Qualified Impunity

Oh, I’m such a big of fan of his. You know who I mean, right? He’s an authentic renaissance man. Not the double-fisting turkey legs at your local fair renaissance man. But the sort of the figure who could’ve handled a bout of bubonic plague with dignity and class. The kind of person who can paint with true perspective after suffering through years of flat Medieval schlock. Had these people ever seen a real nose? This guy on the other hand - the painting hand - has depth.

He’s one of my heroes. He’s spent whole summers retrieving cats specifically from trees the Fire Department ignores. He writes thank you cards, leaves notes on windshields when he notices a flat tire, and never misses an opportunity to surprise a sad friend with an encouraging text. Did you read his first book, Out of the Frying Pan and Into the Friar? It details his transition from miserable short order cook at a highway diner on Route 46 to Carthusian monk. He went on to say very little while making the world’s finest Chartreuse. Naturally, he left the monastery soon after finishing his first bottle, but the experience was enough to delight readers (and monks) the world over. He’s the perfect role model in every way. Almost every way.

 

There is that one thing though. Before I go any further caroling the praises of this illustrious person, I should say that I don’t agree with everything he says. You have to say that sort of thing nowadays or someone might just confuse you two. He does have a few beliefs in his sturdy bag of ideas that are indeed questionable. 

I’ll come right out and say it: one day in 1997 while crossing 5th Avenue on his way to throw a rubber ball against Cleopatra's Needle for a self-catch, he referred to the fixed gear bicycles riding by as “neutered.” Thankfully, an ex-friend tweeted about it 23 years later, otherwise it would have been lost to history. Because without that firm evidence, he'd still be Monsieur Parfait AKA Yogurt Boy.

It’s harmful, it’s confusing, it’s unscientific. And it negates everything else he’s done. The paintings, the turkey marinade, all of it. There’s so much at stake here. I’m more comfortable disowning him entirely than risking the remote possibility someone may confuse us. Bikes aren't people and he knows better. Are there times on long rides when you find yourself talking to your tires and spanking those handlebars with gusto? Yes. But to imply that bicycles have any idea what it's like to undergo a complicated and serious medical procedure has no place in a civilized society. Does his tireless support of bike lanes and bike shares offset these hateful remarks? No and you can't let that happen.

 

Adults needn’t have heroes, nor nuanced perspectives. They’re much harder to paint.