Books: do not leave home without ‘em

I’ve quickly learned that not having a book on the bus makes the ride interminable (TV Transit actually gets some of its news from TMZ. The other day they reported on Usher’s “mom-ager” issues); last night all I had were the trades, which I got through in about 5 minutes, but with a book, I actually look forward to the reading time that being on the bus allows. In fact, unless it’s the weekend or I only have a few pages to go, I won’t read the book at home because I like the feeling of anticipation and forcing myself to let the books linger in my mind for a bit each day. On the weekend I’m allowed to devour an entire book, but during the week it’s nice to spread it out.

Books also allow me to keep to myself on the bus; add a pair of sunglasses and I’ve got the full “do not engage me” protective shell.

I started “Things Fall Apart” by Chinua Achebe this morning and got through 3 chapters.

Review of “Dogtown” by Mercedes Lambert coming soon. It takes place in L.A. and it’s eerily well-suited to riding around the city.

“Lost City Radio” by Daniel Alarcon

Dang, this book was well-written and depressing. The description of a vague civil war in a vague (never named) South American country feels all the more realistic in its non-specificity, as if encapsulating all civil wars in every country.

There are several lead characters, the first being Norma, who hosts the popular “Lost City Radio” show, in which those who’ve been separated from their loved ones attempt to reconnect after the war has ended. Norma’s beloved husband, Rey, is one of the missing; he disappeared 10 years ago in the jungle and may or may not have been part of the rebel IL group that unsuccessfully tried to overthrow the government.

When 11-year-old Victor leaves his jungle village and locates Norma, they realize they have a connection neither expected. I found the connection obvious and a bit annoying, but it makes sense based on what we know of Rey, which is that he’s an occasionally selfish and dangerous liar. Many different POVs are employed, with lots of head-jumping, and descriptions of events that took place years apart sometimes occur within a single paragraph (sort of like the style used in “Veronica” by Mary Gaitskill). A less skilled writer couldn’t have pulled it off. The ending is sad; nothing neat or tidy about it, which is either brave on the writer’s part or frustrating for the audience; not sure yet. It’s clear the author is a major talent, though.

I read the majority of this book on the bus last week. Traveling during the day (half-day on Thursday) took a long time: 1.5 hours on the way home. It’s much better to stay on the fringe of rush hour, which I’ll definitely do next week. I also read “Japanamerica” by Roland Kelts.

Hee-larious: WikiHow’s primer on riding the bus

A Googling adventure led me to a page called “How to Ride Public Transportation in Los Angeles.” There’s nothing L.A.-specific about it; it’s so generic as to be meaningless, so I assume they copy the same instructions for every city.

Here are some of the tips, taken verbatim from the site. They deserve awards for hilarity:

3rd Prize: “If you are not certain of your destination it helps the bus operator if you know the cross streets.”

(If you aren’t certain of your destination, WHY ARE YOU RIDING THE BUS?)

2nd Prize: “Only sleep on a bus if your destination is the last stop or if there is someone that will wake you at your stop. The operator, typically, will not wake you for your stop.”

(Um, here is my tip, copyright of “Riding the Bus in L.A.”: NEVER, EVER SLEEP ON THE BUS. Also: How would it even be possible? If you are actually capable of sleeping around strangers while sitting upright in a plastic chair, as the bus bounces, jangles and sways, hitting every single pothole with a loud crunching noise, and screeches to a halt every half block to load up with more people, my hats off to you.) **

1st Prize: “People from all walks of life ride the bus. for some individuals it is their only means of transportation. (sic) Some people have mental problems and may act strange but normally they are harmless. They may talk to themselves but do not assume they are talking to you.”

(Indeed.)

** Revised to add: I can’t believe I already forgot about that guy who nodded off onto my shoulder.

The people on the bus go round and round

I thought yesterday’s morning commute on the bus was bad.

Ha!

On the route home, my transfer bus was at least 10 minutes late and included an elderly woman cursing repeatedly, yelling at the bus driver, asking if he was deaf, and begging him several times in a glass-shattering voice to move up a few feet so the rear exit wouldn’t open in front of a tree. She was nearly hysterical. She had three suitcases. Where did she come from? Why were we all so reluctant to help her?

The bus driver was calm the whole time. I can’t even imagine the shit he’s seen.

Tidbits from the transfer

My driver on the West 20 this morning was a bad-ass. He honked people out of the way and then ran a red light. I didn’t feel scared because we are bigger than all the cars.

I was able to stop at the bank as planned, get my money and also a purple lollipop from a dish they had out, though I cut it a bit close getting to work.

I’m trying to figure out a way I can convince my husband to take the Fly-Away Bus from Westwood to LAX in August for my sister’s wedding. A taxi would be about $80-90 bucks there and back, and parking for three nights would be at least $75, but the bus would be $16 total, for both of us, round trip.

These are the people in my neighborhood

Today in the elevator, on my way out of my building, I nearly got off at the 2nd floor by accident. One of my neighbors, an older black man who was getting on, chuckled and said he thought I’d changed my mind about leaving. We theorized what had gone on in my brain: “Nah, I don’t want to go, why would I want to do that?” I thought he made a good point.

I had to catch the bus at 8:45 a.m. to get to work a bit earlier than normal. As part of rush hour, the ride was definitely more crowded than yesterday, and momentarily fit the image most people have of buses in L.A.: miserable, hostile people forced to stand, crammed together, clutching onto the poles as the vehicle lurches to hell. Most people were standing, but there was one free seat and no elderly or handicapped person angling for it so I took it. There was constant Spanish chatter from all corners, but I was able to block it out mostly and read. “Portrait of Dorian Gray” is getting freaky. Every sentence practically is gold.

Reminder: it hurts to ride sideways. Always try to sit in a front-facing seat.

How long will I have a clenched stomach? I’ve had one ever since my car accident. As soon as I notice that I’m not clenching, my noticing triggers it again, and never for any specific reason; just a lot of unformed, vague anxiety. I don’t ever want to get behind the wheel again. This is absurdly unrealistic, but it’s how I feel right now. Also I can’t sleep because my stomach won’t let me and I’m afraid I’ll oversleep and miss the bus.

People, it’s been ONE DAY and I’ve already had a nightmare that I missed the bus.

Oh and get this: the instant I exited the Culver City 6 outside work, there was a car accident in the street behind us. Someone’s front light and license plate got smashed; possibly a hit and run. The Asian girl who exited ahead of me and I both saw it happen. “Yikes!” we said. “I’m glad I was on the bus.”

The transfer wasn’t pleasant at all this morning, though at least this time I had sunblock on. But the speeding cars get so close to the curb as they woosh by. They kick up tons of garbage; a leaf even landed in my hair and nearly smacked my face.

On the plus side, at Westwood/Wilshire there’s a Starbucks. I might have time to grab one en route one day (if they allow that on the bus).

I am precisely one nickel short for return fare, but one of my co-workers gave me the change. I will be at the correct stand tonight.

Weirdly, I’ve felt more connected to my community during these past two days. In our cars (almost NO ONE car pools here) it’s you and your hunk of hurtling metal vs. everyone else’s hunks of hurtling metal, fighting for space and speed. The angry din of horns honking, ugly music blasting, people slamming on breaks, tires squealing, dangerous weaving in and out of lanes, strangers yelling at one another…I just don’t want to have to worry about it; I just want someone to get me home safely.

Walking to the stop in the early-ish morning, the leaf blower guy pausing as I go by so I don’t get blasted; the friendliness of the bus drivers; it feels like we’re all in this together, whatever “this” is.

Life? Los Angeles?