Bad updater; no biscuit!!

I’ve been a bad updater lately, though in my defense there’s not much to report; due to various errands and dentist appointments last week I only ended up taking the bus twice. Still, it’s worth mentioning the hell that is the commuter 720 bus, which I took to Brentwood the other weekend. Literally a wall of people rushes the bus and crams inside; the bus driver then announces he is closing the doors, so you either brace yourself, take a deep breath and squeeze in at the last second or get the door shut in your face. You’ve gotta stand the whole way, getting thrown about, and I have found I much prefer the local buses, even though they stop every other block. Much more comfortable to sit, read, and forget the world for awhile.

I know the Metro Rapid’s appeal is that it doesn’t make very many stops, but for my purposes it doesn’t stop where I need it to anyway, and the crowd is rather depressing. I won’t be taking it again if I can help it.

I’m trying to decide if there’s a better route for me to use to work; possibly Olympic the whole way, with a longer walk at the beginning and end? I do like the Westwood transfer though; there’s a lot I can get done on the way.

Do not mess with our A/C, man

Today on the bus there was a guy dressed in a hooded sweatshirt and several layers who demanded that the bus driver turn off the air conditioning. It was BOILING OUTSIDE. The A/C is one of the unexpected perks of the bus. What was his problem??!!

“Turn it off!” he yelled at random, then muttered under his breath that it was too loud and he needed headphones (?). Eventually he walked to the front of the bus and confronted the driver directly; I couldn’t hear the driver’s response, but the air remained on. AS WELL IT SHOULD.

The bloom is off the rose

Oh God, where to start?

I hate everyone.

This morning I was really tired and in a foul mood, made worse by the fact that I was (figuratively) held hostage by three different people on the bus. First up: the loud cellphone talker two seats to the right. I have no idea what language she was speaking. (Was it Polish?) No clue. It was impossible to read or even hear my own thoughts. And she was a gesticulater, too, all wild hands and rising tones and spitting and movement. Why is it the people I’m forced to listen to on cellphones never happen to be listening to the person on the other end? No, they are ALWAYS and constantly holding court, for minutes on end.

I get off the bus for the transfer and as I’m walking a few blocks to catch the Culver City one, I nearly run into a dude exiting the 720 commuter bus. He’s bogged down with several bags and looks hostel-y (not to be confused with “hostile-y” in the Joss Whedon vernacular): semi-homeless, older, loud, some type of shifty-eyed “intrepid traveler.” He looks at me in that way that tells me he wants to start a conversation so I drift back and fall behind. Unfortunately we’re both walking the same way. We get to the intersection and I think I’m safe. Suddenly, from my right, “WHAT A NICE DAY. ISN’T IT A GREAT DAY??”

Me: (noncommital) Mm.

Him: “FEEL THAT BREEZE, HUH?” (complete with head motions)

He wants me to agree that the world is a joyous wonder. I’m not going to.

Me: polite nod. Thinking, “JUST LEAVE ME ALONE. PLEASE JUST LEAVE ME ALONE.”

I’m having “Gift of Fear” levels of anxiety around this guy.

Him: “Do you find a bigger purse can hold things easier?”

Me, thinking: “WHAT THE FUCK IS HE TALKING ABOUT? MY PURSE IS SMALL. Does he mean my bag? And yes, OBVIOUSLY a bigger anything can hold things easier.”

Me, aloud: “In general, yes.”

He falls into step with me as we cross.

When we get across the intersection, he hangs back AGAIN but I ditch him by veering right…and it’s obvious I’m not heading anywhere, because the only thing there is an abandoned Hollywood Video store. He watches me go, confused. HE WATCHES ME GO. I have no way of circling back without him pouncing again. I seriously, seriously, seriously just want to be left alone. After wandering aimlessly in areas not meant for pedestrians, I circle back and approach the next bus stop. He’s there.

I slow my pace. I’m walking so slowly that I’m nearly going backwards. Eventually he leaves or gets on a different bus or walks away.

And lastly, on the next bus, there is a young woman SINGING in the back. Not humming quietly to herself or bopping discreetly to her headphones, but FULL-THROATED, high-pitched SINGING. It’s part musical, part aria. She’s sitting in the last row, middle seat, with a friend, and it is impossible to block out. I cannot believe what I’m hearing. I look back repeatedly because it is incredibly annoying and I want it to stop. Nobody else seems to care much. And then she and her friend talk really, really loudly about their plans for Saturday and about a cake and whose mom can make them the cake, and then one or more of them sings again.

And I want to beat them into bloody pulps with my book, all of them.

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.

So how much time am I wasting, exactly?

I live 7.35 miles from the office. My commute should be 10-15 minutes. But this is Los Angeles.

When I drive to work, I leave at 10:30 to arrive at 11. When I take the bus I have to catch the 9:47 to arrive at the same time.

Coming home in my car, I leave at 7 and and arrive between 7:30 and 7:45. When I take the bus, I don’t get home ’til 8.

All told, I waste at least 15 minutes at night and 45 minutes in the morning, and I’m traveling for 2 hours a day instead of 1. This is absurd considering how close I live to work, and maybe this lost time should upset me. But I find myself wondering what it was that I needed to get home for anyway. To watch TV in a drunken stupor? OMG are there Pringles going uneaten and vodka going undrunk?

Besides, once the TV season starts up again (assuming it does), any show I watch at 8 will be DVR’d and I’ll catch it in half the time without ads. It’ll be waiting for me when I walk in the door.

Battle of the Sexes

On the Metro 20, the electronic voice that announces the stops is male.

On the Culver City 6, it’s female.

I wonder who decided this, and why.

So how much money am I saving, exactly?

According to Metro.net and AAA, driving a car costs 54.1 cents per mile. My office is 7.35 miles away, so that’s 14.70 total miles a day, or nearly $8 vs. $2.55 per day to ride the bus.

Another way of calculating is to consider what I pay for gas. I usually fill up twice a month, at about $60 each time, so that’s $120 vs. $51.

To repair the damage to my car, the insurance appraiser says I’ll need to spend $900 ($500 deductible from me, $400 from them).

So maybe after ten months of riding the bus I’ll start to feel better.

Whee.

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?

“A Free Life” by Ha Jin

I like to read while I ride the bus to and from work. This week I finished “Picture of Dorian Gray” by Oscar Wilde and started “Joy Luck Club” by Amy Tan. From time to time I’ll post my thoughts on the stories I’m reading. I originally wrote this review of “A Free Life” by Ha Jin on my GoodReads page, and I wanted to include it here because I highly recommend the book:

A Chinese immigrant moves to Boston and becomes disenchanted with his political science studies, so he drops out of university and struggles to take care of his family, doing a series of low-paying, somewhat demoralizing, exhausting jobs. What he really wants to do is write poetry. He can’t seem to forget his ex-girlfriend, even though he’s married to someone else — someone wonderful — and has a child with her. As the years pass, in slow but beautifully-written, simple detail, he learns to cook in NYC and eventually moves down south to Atlanta, where he buys a restaurant and a house. He’s able to pay off his mortgage and live the American Dream with his wife and son, but he doesn’t see it that way; he’s convinced that he is a failure.

This book is for anyone who’s ever tried to be an artist. It redefined the term for me.

Despite consisting of low-key events and day-to-day details (no huge action), I was riveted by this book and cared deeply about the characters. It’s quite sad at times but has an uplifting and satisfying ending.