Public Frenemy

Mobile Arachnophobia

2010-08-18T09:56:00.001-07:00

I saw one only a few days before. The long-legged, black spider in the upper leftmost corner of my bedroom looked like an alien, and made me feel like Ripley's punk cousin. I screamed for 1/2 an hour, called every single friend awake in Pacific Coast time-- debated waking up those on the East-- then slept for the better part of the night with the lights on. If a spider were to poison me or dare crawl on me, thereby sending me to a faint death, it shall not be in the dark. I should face my killer head on with dignity, I thought. That Tuesday night was a horror, so when I saw the tiny white spider on the bus, my anxieties felt depleted. Though I was terrified, I was equally disgusted. Plus it was a baby, I could take on a baby couldn't I?

My first plan of attack was a swift kick to the side. I had already switched my seat-- second row from the back door, facing the driver-- from the window to the aisle. I needed distance and better aim. Once I negotiated the nerve to physically touch the damned thing for the milli second it takes to take to pluck it away, I acted immediately. My courage was attained, I felt proud, and triumphant, and winsome, and-- gross!! The spider jumped!

There was a guy seated in front of me the entire time. I dared not say anything to him, remembering not only how I acted just two nights before, but how most people act around spiders. Causing that kind of hysteria on the 704 bus didn't seem like a good idea at all. And what if he flicked it back on me? Gross.

The spider now crawled in his hair. I felt it my duty to do something, having made the problem worse. The courage took a shorter time to build since I had that shot of guilt and I went for Charlotte's head again. Nevermind the weirdo looks I would get from this guy until I got off at Bundy, I had to do something. He would never know exactly what happened with the strange girl who kept watching him, and did something to his head. He knew he wasn't crazy.

Bitch. The spider jumped again. On his neck. Down his collar. And in his shirt.

I am comfortably ashamed for my actions hence forth, but needless to say, I did nothing. I watched in utter horror and disgust as that thing crawled inside his clothing. Every squirm, swat, and scratch made me feel worse. How would that conversation go from there? "Excuse me sir, I noticed your squirming and am pretty sure a spider is crawling in your shirt at this very moment, because I tried to swat it away earlier. The situation went beyond my control. It pretty small if that's any consolation."

Luckily from there, I didn't have far to go. Spiders on the bus are not cool.

A Long Way

2009-09-25T09:46:00.000-07:00

Met an Asian couple on the train Wednesday night that needed some directions. I'm not sure their exact ethnicity and am not progressive nor familiar enough with the race to distinguish between Koreans, Chinese, etc.--I can only do that with Black people. Nevertheless this couple didn't speak much English and needed to get to Abercrombie & Finch. Imagine that. Travel a couple thousands miles to see wannabe actors with their shirts off and too much cologne selling you clothes in the dark.

I was happy to help; they were too adorable not to. Flora* the Latina behind assisted with directions and drawing them a personal map. To thank us, they took our picture. I hope they got there ok--Vermont/Beverly then take the westbound bus to Fairfax and walk two blocks south to The Grove. I'm pretty sure I was right and that they had to take the #14 bus--Flora and I had a bit of a public transit knowledge dual.

It's been long enough and I hope to write to you often. My bike is being fixed today and hopefully I will scoot home, though I always miss the chauffeur service and extended entourage public transit consistently provides.

Happy Friday,
Aisle Seat Rider

Dogearred, For Birthdate

2009-07-31T00:03:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday I offered my seat to a pregnant woman in the middle of the bus. I stress the middle of this crowded bus because this means that that same pregnant woman had to have passed over a dozen people able to offer their chair.

I was frustrated at my neighbors' inability to recognize the orange, cotton buldge pushing through their peripheral vision. Not until I spoke up, did a man directly behind said woman offer his seat. Preggo declined my offer a few moments earlier, perhaps pitying me and my millions of bags.

I noticed that when she sat down she immediately began reading one if those first-tijme-mom books.

I hope I'll demand my chair in the future when in her position.

***Dedicated to new pretty girl: Baby Girl Brynn! Happy Birthdate! God bless for her safe arrival and the health of my homie, La.

Welcome to L.A.

2009-07-28T21:27:00.000-07:00

If my morning commute today were my introduction to L.A. then I would not be disappointed--colorful characters, a cacophony of language, and an elevator reeking of pot. As my fellow passengers and I caught a contact, them waving away in vain, me calculating how slow I could walk to still make it to work in time, we listened to the end of an usually animated and loud Angelino's tale of a bus encounter gone wrong:

"...lady, I weigh 300 lbs. I cannot look out for me and for you, it's best if you not stand behind me. Then swoosh went my elbow."

Instead of listening to this rare treat, my companions commented on the aroma invading our brain cells. Swoosh the Hefty Giant then laughs and says, "this is public transportation; welcome to L.A."

A rider after my own heart. Too bad I can't stand behind him.

Ghost Train

2009-07-21T13:46:00.000-07:00

It's hot. Sleepy, tired, drained, eating only fruit and vegetables and chugging water like I like it hot. Not the time for the scooter to break down, but it's life. I've spent the last couple of days commuting back-and-forth via the #4 bus line to check on my bike. The journey took the weekend out of me.

Low and behold there used to be a train line running east and west all the way to Santa Monica. Aren't trains simply better in the heat compared to buses? Apparently, mid-century the folks over in Beverly Hills begun to have problems with the train and it along with some other awesome lines were discontinued and broken down to relics of the past. You can see tracks from said line in West Hollywood to this day.

Check them out.

Why the Library's Super Cool--So You Should Go Too

2009-07-20T15:30:00.000-07:00

My library book is late. Again. This is a childhood problem started from my very first check out--five books at least five months late.

So today, as I attempted to renew a book already two days late, I lingered on the homepage and saw the best news in LAPL's "What's New" column: Public transportation trip planning has been added to all branch library pages. Excellente!

If only I knew how to copy a jpeg or gif of an entire page I'd show yow how cute the trip planner is--up until it takes you to Metro.net's site for the trips. The design is clean and attractive and it's a fairly comprehensible process--just click on the branch you're going to or from then it will send you to a map. Click on the icon where teh brach is located then the "public transportation" tab. Sweet.

This is good news for the homeless, as public libraries and public transportation go hand in hand with their nomadic lifestyles...It's also the coolest free place to go in this heat.

Those in need of an AC unite! And make sure to take the ice cold bus on your way.

Example: http://www.lapl.org/maps/branch_googlemap.php?branchid=63

Coolest Party...Ever

2009-07-17T16:48:00.000-07:00

If you were in New York and friends with the east coast's biggest public transit enthusiast, then you would be invited to the best party ever: "If You See Something, Say Something." A party that recognizes and celebrates the awesomeness which is New York City's public transportation system--hard core in its pioneering efforts to scare off terroists and their nasty threats with melodramatic adverts.

Check out the info below:

IF YOU SEE SOMETHING, SAY SOMETHING.
--------------------
Subject: Orange Alert

We're serious about bringing a suspicious package!!

As you know, spitting, littering and radio playing is not allowed, but you can always bring a package with booze!
The MTA loves booze (have you ever talked to a bus driver after 7pm on a Friday night?)

Going your way...

With love from the token booth,
Andrea & Patrick

See what the bus & train inspires you to do. Have a great weekend!

Things To Do On the Way to The Train, Part I

2009-07-14T14:26:00.000-07:00

People who take public transportation are layered commuters. While drivers do, in fact, take advantage of their freedom and time in their own vehicle, bus takers and train catchers, do so with style.

Introducing the stoner. These "medicated" commuters have perfected the walk and roll. People like Marco*, a fellow industry kid who works in the same building as I, enjoys walking to the train so he can "smoke a joint."

Marco prefers long walks to the trains as opposed to long waits on the bus to the train. You can find him at the Universal Studios station, heading south. He's cute and on a whole other level.

Subway Ad Fashion

2009-07-10T16:47:00.000-07:00

Ever think those all-too-familiar signs on your local subway or bus would be made into a cool t-shirt? Well, if you're in New York, you can wonder no more. Fulana, a NYC based video collective of four, Latina artists have created a way to promote fear mongering outside the city's subway system. Now, "If You See Something, Say Something" anywhere--to bed, on the beach, as a day-trip souvenir, to the laundry room, or at your next hipster party.

Buy t-shirts here. Enjoy.

*Shout out to Andrea MC...thanks for the link.

7th & Metro

2009-07-07T17:08:00.000-07:00

To all the lucky Angelinos and transplants in L.A. who got to attend the Michael Jackson Memorial, I hope you took the train.

Rest in peace, Michael Joseph Jackson. You will be missed.

"...never can say goodbye."

"This [Sad] Day in History"

2009-07-07T14:48:00.000-07:00

Four years ago, terrorist triggered a series of bombs throughout London's public transportation system. Known as The 7/7 Bombings, this tragic event, involving three underground trains and a bus, caused 52 deaths--including the four bombers--and approximately 700 injured.

Impacted when reading casualty biographies, mapping various ages, nationalities, and lives of those deceased, I am reminded of life--it's frailty, it's diversity, and the mechanisms which transport us to the next day together. As illustrated in a few of the descriptions below, you will see how nothing's ever promised. Even on the train.

Samantha Badham, 36, had taken the Tube with her husband of 14 years Lee Harris. The couple usually cycled to work but caught the Tube because they were planning a romantic dinner to celebrate their 14th wedding anniversary.

Karolina Gluck, 29, from Poland, said goodbye to boyfriend Richard Deer, 28, at 8.30am. The IT consultant was travelling from Finsbury Park tube to Russell Square.

Ganze Gunoral, 24, a Turkish student, left her aunt’s house in north London to catch the tube to go to her language college in Hammersmith.

Helen Jones, 28, a London-based accountant who survived the Lockerbie Bombing. Her family, from Annan in the Scottish Borders, said: "Helen will live on in the hearts of her family and her many, many friends".

Richard Ellery, 21, was travelling from his home in Ipswich to his job in the Jessops store in Kensington, via Liverpool Street Station. He texted his parents, Beverley and Trevor, at 8.30am to say he was on his way to work.

Anthony Fatayi-Williams, 26, an Nigerian-born executive with an oil and gas company based in Old Street, had been living in the UK for eight years.

Anat Rosenburg, 39, an Israeli-born charity worker who called her boyfriend to tell him she was on the Number 30 bus, moments before the blast. John Falding, 62, her boyfriend, said: "She was afraid of going back to Israel because she was scared of suicide bombings on buses".

Gladys Wundowa, 50, from Ilford in Essex, a cleaner at University College London. She had finished her shift and was heading to a college course in Shoreditch. The coroner has given permission for her body to be taken to her homeland of Ghana for burial.

The first three train bombs began at 8:50 a.m. within fifty seconds of each other and the bus exploded at 9:47 a.m.

Did You Feed the Cat?

2009-07-06T15:56:00.000-07:00

Because it's been a while, I thought I'd write two entries. I left Zeke at my job Thursday evening, so today I caught the bus to work. Never a dull moment in Hollywood. I ended up sitting across some delusional tweeker* who asked me, among other random things, "did you feed the cat?"

"Yes," I replied. I couldn't think of anything else to say. Oh the bus!

*Word borrowed from The Bay.

Trolleys: Transit or Bullshit?

2009-07-06T11:40:00.000-07:00

Neither. Before I went to San Francisco I envisioned myself riding a trolley uphill admiring the view--while enjoying an ice-cream sandwich of course. For the latter, I was not disappointed. San Francisco breathes. Beyond its seven-mile radius it and it's surrounding cities enjoy an ominous, almost frighteningly beautiful view of nature, daily (pictures will never give a sunset in the fog it's due justice). The trolley, a San Francisco icon and public transit classic, was disappointing on the other hand. I avoided the fanny pack crowd and chose to walk to my view instead. Perhaps next time, when it's not a holiday weekend.

In 1869, after a five-horse accident (imagine that on your morning commute) Andrew Hallidie used his British know-how to make transit safer uphill. Wire rope, typically used for bridge suspension, turned out to be the key. The cable car system is now mainly a tourist attraction, underused and soon-to-be moving advertisement.

After 140 years untouched, these moving museums will have advertisements plastered across their shells and most likely promote McDonald's and Coco-Cola instead of the many charming local shops and businesses. Sadness all around.

Surely, it will take away from the city's charm. Money and most recently this horrid recession bites a bit more from the soul of our nation--public transportation included.

BART: Bikes Assed Out

2009-07-03T09:46:00.000-07:00

I'm in The Bay! Home of crunchy granola hippies, the freshest herbs, and the convenient, user friendly BART train. Made famous recently by a gun friendly cop. Sorry BART, that's my only association.

Getting there from the San Francisco International Airport was "hella" easy- A+ and the fare system, similar to Washington, DC's was comprehensive. You pay according to destination and starting point, meaning various fares mapped out neatly on a chart beside the fare machine. I paid my $8.30 to get to West Oakland and hopped on the Pittsburg/Bay Point bound train quickly and easily. People were even friendly when reassuring me that I was on the right train. A++

I actually slept through most of my commute--long day at work-- until I woke up to a crowd of passengers in the heart of San Francisco and the announcer repeating: "All bicycle passengers, DO NOT GET ON THIS TRAIN. It is too crowded."

I thought it hilarious how he singled them out, repeatedly then took a picture of a stowaway.

Pictures coming soon!

Act Now - I'll Write Later

2009-05-29T10:46:00.000-07:00

Shame on me, it's been two weeks--and this isn't much of an article too, but I've failed to spread the word on this organization for a while and I need to share:

"Would you believe that the United States of America has no overarching strategy that determines when, how, or where transportation dollars are spent? No plan. No vision. No goal. Senators Lautenberg and Rockefeller are ready to change that. Their bill sets a bold new vision for federal transportation policy and is in line with our goals for reform: building a cleaner, smarter, safer system that provides more travel choices for all Americans.

But their bill - and real reform - needs the support of many more senators to become the law of the land. Ask yours to become cosponsors of the Transportation Policy and Planning Act of 2009 today."

Check out Transportation for America's website for more info and to take action.

P.S. I'm riding to Long Beach tonight on the blue line train, so looking forward to the Friday night transit madness. Giving Zeke a rest, as it is cold and rainy in L.A. today.

Liquid Incentive

2009-05-15T19:51:00.000-07:00

Someone's got the hint:

$1 cocktail with Metro ticket at La Grande Orange
La Grande Orange
Map data ©2009 Tele Atlas - Terms of Use
$1 cocktail with Metro ticket at La Grande Orange
260 S. Raymond Ave.
Pasadena, CA 91105
626-356-4444

Event Phone Number:
626-356-4444

La Grande Orange Café in Pasadena is currently rewarding diners who arrive with their Metro stub a $1 cocktail. This metro deal is available only for the first drink and includes signature cocktails, beer, wine and their famous white wine sangria. LGO is housed in the Sante Fe train depot in Pasadena and is adjacent to the Del Mar Metrolink station, so it is a convenient choice to go green. If you are looking for bites to pair with your dollar cocktails, classics like home made deviled eggs topped with bacon and new style sashimi in a green chile ponzu sauce are perfect accompaniments.

...If only bars closer would read the memo on the awesomeness of public trans. Happy Friday!

The Binto

2009-05-14T14:20:00.000-07:00

This morning, savoring the lull of waiting, I asked my neighbor for a lighter. We were standing on the 156 bus stop on Highland & Hollywood, and we've done so many times before. Francis and I work in a huge, impersonal building in Studio City where we cross paths often, but have never formally met. Aside from the brief smile of acknowledgment, today was the only time we spoke to one another.

The conversation was brief.

Drastically different from my pow-wow with another building mate whom I shared a bus and train ride with last night, Francis offered nothing of herself, besides her name and "your welcome." My poly-amorous attitude is a major factor in this blog's sustainability. Before I bought the scooter, I talked to people regularly. Now I guess I more L.A.--metaphorically.

Francis and I rode home daily on the 6:03 pm or 6:27 pm bus. I looked forward to getting to know her eventually, considering our semblance in age and habit. More importantly, however, being single in L.A. I welcome platonic friendships and the reinforcing energy of more girlfriends. Men are easy to meet, but they never want to be just friends. A new job, in a new part of town means new prospects for a least a lunch mate.

My public commuting is limited now and the opportunities for human interaction depleted. Tomorrow will be my last day on the bus, and I actually miss my scooter.

As we got off at our stop I complimented her shoes. My lasting effort to pull out a conversation failed and we were back in the building without another word. Either the scooter made more than my legs rusty, or if I want company for lunch, then it's strictly with the homeless.

Back to You

2009-05-13T10:27:00.000-07:00

Someone stole my helmet. While checking out a studio in K-Town I decided to leave my $50 helmet--a haggled price--in the basket. It was safe on Alexandria, Kenmore, and Virgil, but on 7th and Wilshire Center my helmet was just a grab away for devious passerby. Silly me. Needless to say, I'm not following up with that place. Neighborhood's not what it used to be.

So today I rode the bus. Throw the confetti and blow your horns, I'm riding in style--happy to be chauffeured around L.A. County with a public entourage (silver linings are crucial).

Since I was enjoying my brand of commuter fun, I decided to indulge more and walk to train station, instead of catching the bus. Surprisingly, as my rusty legs moved about they began to tingle then itch, uncontrollably. I'm too young to be this out of shape. Only in the starting pace of my 25-minute walk my muscle spasms created an itch I could not resist scratching and I reopened a near-healed scab on my chin.

Finally, I boarded the North Hollywood Train, itchy from my bloodied journey. After not finding anything in my ten-pound bag, I asked a lady beside me for a tissue. Of course, people are people and she immediately said no. A few moments later, however, my insistent scratching and smearing of blood made her uncomfortable, so she checked this time. Magically, like the perfect bloom, a large wad of tissue unfurled from the top of her purse as soon as it opened.

Welcome back MTA (at least until the end of the week when I get a new helmet). I'll enjoy all of your goodness.

Out Run/ In Time

2009-05-08T10:34:00.000-07:00

Dedicated to my mother, who wouldn't let us miss the bus.

When I was six years old my mother scarred me stiff. Living in Coppin Heights at the time, we left promptly at 6 a.m. daily to commute across town, via the #91 bus. With two small children that could have been a problem, but not for my mother. On time is late for Debbie, so we got there early--extra early-- every morning.

Life happens with children, and on that particular day we were late.

As the bus pulled off downhill, mother and two children followed behind. Unfortunately, my brother and I's preschool legs weren't fast enough, so our mother took off. Debbie, former track star athlete--220 & 100 meter hurdles--caught the bus then disappeared inside.

Holding my little brother's hand, pitiful with fear, I stopped running and started crying. "She left us," I thought.

But the bus was still there, and my six year old mind didn't realize it until her head popped out the front door. "Come on!" my mother yelled. She was holding the bus for us. The other passengers, unaware of the children behind, dissolved all frustration when we boarded.

I sat happily next to her on that ride. No longer groggy from the morning, but renewed with love for my track & field star mom. I thought I lost her and she reappeared, holding time, space, and patience.

Platform Lovah

2009-05-07T15:21:00.000-07:00

"There you are again/ with the same smile each day/ I wanna know what it is to make you feel this way..."

Of all the places, work and school included, the only setting I can see Jodeci admiring a beautiful woman in this way, is on a bus stop or train platform. "Come and Talk to Me," the 1992 New Jack Swing hit, is laced with public transit fantasies--and a personal favorite.

Last year, a Baltimore bus driver, who I had been admiring, reminded of the song. I looked forward to his daily flirtations and always felt surprised when he opened the door. His dark tinted sunglasses and casual posture felt ironic considering his blue-collar position. He definitely drove like it was his ride and not the #5.

As a substitute teacher and freelancer elsewhere, I had a revolving schedule. Often, I saw the same person each day, like Mr. Irony, for a few days or weeks then no more. Suddenly, seeing someone new with the same smile each day, does make you wonder what it feels to make them feel that way. I just wished I could grab him and tell him--let me get on this one free.

It may have worked.

Looking back at the actual video for "Come and Talk to Me," I'm glad I never bothered. Aside from the heavy handed lighting, and dulling simplicity, they missed an awesome opportunity to make a haute stalker/crush video--yes, on the bus.

Sliding Thought

2009-05-06T17:24:00.000-07:00

I met Damon in April on the Wilshire/Vermont train. Thirty-minutes prior I was crying on the phone with my mother, desperately wanting to go home. Los Angeles is the city that broke me and I'm currently in the process of rebuilding. Later on, iPod shuffle understood my pain and I found myself lost in song, lip-synching to Prince's "Purple Rain."

That's when he saw me and I was pleased with his stare. Until that particular moment, I was convinced that men both charming and attractive, could not exist in a L.A. Damon's from the Tar Heel State.

We've seen each other a few times since then.

And now, I wish I left it alone. What could've been simply a blog entry and memory of a beautiful stranger, is now an addition to my list of disappointments in L.A. (Fall, maybe Winter 2010 is my deadline for this city). Damon's done nothing to me. No horrible past or secrecy, no dishonesty-- just life. I learned now that it may sometimes be best not to get a souvenir when you go somewhere.

If that blog was written, in a "Sliding Doors" kind of world, a different Aisle Seat Rider would be writing to you now. I could've ended the conversation and continued with "Purple Rain" or I could've never text him my number for that Saturday date. Unfortunately, food is the key to my heart and lunch on a beautiful day was too enticing to pass.

Like the train, decisions are made rapidly and frequently and they take us into various directions each day. Damon says he likes my writing and always means to check my blog. Luckily he keeps forgetting the address.

Anyway, he'll be gone before it gets too hot, and before I can forget him.

Freight Risk

2009-04-29T19:46:00.000-07:00

In spite of my life-style change to scooterhood (which I have been enjoying, but a bit reluctantly) I will continue to post about public transit, but with more indirect entries. Adventures from my own commute with continue, but on a weekly basis instead. I will not abandon public transit completely. Damn you, California.

Speaking of California, Los Angeles is a lonely city. I have concluded with my almost eight month experience that the weather, which everyone claims "you can't beat," is simply a environmental incentive to help newcomers cope with the wackness that is L.A* You need the sun here to keep you from remembering that you haven't exercised your legs in forever, or talked to anyone not at work for days. This vast, sprawling sedative of a city is designed for escapees, and I'm kinda ready to go home.

In the meantime, I'm reminded of what lonely people often crave during their solitary hours. And it would be great if it can happen something like this, in the setting of my kinda of place. I never had this much fun on the L Train.

Shut out to the fab public transit in Chi-town and to movies with great scenes on trains & buses!

*Note that I referred only to "the wackness" of L.A. and did not say that the city itself was wack. I respect city pride.

Subways Series

2009-04-28T15:33:00.000-07:00

I miss New York. I miss delis with affordable, good food--accessible and plentiful everywhere. I miss contact with people. I miss not being weird for walking three blocks or more. But near the top of my list, I miss the subway. I try not to compare NYC's public transportation system to other cities, because it's simply unfair, but I'm certain, you know that just as much as I.

Manhattan is the main hub of New York City, and heart of the train system. It's also only an island, small yet overflowing with fast moving options that run frequently and far beyond its immediate waters. On top of this, to an extent, the public transportation system in New York equalizes social divides. Everyone rides the train, from the Upper East Side to Washington Heights.

Needless to say, I was pleasantly surprised then delighted to learn about "Subway Stories"--nostalgia satisfied. What began as a 1997 contest of real-life subway experiences, turned into an HBO film with critical success; star studded performances, including nineties favorite, Rosie Perez, coupled with writers and esteemed, pioneering directors.

Unfortunately, HBO, which produced this lovely idea, was not quite ready for the entertainment value of public transportation (sigh). Instead, they flushed their own baby down the toilet and straight to VHS. Luckily, for the later generations, we have Youtube and various search engines, a habit of mindless "research," and special interests bloggers (shameless self promotion) that will remind you of the finer things in life.

Yes, I'm talking about public transportation.

Unnecessary

2009-04-16T17:20:00.000-07:00

Wednesday night, at approximately 8:34 p.m., I ran to the #4 bus in vain. To the driver headed East from Virgil and Santa Monica, you will not get away completely unscathed.

Mr. Stick, referring to the one up his arse, would not let me on the bus. Instead, he directed me two blocks down the road from which I came, after frantically running toward the bus--stopped at a light.

He didn't let anyone off, so I guess he figured he didn't need to let anyone on. I'd like to emphasize, that while arguing through the closed door with Stick, I was standing on a bus stop.

Needless to say, I called LACMTA to file my first complaint for L.A. (Maryland has me heavily on file for such calls). Sam in trip planning, thank you for sympathizing with me. However, I wish the wait for Customer Relations wasn't so long. I'll have to direct my anger to the appropriate person during normal business hours next week. Stick, your time will come.

For now, I rest knowing I refused to be left without a fight. In my anger, I lost myself for a moment. As Stick drove off, down the dark winding road I ended up walking, I threw my Forever 21 bag of clothing at his front window. It was a long day. L.A. has changed me.

Then There Were Two

2009-04-13T13:26:00.000-07:00

The homeless and hungry of Los Angeles have accepted me as their own. Last week, Mr. Rambles on Hollywood & Highland gave me a dollar, and now another vagrant handed me a piece of irony in the shape of a turkey sandwich--on whole wheat.

Roy*, stylishly towing a ten-gallon trash bag filled with cans, sleeps at the 7-Eleven on Mariposa Street. "I have diarrhea," he said, "and nothing stays down." No blueberry muffins. No croissants. No turkey sandwiches.

All of this I learned before we left the Vermont/Sunset platform on the Red Line train. Heading south, he moaned and groaned in his comical way then gave away his meal to a biker lady and I to split--like good girls I assume, for he wouldn't let one be fed without the other.

Fortunately for me, she didn't like tomatoes, and it was good.

Thank You for Believing in Me

2009-04-08T16:10:00.000-07:00

I've seen some pretty strange things in L.A., especially on a bus or bus stop. The other morning I'm certain I saw a possessed woman. She was sprawled across the first three seats of the #2 Bus, cupping a Budweiser Chelada, and yelling out obscenities in another language. Happily, when I transferred to the 156, I crossed paths with a completely different brand of crazy.

I actually met this man two days prior on the southeast corner of Hollywood and Highland. He went on about me being someone named "Sierra" or Tonia Braxton (referencing my short hair cut) then onto how he's looking for a girl. By the third sentence rambled, I figured he was not all there, because, initially, he didn't come off that way.

Of course, I entertained him. But after two many mentions of blessings and wives and so forth, I took my cue to leave him be and went about my day.

When I saw him again, I thought he recognized me from the previous day. He called out "hello, Toni Braxton." This time keeping his rambles short but still lucid. I wish I could recall his stream of conscious mutterings to you, but there were too many, and too fast--would've made some interesting pull quotes.

What I do remember is before he walked away, he gave me a dollar and said, "thank you for believing in me." No how's that for irony?

Know You're Job, Please

2009-04-07T10:50:00.000-07:00

Long story short, I'm staying in L.A. Thank God for friends. Also, I bought a motor scooter, meaning less blogs. However, I LOVE public transit and my scooter, a mere 50cc's only purpose is to fulfill a job requirement for work.

To buy said scooter at its cheap Japanese price, I had to The Valley. Naturally, after three hours and a trillion buses, I got to the dealer only slightly dehydrated. I hate The Valley--words chosen wisely. That black hole in L.A. County is like going standing still inside a 1970s B-movie, and I always feel like a prostitute when I walk down the street. Needless to say, I was irritated when got lost on Coldwater Canyon.

I walked forever. And no one knew where Ethel, Elkwood, or Lull streets were. Mostly likely because they didn't understand what I was saying. Thanks anyway, Señor.

After three calls to 1(800) COMMUTE, an itinerary search on Metro.net, and attempting to talk to the bus driver about his route, I was highly annoyed with the inconsistencies and seemingly lack of communication between the various sects of the MTA. This is not the first time I've asked a L.A. bus driver if they stopped on a particular street along their route and usually, if not a major intersection, it always ended up being an actual stop--but they quickly say "I don't know" or shake their head to shoe me away.

When it's hot as hell in desert land, I need you to know where you're going, and know your job, please. Thanks.

Sincerely,
Aisle Seat Rider

Friday Morning Girl

2009-04-03T09:42:00.000-07:00

One of the best things about public transportation is that you meet great people. In transit, during those passing moments on a bus or train, you will confide more deeply in a stranger than your closest friend. Three years ago, I met a man on the NYC subway, reeking of alcohol. His only son was murdered the day before, so he broke his sobriety of several years.

The liquor did the best it could. We talked the entire ride uptown. I was honored that he trusted me with his story.

Now, I am that heartbroken passenger, but for different reasons. In the last week I've met three timely strangers in transit: Jeremy, Jaime, and Eric thank you. These men saw a woman in need and not only helped, but revealed a better understanding to me. Without going into detail about my personal circumstance, let's just say it's a cruel world for nice people. Duh, right? I learned one of those difficult life lessons the hard way and this morning my latest angel coined the title to my upcoming project.

The men before him were more direct helpers. They we talked in detail, we shared a ride or even a meal in one case. Eric, however simply called me a "Friday morning girl." It came to him after a pause and made exact sense. It was a beautiful morning, and there are only good things to look forward to at either that time or day. Thanks.

*The picture above is of "The Friday Morning Club" in L.A., 1922 Allison + Allison | 940 S. Figueroa Street

Blown Away

2009-04-01T12:14:00.000-07:00

According to the dictionary, the definition for "blown" is as follows:

blown
1 /bloʊn/ Show Spelled Pronunciation [blohn] Show IPA
–adjective
1. inflated; swollen; expanded: a blown stomach.
2. destroyed, melted, inoperative, misshapen, ruined, or spoiled: to replace a blown fuse; to dispose of blown canned goods.
3. being out of breath.

Ladies and gentleman, I am blown. Not to the extent of being ruined, but my plans in L.A. have been destroyed, I am certainly out of breath, and I feel expanded beyond my threshold. This is the first of few goodbyes to come for I am moving back to Baltimore.

Valuable life lessons were learned the hard and painful way, but the public transportation system, even with last week's posting, has been good to me. Syanora.

In a matter of days I'll be that person blocking the aisle with my oversized bag and probably another in the seat. On my way. Don't get mad at me for blocking space, it's been a long trip.

The Cost of Free

2009-03-24T14:33:00.000-07:00

When I was in Baltimore, I used to love it when the ticket machine was "out of order." It was like finding $1.65 on the street. Then to my delight, I learned that the same thing can happen in L.A., but for a different reason.

As I mentioned in my first posting for January, contrary to popular belief, a lot of people catch the bus here. Los Angeles is huge, and the three-door buses are always filled with passengers. Because of this, and possibly out of annoyance, drivers will simply let a crowd of people on at congested stops just to get them on the bus and keping moving. Other times, people will let themselves on in the back, which may be the cause for recent changes and frequent Transit Police presence.

Last Friday, with less than a round trip fare, I got a free ride and that was the treat of my day. However, on Monday, I took a free ride on the train and was (thank God) ALMOST ticketed. That's a $300 fine and community service. I'll talk about these fines later, but thank you officer. I didn't have the $1.25 to get on at the time because I'm dead broke (so not funny) and I was on my way to look for jobs at the library because my laptop is now broke (even less funny).

Times are hard for everyone, and to those readers that are in similar positions, I undertsand. L.A. should have one of those official ride the bus free days to boast morale in the city. When you legitmately can't pay $1.25, a $300 fine is just another, heavy weight.

All The Live Long Day

2009-03-22T13:18:00.000-07:00

You can learn much about a city from its public transportation system. For instance, there will be less buses and public transit in more affluent neighborhoods, so as to limit access to those areas. Last night I found out something about L.A. and my most familiar bus line, the 720--eastbound.

Headed from a friend's place in Westwood at 12:19am I boarded the bus and realized I was one of only two females there. The bus was filled with men. All Latino, all coming home from work. The healthy crowd I arrived to grew even greater as we drove to Beverly Hills, then at LaBrea a Latina couple boarded. I've never seen such a uniformed crowd of individuals, and blatant detail of a specific population. They all wore either Dickies or jeans, a thick hoodie, and work shoes. Then they all got off in my neighborhood.

L.A. is strange. It's such a diverse city on paper but so separate in many ways. I walked into another world for a few miles and would have never known if I caught that 11:57pm bus instead. It was a Saturday night, and so many men were at work, all the live long day.

Venice Is For Love

2009-03-20T13:57:00.000-07:00

Venice is my favorite part of Los Angeles, with it's old hippies, Betty Paige beach goers, corn dogs, and roller blades. Makes a flower child feel at home away from home. On my way there, via the 33 Bus again--this time no lunch stops--I sat next to a Spanish-speaking male smitten over the receiver of his endless phone call.

I couldn't understand what he was saying but I did figure out from his body language that he was either leaving or on his way to some lovin'. He laughed heartily, smiled and winked as he talked, and stayed on the line cooing the entire 50-minute ride. When I got off, he was still on the phone. But before I left, I noticed possibly the evidence of lust smack dab in front of me--a slim but long hickey. Semi-fresh judging from its redness, in the center of his naked neck, and emphasized by the worn out muscle shirt.

I remember those days; usually teenage, brand new to spit-swapping days. I'm sure Senor Amour, if not much older, is definitely not far from my age and missed the memo about hickeys. So, in that case, I hope his lover missed it too. Rather that than the other caller behind closed doors trying to speak low, because they should be doing homework.

A.K.A. Big Daddy Smooth

2009-03-15T15:33:00.000-07:00

I'm used to drunk people on public transportation. Riders under the influence are synonymous with homeless passengers, street performers, and solicitors, which all make up the great public transit culture. Saturday night, on my way to Hollywood, where I later saw Jesus walk along the stars holding two Starbucks cups, I was prepared for the loud and often comic outbursts from at least a few drunkards. Of course, I was not let down.

Besides the tough guy wearing a pink boa, drunk out his mind, I met a group of teenage boys that appeared to give their youngest crew member his first dose of ecstasy. He, however, thought he was drunk, screaming every so often, "Yo my nig--, what did you giiiiive me!" The supposedly 17 year-old going on 15, was celebrating his birthday, and demanded "just a kiss" from another lady then my "sexy self" while on board the Red Line train headed north. If he wasn't searching for birthday love, he talked about his missing weed, that he'd never been drunk before, and his friends huge balls. Everyone took part in the laughter self-proclaimed "A.K.A. Big Daddy Smooth" inspired, even though he and his friends were far too young. Mr. Pink Boa looked to be in his late 20's and straight out of a UCLA frat house, but he wasn't funny. Kids are just so darn cute I guess, those high off ecstasy included.

Lunch Stop

2009-03-12T15:15:00.001-07:00

Today, headed west on the 33 Bus towards Venice, the driver stopped a block east of St. Andrews for a two hot tamales. Everyone on the bus found this amusing, including the nice lady next to me (thanks for the tissue) who put it simply, "she must really like tamales." Her route is morning than ninety minutes one-way, I'd say it was a lunch break--literally.

Class Discrimination

2009-03-11T13:31:00.000-07:00

"...Must have own vehicle with valid insurance."

A familiar line in job postings, I am beyond tired of seeing. Companies want a lot for a whole lot less. They want a Bachelor's Degree (the average college student will graduate with about $30,000 of debt), about 3-5 years of experience for entry-level positions (in competition then with non entry-level applicants), and for you to have your own legit vehicle (car notes, maintenance, insurance, gas, and occasional surprises means a stressful, often unnecessary expense). The cost of living once matched up with what potential employers offer, in addition to the vehicle requirement, usually means living in a one bedroom apartment with two other roommates, frozen burritos for dinner again, and a hope and prayer that you get your rent in time. If the public transportation's efficient in your city then not worrying about that particular expense can mean a little more basic comfort that everyone deserves.

Aside from the fact that usually the entry-level jobs for which this requirement is attached pays the lowest of scales, I am bothered by the filtration it suggests. That means you can have the skills and experience, but if you cannot afford a car then you are no longer qualified. How is that fair?

I've heard the argument that if the job stipulates that particular requirement prior to hiring then it is o'kay. Also, especially for the jobs I apply to that involve errands and runs, then it's necessary for you to have a car. However, if I can get to and from my work efficiently via public transportation or even via other forms of commute then my professional qualifications and not my personal expenses should matter. Gas reimbursements should be coupled with insurance payments, car payments, and maintenance if I'm using a vehicle solely for work. That's all I need a car for these days.

Life, however, is unfair and it's a competitive market beyond the norm today. What makes me upset though is how closed minded people are about public transportation. People, especially in Los Angeles, cannot understand how to get around without a vehicle they drive themselves. "You just HAVE to have car here," they say. "There's no other way to get around." Say that to the hundreds if not thousands of commuters who hop on a bus or train everyday. Not to mention the benefits of living near and working off a train line--no traffic. Imagine that in L.A.

Juvenile Offense

2009-03-08T18:28:00.000-07:00

Today, I saw a baby eating on the train. Just a few yards away, above her little cracker-filled head, there was a clear NO EATING or DRINKING sign. I found it hilarious how she munched on crackers in plain sight, and slightly envied her spunk. She was not sliding morsels from her purse one-by-one; instead she was out in the open and even leaning back with enjoyment. I never thought crackers looked so good.

At that moment, I imagined Metro police serving the tiny lady with a whopping $250 fine and community service. Crackers spilling from her mouth, she would hold the yellow paper up in disbelief. Her parents, who aided her with more crackers at her demand, would then be saddened with guilt as they plead to the officer for mercy.

I laughed at the thought up until remembering another juvenile enjoying a quick snack in commute. Maybe we should think about these penalties a little more.

The Politics Train

2009-03-07T16:22:00.000-08:00

With a black man in office, attitudes on race and the term "racism" seem to be a little confused- especially, for white people. Last week, I went to a comedy club in North Hollywood, via the Red Line Train. It was an all-ladies set, but at the end of the show, in favor of male-dominating industries, a man got onstage. He was an Italian from Boston. After going through a list of wack jokes, in which no one laughed, he brought up Obama. Now, everyone there that night mentioned our new president to some extent, whether it be a congratulatory acknowledgment or a reference to Mary, mother of God--but all tactful. Mr. Boston, however, thought that a black president now meant that white comedian's could finally talk shit about black people. Haha?

He never told a joke. Instead, Mr. Boston complained about generic "white jokes" that referenced cultural differences like walking and talking. No one laughed at this as well. If there was another black person in there then the lights were a little too low for I stood out in front. In response to my tense expression, Mr. Boston leans over to me and says, "hey lady, it's just jokes." I was waiting for the joke.

What he failed to realize about comedy is that first, any comedian can talk about whatever they want, though what you chose to discuss onstage needs actually reveal something to the audience and speak with sincerity--not bitterness. He brought up a specific, politically charged subject, race in comedy, without substance. Secondly, while Obama's historic election means "change" it doesn't mean that everything's changed. I HATE (using that word wisely) that suddenly a black man in office makes white people the victim.

Speaking of victims, later in the week, on the Wilshire/Vermont elevator, I met disgruntled Caucasian #2. In an elevator full of Latinos and African-American me, one lonesome, bold white woman had what appeared to be a racial breakdown. One of the elevator riders, also Latino, was a woman with two children who didn't know where she wanted to get off and didn't speak enough English to get proper help. At first, I thought the white woman was helping her because she asked her where she wanted to go, but then she just seemed annoyed.

Once all the buttons were pressed, Ms. Latina gets off at the Union Station platform and the white woman, exhausted with frustration, sighs "I just think that's so racist! How do you come to this country and not speak the language?" She goes on to say, while looking across at a young Latino male, "I don't come to your country and not speak the language!"

Annoyed and being the teenage male that he is, he challenges, "oh, so you speak Spanish?"

"Yes, fluently actually," she replies, "but not in my country."

Everyone ignores her at this point--maybe they all didn't speak English for her case's sake--and she huffs before getting out, "they can take our welfare, but they can't speak our language!" Dramatic? Confused? Bitter like Boston? Did she just watch Braveheart? I'm not quite sure, and I won't answer for her. I do, however, hope that she reads up on actual "racism" and instead of learning Spanish, it may be more helpful for her to learn her history. Also, while said immigrants don't always speak fluent English, they do speak housecleaning, nanny, construction worker, landscaper, and every other odd, exploited job done for the white and wealthy--women included.

It's only March. Four more years of confused white women, and disgruntled white men if for nothing will not be a bore.

Saving Gas

2009-03-05T17:04:00.000-08:00

Sadly, MTA seems onto people like me and our crafty fare games, so the recession discount is now a much bigger gamble. Those in L.A. that frequent crowded Rapid buses and the Metro Rail know the deal. A dollar twenty-five never seemed so high.

In recent MTA news and happenings, I had not only one of the longest rides ever, but most uncomfortable last week. To top off an already bad day, after a horrible job interview and long walk from Pico to Wilshire, I hopped on the 720 and sat next to Mr. Gas. I was tired as hell, so the first fart didn't bother me and I chose physical comfort over fresh air. He was an old man also, so I gave him pass half the way and pass he did. From Beverly Glenn up until LaBrea I debated moving, knowing how much further I had to go, and how thick the traffic would get. Later on, I made sure to make my discomfort known via stares, abrupt movements, and the occasional frantic waving.

Soon, other seats were available and we parted ways. Today on the train, however, a week from Mr. Gas, another man with decided to slide those same messages my way. These dudes put a whole new spin on saving gas on public transit. Gross!

Turrets Stopper

2009-02-19T07:31:00.001-08:00

There's a guy on Wilshire/Vermont that I really hope has Turrets Syndrome. One day, while he seemed to be waiting for the 754 Bus and I was walking by, he told me I needed to get my hair done and that I was a bitch. It looked as if he wasn't all there anyway, and sometimes shock can shut up the loudest of mouths. So, I kept it moving, shook my head, and said a silent prayer for the man.

That was weeks ago, and now it seems he's come again. I wasn't there, but another public transit friend and neighbor, Zoe*, may have met him coming off the train. According to her, on the elevator up she, an older Asian woman, and Mr. Turrets were waiting for the doors to close. Before this happens, he asks, "does anyone know what the fuck time it is?" Wow factor skyrocketed. Asian lady responds, he says something obscene to her back and my friend stays just in case the old lady needs backup. Of course he's not done. Before leaving he tells Zoe that her glasses can see into the future, and that she's lucky because the Asian lady doesn't have any eyes.

Turrets? I'll have to do my research on that. In the meanwhile, dude better watch out. Zoe's boyfriend, who also rides the train, has an itch to punch someone, and it doesn't need much to scratch.

Blame It On...

2009-02-17T18:37:00.000-08:00

Have you ever seen a person waiting for a bus or train, jamming to their music like it's their birthday? Shoulder leaning, hands in the air type dancing. Smile at you when you look at them crazy type dancing. If you happened to be headed northbound on the red line train today, that person may have been me. I absolutely love Jamie Foxx & T-Pain's "Blame It On" song--and you can tell by my moves. I'm late hearing this song, as I don't listen to the radio, so I'm playing it out to catch up. First song on my shuffle and in heavy rotation. Everyone has theme music.

Anyway, as I was cutting loose, I realized just how much fun I was having. Maybe its because I think of the train as my car and not just public transportation. Crazy people and street performers do it all the time and I want to do my part to make this world more musical. Hopefully someone might join in one day and we can start a spontaneous dance revolution!

Until then, not every loon singing and dancing on the train is certified for their looniness. Besides homeless peddlers and independent artists, we cheerful folk are singing on our way to an interview, excited about Christmas, or are just going through a really bad breakup. If that doesn't fit then when you see us two-stepping along that yellow line, blame it on the al-al-al-al-al-alcohol.

Onto Job

2009-02-16T18:56:00.000-08:00

Today, I went looking for a job. I can tell you right now that no one on the red line is hiring--unless you're a tattoo artist. And if you have a soft spot for strangers who need secretaries.

On my way from Hollywood & Vine--after looking for a job one and three stops up--I finally got offered a job. Now, I'm the tentative new secretary for Black Dragon Martial Arts Fitness Academy. Mouthful? I believe so. The man who's starting it sure has his mouth stuffed with words. Found out a bit too much info on recent widower, New York transplant, "when can I cook dinner for you," possible future employer.

Job interview tomorrow off the bus line. Here's hoping for choices!

Second String Seat

2009-02-16T00:20:00.000-08:00

Hey there, blog'voyeurs! In honor of the love-ly month of February (black history stand up), which is also my month of birth, I'll be doing a marathon blog everyday from today until next Monday--Yay 24!

And since yesterday was Valentine's Day, a.k.a. "i luv u 4eva, thanx for the balloons boo" let me share what happened on the 720 westbound:

Headed to Hancock Park for tar, My Girl nostalgia, and wine with the girls. Since every one was out in lust that day, the bus was packed. I'm sitting on the elevated row of seats in the middle of the bus when an old Asian couple gets on. One seat for the chick and none for the man. Of course, because our generation cannot read "manners," no one gets up. I get up from my seat. All the while, on the end of my row a younger, Chris Brown (coincidence?) lookin' dude is just chilling. But then, as soon as I get up, he offers me his seat.

Maybe Valentine's Day, like Christmas, has been drained of its intent and replaced, instead with something much more one-dimensional. A celebration of love--that includes respect--is now a day to ignore old people in need. I mean, look at the Damage! Chris Brown look-a-like.

Fortunately, the legacy of classic romances is this dude's only salvage.

P.S. What happened to my recession discount?

On the Run

2009-02-02T12:53:00.000-08:00

Even in a skirt, running for the bus never looks this dainty. I procrastinate so I know. Yesterday, wearing a mid-length skirt and flip flops, I caught up to the local 20 line a block and streetlight away, breezing by passerby and street vendors. My run, which surprisingly didn't leave me winded, impressed the driver and other passengers. She said she couldn't leave me, because, beside simple admiration, from the looks of it I could never miss it with my OMG-the bus is coming-dash. The dude in the funny sunglasses in front of me couldn't agree more. Nothing like a round of applause and congratulations after a good workout.

Coincidentally, I was running to watch Super Bowl XLIII and thought it appropriate later on that I "worked out" before the game. Then, seeing the Steeler's linebacker, James Harrison-- former, future bus driver extraordinaire-- run that 100-yard touchdown, strengthened my philosophy on public transportation. Sometimes, you have to run to get to where you're going.

लेट थेम च्यू गम!

2009-01-29T22:06:00.000-08:00

At least, let them chew gum! Why on earth is my title in another language-- I don't know, but I'm writing so who cares? Next post will be completely in English.

My main quirk with L.A.'s public transportation system (like Baltimore) is the super inconvenient, entirely unrealistic NO Eating or Drinking Rule. Most people who use public transportation have to, and most that have to work long hours at unappealing jobs (let Chris Rock explain) and wouldn't mind eating their morning donut while in transit. You save time, catch the less crowded bus, or can hit the snooze button one mo' gin without that extra sit-down eating time. These loyal commuters also get up early to make coffee for the people with nine-to-fives, or deliver their newspapers, or clean their carpets, or do whatever to make urban American life run smoother. So, why can't they have their breakfast on the way, they're not behind the wheel.

And if you're not a shift worker on that long commute to work, still, as a grown ass person, can you not chew and hold onto the railing without spilling something? I'm sure you can, so the rule is stupid. How about L.A.'s Public Transit Administration take a hint from NYC and let that one go--you can't even chew gum on the rail here-- and start using the Metro Police to fine the few littering dummies that just may drop that extra-large soda.

P.S. Why is there a Metro Mug that you can't use on the Metro?

Los Angeles

2009-01-20T21:48:00.000-08:00

Four months ago I moved to the worst traffic jam in the United States--Los Angeles, the City of Angels, home of the stars, weirdos, and an average two-hour delay. Still holding on to my ideologies on public transportation (and my wallet) I don't use a car around the city, but get around the best way I know how.

The bus and train here has taken me everywhere from Venice to Burbank, and Silverlake to Westwood. I live in Koreatown by the Red & Purple rail line so the grocery store, Hollywood, Downtown, Pasadena, Long Beach, etc. is no problem. Not to mention being on Wilshire Blvd has its convenient perks: the 720 Rapid bus and super express 920 rapid bus. Wilshire is my axis, my $200 mark in Monopoly, my home-base, and key for mapping out L.A.

I've always loved the idea and purpose of public transportation and I like it even more here--except that I wish it ran a bit later, this is L.A., not Memphis. For a town where I was told that you just ABSOLUTELY need a car, I've gotten along just fine, and efficiently with 50 plus, other passengers. I don't waste my gas in traffic jams, and I never have to look for parking--excellente! And for all those naysayers and cynics who think otherwise, while you can get up and go wherever on your on time, I say think about the destination and ask yourself, can I Go Metro?

The View

2008-08-10T12:32:00.000-07:00

Disgusting! Sometimes, it's not always what you hear on the bus, but also, and often just as much, what you see that makes that your story of the day.

Often, I have issues sitting next to men on the bus, because their legs are always wide open to the world, in need of, as they say, "nut space." I have my own methods and secret weapon--forty six inches of hip--but sometimes that ends up being more enjoyable for him and still leaves me cramped. It's an ongoing battle in the War of Sexes, I like to think.

This time, however, I was more troubled visually than physically (well I guess both in the end) by this typical male seating position. Eww is just the beginning. And from the looks of things, and hopefully this is not the case of most men on the bus, this man doesn't need too much nut space.

Route of Some Noisy Heads

2008-07-11T20:28:00.000-07:00

I usually don't like turning into a new-age, preachy liberal, but some things are starting to bother me, like for instance, noise pollution. People are loud. Between their cellphone conversations, cellphone ring tones, cellphone chirps, and simply their loud mouths, there's no peace of mind in the public and especially when commuting.

As a hardcore bus patron I have adapted to noisy conversations about a dude screwing another chick, how that nappy head hoe got her teeth knocked in, a late SSI check, or whatever people have the balls to talk about in public and lack the tack to care about when doing so.

Coming home from work one morning (and I'll admit that I'm a bit more sensitive to this issue because of my schedule) this guy pulls out a portable DVD player to resume "Flight of the Living Dead"--with no headphones of course. In the front so the bus driver could listen if he was interested. And he was old. WTF! Not mention, how much of the movie are you truly going to watch from Greenmount to Preston?

It got better. After a quick scene, the country mofo's friend came on board, sat beside me and had the loudest conversation I have ever witnessed less then three feet away. Because she was wearing her headphones (good job!) she spoke entirely too loud, but could hear the jumbling mouthfuls of my gap toothed, zombie-loving, fellow patron. And what's with it when you can hear someone's music down half the length of the bus and they have on earphones? What's the point? I need a part-time gig as an undercover metro agent.

... Roll a Blunt on the Bus

2008-06-11T06:16:00.000-07:00

Just got off work and ran to the MARC train at Union Station. After I caught my breath and laid across the usual seat--there's something worse inside those cushions than whatever's on the bottom of my shoe-- I looked across at this bright, elementary school styled advertisement "daring" me to have a little fun on the train.

In an effort to make public transportation bearable, the Maryland Transit Authority now posts advertisements of happy, multicultural individuals respecting and enjoying their MTA experience. Some ads go above and beyond and make riding the bus a luxurious privilege that allows you to sit back and enjoy the loud, obnoxious teenagers, or calmly listen to your music (with headphones, of course) to distract from the nodder sitting beside you. Get up on it!

This "dare" ad was particularly funny. It started off cute, with three categories of dares increasing in intensity level, followed by an ellipses. Daring you to first, say "hello" to the person beside you, then going to the extreme by daring you to yodel. Networking and social exchange is a huge advantage for public transportation. But I'm pretty sure that ellipses would never have "I dare you to...roll a blunt on the bus" after it.

Baltimore goes hard. Where instead of "I dare you to greet the person next to you" in this lovely city, that would be replaced with "I dare you to have a conversation with someone across the boss while talking on your Nextel walkie-talkie. "A yo" following every "bloop, bloop."

This boy I saw that day just couldn't wait to toke it up at 8am on the #3 northbound. I think the only reason he was looking around, besides obviously a case of paranoia, was that he was anxiously waiting for his stop. Although he may not have seen MARC's "I Dare You" ad, he's sure to have seen the twice posted "No Smoking" signs on board--herb included.