Home Sweet Stuff

Home Sweet Stuff
By Meredith Rivlin
There is a man in Burlington who, like many residents, bikes everywhere. But he is not like them. He is a 40-something Jamaican man whose trove of possessions is attached to his bicycle. The bike’s frame is not a fancy one, like the bikes of Burlington residents: it has three gears at most and is gray or black; I can’t remember these details because it’s not the bike itself that draws attention—heads turning, cameras flashing. It is what some consider a collection of junk, piled precariously in baskets and tied onto the frame of his bicycle, questionably secure. There must be over 100 objects, vestiges, and relics attached.
I’ve never spoken to the man—Super Birdman, I think he calls himself. But I’ve seen interactions between him and others; tourists take out their cameras to snap a picture of the foreign sight they saw in a town that turned out to be sublimely familiar. Barely speaking, Birdman waves his hands up to lenses like a celebrity (and he is!) evading the paparazzi, and says “no” to the people hiding behind their cameras. He points to a sign on the front of his bike attached to a basket, next to a fake flower bouquet, a radio, and a small, round fan, that reads “Pictures: $2”. People are baffled and displeased as they replace lens caps and wait to hear the digital “ping” of their robotic medium. They walk on to the next scene available for point-and-click-and-delete-if-necessary shooting, declining the pseudo-beggar, the one who looks least pathetic and only asks for money when about to be violated photographically. So the smug family walks on to mumble about how he should get a real job, and that it’s just not fair—they’ll have to relive this scene with that damned language, those “remember when”s, instead of scrolling through their 21st century slide show.
Birdman is like any tourist attraction here in Burlington and like the other marketed attractions, there is a price of admission. Whether or not the Birdman would explain his kitschy collection or just pose (I wonder if he would smile?), only those desperate and removed and bored enough to pay the money for a photograph know. Perhaps he buys more things, or maybe pays rent for a place where he keeps the rest of his larger treasures.
Or maybe it’s for an empty house. A bed, maybe a few plates on which to eat. The rest is attached to his bike which he rides up and downhill, on busy streets and side roads, as he pulls a fast one on American tourists who think that their possessions define them as people. What is so striking about Birdman’s collection is that it is so portable. Imagine the weight of all your belongings everywhere you go, his loaded bike demands of us. Would you need the space of a large van, or would a bike and some baskets suffice?