Say Again

There was this guy I crossed paths with on the way to the library. I'd realized I had to return a DVD, and so I dressed in some unclean clothes to hurry over there and hurry home. I barely put in contacts instead of wearing my woefully outdated glasses or going without entirely. I was halfway there when I saw this guy. Just ahead of me was this woman and her overactive son. He seemed to look at her, then I thought he addressed a statement to me.

I thought he asked me the time, and so I reached to my pocket for my phone. Before I could get it out, he said something more that made me wonder if he was speaking to me at all, let alone asking the time. It sounded first like he said "Do you have the time?" Then he said something that seemed to include the word "Tampa". Admittedly, I don't have every single word he uttered straight, so maybe it's a fools errand trying.

The Best Entertainment

The DMV (or, as they call it back home, the MVD) is an interesting place. Most people have to go there at some point, so you get an interesting cross-section of humanity on display there. It isn't at any given time necessarily representative, but you could see anybody, those who are so fringy as to be off the grid entirely excepted. I hadn't been there myself in about five years, and had hoped to make it ten by renewing my license online, but it wasn't to be.

As I had no appointment, I was in for a long way. It ultimately amounted to some two and a half or three hours that I spent there, all told. Most of that time passed with me sitting next to this fairly young woman on her phone. When you hear a person talk on the phone for two hours, you begin to piece together an awful lot about their life. Trust me when I say that I learned plenty about this woman, and it was all terribly interesting.

What?

Last night I saw something that made me angry. Let me paint the scene. I had just been to a cool variety show at a nearby lounge. I was wearing a proper suit, which is a real sight to see, but not the salient one here. Upon reaching my apartment with my friends, I declared that I was going to the grocery store and we parted ways. I walked on, and after I'd gotten a little way, some high winds kicked up. I started getting hit with sand, and struggled to keep it out of my eyes.

I kept going, resolving to go home another way so as to avoid the sand and the unbroken winds. When I crossed the street and was nearly at the grocery store, I saw the thing I've been building up to. There was a man on the other side of that street, on the grounds of the drugstore. Of all things, he was operating a leaf-blower! You can't imagine the confusion and anger that seized my mind at that time, threatening the exceptionally good mood I'd built up.

Skating By

I saw something that caused me a bit of alarm the other day, although it passed. I was out trying to find Christmas presents, and I couldn't pass by the thrift store a block north of my apartment without stopping in to see what old VHS tapes they had. As it turned out, there were four tapes that I decided to buy. An old man was ahead of me in line, and he took his sweet time. When he started arguing with the clerk over a 25 cent discrepancy in the cost of some wrapping paper, I got mad.

That's not even the bit that made me alarmed. While trying to contain my frustration, I was looking around the store from where I was standing. There was this little girl in the store, and I would have given her no more than a glance and as much time's though except for what she was doing. She was roller-skating around the thrift store. I just could not help but worry for the store's wares knowing that she was about.

The Jerk In Life

A friend invited me to see what was described as "ninja theatre" at the foremost venue in my neighborhood. I had long hoped to see something in that theatre, and the aforementioned sounded very promising. It was just as described, and there was very little to complain about from either the material or the edifice. It was very well worth the act of attending an improv class in a relatively dressy outfit, I'd say.

It was not quite perfect, regrettably. There was a rather boarish guy seated behind us in the theatre, and he just would not let up. Prior to the "ninja theatre", there was another performance by a sort of vocal specialist. He did a lot of beat-boxing and juggling, among other things. He was pretty good, but he labored under the hindrance of this guy's persistent, unwelcome verbal contributions. It diminished things a bit.

Looking On, Rather Wan

When it rains, it pours. After feeling like I had not been blessed with any remarkable public incidents to report on for some time, I had a couple in the space of a few hours. On this past Sunday, I had witnessed a seemingly drunken man and woman debating issues of dating and romance on a San Diego Amtrak train platform. Little did I guess then that there would be more to digest by the time I laid my head down to rest.

That train ride was more or less uneventful, but the same could not be said for the subway ride which took me across Los Angeles after the other train got me to town. Really, the subway train was mostly placid, but that stopped shortly before it reached the end of the line. I was listening to a comedy podcast, but raised voices started getting loud enough to pierce through that, and soon enough I had to take notice.

Not Douglas Against Lincoln, I'm Thinkin'

It had been some time since the last time I overheard something decent.  Perhaps I am at fault for getting the idea that the universe owed me really interesting incidents which I could take in and spin into some form of entertainment. Those who know me have the idea that my encounters with them could become material in one of my creative endeavors or another, but really it's strangers who ought to worry.

Anyway, the dry spell is over. There I was, waiting around in San Diego for a train. The station was a smaller one, and rather confusingly laid out. I was there very early, but people started to appear as the train's arrival drew closer. Many were curious about whether it was the right track for the train they wanted. I was as unsure as them. One couple did not ask anything of the kind. They were engaged in something else between themselves.

Managing To Roll In Style

Yesterday I wrote of the cowardly closure of the local grocery store. The man who called himself manager and told me about it was a striking fellow. He seemed to see me as hostile, which was true enough, although I wasn't and am not the type to get terribly forceful in my belligerence. I suppose he couldn't have known that, especially considering my appearance. Anyway, he made an impression on me.

He was just leaving when I approached, and what I noticed most was that he seemed to be leaving in the company of a posse. In truth, it was a bevy of women. I don't say they were all tremendously attractive, but in my state of mind at the time I was not really picking up a ton of details. There just were several women about him as he headed out, and it brought to mind the image of men who are successful enough with women to stay until a bar closes and leave with all the barmaids.

Drama In The Arts District

It's really something what you'll see if you hang around and watch. It's particularly interesting to me what you'll see on your very own residential sides street if you just linger for a few minutes, but no one really does that except for me. Be it the middle of a working day or the middle of the night, remarkable things happen. They are just rather subtle and go unnoticed by most people. I try as hard as I can to notice them.

A week or so ago, I saw a real human drama playing out before me. Most people think they have to watch reality television for the illusion of one, or else be branded a peeper for looking into someone's home, but there are real stories illuminating the human condition right there on those neighborhood streets, with one possible exception being the streets in rich neighborhoods where no one ever walks even a little.

I Know What I Like

A number of my friends enjoy going to art galleries from time to time. I can take or leave it, but tend to take it because I enjoy spending time with my friends. I can leave it because the art on display seldom does much for me. I don't know that there's much to be said except that. I think a lot of the art is not very good, and trades more than anything on provocation. A lot of it derives from existing pop culture creations, which I don't care for much.

I should say that some of that latter material is very good, and that I don't know why a gifted artist would let their creation speak for some blockbuster movie instead of for them. That's a side issue, though. The point is that I can get very bored at some of these galleries, or I could if it weren't for the people.  Thank goodness for the people, because I tend to not get myself entangled in the wine and liquor that is such a hazard in a crowded gallery of well-appointed, fashionable types.

She Glows

I was sitting in a club (as it was functioning that night, though usually it is a bar geared towards music and dance performances). I was, at times, dancing along with the others, and drinking my fair share. As is my way though, I sometimes was again the man on the outside looking in on people more adept at all of those things than I. It's funny how you can be doing well for a while, and then suddenly not be. It's something like riding a bull.

During one of those moments when I was dusting myself off, I caught side of a woman who was there as part of the same birthday celebration that I was. We had what is ordinarily the stage sectioned off as a sort of VIP section, and I was sitting a bit away from her with my drink. She was on her phone. I am also accustomed to using my phone as a surrogate for proper socializing during such times, so it was something to see what that looks like.

Tour De Town

In the summer, there is an influx of tourists into Los Angeles. There are always some, I suppose, but it's more evident in the summer. The sidewalks of Hollywood are more crowded, or at least the sidewalks on the west end of it are. There may be found the tourist traps and world-renowned landmarks, and there may be seen the big crowds of visitors from elsewhere in America and across the globe. I'm of two minds about them.

Partly I find it to be a rather interesting experience, sharing the city with these people ever so briefly. I don't enjoy their habit of milling about in front of those landmarks and clogging up the sidewalk when I'm trying to go somewhere. On the other hand, the somewhere I'm going might not be a thing without their dollars propping up the local economy. I guess that I have to say that they're a beneficial presence on that basis.

The Quiet Broken

You wonder how some people live. Just what is the nature of the battle they are fighting? How do they maintain at least a draw every day? You can find some compassion for them, but how is there to be sympathy or empathy without understanding? I begin to think with some people that I have some idea about them, but I'm probably wrong. Other people I'm smart enough to know that I can't even begin to hazard a guess about their nature.

There's not enough information about some people. There are just moments. There was this man I heard out on the street the other night. It was one of those moments where I knew I'm really not like other people. Somehow it occurred to me that nobody else I know would have gone outside to walk around the block after two in the morning after dropping something off in the building's outgoing mail slot. It follows, therefore, that nobody else I know would have been there to hear this man screaming and cursing.

Not The "Ladiest" Lady

When I have positively no ideas, I can always rely on one stalwart source to provide for me, and perhaps you can guess that I am referring to public transportation. It gives when nothing else does. There is always an incident or a person who moves me to write. On this occasion, there is a woman who I saw on the subway. I can't really quite capture what her deal is, but I'll tell you what I know and perhaps the key to the person will emerge.

She was awfully tall, and built to match her height tolerably well. She had blonde hair and was wearing these white fishnet stockings. I don't want to draw any libelelous conclusions, so I'll confine myself to what I know. She sounded as if she could benefit from the attentions of Henry Higgins, by which I mean that she did not sound terribly refined. She cursed with ease, and didn't sound over-burdened by formal schooling.

Two Ships

You meet some odd types on public transportation. That's the only way I know I'm normal, if I've met people who I think are strange. Now, I ordinarily minimize my contact, keeping it to staring from a distance if I can help it. If I'm engaged in some kind of conversation, I discourage it with short, closed-ended answers. It's rare that I find myself in any kind of prolonged exchange, but in truth those few times are rather stimulating.

I met such a character the other day. I was coming back from Hollywood, and tried to hurry and catch the train rather than wait for the next one. Regrettably, I missed the train and resigned myself to waiting along with the sorts of people that are in a Hollywood train station at one in the morning. They are not your garden variety humanity, by and large. This one particular kid, though, may be all too common of a personality.

A Bad Man Cometh

There was a guy on the subway the other day who warrants some space on this blog. Now, I subscribe to the same policy of recognition that Time Magazine used to. Their Man of the Year (now Person of the Year) seemingly once was truly the most influential individual, for good or ill. These days, it's one positive copout or another. I don't want to be told that some generic person such as "You" is the person of the year.

This guy was no person of the year, but he was the person of our ride, that's for sure. He started off pleasantly enough, and we thought he might be one of the good guys with a cart full of recycling. We got corrected fast enough, though. First he started disparaging the minorities in LA's South Central neighborhoods. In the interest of keeping peace and trying to have as pleasant a ride as possible, the subject was changed.

A Fight Below

I had no business being out of my bed at such a late hour, let alone out of my apartment, but in the early hours of the morning I was lugging my clean, dry laundry back upstairs. I'd finally had enough, and decided that even though it was around midnight, I finally had to have clean clothes. Somewhere around two hours later, this decision paid off with a rather remarkable sight seen by yours truly. I trust you'll be engaged.

I would have just hustled on by the barbeque area that looks out onto the street three stories below, but I heard voices. Sounds carry in that still night air, but this was not just casual conversation that would just have made it to my ears. I think I would have heard these agitated words had their been a storm blowing like crazy. I decided that I had to stop for a moment and take myself a gander. Im always in the market for a spectacle.

Hemmed In

I was riding on the bus back to North Hollywood from Burbank the other day, and I was reading my Henry Miller book as I meant to. I also had my earphones in, but I wasn't listening to anything. It would have been too distracting to do so, but I feel that I'm less likely to be bothered if it looks like I'm listening to something in addition to intently reading a book (particularly if the tome is a salacious one such as I had).

At one point, a man came and sat down next to me. He then got off, and I was glad to be alone again. When a young woman got on, I expected her to sit anywhere but next to me, though free seats were not plentiful. She was pretty enough, and occupied fairly well with a phone call that seemed to concern a terribly dramatic conflict at her workplace. It was rather banal, but I couldn't help but hear when she sat next to me.

Some Scenes

You see some interesting things out walking on the street. Typically I see these things when I'm out walking for a purpose, but every now and then, I find myself feeling compelled to go for a walk. It may be because I'm bored, or as in a recent case, because I was trying to conceive of ideas and was having no luck cloistered away at home. When the ideas do not come and find you, my thinking is, you must go out there after them.

I for one am perfectly willing to do so with vigor, although if I had known that there would be a sheen of mist falling on the streets, I might have been less eager this time. Sometimes they're not really out there, no matter how much stimulus is out there- and on this occasion there was plenty to be seen and heard. In truth, this recent sojourn did not have any really clear-cut textbook ideas that I would come to and say, "Here is something worthy of my writerly attentions!"

"Sorry."

Whenever I get to thinking too highly of my fellow man, he makes sure to remind me that he doesn't come close to deserving it on a consistent basis. A few do, but most don't, and I think that the minority may live someplace else. If any of them are around, then I just keep missing them. The ones I see are mostly acting very poorly, and they don't appear very sorry for it even if they are at all aware. It's unpleasant.

It doesn't take much to get me so down, but maybe you'll agree that this thing I saw is sufficient. I'm always out on the sidewalk going about my business. I coexist with the car, the cyclist and the fellow pedestrian. I do my best to, anyway. Sometimes I'm less than aware, and I feel lousy when that's the case. If I feel in the wrong, my apologies are sincere. I saw this guy a bit ago who doesn't live up to any of those conditions.