Thursday, November 15, 2012

free transit?

here's an interesting article on a couple of experiments in free mass transit.  i have absolutely no delusions that such a thing could work for los angeles.  but that it works at all anywhere gets the brain-wheels turning, don't it?

Tuesday, October 30, 2012

fear and loathing in the driver's seat

the endless loop of a municipal bus driver's route is enough to drive one mad.  this sisyphean task is almost interesting the first few times, but the eventual redundancy of the route, meaningless "good morning"s and countless explanations of the fare structure pounds the senses so dull, it makes an opium-den look perky.  add the occasional raving, psychopath's behavior and the frequent raging, sociopath's driving that surrounds a typical bus driver and little room is left for sanity.  as if the cultural hostility towards the bus weren't enough, the anti-transportation folks exhibit street-level hostility when they drive, honking when the bus makes a stop, cutting it off when it tries to merge back in and passing with dangerous speed and expeditious intent nullified by a red light or the stop sign at the next intersection.

coping with all this hostility is primarily achieved by taking the occasional power trip.  when people don't give a handicapped person a seat, the bus driver pulls over.  when passengers don't stand far enough behind the yellow line, the driver stops again.  this one negotiating lever is all it takes to go from being the shithead driving that hulking tank that's in everyone's way to god.  the peer pressure that coerces the sober into drug use can not compare to the rage an entire bus can bring down on someone who holds up the already slow and stop-filled trip.  bus drivers have little in their repertoire other than this to whip pesky bus riders into shape.  luckily, its use is rarely needed.

another primary coping mechanism is commiserating with riders.  thanks to the "unnecessary conversation with driver is prohibited" sign, i always worry that the weaving in and out of rush hour traffic takes too much concentration and discussion of which toys a particular rider is buying for his child for the party in the park their entire extended family of 60 is coming to will cause an accident.  as yet, no such misfortune has happened while i've been riding.  the only time i've had to get off a bus and wait for a replacement to show up was when the wheelchair lift strained too hard to lift an obese rider and prevented the door from shutting.

Friday, October 26, 2012

fear and loathing of greed

it was the early 80s.  unadulterated greed was sweeping the country in unprecedented fashion and those who weren't good at it were being dispatched into unemployment, poverty and homelessness with ruthless efficiency.  urban cores all throughout the country were decimated by job losses brought on by ever-cheaper offshore labor.  those good at being greedy celebrated and flaunted their status, snorting enough cocaine to keep the cartels' armories better stocked than the colombian government's.  this drug-addicted wealthy class and an otherwise idle lower class busying themselves supplying the wealthy addicts combined for more violence than the u.s. had seen on its own soil since the civil war.  amazingly, the violence was contained almost exclusively to the suppliers.

the initial currency for the costs of this class warfare appeared to be inner-city, lower class lives.  it became clear later that the economic experiments being conducted here had spread all throughout the globe and infected all facets of life.  the iran-contra scandal displayed the immense international reach of this purest greed ever conceived, a gigantic machine chewing whole countries up and spitting them out with a smile on its face and a wink in its eye.  sons were selling out fathers and brothers, even mothers and sisters to get in on the fancy clothes, hard charging parties and sheer euphoria of seeing some number on a slip of paper from the broker get ever larger, convinced the consequences were inconsequential.

as a child in his formative years, i couldn't get over just how uninteresting it all appeared.  how did so much money lead to so little taste?  the clothes, the yachts, the hair, the golf courses, the jewelry, interviews with robin leach, it all screamed of an early retirement gone wrong, one of imaginations so starved in the pursuit of wealth that inspiration for how to spend newfound idle time came only from elderly grandparents.  i had no interest in any of this, a life polished so clean that feathered pubic hair sounded plausible next to ass bleaching.
Every Time I Tried to Windmill
while most kids were rebelling against their parents, i was busy rebelling against all these fuckers who idolized "dynasty."  i would collect junk from construction sites, piling them in a box in the garage, treasuring them for some eventual use my genius would uncover.  i would skateboard through tunnels my friends told me were storm drains, without being able to shake the feeling they might have been for sewage.  i thought breakdancing and graffiti were the most mind-blowing art forms ever created, my injury-addled attempts cementing the rock steady crew's place in my hero pantheon.  and while it was obvious the "dynasty" lovers had no moral code, none of them declared their atheism as proudly as i did.  i'm sure the irony of a chinese boy virtually practicing communism while growing up in a family moved to nebraska to escape it wasn't lost on everyone.  in this drive to find the most despised things, i found them in the usual places greed detested, places of government -- libraries, parks, schools, streets and, of course, public transportation.

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

fear and loathing of divorce

it was lincoln public schools's 1985 winter break.  already disadvantaged by poor english and being of color in snow white nebraska, my mother was spending this normally festive time alone.  in one of many common but strange twists divorce proceedings take, the parent that "wins" joint custody weekdays, already relegated to most of the responsibility and little of the fun of child-rearing, gives up holidays.  so there i was, in my father's tan/gold ford station wagon, making the seemingly endless journey to his brother's and my five cousins' house in texas, cutting through kansas and oklahoma too fast to stop and look for twisters, but not so fast dwight eisenhower's memorial would be passed up.

The Cornhusker Lone Star Express, my dad's 1976 Ford Gran Torino wagon
despite being alone in a cold house, i'm certain my mother had the thermostat set to 60F or lower.  one other cruel twist of divorce proceedings is that the honor of monthly mortgage payments is considered an asset.  while my mother could live in the house and technically owned it, the salary of a single mother whose only previous work in english was managing a restaurant simply could not sustain the expense of it.  we eventually moved out, but not before every trick in the book was employed in an attempt to hang on.  while slightly uncomfortable, stretching a dollar became kind of a fun game, one that led my mother to actually use the city bus stop in front of our house that my father had only spoke of using.

we later found out much of the time we thought my mom was alone, she had actually hopped on a greyhound bus and gone to visit her brother and his family in the chicago area.  though she wanted to keep it a secret, she underestimated just how deeply every aspect of her life could be infected by inquisitive children.  when we'd call on the weekends, there was no answer.  if we had forgotten something and went home to get it, she was not there.  once, i asked about greyhound when a commercial came on during a football game.  my mom simply knew too much.  whether out of necessity or admiration, i would follow in her footsteps years later.

no one thinks twice about a college kid hopping a bus to get home for holidays or occasional weekend visits.  students are poor and young folks are always up for an adventure.  on those trips, covering four states in just a few hours as can only be done in new england, i came to understand why people thought it odd my mom had taken such buses voluntarily and so often.  the stations in new haven, bridgeport and numerous villages and towns in between looked like they were recently converted homeless shelters.  looking at such places certainly conjured imaginary danger in every dark corner.  only seasoned riders realized the subterfuge.

beggars, homeless, vagrants, transients and scum have no business harassing bus riders.  forcefully repossessing a rider's ticket to white plains was hardly worth the risk of jail time.  wallets and purses usually hold little money and bus riders are always collected in packs, scattering once a trip is over, but well aware that defense of each other was imperative to survival.  also, it's no secret that many riders are graduates of the hard knock life themselves, too hardened to be afraid and too savvy to fall for tricks.

despite having navigated this web of danger numerous times on the east coast, i bought into car culture when i moved to l.a.  public transportation, the story goes, gets you nowhere you want to go and even when it does, does so slowly.  it's difficult to reconcile this with equally horrific tales of traffic.  was l.a. packed so dense people simply couldn't move?  had smog fried everyone's brains?  or were people just so charismatic and magnetic, no one ever wanted to move away from others quickly?

answering none of these questions, i purchased a bmw.  the acceleration was excellent.  the handling exquisite.  really shallow women in the bad parts of town flocked to it.  and after a year of driving the damn thing, i no longer cared.  like every other vehicle i ever dared call my own, it needed to be fed, groomed, cared for, registered, insured and housed.

somewhere between those long rides in my dad's station wagon, my mom' frugality and frequent greyhounding and my own experience owning a car, i really had a very difficult time seeing what all the fuss was about over driving.  every freedom it affords comes with shackles of a different variety.  each second saved, another spent wondering what the fucker in front of you means by leaving their left blinker on.  every relationship nurtured in private leaving ten public sociological observations unmade.  driving has its place, but i'll be damned if i fall for its entrapment blindly.

Friday, October 19, 2012

fear and loathing of downtown

skid row and the homeless are a small part of the collection of scum that frequents downtown.  though dangerous and projecting an unpleasant presence at times, they are avoidable and predictable.  the really insidious scum occupy the bank buildings, institutes of government, and law and insurance offices.  they greet you with a smile, peddling services they call "essential" while using scraps of paper and computer transactions to suck the life out of people.  they dress well and are expert at putting people at ease, making sure they promote just the right level of fear first, lest the innocent bunnies not know what kind of deadly risks they're taking.  outside their offices, this courtesy tends not to be exercised so carefully.  after all, what's in it for them?  being courteous to a client might land a contract.  taking up two seats on a train or feigning a handicap merely reinforces a mutual contempt with the locals.

despite all this, downtown is the best melting pot los angeles has to offer.  the wolf-in-sheep's-clothing act is one everyone is happy to play.  the benefits are just too good.  there's so little risk and so much money, so little guilt and so much free time, so little responsibility and so much power.  anyone with an education can play, the rules written by the players so the sooner you get in, the more rules you get to write.  how can anyone resist?  this unbridled show of greed allows downtown to stand in stark contrast to the rest of los angeles.

the county of los angeles is a grand paradox.  by almost every measure, diversity is very high, people from all over the world collecting here to seek out dreams.  yet by almost every measure, los angeles is heavily segregated, huge racial majorities the norm in neighborhoods all over town.  watching the legions push off to their battle stations from these disparate places everyday, coalescing into this army of greed, is a grim reminder of predator and prey.  by its labyrinth of rules, the predators paralyze, neutralize and pacify their prey, promising to bring order to a chaos of their own creation, pushers in every sense, like arms dealers inciting war in some backwater banana republic to create demand for their product.  but like lions and tigers and leopards, predators are a necessary part of the landscape.  how else to weed out the weak?  how else would this train i'm writing from get built?  and how else do you keep a restless population occupied when basic needs, food and housing, only demand a quarter of them work?  with too much free time, people revert to their animal states, a healthy occasional exercise; but when guns, knives and hundreds of horses under a hood are so readily available, it's not long before prolonged reversions turn into true chaos.

of late, the sanitizing forces of the gold line have begun invading downtown.  dog-walking, posh pubs, art galleries and the general stench of trust fund backed lifestyles, failed creative projects and all, are everywhere.  it's like the kids from the privileged parts of the west side grew up and needed a change of scenery, volunteering as refugees.  they didn't realize being a refugee is uncomfortable, so they took their cool and convinced developers to provide them with new fortresses where moats made of concierge desks, paid armed security and gated underground parking keep the unwanteds out until they're needed as extras.  they also didn't realize the food and entertainment were a bit different, so they convinced the city to build them new playgrounds where concrete and advertising made sure others wouldn't linger while the chosen were resting in their loft-fortresses.  slowly, surely, they are realizing they didn't want a change of scenery at all, but somewhere their parents were too afraid to go so they could be left alone.

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

fear and loathing of the gold line

even more than the religious zealots and people responsible for transit tv, the bus riders' union (bru) has my full contempt.  they happily oppose trains and even non-traditional buses like the orange line.  in doing so, they've used the once-sharp charge of racism so much that it's now dulled to the point of being completely ignored.  they even toss discretionary riders aside if it means any money spent on anything other than buses.  buses are universally regarded as the worst category of an otherwise worthy service.  they're endured out of necessity, a sacrifice of imagination, a plague on already-rageworthy traffic.  yet the bru worships this beast, always pushing expansion of its domain.  i say "fine!" but only if every bru officer is forced to utilize every expansion of bus service they push for two months, one before the change and one after, get them out of their suv's so they can see what they're really doing to the world.  unfortunately, bru's successful lawsuit against the mta didn't include this in the settlement, though a straitjacket was put around train projects for over a decade.

a year or two before this straitjacket's removal date, the mta started stretching its legs.  almost every pipe dream that anyone with a black leather jacket had come up with in the past twenty years was in the planning stage.  one that actually got pushed through while the straitjacket was being worn was the gold line.  i settled in near one of the stations and rode this fairy-tale line everywhere i could.

it was absurd.  the trains were so clean.  the stations displayed flea-market-quality art like it was a goddamn museum.  the ticket machines actually worked and even took credit cards.  signs with shadow boxes and childish pictographs imitated the internet.  after riding the damn thing for a few weeks, i felt so sanitized, i was sure disease was imminent.  after all, immune systems need exercise.  all that hand sanitizer and visor-as-welding-mask activity just lowers defenses for exposure that such petty measures only delay.  luckily, while away from the gold line, i surrounded myself with enough scum to keep my immune system on its toes.

some malcontent locals would complain that the quality of the train wasn't high enough.  if i'm ever in a room with one of them, my opening argument would be "IT'S TOO DAMN CLEAN, YOU FUCKER!  WE'RE GONNA MANUFACTURE A GODDMAN SUPERBUG THAT'LL MAKE US ALL DROOL BLOOD.  are you a  FUCKING VAMPIRE? goddammit! WHERE'S MY ETHER!?"  when i imagine this debate, that's my closing argument too, that is, if i still haven't found my ether.

Friday, October 12, 2012

fear and loathing of the blue line

when evening rush hour hits the blue line, the commuters are greeted by a tijuana convenience store.  the parasites come out to feed on weary office workers whose natural defenses have been worn down by a day of staring at computer screens and scheming to do the absolute minimum required.  in this state, there is an insatiable urge for miniature, crunchy, turd-shaped cornstuff covered in toxic-colored orange powder.  it's only through fear of not knowing where these phosphorescent orange turds come from that keeps me from such temptation.  did they fall off a truck?  stolen?  baked at home and fraudulently packaged?  one could never be sure.

another side effect of this weakened state is a heightened sense of guilt.  no matter how much fun avoiding responsibility can be, the very act of it strips away the survival instinct.  beggars read this on the riders' faces like an open book and demand penance.  even the blind man knows pulling one of his plastic eyes out of his skull makes the riders realize just how easy they have it.  hapless children bring even more hapless puppies on board to exact their toll.  and the least imaginative just utter, "spare some change?" something everyone knows everyone else can do, but no one wants to, sparking a game of chicken driven by guilt.  in a strange twist, the weakened who fork over the change scorn the strong.

the most successful of these professional riders are the musicians.  they provide a service, whether you like it or not.  the accordion player transports people to gay paree.  the folk guitarist sells the free-love lifestyle that everyone wants, but only hippies dare live.  and the family with their guitar and bucket percussion provide the actual acid trip, turning "come together" into something even a crackhead could love.

when the sun goes down, another transformation takes place on the blue line.  in place of the plain folk too scared to dare the sheriff's into checking them for fare are mobs of youth too bored and too poor to do anything but.  despite being loud and appearing to have no particular destination, these youths are no more dangerous than the day crowd.  though possessing overwhelming numbers, their interest in mating exceeds that of mischief, much like their san fernando valley counterparts.  lucky for me, my age and complete lack of youth-cool keeps me off their radar.  there's nothing quite as unpleasant as warding off unwanted advances from what may as well be another species.  to me, the words "jeezy," "gaga," "young" and "lady" used in the same sentence must refer to lewd acts gone terribly wrong.  while i'm sure this happens often amongst these youths, it's clear that's not what they were talking about.

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

fear and loathing of teenagers

riding a bus in l.a. in the mid-afternoon is a pedophile's dream come true.  there are so many teens trying to get impregnated, even the most outlandish fetishist could be satisfied, but particularly ones with a preference for big, olive-complected girls.  rather than hire their own bus drivers who may give in to the temptation of barely pubescent girls, lausd lets the whole bus-riding public loose on them instead.  hell, they even encourage it with student discounts.

the wanton display of flesh is something you'll get in any hot climate, but it reaches a frenzy if hollywood producers are in the mix.  the promise of fame pulls helpless girls in from all over the world, but nowhere does that drumbeat pulse quite as incessantly as in the san fernando valley, close enough to hollywood that dreams look real, but far enough that shattered ones, littering every motel and production office, aren't in plain sight.  that a conveyor belt of fresh meat from the midwest primed for hollywood's predation makes journeying to the san fernando valley unnecessary for producers deters these girls not.  they are seeking attention and will not fail.

on occasion, when i got to leave work early, i bore witness to this insanity.  somehow, all the single moms with screaming babies and years of premature despair written on their faces didn't act as a deterrent.  in fact, it just emboldened the boys, the complete absence of fathers assuring them no one would hold them accountable to any of their own eventual spawn.  though i no longer understood the specific language, it was clear that the mini-skirts, hot pants and bare midriffs were just the first step in daily mating rituals, ones in which the politeness and civility of dinner and a movie were punished by more base instincts requiring just 5 minutes and some privacy.

Friday, October 5, 2012

fear and loathing of public transportation

despite the tales of problematic and damaged gene pools running amok on the trains, it turned out to be nothing like the carnage of driving on the west side of town.  it was so comfy, riders could practically stretch out and no one ever honked trying to get around you.  compared to the crowded masses i'd stood amongst on the east coast, the trains in l.a. felt like pure luxury.  even though my woman complained that it took twice as long, i held steady.  this little piece of nirvana had convinced me that the place where scientology and pentacostolism were born might have something to offer the world after all.

after the novelty of arriving to work without the urge to bark insanity at my coworkers wore off, i had periods of occasional doubt about my decision, like the skinny, tall white guy with the three foot afro.  the sight of a 6'6" walking, licorice-flavored lollipop even made the sober people double-take.  and then there was the black woman who had no business dressing like a poor impersonation of the supremes in broad daylight that accosted me in korean.  i hadn't had acid in years, but that certainly brought the feeling back.  seeing these freaks was actually rather comforting, knowing i wouldn't be singled out by law enforcement or other profilers for harassment.  no, the true test of my train-riding resolve arrived in two other forms.

religious zealots love a place where lots of people congregate.  bullhorns make sure everyone can hear you while no one can understand a word.  an entire stack of literature can be unloaded along with one's proselytitic guilt in mere minutes.  such efficiency made socializing with fellow proselytizers difficult, so was avoided like birth control.  when intercepting decent passers-by got boring, the preaching would board the train.  nothing makes me quite as uneasy as being around recent converts, still so low in the pecking order that they're forced into situations where repeated rejection was inevitable.  negative feedback leads to backsliding, which leads to hijacking and armed robbery.  occasionally, naive commuters challenge the zealots.  this is a recipe for pure entertainment.  two sides totally indignant and emboldened by each others' complete blindness shouting with illogic that no one can follow. it's almost as good as presidential election coverage.

another test of my train-riding resolve came when they installed tv's on the buses.  as if my naps weren't being interrupted enough by the preachers, the bus itself had to blare video at me.  i learned who rihanna was.  i found out that bus riders love bruce willis more than tracy morgan.  i also realized that multiple choice trivia is remarkably challenging for children who can't read.  they preferred the pictures of galaxies and nebula, but preferred dancing to telemundo even more.  i was really starting to feel a kinship with people and it was driving me crazy.  tv's were being used in place of parenting at home and were reinforcing their pacifying role amongst the adults here on the bus.  i would occasionally imagine myself arguing at the top of my lungs with the tv just to give all the kind folks something real to be enamored by, but i had seen intolerance of such activity from a model minority before and didn't want to enter that scene.

as the weeks wore on, the volume kept drifting downward.  even a pacified underclass can kindly ask to have nap time restored.  more text-based programming was introduced, stuff that didn't need audio.

having experienced and conquered these two particular early tests of my bus-riding resolve, i settled in to a routine.  after a little trial and error, routes that didn't take quite as long were found; and i perfected the gentle art of bumming rides familiar to all carless people surrounded by cars.

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

fear and loathing of 9/11

it was early 2002.  the country was scared shitless from 9/11 and doing it's best not to let on.  but it was useless.  any wild animal could tell our bouts of anger and bravado were nothing more than anxiety and insecurity.  in a frenzy of erecting even higher walls in the police state, senseless fear was battered into every corner of the country.  it was obvious the terrorists had won.  while the president was telling us they hated us for our freedoms, he was summarily taking them away.  a flight was now a bigger hassle than visiting an inmate and being of middle eastern descent was criminalized.  they finally figured out a bunch of saudis did it.  then they figured out oil money was instrumental in funding the whole affair.  that's when i decided to stop buying gasoline.

(easter egg when embiggened)

i couldn't follow through on this decision overnight, of course.  living in the county where richard nixon was revered and an airport was named after a cowboy actor meant public transportation was just barely sufficient for the help to get to and from santa ana in service of wealthy living.  to bike, i would have had to take highways and endure stares of condescension from the suv's.  the scorn car culture heaps on bicyclists is shrugged off easily enough, but the constant threat of road rage that i knew the locals were capable of made biking impossible.  it would have been like trying to survive thunderdome with nothing more than your bare hands.

fate dealt me a lucky hand in my aspiring boycott.  my employer was getting hit hard by the exodus of money from the tech industry.  part of its parachute was jettisoning me into unemployment.  i didn't provide enough lift apparently, as the place crashed a few months later, not that i cared anymore.  i decided to try my fate in the big city of angels. my apartment was close to a train station and so was my new job.  well, there was a bus ride involved, but there's nothing tamer than the populace of the san fernando valley.  even the scum here was predictable and easy to fight off with kind words.  usually, "have you taken your meds?" was enough to stop a hostile approach in its tracks.

and so my metro patronage began.

fear and loathing intro

it saddens me to report that after ten years of riding and well over 100,000 miles logged on the mta, i will no longer be patronizing this fair city's wonderful public transportation system.  i have all the same excuses every other discretionary-turned-non rider has.  time, personal situation, means, etc, though the real clincher is the availability of cheap solar panels and electric cars.  i may return to public transportation some day because even a guilt-free drive can be an unpleasant one.  nonetheless, i've been holding back some writing.  this coming month will feature this writing, work i hope will punctuate this here blog perfectly.  whether this becomes true or not, i think you'll find the work a change of pace, hopefully both interesting and worthwhile.

Friday, September 28, 2012

feeding and breeding

in the animal kingdom, almost all activities can be traced back to the need to feed or breed.

on the left and right here, you've got your feeding activities.  in the middle there, looks like plenty of both.

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

etiquette, pt 4

what's noteworthy here?
  1. "priority seating for seniors and disabled" sign
  2. no matter how professional you may look otherwise, white backpack straps make you look like a kid again -- a very old kid
  3. empty, non-priority seating on the right
what you might not know:
  1. strappy here was standing.  who knows what prompted him to sit.
  2. the train was pretty empty, so no one was actually being inconvenienced.  still, it bothers me.

Friday, September 21, 2012


i've never argued against being prepared.  that's how you avoid icy stares from your fellow rider when you board, know the fare and have it ready so we don't all have to wait for you.  and, for crying out loud, have some idea where you're going.  if you're a tourist who doesn't know the language or are stupefyingly inebriated, you have an excuse.  the rest of us shouldn't have to play 20 questions with the driver before we know whether we should be boarding or not.

that said, the person below and his batbelt full of gadgets is taking preparation a bit far, don't you think?

first of all, batman never took a bus, at least not while suited up for action.  second of all, what exactly is he prepared for?  i was tempted to create some sort of crisis just to find out.  "EVERYBODY FREEEEEZZE! THIS IS A ROBBERY!!!" except that everyone knows buses are only used for hostage situations, never armed robbery.  my guess is the crisis needed to fully exploit his preparedness would be a flat tire on a bike.

i just hope this isn't the response of home security employee after their car broke down.

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

blind yeller

i settle into my seat, journal open, pen in hand, ready to splash my insight of public transportation onto the page.  in the background, "have a great day!" arrives at my ears at the next stop.  sometimes riders know each other.  who am i to begrudge them their friendly farewells?

i continue trying to put brain to paper.  "have a lovely day, metro riders!" comes bellowing out at the next stop.  i hadn't heard such enthusiasm on the bus since an entire family found out their earned income credit check was finally coming through.  some riders mumble thanks as they step off.  i look up to see this.

at the next stop, he gets up.  before he gets off the bus, he turns and faces the riders for one final "everyone, have a great day!  don't forget to thank your driver."  he turns to the driver.  "you have a beautiful day.  thank you."  who's more sick, him for being a (literally) blind optimist or the rest of us for thinking "GODDAMN, that's too much sunshine.  now wonder you're blind!"

Monday, September 17, 2012

facebook page created

hi, everyone.  this is a promotional post to let you all know that a facebook page has been created for this blog.  if simply "like"ing individual posts isn't enough for you or if using the rss feed or visiting the site regularly makes you tired, click on the "like" button off in the right sidebar or visit LaMtaDiary and click on "like."  notifications of blog entries will appear on your wall or timeline or whatever it is they're calling it these days.

Friday, September 14, 2012

a man of god

i'm not joking.  it's not even that warm and shirtless here tried to sell me on jesus.  i did thank jesus that this man had a bag.  who knows what other goods i would have been forced to look at if he didn't?

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

bikers over riders

alright, bikers, it's gettin harder and harder for us pedestrian passengers of public transit to take your presence kindly.  you take up at least three bodies' worth of standing room when you don't act stupid.  this is something metro, in their infinite wisdom, has decided to formalize.

seats removed for bikes, strollers and large luggage
that's right.  two rows of seats and a handicapped seat have been removed from a whole lotta trains because there are so many more of you bikers than when gas was only $3.50/gal.  on some trains, it's a full three rows, six seats.  congratulations for makin more of the rest of us tired riders stand in your honor.  half the time, you bikers even rub salt in the wound, taking a seat while leaving your bike to fall over on someone.

someone sitting across the doorway from his bike
but, no, that's enough, is it?  instead of making use of the sanctioned spaces, you gotta crowd the doorways of the trains makin it a serious project for the rest of us to get on or off.  and for your inconsideration, what penance do you pay?  why, yall get off first, to, y'know, make room.

two bikes in the doorway
and if that ain't enough, there's been a serious spike in the number of yall crowdin your way onto an already crowded train and only riding a stop or two.  why you wasting time?  it's hard to find two, even three, consecutive train stations in the county far enough apart that you can't ride faster than it is to wait for the train.

so, enough of my ranting, what's to be done about this?

the best i can come up with is hopin this bike share thing works out and expands dramatically.  maybe if there are bikes everywhere, no one'll feel the need to bring em on the train.  the logistics of this are questionable, but it's one tiny glimmer of hope since it's become clear relying on bikers' general considerate nature is failing.

now, if bike sharing don't work and the legions of bikers continue to have enough bad apples causing me to voice my grief, i might just have to advocate for a bike ban.  no one wants that, do they?

Friday, September 7, 2012


i wasn't quite sure what was going on here at first.  of course, it looks like an adult or large child is sucking on a lollipop, but only ravers do that in public and even then only when they're raving.  with no glowsticks to be seen, it looked like someone with childish tendencies.

upon closer inspection, however, i think that's some sort of quit-smoking device.  the thing inside the plastic tube looked a bit like a cigarette and i have heard that for some people, smoking is just a habit that can be replaced with other habits like sucking on a cigarette-looking thing encased in a plastic tube so it looks like a lollipop.

of course a more clever person would use the plastic tube as a mechanism for holding the smoke so they could go right on smoking in non-smoking settings, much like kumar's smokeless bong.  of course, there's always the problem of exhalation, though i guess nothing an even more clever person couldn't work around.

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

bob marley in the house (not literally of course)

sometimes it's hard to know if people go out of their way to become living stereotypes or if it just comes naturally.  i'm sure i'm guilty of living a cliche when looked through the right lens, but some people live their cliches when looked through just about every lens.

i invite you to take a look at the above picture and take a wild guess at what the dude smelled like.  at first, you might be tempted to say "urine" because he looks homeless, but it don't take but a day or two of being homeless to make one realize a paper bag is no way to carry one's possessions.  even at the height of summer, moisture forms overnight and damp paper gives way to ripped bag before the sun comes up.  also, the homeless tend not to wear such light-colored pants and when they do, they tend not to stay that clean.

well if your train detective and profiling skills haven't led you to a reasonable answer yet, it comes as no surprise to the rest of us that this guy smelled like reefer -- dread-locks, bob marley t and burnout blanket being pretty dead giveaways.  now i'm not gonna go around accusing anyone of anything.  who knows?  maybe he was just in the room and maybe he didn't inhale.  but that'd be an awful shame.

Friday, August 31, 2012

Tuesday, August 28, 2012


the elevator door opens to a family that looks a little like the family from the showtime tv show "shameless."  they're not nearly as attractive, of course, because they aren't on tv, but there's a certain resemblance.  it looks like two grandparents and four grandkids, one young adult, two pre-teens and a baby.

"where are we goin'?" the first one out, one of the preteens, asks.

"right here," says the young adult, pointing to the platform.

"oh my god, there is snot coming out of my nose," the first one exclaims, not more than six inches from me.

"yeah?" grandpa asks.  "you should see the drool running down your sister's back," he quips as grandma rolls his wheelchair into place.  the other pre-teen is holding the baby up on her shoulder.

"ewwww," the first one intones.

"that's not drool," the young adult notices as she wipes the dripping substance from the baby's nose.

Friday, August 24, 2012

i have a dog. give me money.

i'm usually ambivalent about panhandlers on the train.  everyone gets dealt a bad hand once in a while and could use some sympathy; but this IS los fucking angeles, not known for a low cost of living and full of folks in no position to be charitable.  not to mention, if the enterprisingly fraudulent souls on the train whose conversations i overhear are to be believed, getting food stamps ain't too hard and neither is faking out social security about the learning disability someone (preferably a child) in your family may or may not have.

now, when a panhandler carries a small dog onto a train, obviously not well fed, crusty shit all comin out its eyes, there is no ambivalence.  all i think is "you worthless piece of shit."  this is not to say homeless people in general shouldn't have dogs.  i feel quite the contrary about that, in fact.  cesar millan and downtown dog rescue have noted that some of the most well-adjusted dogs they've come across are with homeless people.  but when you're clearly exploiting them for money, trying to get sympathy donations out of the "poor dog" crowd that can't see through your bullshit, you're just gonna have to deal with whatever contempt i throw your way.

as great as a photo would be, for my own safety's sake, i don't take pictures when i see this happening.

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

casanova failure

like a scene from bad bus rides everywhere, a man gets on and sits down next to the finest lady on the bus.  immediately, his moves and her parries are pretty self-evident.  he's obviously complimenting her and she replies with gratitude devoid of excitement.  of course, his car is in the shop and he's just tryin to find a way to san pedro.  to my surprise, he doesn't mention what kind of car it is (mercedes seems to be the popular pick, even in cadillacville).

unfortunately, he makes a mistake next that many an aspiring casanova has.  he tries to exert his authoritative knowledge.  "the 550 only go to 37th now.  it used to go all the way to west l.a."

"doesn't the expo line pick up some of that route?" she asks, no stranger to the routes herself.

"it don't go to half the places the 550 used to." he then proceeds to name about half a dozen intersections that the old route used to service, but are no longer serviced by the expo line.

"maybe there weren't enough riders on the 550," she suggests.

"oh there were lots of riders, especially during the day."

do you see the mistake yet?  in my mind, i'm thinking, "that is one broke-down, broke-ass hooptie if you feel confident enough to throw out bus ridership patterns.  are you sure you ever drive?  you sure do know a lot about that 550."

she continues to thwart his advances.  i notice she's tellin some lies of her own to prevent any stalking.  she said she only takes the bus once in a while to visit a friend.  we ride this bus together most days, but i understand the need to fib, especially to a stranger.

finally, the clincher.  "i have a boyfiend.  we've been together three years."  i don't know whether to believe her or not.

it's my stop so i don't get to see he continuation or potential end of this conversation.  i'd put money on a little "what's your man got to do with me?  i'm not tryin to hear that see," being thrown around.

Saturday, August 18, 2012

up in smoke

i'm breaking my post-twice-a-week schedule to bring you a very special house.  this house was featured in the movie up in smoke as strawberry's house.  it also featured in this blog, with me lamenting the condition of its exterior cleanliness.  well, now it's for sale.

(Photos taken from agent's Redfin listing)
i'd really hate for this house to go to owners who will treat the entire yard as a garbage dump/horde, so i'm hoping someone who reads this will be able to point someone who respects the unique history of this house to buy it.  given what i saw of the exterior, i'm pretty amazed at the condition of the interior.  a lot of original features are intact, including lots of unpainted woodwork, pocket doors, a fireplace mantle, wainscoting and, of course, the turrets.

so, if you love this house or "up in smoke" as much as i do, tell any househunting friends of your's in los angeles to have a look.

Friday, August 17, 2012


everyone knows that taking public transportation helps the environment by using less energy per passenger-mile traveled than driving solo.  but did you also know that by funding public transportation, we are also funding recycling efforts?

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

sun block

sometimes, there is a need to protect yourself from the direct beams of light shot at you from the sun.

sometimes there is not.  i can't imagine that holding a jacket like that would actually cool a person off.  i would probably end up actually sweating even more.  but if i honestly believed the reward for that sweat is not getting skin cancer, maybe i'd do it.  but wait!  what about that left forearm!  ahhhhhh!

Friday, August 10, 2012

non-refrigerated yogurt transport

that looks tiring, doesn't it?  sometimes on a crowded train, you don't get the luxury of sitting down though.  you can't read the box labels in this picture because i didn't have my iphone tripod mount with me this day, but it says "yogurt."  turns out him staying on the train for only one stop was good for both his arms and the eventual yogurt recipients getting a non-spoiled product.

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

nerd 49

a clear indication that nerd oppression has hit all-time lows.  i'm happy about this, of course, but i wonder what makes nerd49 think s/he is a nerd.  also, is there a nerd36 out there?  or perhaps a nerdpi or nerdavogadro?  or maybe the 49 refers to the square of the number of characters in "nerd 49" (it does look like there's a space, doesn't it?).  but what would that mean?  for each letter in "nerd 49" there's another phrase of exactly 7 characters?  maybe we have a master scrabble player (but there are no numbers in scrabble).  or is 49 some underground nerd slang i don't know about?  maybe a fan fiction author or pwn palace regular?

wait, wait, graffiti artists usually like sports.  49 is the 49ers probably.  though raiders fans are more common amongst graffiti-writers, maybe that's what makes nerd49 a nerd.  49ers sought gold.  i got it!  nerd49 is rich.

no, no, that can't be quite right.  so many questions, so little time.

Friday, August 3, 2012

little objects

i've had a few posts of the "weird big object brought on train" variety.  here are a couple of "weird little objects brought on train" pictures.

usually i only see instruments outside their cases on the train if they're being played for change.  this guy has "weird collector" written all over him, but he's also got "beleaguered teacher" written all over him too.  maybe i should have saved this as a brain teaser.

i'm not sure if i find this pair of hands acting as a hair holder creepy or clever.  from my peripheral vision, its creepy because i think there's a small fairy being enslaved for cosmetic purposes.  looked at directly, however, it's kind of clever because a fairy would never wear such a tacky set of pearls on her wrist.

Tuesday, July 31, 2012

shopping bags

one very obvious difference as you travel between different parts of this fair city of angels is the shopping bags. there are some parts of town where plastic top valu bags are the norm.  other parts of town see a lot more paper trader joe's bags.  and somehow, forever xxi transcends territorial boundaries.  i'm sure there's something very deep to be said about demographics, geography and class regarding the what, when and where of shopping bags, but one fairly obvious one (at least once you know to look for it) that was pointed out to me by a close friend can be illustrated by these pictures.

as nice as it would be to believe that this woman is returning home from her trip to restoration hardware, i'm quite certain this just isn't the case.  we're actually travelling towards the nearest restoration hardware and it's miles and miles away.  returning something perhaps?  at the time of day this picture was taken, there's no way to reach restoration hardware via train before closing.  here, we have another similar story with victoria's secret.

now i'm not suggesting that victoria's secret is not within the reach of this woman nor that any such shopping she might do there is unexpected.  however, i have been to the lingerie shop enough to know that when they pack the bag, it's never that full and they always top the bag with frilly-looking tissue.  also, as it just so happens, while i wasn't taking this photo, i noticed the contents of the bag were definitely much more suggestive of a hoodie than anything victoria's secret sells.

nothing says "i love my farmer's market" quite like a plastic bottle of coke.  well, nothing but a bag with "i love my farmer's market" actually printed on it anyway.

now, why all these shopping bags from places most likely not shopped at?  the nearest i can tell is domestic help is returning home with some gifts from residents of helped domicile.  after all, just because you're paying someone slave wages to clean up after you and look after your offspring or step-offspring doesn't mean you aren't racked with guilt over it.  the feeling is easily assuaged by sending the help home with a little not-good-enough-for-me-but-you-might-find-it-nice care package once in a while.  "here, put it in this restoration hardware bag i happen to have lying around.  that way, you can feel fancy on the train without blowing the thousands of dollars i made my husband spend on doorknobs and drawer pulls."

Friday, July 27, 2012

only as old as you feel

despite the backpack, i don't think this woman feels like she's six years old.  but if she does, i need to find out what her secret is.

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

yes, dumpsters

is it just me or does it seem weird that in a place that has benches specifically designed to discourage sleeping there are also two dumpsters?  i mean how much trash can be produced if no one is meant to linger?  there is a farmers' market that takes place very near here once a week.  perhaps this is where they stow their dumpster?

Friday, July 20, 2012

bird flu! sars! whooping cough. WHOOPING COUGH!

you can never be too careful.  the chloroform i put in the kerchief should be kicking in any minute now.  i can't just let her wear sneakers so mismatched to her outfit without doing something.

Tuesday, July 17, 2012

modern furniture

i believe they call this "flintstone moderne."

Friday, July 13, 2012

brain teasers, pt 5

unbridled patriot or guy whose bags never cross presidential administrations?

art theater manager or maestro salieri reborn, plotting a nemesis' death?

child of chris farley and meat loaf or child of chris farley and michael madsen?

ok, this one's a little different.  it's about the garment, not the person, and there's a ternary (ie, 3-way) choice.
pashmina, sari or toga?

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

1000 words

as much as we all want to put racial stereotypes behind us, i still occasionally hear people use phrases like "you're so white" with each other.  well, if this guy ever hears it, i think it's meant in a literal, physical sense. that level of physical whiteness is something the guy below is trying to achieve without genetic advantage.

Friday, July 6, 2012

paper clothes, pt 2

remember them folks in paper clothes i wrote about a while back?  well, had a couple of em ask me for directions.  should come as no surprise they were heading to county* to pick up their belongings.  though i knew that before they said anything to me, i didn't wanna be insulting or presumptuous.  after going through the formalities of the directions, the shaved-head latino said, "just finished in jail.  first time.  73 days.  dui."  it's like he had to make this introduction every day for, well, 73 days.  though he was latino, his accent almost sounded more eastern european.  "it's crazy, man.  but, man, i was so drunk.  it's messed up, you know.  it's the system too.  i'm from venice."  for you non-angelenos, that's the venice that gives venice beach it's name, not the venice in italy.  "professional musician.  i play the drums.  where are you from?"  after i answer, he continues, "you ever come to venice, look for the drums. you find me."

he turns to his friend, who looks a bit like a shorter, less intimidating version of nick sobotka from the wire.  "you go to the valley after?"

"i'm supposed to.  sort all that out when i get my phone.  right now, i'm too pissed to even think about it."

"man, you got to have money and brains.  i been in venice thirty years.  i got all kind of money.  but you need brains.  you have money and no brains, you lose everything."  truer words were never said.

i look down the train after we've been riding a bit.  the shaved-head guy is doing chin-ups on the upper hand rail.  seventy three days'll build up some funny habits, won't it?

* -- that would be l.a. county jail for those of you not up on incarceration lingo.

Tuesday, July 3, 2012

earplugs, if freddie freeloader doesn't interest you

i happen to like hearing all the weird, incendiary and often inane chatter on the train.  it helps me keep my finger on the pulse of things that probably don't want to have their pulse taken.  not surprisingly, many people are not like me.  most of them wear headphones, bobbin their heads to whatever beat's rockin their world right that moment.  but some just want to enjoy the silence.

Friday, June 29, 2012

trash porn, pt 13

shattered dream not yet worth putting in the trash.  it may still have life.  but for who?

Tuesday, June 26, 2012

dark rites

continuing with the "weird, large object carried on train" motif, we have here what i can only guess is an art project.  from this distance, it looks like a paper mache ram's head.  usually, if i associate "ram" and "shaved head" and "train rider," the professional football team that used to be in l.a. comes to mind.  this experience shows i need to add "dark wizard, possibly egyptian (see pharoah goatee)" to the list.

in one of the more bizarre coincidences, just a couple of days later, another member of the army of darkness waits by this very same light pole.

wait, no, it's no coincidence!  this gold line platform is where the mayan spirits will rise on dec 12 and smote all us into ... wait for it ... (according to wikipedia) ... wait for it ... the next ... drum roll please ... b'ak'tun (to the best of my knowledge, that's sort of like y2k, but for mayans.  whooo hoooo!!  costume party in a very small coffin dressed as a god with a ram's head!)

Saturday, June 23, 2012

hot wheels double loop

this blog is probably too boring for all the extreme sports types out there.  but, when there's a spectacle as big as the hot wheels double loop being constructed just outside your bus's window, it seems both picture-worthy and post-worthy.  so here are the pictures i got from the bus (look closely for the hard water spots on the bus window).

though this was completely unintentional, the banner there at the bottom will give all you curious folks a place to go look up more information on this big, orange beast.  basically, it looks like hot wheels is taking one of their tracks that they make for toy cars and making a real one for the EXTREEEEEEEME drivers of the games.  it's funny what can happen when kids grow up and get SHITLOADS of money to spend on whatever they want.

i like this one because those things up on top of the crane are construction dudes with hard hats.  they look like ants up there, which gives you some idea just how big this thing is.  also, you can see that the loop over there on the left is being held up by a giganticer crane and isn't quite in place yet (no, the iphone camera doesn't suck that much at distance shots).  depending on which direction someone is trying to drive through the loop, that kink could either be just a slight jolt or the thing that really ruins your day.  this is actually evident in the first picture too, now that i look a little more closely.

while i'm sure the actual stunts that will be done on this contraption will actually be more impressive to the world than the construction and design of it, this is one more little reminder of how nerds bring the world to life.

Friday, June 22, 2012

irony of ... iron (or maybe aluminum)

i've seen a lot of crazy contraptions associated with bikes.  there are those trailers for taking your kids.  there are those weird things that go on in front instead that are almost as big as the kid-size trailers.  there was the candyland bike.  and this guy (not really a contraption, but still associated with a bike).  and then, there's the thing pictured below.

that there is an oxygen tank strapped to a bike with a hose feeding the nostrils of the rider.  what's the irony here?  well, what if this person were playing a pick-up game of basketball with the tank on his back?  i guess i just don't associate heightened physical activity with someone who needs an oxygen tank.  and there's the delicate issue of what happens in an accident and the tank regulator gets knocked off.

nonetheless, you gotta hand it to this guy.  he'll use a lot less oxygen biking to the hospital (trust me, he was on his way there) than walking.

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

hatching art egg

the artwork below wraps around a pillar.  i've never been able to make much sense of it, even after reading the artist's statement, but there's hand art all over that others are connoisseurs of and might be able to shed some light.

hand and balls/eggs
occasionally, i think the hand on the top is throwing these ball/egg things to the set of hands in the picture below.  but then the butterfly hands on the bottom just make me think of a curb your enthusiasm episode.

passing the baton eggs
and here is one final airborne ball/egg thing with what may be expectant hands.

more ball/eggs and hands on pillar
oh, look at that.  one of the ball/egg things is hatching.  i'm hoping a baby dino crawls out of this thing in the next year or so.