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Wednesday, April 11, 2007 - I've always loved that quote, taken from Kurt Vonnegut's masterpiece Cat's Cradle. This afternoon, I was headed four blocks to the west to visit my friends over at Blue Genie. I winced at the idea of driving that short a distance, and almost decided to walk. My bike has a flat, and I grabbed a studio-mates' bike and rode over there. I was about to wait for a break in the traffic to scoot across against the light when I noticed an unusual site in East
Austin - a blonde girl was walking to the same intersection reading a Kurt Vonnegut book. I stopped, and we chatted about his books waiting for the signal to cross. I wished her well, she wished me luck.
I pedaled twice into the intersection when the bike chain broke and my forward motion ended with my left knee mercilessly and inexplicably crushing into the handlebars. Kate, the blonde, picked up the remnants of my chain, and I gingerly finished crossing the street. Had I attempted to cross any earlier, I probably would've had worse problems than a bruised and swollen knee. A few hours later I got home, checked my email and the news, and the lead stories were the death of Kurt Vonnegut.
I went to kindergarten in New York in the same village he used to live in, most of my family worked at the General Electric plant in Schenectady, which was re-christened Ilium in his novels. Ever since reading his books for the first time while slumming away my life as an aloof art student in Kansas City, I've loved the biting, depressing and pessimistic tone and always admired his ability to maintain a heart and a soul.
So it goes.
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