I swear it’s like they’re trying to kill me. On purpose.

Riding my bike home tonight, I was riding in the bike lane on 21st near Broadway. A guy in a minivan opened his door (like you do). As I usually do when people do that (look in your mirrors before you open the door! Please!), I dodged, but it was just too close. I got half way around, but he finished opening his door into my leg. As one can guess, I ended up skidding sideways into a car sitting in (mercifully unmoving) traffic and ruining my back wheel. Which, just so we’re keeping score, means that I’ve completely replaced my wheel set on this bike.

In an unusual stroke of luck, there was a car with a pair of policemen in it sitting two cars behind the one that I was pushed into, so they saw the whole thing. In an even more unusual stroke of luck, those policemen were sympathetic to me. The upshot of this was that the cops were talking to the guy that doored me before I even picked myself up off the pavement.

I had plenty of time while they were going through the motions of reporting an accident to check over my bike, and as far as I can tell, the only thing that got damaged was my back wheel. Since the whole show is going on their insurance, I will probably be able to get the wheel set replaced. Which is good.

Still, let’s see if we can stop this, okay?

Anton Corbijn is one of the key image-makers from the post-punk era, so obviously, when I heard that he was directing a movie based on the life of Ian Curtis, I had to see it.

Here’s the part where I speak–again–about how awesome it is to live in New York, where the movie is playing at the Film Forum.

Control is crushing.  The movie tells the story you need to know, even without a familiarity with Joy Division.  Curtis is not a sympathetic protagonist, but he’ll still break your heart.

The never-ending battle between my cycling self and traffic continues.

On East 86th St. in Manhattan, there are several to many new buildings going up. When new buildings are built in New York, the sidewalk is blocked off and pedestrians are rerouted into the street. They are protected from traffic by plastic barriers.

That’s all well and good, until someone, say, me (just for example, mind), is riding his new bike (which is similar to this) for the third time along said street and is cut off by a driver and forced into a collision with said barriers.

(Just so we’re clear, the barriers are very much able to withstand the impact of a bike. Unfortunately, my front wheel was less able to do so.)

(Just for example, mind.)

On the plus side, I was mistaken for a messenger by a messenger. That’s pretty excellent, if you like messengers, which I do. Even if they are total nutters.

I saw The Darjeeling Limited on Saturday.

To start with, things like this are among the reasons I love living in New York City. Knowing that a huge number of good movies will open here long before they open elsewhere–if they open at all–is very gratifying to me.

The movie itself was quite good. It fits well into Wes Anderson’s oeuvre of dysfunctional family stories. It comes across as a bit strange, though, compared to the intensive melancholy that has increasingly become the focus over Anderson’s career. It’s much more manic than The Life Aquatic, and this is probably a good thing.

In short, I’m still not clear, exactly, on how I feel about it. The themes are the same as usual, but it’s so wildly different in how it goes about addressing them that it strikes as a bit weird. Nevertheless, it comes recommended, as does its prologue/part 1, Hotel Chevalier.