Hall. You were driving your black Mercedes. I was riding a small folding bicycle and wearing a purple helmet.

To refresh your memory:

Traffic was moving rather slowly and you were heading in the downtown direction, as was I. You were in the far left lane and I was riding on the curbside of that lane, near your rear passenger door. Suddenly, you began to veer your Mercedes to the left, potentially crushing me between your car and the cars parked on the side of the road.

With nowhere to go to get out of your way, and to avoid serious injury or death, in desperation, I chose to knock on your window to let you know that I was there and that you should avoid veering further in my direction.

At this point, you brought your vehicle to an abrupt halt, not to avoid hitting me, but because you apparently needed to communicate something to me. You rolled down your window and said, "Get your hands off my car, you fucking asshole."

I said, "You were veering into me and going to crush me."

You said, "You better not touch other people's cars. You might find that touching other people's cars is more dangerous than traffic."

This gave me the impression that you were threatening me.

I said, "I think my life is more precious than your car."

You said, "I didn't see you."

I said, "If you're driving a car, it's your responsibility to see what's in road space before you veer into it. That's what your driver side mirror is for."

You said, "I looked in my mirror."

I said, "You should also turn and look over your shoulder since you know there could be a bicyclist."

You said, "Yeah. Well, maybe you should watch where you're going."

I said, "Where was I supposed to go? I was there. And you were veering into me."

I was about to remind you that, in the past week, two cyclists have been killed by automobiles in New York City, but you made a gesture which implied you considered this conversation a waste of time and drove off. That is when I saw that your car had special license plates proclaiming your membership of the New York State Senate.

A red light stopped you at the next intersection. I rode alongside you and, more cautiously, tapped again on your window. You rolled it down. I could tell by your face that you weren't happy to be talking again to this particular New York State citizen, on whose behalf you govern.

I asked you, "What is your name, Senator?"

You said, "Senator Jeff Klein." This is how I know it was you.

Now, the thing is, Senator, I don't particularly call you to task for calling me a fucking asshole. If the roles had been reversed, and I had a big black Mercedes and you came up in a purple helmet, knocking on my window, and I didn't realize I was on the verge of crushing your legs, I might have called you a fucking asshole, too.

I'd like to point out, however, that, as mad as you were about my touching your car window with my hand, you could double or triple that strength of emotion when it comes to how frightening it is to be on the other side of the Mercedes driving wheel, especially when that particular Mercedes is coming toward you.

Weigh it up: "he might scratch my black Mercedes" against "he might cause my little girl to be left fatherless."

Weigh it up again: One guy is riding a bike that weighs a grand total of 22 pounds and has a relatively small potential to harm others. The other guy is in charge of a powerful machine that weighs a couple of tons. Which person has the greater responsibility to watch out for the care and welfare of people who may get in their path, by their own fault or not?

As a State Senator, I'm sure you especially feel the weight of the obligation to look out for the welfare of others, no?

Again, this is not to say you did not act like many other humans in the same situation. But it is to say that transportation policy in New York City currently falls way too short of making sure that unintended confrontations like ours--and worse ones that end in fatalities--don't occur.

Proper policy, which provided ubiquitous segregated bike lanes or which limited traffic congestion, could reduce such incidents without having to depend on drivers of black Mercedes, for example, remembering to look in their driver side mirror or over their shoulders.

It is for this reason that I hope you will honor my request to visit your office, along with Transportation Alternatives Executive Director Paul Steely White, to ask you to reconsider your current platforms on transportation and traffic congestion in New York City.

As you know, the United States' dependence of foreign oil contributes significantly to our current economic crisis and is a matter of national security. Furthermore, the planet's future ability to support human life is in peril because of global warming caused, in large measure, by the overuse of the same foreign oil.

At the same time, countless studies show that making the streets of New York and other cities safer and more convenient for bicyclists and pedestrians would reduce automobile use, dependence on foreign oil, carbon emissions, and traffic congestion while contributing to breathable air and livable streets, improved retail business, and the physical health of New Yorkers.

Yet, until now, your platform has presented obstacles to the adaptations that might bring these benefits to New York City. Not only did you oppose congestion pricing, a measure intended to decrease vehicular traffic, but you proposed eliminating the tolls on bridges and tunnels into Manhattan on holidays, which would bring more traffic into the City and further encourage automobile use, just when it should be decreased.

I hope you'll consider that these policies are out of step with the current times. I hope, too, seeing, in the case of our confrontation, the result of your policies when it comes to impact on personal lives, in general, and the safety of bikers, in particular, might also give you cause to reconsider your position.

Policies that make New York City safe for bicyclists and pedestrians--the people who live on the streets as opposed to the people who just drive through them--is best, both for our citizens and the planet.

I look forward to hearing from you regarding my request to meet in person to discuss these issues.

Yours sincerely,

Colin Beavan
aka No Impact Man,
Board Member, Transportation Alternatives

Readers, if you would like to support my request to meet with Senator Klein or to generally register your thoughts about his confrontation with me, a telephone call is the most effective means of communication. But if you can't call, please email.

You might also care to register your concerns with his more senior colleague, the leader of the Democrats in the State Senate, Senator Malcolm A. Smith.

Be sure, too, to leave a comment here on the blog letting me know if you've contacted either of the Senators.

You can reach Senator Klein at:

718-822-2049 or jdklein@senate.state.ny.us

You can reach Senator Smith at:

718-528-4290 or masmith@senate.state.ny.us

I don't usually pay much attention to commercial television ads, but last night I saw one for Dixie paper plates that infuriated me so much I had to blog about it.

Before you read any further, take a little peek-a-doodle for yourself:

Now, let's address Dixie's utter stupidity line by line, shall we?

"I will no longer be defined by the number of dishes I wash."

Male and Female Dishwashers: When was the last time you defined your life by the number of dishes you washed? Have you ever known a single human being (apart from those who earn an income at it) who was defined by the number of dishes they wash?" This is quite possibly the most moronic string of words I have ever heard, with the exception of Palin's lipstick joke.

Washing dishes is like wiping your ass. It's something that has to be done on a regular basis or stuff starts to smell bad. Do we walk around whining about the number of times we have to wipe our asses? Does ass-wiping define our lives the way dishwashing defines our lives? Because if so, I'm going to incorporate the drudgery of ass-wiping into more of my daily conversations until Dixie finds a solution for it.

"I'm trading in my apron for something a little more glamorous."

Yes, let's do that. Because THIS is so much more glamorous than wearing an unattractive apron. Or, gasp, dishpan hands:

http://www.resourcesystemsconsulting.com/blog/

"I deserve a paper plate that's as strong as I am. It has to stand up to my grandmother's marinara without soaking through."

Ummm, maybe I'm missing something, but if you want something strong, why not use a *bleeping* ' REAL plate. You know, the ones that are collecting dust in your cupboard? Oh. That's right. Silly me. Real plates aren't glamorous.

"My children come first. It's as simple as that."

If your children came first, you would not be doing this to them by adding your glamorous paper plates to the landfill:

Photograph by Chris Jordan

"And I'm proud to used Dixie Paper Plates if it means fewer dishes and spending more time with my family."

This is the comment that most infuriates me, because Dixie is essentially saying to us, "Hey, we know you're lazy and aren't capable of reasonable thought, so we'll take care of it for you." If you believe Dixie's logic, apparently the only time of day dishes may be washed is when the family is awake.

My kids go to bed at 7. The dishes are washed after the children have been put to bed, so that the task of washing dishes never interferes with family time in our household. Using paper plates doesn't mean you love your family more. It means the folks at Dixie assume we're too narrow-minded (and lazy) to find a solution that allows us to spend time with our families AND get the dishes washed.

"Make it a Dixie Day."

Please, folks. Make it a Dixie DON'T. This type of advertising is shameful, insulting and serves as nothing more than a feeble attempt to justify the use of wasteful, unnecessary products through guilt tactics. It's appalling.

Let the folks at Dixie know that their new ad campaign is offensive and insulting to parents. You can reach them at:
Georgia-Pacific Consumer Products
133 Peachtree St., N.E.
Atlanta, GA 30303
(800) 283-5547 (ext. 5 for TDD)

Or read their tips on how to be environmentally responsible over on their website at: http://www.gp.com/

Everybody loves a hypocrite, right?

Pictures have been uploaded (from July, onward), so today I will be the typical MOM and bore you with (what I think are) adorable pictures of my offspring.

A few weeks ago I borrowed an idea from a friend of mine. We opened big boxes, put on bathing suits and gathered every container of paint and glitter we owned. These pictures are the result of that day. Thanks, Martine!

The new floor tiles I installed in the kitchen.

My faux marble paint job (Farble).

If she gets to wear ponytails, HE wants ponytails.

This is the face Heather makes when you hand her the World's Largest Éclair.

This is the face the kidlets make when you show them the World's Largest Éclair.

Me, with the babes.

Yes, there are moments when they both really love one another, and there are moments when they both have impeccable taste in shoes.

Ever have a one-year old dislodge, pick up and carry a 4-pound floor register vent over to the kitchen sink where you're washing dishes and DROP it, corner-side downward, have it land on your big toe, impaling the big toe knuckle so deeply that the metal corner is jammed underneath what was probably once the beginning of your toenail and causes you to whisper (ohsofuckingquietly because child o'three is within earshot) a stream of obscenities that would curl the back hairs of Cheech & Chong?

No kidding. Me too.

This has been One of Those Weeks where I feel like I'm a failure as a mother, wife, friend and everything in between. I spent the last two days trying to entertain my mosquito-nibbled children, only to have them give me that look of PUTRID DESPAIR AND DISAPPOINTMENT every time I took a step near them.

I tried washing windows on the porch yesterday, and while they're clean, I came home today to see Skye's crazy-eyed head panting at me through the window. I thought, "Now THAT is one seriously clean window!" As I went to touch the glass with my fingertip, my entire hand propelled straight into the enclosed porch. There was no glass. There was no screen between me and that effin' dog. He sat there with an expression on his face as if to say, "The bastard got away by a hair. A HAIR, I TELL YOU!"

The window was left open, and apparently the screen was in Skye's way, so he popped it out, and tossed it into the yard . A hastily-stuffed bill in the doorway told me that our fuel delivery man left in a big, fat hurry and may never return.

Elizabeth looked at the screen, looked at Skye's drool-covered head in the window, then turned her angelic face upwards and said to me, "Mommy, Skye has issues."

True that, my blondine spawnage. True that.

For those who missed it: I'm on Facebook! Feel free to sign up for your own account and add me as your friend!

Click this link to find Heather Piper on Facebook

Also - I've closed down comments temporarily. The Spammers were filling up my "to be approved" list with about 10 pages a day, so hopefully they'll give up and move on.

She keeps losing them and they are no longer assembled in front of her plate for breakfast, lunch and dinner. She seems to have moved on to bigger and better things: Torturing her brother.

She only wants what he has, and only at the very moment that he is using it. This has been the most popular activity in our household for the last month. We've suggested that she offer him a toy in exchange for whatever-it-is-that-he's-got-that-she-wants, and this is how it usually goes down:

"Adam, I want that"

"NEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Adam runs to corner clutching whatever treasure he has found. Usually a carboard toilet paper tube, or an empty greenbean can he's fished out of the recyclables. Elizabeth scans the room looking for something to offer as a trade, grabs a dirty washcloth out of the hamper, runs to Adam, yanks the toilet paper tube out of his hands and chucks the dirty washcloth at him.

Apparently this is what people call 'trading up' and I'd be all for it, except for the fact that it's frequently followed by a sound similar to that of seven thousand horny, howling male cats batting at your eardrum as Adam melts into a sticky gob of eternal sadness on the floor.

I'm almost ready to find the Pollies again, just to end this phase.

Elizabeth has reached the age where she firmly believes that listening to instructions from adults is about the most moronic choice she could possibly make, and as such, she ignores us quite regularly. It's like living with myself when I was 16.

Yesterday She, Adam and I all hit the grocery store to buy some lunch goodies for a trip we're going to take today to visit my broken mother. Elizabeth insisted on wearing one of her new tutus, which meant that Adam insisted on wearing one too. His favorite is the pink one. No, I am not bothered by this.

When we arrived at home, I asked the kids to take their tutus upstairs and put them away in the costume bin. Elizabeth grudgingly carried hers upstairs, and Adam tried to follow, but he kept tripping on the tulle and gave up in frustration. I asked Elizabeth if she would please help Adam carry his tutu upstairs, but before I could finish my request she was halfway to the kitchen, ignoring my request by closing her eyes and swinging her head from side to side.

At times like these, you need to do some creative speaking to get the kid motivated, so I spoke without thinking at all, "Elizabeth, if you carry Adam's tutu upstairs for him, you will receive a great reward in Heaven."

Bear in mind, I am agnostic, balancing on a fine thread of atheism.

I had hardly finished the sentence when she turned around, grabbed the tutu from my hands and started up the stairs - not only quickly, but cheerfully. Halfway up the stairs she turned to me and asked, "Do you think the reward will be chocolate?"

And every time I have retold this story to my friends who believe in Heaven, they have all replied, "IT BETTER BE!"

The new Ophelia gown: