
“City gives up on exclusive motorcyle lane” (G1/Globo). After one day, if I am understanding this correctly.
O guarda ele quis me autuar
O guarda ele quis me autuar
Me disse que até ia ajudar
O prefeito a se candidatar
E o outro candidato eliminar
O guarda ele quis me autuar
–Zebu Cavaco and his Cur-Deus Homos
I had a very long day yesterday, and the CPTM commuter train, plagued by delays because of upstream track repairs, presented a queue that reminded me of the line for the Magic Mountain roller coaster at Disneyland when it first opened, years and years ago.
So I decided to take a cab from an unfamiliar ponto.
This is a risky procedure, as I should have known, but I was extremely, extremely tired.
As a result, my cheerful cabbie got us incredibly, incredibly lost — I said Sumarezinho, not Sumaré — and I wound up paying R$50 for a guided tour of the entire city that got me nowhere nearer my final destination.
Which was: a plate of medium-rare miolo de alcatra, a lovely salad with olives, an impressively gooey heartland-produced cheese of some unidentifiable variety, balsamic vinegar and field greens, and a bottle of Mendoza cabernet, consumed on our big, fat sofa beside my good wife, watching a subtitled version of Scorcese’s After Hours.
Appropriately enough, given that my day was also all about misadventures in urban transportation.
At one point, I handed the cell phone to the driver, with my wife on the other end.
When the driver returned the phone to me, my wife said, forcefully, “Your driver is deeply disturbed, and possibly dangerously insane. Get out of that cab ASAP and get on the subway.” My wife is always right, of course, so I did just that.
On the bright side, during my whirlwind tour of rush-hour traffic, I was able to observe a couple of civic improvement projects that have earned a lot of attention — and derision — recently.
One was the sidewalk improvement project on the Avenida Paulista, the other a sudden mayoral decree banning the practice motorcyclists have of zipping along between cars in the endemic (pandemic) stop-and-go traffic.
See also
The incumbent São Paulo version of “Diamond Joe” Quimby of Simpsons fame is running for reelection. He has now reportedly embarked on a whirlwind, pre-nomination campaign of “one public improvement per day” to go along with a notable prime-time advertising blitz — including “back to back to back” TV spots during the Jornal Nacional and the prime-time soap opera on Globo.
Where is all the money coming from for those spots, anyway? We understood that partisan advertising was limited by law to the obligatory free political announcements bloc that the networks provide. In theory. (See also TSE Clips Toucans Over Tirades, Cancels Communists).
Anyway, as far as I could see with my own eyes, the spectacular facelift at the corner of Av. Paulista and Consolação, scheduled to snarl traffic in the area for months, has to date only managed to jackhammer up about 20 square meters of the distinctive, rough-hewn, black and white mosaic sidewalk. And has yet to replace a single square mm with the attractive and durable space-age compound the (rather fuzzy) proposal for the project had induced me to envision.
Meanwhile, even as the city government hastily withdraws an attempt to crack down on the, er, highly creative and wildly improvisational use — think Ornette Coleman or Mingus — of urban roadway space by motorcylists , I spot some hastily erected signage inviting motorcyclists to ride in the faixa cidadã — the “citizenship lane.”
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