Month: August 2017

ADVENTURES IN PRIVATE TRANSPORTATION: Garbage Out As usual, the southbound 110 freeway is snarled with bumper-to-bumper traffic approaching downtown L.A. Strangely, the northbound lanes have not a single car. “Not a single car,” just isn’t a phrase one hears in Los Angeles. No matter the time, no matter the place, no matter the activity, if it’s in L.A. it involves lots of cars. Usually too many cars. Not today. As I creep southward, I hear sirens and see police strobes flashing red and blue in the distance, on the northbound side. Moments later, a powder blue garbage truck, escorted by five, unmarked, black, SUV’s with police strobes, zooms by headed north with the road all to themselves. “Keep [L.A.?] Beautiful” is emblazoned on the side of the truck is large, ornate letters. I wonder, for a second, why garbage needs a motorcade. At which point, Donald Trump springs to mind. But being old enough to understand the the difference between the literal and the figurative, I dismiss the idea as absurd. Donald Trump is garbage, but he’s not literally garbage. But I digress. A little farther on, more police vehicles block the roadway. A beige car is turned the wrong way in the passing lane. I can only see their tops because the wall dividing the north and south lanes is now too tall to see what’s happening on...

ADVENTURES IN PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION: Background Overheard on the train (all are strangers): Guy1: Are they hiring where you work? Guy2: Yeah, you should apply. Guy1: Do they do a background check? Guy2: Yeah. Guy1: Can’t do it then. Guy2: They just look for felonies. Guy1: Can’t do it. They make it so hard. I mean, EVERYBODY’S got a felony. Guy3: I’ve got a felony. Guy4: I’ve got a felony! Guy5: I’ve got a felony. Guy2: I’ve just got a misdemeanor. They also ask if you use any illegal drugs. I smoke a lot of pot, but I’ve got a prescription; so it’s not illegal. Originally posted March 9,...

The man with the clipboard is deep in the pitch. His target, another passenger on the Gold Line train, nods and smiles and is prepared to buy whatever he’s selling. His rapid patter is more like flirting than politics. He’s hawking a petition about minimum wage, among others. She’s eating it all up with a spoon and would like to have him for dessert. “OK, I’ll sign,” she, says before he’s even done with the pitch. “Great,” he says, smiling back at her. There’s a long pause as they regard one another. Finally, she breaks the silence. “Do you have a pen?” There a flash of… something in his eyes as he realizes he does not. “Yo, big man.” He’s addressing me. “You got a pen?” “No,” I reply. He repeats the question to everyone in the vicinity. No one wants to offer one. They say the pen is mightier than the sword, but he has gone to battle completely unarmed. And it is doubly tragic because he doesn’t seem to realize she doesn’t really care about the pen anyway. She really just wants his...