the transit gods are kissing my ass
So I took the plunge and forked over the last of my savings for a VW fox on Monday. He's already on the road and insured and making funny noises. I was assured by my mechanic wizzo little brother that the two things I listed over the phone to him were easily fixable. I'm hoping he'll want to come to town to visit big sister and change my brake shoes or unsqueak my fan belt. Despite the existence of Tod in my life (I've named him after Tod, from the Fox and the Hound, my ultimate favourite pseudo-gay lovers Disney movie of all time), I've decided to continue taking the bus. For the earth, for my blog, and mostly for money. Gas is going to squirt up in cost this summer to disgusting prices and my insurance was that much cheaper if I don't drive foxy Tod to work daily. So I won't. So there. The weird thing about taking the bus this week has been the relative loveliness of it all. It's as though the bus gods are smiling down on me, trying to get me to come back to their side of transit heaven, or shall I say hell most the time. The skytrains have been relatively dumbass free. The buses frequent. The experiences grand. Take this morning for instance. I was in the zone, taking the 'convoluted' (see below) way to work when I ran into my friend Mel at the Nanaimo stop. What a nice little encounter so early in the morning. Then there was the marathon bus sprinter who sprinted two blocks uphill to catch the #3 Main as I was on my way to pick up Tod. Seriously, the traffic was just so and the driver just kind enough that the aviator, hoody clad cutie was able to actually catch the bus while navigating his way past the hookers of the City Motor Hotel and the hippies of the Foundation. Love it!So I'll continue to take the bus.
bandwagons
I wanted to recommend a very pretty blog to you all: Mini-bus diaries. Great pics of travels through South America. Vancouver designer Lyndsay Simmonds and her partner headed off a while back to tour through Bolivia, Brazil, Argentina and Chile with their toyota mini-bus.
One of my (former) favourite bus reading materials and Vancouver weekly is starting to turn to schlock. Recently my favourite columnist from the Westender disappeared from their pages. If anyone ever read 'In the City' or 'Bankgeek' you know who I'm talking about. Elaine Corden's writing was always witty, erudite and before the trend hit. The Westender is trying to go all lifestyle on us and I'm not sure it's working. Even their amazing "My Digs" columnist Carla Gillis has left and I'm afraid the homes featured on that page will be there just cause there pretty and not much else. Hmmm. Makes me sad. If anyone agrees with me that their conversion to pander to yuppie Yaletowners or middle aged Kitsilano folk with mortgages and hummer strollers, you should email them demanding that Band Geek return and that their editorial direction move back to left of centre edgy, East Vanny.
Last night my friend Elly and I took the #9 back to my place for a mushy dinner. My wisdom teeth are still healing from the yankage last week, so most food goes into a blender these days before touching my lips. Elly was making fun of me for being a 'late bandwagon jumper' (my words not hers). I become unreasonable pysched and stoked on movies and music well after they're en vogue. I kind of pride myself in this quality. How would people like Luke Wilson (Royal Tannenbaums, 2 years after release), Zach Braff (Garden State, 1 year after release), Salma Hayek (Frida, 4 years after release) make money if people like me didn't continue to watch their films once they've shuffled off the new release shelf. Whatever. I'm a bit slow, but what I lack in speed I make up for in enthusiasm. Like my obsessive rotations of The Whigs, an amazing little band from Athens, GA that I saw in NYC. What a minute, I don't think many people have heard of them. Does this mean I'm starting a bandwagon?
Rain rain rain in Vancouver. I'm heading to Victoria this weekend to meet my friend's new baby, Molly! Finally. I hope she likes the little goodie I got her at the Malcom Shabazz African market in Harlem.
PS. I looked at the Volkswagen last night. It was so compact and cute and seemingly perfect. Good price, good clutch, CD player. I may be sold. Tonight I'm off to see the Volvo and the Subaru.
the new convoluted way to get to work
This morning I was in a RAGE thanks to my trip to work. There are an abundance of retards that ride the skytrain. I'm not talking the 'politically incorrect' sense of the word or a reference to mentally handicap. No no. I have armloads more respect for handicapped, the developmentally challenged, even the odd mentally ill methhead than I do for my fellow sktrain passengers. I'm just talking textbook, archetypal dumbasses. And who knows, maybe they feel the same way about me. Fine. We're even then.Here's the scenario....I left home early this morning to get to work early for a meeting and to return Garden State (which i luuuuuuuurv, see separate blog dedicated to the lovely, cute, serenly witty Zach Braff). I caught my usual #9 Broadway to Commercial, zipped over to Applause Video, returned the DVD and hiked up the escalator to the platform. It's about 8:20 by this time. The trains are rolling in, as usual the people getting on crowd the doors so that the sardines inside can't get off. Commuters will form a semi-circle blocking those trying to walk out of the sky train, just so that they can push by once the poor people are done streaming out. The process probably takes twice as long as it should. Dumbasses. But wait, the people waiting for the sky train aren't the only ones who have no comon sense whatsoever. When you look inside the train and see that there are only 1 or 2 people in the aisles, standing between the seats holding onto the overhead, handles, you have to ask Why? I could say because Canadians are shy about their personal space but then to disprove that theory I just have to look at each doorway to the skytrain to see about 20 people crowded around the entrance. Squished. Like smoked oysters, actually come to think of it that's what the skytrain smells like. Oh, and here's the kicker. There's usually Transit workers standing around picking their nose, talking on their cell phones or drinking coffee. No one tries to teach these dolts how to ride the bloody train properly.So I waited for 3 trains and then decided to take an Eastbound train to the next stop in the opposity direction to my destination. Essentially I doubled back on my journey downtown, and travelled an additional, oh, 13 blocks out of my way to the Nanaimo stop. When I arrived there were a lot of people and I very nearly threw myself down on my knees and threw a tantrum. But, when I got to the other side of the platform one of the blue-uniformed Tranist workers had a radio-transmitter to his mouth. And for the love of god he was barking out orders. "Stand back the next train is coming. Don't worry folks there are another 3 trains after this one, back to back. Please clear the walkway for people getting off the skytrain." I felt like kissing him. Seriously. He was a like an angel from public transit heaven. People obeyed. It was fantastic. The trains were just as full as when they arrive at Commercial and Broadway but the process was just orderly enough to avoid the fucking horrible jostle of Commerical and Broadway. BUT! I had to battle the masses swarming around the entrance like flies to those zapper lights. When I got into the train I noticed enough space for about 4 medium-sized folks (I consider myself a large) between the single rows of seats. I said, 'Excuse me I'm just going to squeeze past you into that 10 feet of free space there." I managed to stomp on two small people on the way. My whole life I've been conscious of my size. I'm tall, big boned and depending on the season, I have a rotund ass. I swear to you though, I can compact into a small space, comfortably, respectably when needed. But the two munchkins (who were grown up, I don't tend to trapple kids) were taking the space of two of me with their briefcases and postioning of their little bodies. Why? Maybe it's some napoleanic defiance mechanism thing. Like, "I maybe small but I can take up just as much space on the sky train as the size 42 suit over there." After a couple of firm, "Ahem, excuse mes" pointed down at the minis I managed to claim my space. There was air, there was room for a couple more people. My largish purse was held tight to my bod to allow for others to pass. Not rocket science not even polite, just common sense. Move into the not full spaces to make room for more folks in the full spaces. * * * * * * To balance out all that Ranty bad energy, I've got some good news....In the spirit of "I'll have my cake and eat it too" I've managed to scrounge enough cash despite my travels south for a beater. Right now its a draw between a Subaru wagon, a Volvo Sedan or a Volkswagen Fox all circa mid-1980s. Votes?New York/Atlantic City was FABOO. Americans know how to ride the subway. In no way whatsoever would I trade my citizenship, but man I would import some sassy Brooklyn girls and guys up here to give lessons on how to board a train in rush hour. I've started a little fiction piece based on one of my adventures at the Herald Square Station with Christopher Janney's public art/sound installation "Reach". I may let it out of wraps one day, right now its pretty lame.
butterflies in the big city
Sorry, I saved this as a draft and forgot to publish it.A quickie from New York. I lurv this town. I've been here for a week writing, art gallerying and riding the subway. I've managed to pick something up along the way a little bug in my throat. Feels like I've swallowed a couple of gonads. On Monday, my first day of riding the trains alone I was so nervous. The Merritt in me was really kicking in. What if I get lost? What if someone kidnaps me? There's 11 million people in New York? Will anyone notice if I go missing. Manhattan is so dense and peopled, its daunting to me, girl of valleys, wide grassy meadows and forests that cover armsweeps of vistas. I could spend a summer here exploring each subway stop's neighborhood. I've visited Strawberry Fields, Columbia University, the Financial District, Harlem (Malcom X Blvd!) and Brooklyn so far. Amber (friend that I'm visiting - lives in Astoria, social worker, former South African travel/intern buddy) and I had the MOST amazing dinner at NYC's only South African restaurant, i-shebeen Madiba. It was so authentic - in a semi- sketchy hood, all South African waiters, almost bad service, amazing, large food portions and Felix Laband playing on the stereo. I can't wait to return.
