That's Not A Bus

I had an interesting thought while I was lying and trying to sleep, so it's good that I have been keeping a legal pad and pencil there by the bed. I'd had a dream where some people drove to me house to pick me up. I wasn't expecting them, and they may have been celebrities or something, because I don't think I really felt that I knew them. It was this weird carpool sort of thing, and I naturally wondered what had made me dream it.

It occurred to me soon enough that it could have been connected to a pair of incidents that occurred before Toastmasters meetings on consecutive weeks. I take the bus to reach those meetings, and it could be a more convenient route that I take. I have to catch a connecting bus, and the stop for that bus lies where a freeway offramp is. It's really the worst intersection at this spot, or at least it would be the worst if bad intersections weren't a local specialty.

Long Way To Go

The other day, I had some business out a long way from home. It was, as a matter of fact, an interview with a potential agent (or rather a definite agent who could potentially have represented me). For reasons probably not worth speculation, the agency was deep into the San Fernando Valley. Most people probably would have been dissuaded by the great distance entailed by the prospect of the interview, the great potential reward notwithstanding, but not I.

First I had to walk over to what they call a busway, which is a bus that functions as a light rail train does. I took this busway all the way to the end of the line, which is a ride that approaches an hour in length, give or take a few minutes. From there I had to connect with another bus of the conventional sort that would carry me another half an hour or so in that same direction. Altogether the trip took nearly two hours, accounting for the walking and the waiting.

Pal's Revered Midnight Ride

Some time ago, I wrote about how long it had been since I had really gone swimming (this being on the occasion of finally taking advantage of the pool in the apartment complex I then called home. I would move out shortly thereafter, ultimately to a building which has no pool). It was quite an experience, but at least I had gone into the water on occasion during this break from real swimming. The other day, I did something which I had not even come close to in years and years. I still can't recall when would have been the last time.

I went riding a bicycle. Now I want to stress one point above all else. You know what they say about riding a bike? I will not say it, and I implore anyone reading this to not say it either. It would just enrage me to hear that cliche. In any case, it's true enough. I was somewhat apprehensive about getting into it at the drop of a hat. A friend invited me out with the proviso that he would be riding his bike and that I would have to ride his other bike in the absence of other reasonable transportation of my own.

A Machine Shall Lead Them

As incredible as the things that technology can do for us are, I don't think that it can do anything more impressive than consistently convince us that it can do more than it can. I understand that in the judicial system they now have trouble with juries weaned on years of criminal forensics shows which show lab technicians regularly performing miracles in garnering clues from the scene. Evidently it's a real problem, and that's not the only one.

People rely heavily on GPS-powered navigational programs. I do so as much as anyone, as it is a great help even on public transportation and sometimes on foot. Now, you can generally trust the directions given for driving or for public transit, but beware of what it tells you to do when walking. There's a very good reason why Google Maps maintains that its walking directions are in 'Beta Mode'. They just can't say very easily what route to take that way. It's partly that determining the quickest route is so tricky, and partly that plotting a course which it's safe to walk is so hard.

Bone-In

I was scrutinizing a map which related a trip I was to take from my home neighborhood of North Hollywood to the distant outpost of Glendale. Taking public transportation as I habitually do, I am used to what would appear to be less than efficient routes. No one can travel around the city as the crow flies, but I cannot go even as the crow walks, if it should ever do such a thing (to be frank I cannot say I've ever seen it do anything in particular except mark my admissions of being in the wrong). So it was in this case, but for an understandable reason. Standing in the way of my speedy trip like a tree stump in the yard is that glittering jewel in the crown of LA's parks, Griffith Park.

Named after industrialist and philanthropist Griffith J. Griffith (who evidently believed fervently that misery loves company), the park is a worthy rival to Central Park of New York and Grant Park of Chicago (to the latter of which must now be added Millenium Park). That is unquestionably so in my book, possessing as it does such landmarks as the Batcave and other historical chapters of note, not to mention actual natural beauty and splendor. Griffith Park may not have the incidents of civil unrest that other cities' greatest parks do (ceded as those were to MacArthur Park), but it is a great park.

Back Seat Rider

I have many occasions to travel by car in spite of not owning one- I just always sit in a passenger seat instead of the driver's seat. Providing that it's not a massive old van, one is left with three basic possibilities. There is what they call 'shotgun', after the old frontier precaution of having a man sitting by the driver ready with a shotgun to defend the wagon from whatever manner of hostile force. People call out 'Shotgun!" when they want to sit there, but never come through on that essential function. No one really means much of what they say anymore.

That seat is definitely in the greatest demand, but may or may not be the best one. For the tall or large passenger it probably is, although being alone in the back seat may afford the opportunity to stretch out. The front passenger seat also ensures that you are close enough to someone- the driver- for conversation. Should there be multiple people in the back seat it amounts to a wash in that regard unless there is a clear difference between the conversation in the front and that in the back. On a long trip some may be sleeping in back, and it's not much fun to be in close proximity to that. Also worth considering is the car's capacity for properly distributing both conditioned air and the sound from the stereo. Both are indisputably essential.

Never A Fab Cab

I was thinking about taxicabs recently, and did some quick thinking. I determined after a few moments that I have taken cabs on maybe six occasions in my life. I don't know if that's terribly few, but I suspect it might be. Growing up, I got the idea from TV and movies that in really big cities (if not my own), people took cabs all the time. It looked like it was convenient and cheap. If not, then how could it be so commonplace? Of course it's really neither convenient nor cheap. In the things I saw, people were always hailing cabs and getting them, except when the program needed to make a point about racism. What I've found to be the case is that with certain exceptions, cabs aren't even supposed to pick up people like that. Rather they are supposed to only pick up people they are told about by a dispatcher. That can take a long time. Also they seldom are the iconic makes and models I would always see. Often they are larger cars meant to accommodate luggage on trips to the airport, and frequently they are either not yellow, not checkered or are in fact neither.

Some of the places where cabs can pick people up are the subway and Greyhound stations. The logic of that escapes me. I wonder what makes a cab company think that I'm going to spend something like forty dollars to get from downtown to my home after spending less to reach town from over three hundred miles way away. It must work out if they do that, but I have no idea how. It made a whole lot more sense to see the cabs lined up outside the Hilton on Chicago's Michigan Avenue. That's a place where one can envision people hiring cabs without a thought for the expense. It should be no surprise when I say that expense is considerable. I have watched with mounting bewilderment as the meter coldly reported a sky-rocketing total for my trip. It make total sense when one considers that it includes a car, all the expenses of upkeep and a driver as well.

Unfortunate Sun

I can't believe that some things people do are entirely permissible. Against all good reason, they're both legal and socially acceptable. I'm certainly not talking about those sorts of things where a person engages in destructive behavior which has no effect on anyone else, barring friends and loved ones who care what happens to that person. I'm talking strictly about things which very clearly impact all kinds of people not bargaining on dealing with the consequences of such actions. A lot of it has to do with driving (the legality of which is itself some of a wonder). The specific things that I feel are a worry there are mostly about multitasking, but it's not using a phone, applying makeup, looking at a map or eating fast food while driving that has me troubled. Rather, it is the destination people are driving to relative to the Sun.

People laugh when I bring this up, and yet who among them can deny how terribly unsafe it is to drive towards the Sun? It impairs the driver in a myriad of ways. Street signs cannot be read until the driver is right at them if they can be read at all. This is bad enough on surface streets, where the speed is more manageable and where there are other landmarks visible to give you some indication of where you are provided you are familiar with the route. It's just about unbearable on the freeway, where you often can see nothing useful other than the freeway itself thanks to the barriers installed or to the driving surface being sunken below the surface streets. Furthermore, it's tough to see what the other cars are doing. It's just a very dangerous situation to me.

The Longest Day: Part Four

For the past three days, I have been recounting a busy, happy day of a past weekend. It began with an unreliable handyman, continued with a self-help workshop, and developed further with a birthday dinner. Where I left off, we were looking to push the good times a little further with a nocturnal visit to the beach. Today, reader, you are to be commended for sticking around all the way to the thrilling conclusion.

I had been advised that a swim might actually take place, and so I had come prepared with my trunks and a towel. I need not have. We drove a short distance, parking a just a little way from the beach itself. Some people who had not been part of the prior festivities met us there, and informed us of police who were "busting heads" after finding some underage drinkers on the beach, which was officially closed. We did the sensible thing after hearing that: going back to the perpendicular street behind us and walking a block or so further to circumvent the authorities.

We had on hand all the things that make a night on the beach magical. There were good friends, acoustic guitars, cigarettes and unidentified beverages ensconced in brown paper bags. I partook directly only of the first two, but indirectly enjoyed the second two in the form of more cheery companions. We walked out onto the sand and took over a lifeguard tower which announced that no life guard was on duty. During years past of greater prosperity I assume that it was manned, and not simply a cruel, expensive trick played on swimmers in trouble.

The Wheels On The Bus

I bring you today another tale of my tangible exploits out-of-doors, leaving the cerebral for another day. I recently related in three parts a multi-birthday Saturday night. This story will not be so expansive, and so I won't have to close the book over your protestations and admonish you to sleep. Now, I was down for the count in the early going Sunday, scrapping my plans for attending a baseball game, which itself forced the cancellation of my usual plans for morning church service in Beverly Hills.

Happily, I was able to get myself together in more than enough time to plan on evening church services downtown. Ordinarily, if I'm going to that service, I take a brief bus ride to the nearest subway station, riding that until I get downtown. From there, I walk a good distance until I reach the venue. It's an often colorful commute, but seldom an especially eventful one. On this particular occasion, I thought I'd spare myself the long walk by taking two buses, the second of which would deposit me right by my destination. I don't know that I will be doing that again.

The events of the day

Yesterday featured some notable events for me. Thursdays, as my loyal band of readers will recall, are the day that I have Toastmasters. I was ballot counter, but hope to give my next speech in a week or two. I'm not sure if I'll work with the speech I wrote about late night talk shows. I don't entirely like it as is, but it might work with some reorganization. Anyway, it was a good meeting in spite of being held in the smaller room this week. Concessions must be made occasionally to Warner Brothers.

Just prior to leaving for that meeting, I had discovered that I missed an express delivery through USPS. A friend had overnighted me tickets to the Dodgers' three exhibitions at Dodger Stadium prior to the opening of the regular season, and the first of the three was yesterday night. According to the slip left behind by the delivery man, the earliest I would be able to retrieve the shipment was the following morning- not an acceptable state of affairs! After the meeting, I called the post office, and was advised that I might possibly track down the mailman in my neighborhood and get the package from him before he returned to the post office. As I made my way back from the meeting, I plotted my plan of attack on finding my quarry.

The Long Bus Ride

I found it necessary to go down to Hermosa Beach, which happens to be quite a long way from me in North Hollywood. Not a big deal for someone with a car, but when you rely on public transportation, it's a chore.

There were two transfers and three buses each way. I realized when I went out to the bus stop that it was the first of the month, and I hadn't gotten the new bus pass. I resolved that I would just pay the cash fare to get to the subway station, and I could get the monthly pass when I got to one of the fare machines in the station. That's what I did, but there was an issue. To get down to Hermosa Beach, I had to take one commuter express bus each way, which costs extra. I believe I paid 1.75 the first time, and on my way back, the driver just waved me on because it was taking too long to settle and she had to get moving. Apparently something was wrong with the bus, because just when we got to my stop, the bus was met by a mechanic. I'm just glad it got as far as I was going.

These long bus rides aren't ideal, but at least you can make use of the time since you're not driving. I like to read, but sometimes I just sit and try to relax. On the express buses that go on the freeway and don't make any stops for a while, a lot of people seem to like to sleep. I don't know if I'd be comfortable with that, but sometimes I do get rather sleepy. I used to fall asleep on the school bus in the mornings.

I hope I get the chance to be in that part of the south bay for pleasure. It seems like a lovely place right by the beach, but I was occupied by work and other things both of the times I went down there. Surely there will be other chances.