I race to get ready
I race to get ready this morning so I don't miss the 70. Public transportation is an efficient way to travel around town if you:
A) know the routes... you have to know the routes
2) aren't afraid of freaky ass people talking, rapping, or singing to you and are cool with imaginary friends, strangers staring at you, and various unpleasant odor
C) you have a lot of time on your hands (this importance of this item can be slightly minimized by being really good at item A)
The bus sign at the outbound stop closest to my house was knocked off the pole by the serious, heavy construction going on in the adjacent lot. I can't wait for it to be complete. The ambient background noise level in my neighborhood has gone up enough to bother my pets quite a bit. Noted over time, you can see a huge difference in their behavior when the construction is in progress during the day. It sounds corny, I'm sure, but I noticed this same thing a couple of years ago during another construction period near my apartment. I managed to catch the 70 on time, so my commute in is filled with eavesdropping and people watching of the worst possible kind. The predictable kind. The 70 is the West U/Memorial route. Most of the chatter on the bus is someone trying to sound more wealthy, important, or powerful than the other. They complain a lot too. It makes me wonder what happens to people when they come into money. Is that behavior in social circles in contagious? The 'ole lay with dogs and you'll get fleas adage? Je ne sais pas. Another thing I'm curious about is the point at which it starts to happen. I mean, I came from poverty as a young adult and consider myself to make a good living now... I am occasionally found at those exclusive, black tie, posh outings and the only thing I feel is disgust and the strong desire for blue jeans and a cold beer. Instead of being converted, I'm revolted. Why? Did I get a vaccination I didn't know about? I'm saying that all the people hopping on the bus from West U are like that, but more often than not, they fit the stereotype. Now the number 2 is where it's at. If you want Houston diversity and a small chance of getting pissed on or stabbed, then you need to hit the number 2 downtown route. Hell yeah. I've blogged about shit I've seen on the 2 before on a few separate occasions. If I were to imagine a METRO that I could step onto going to work and see a woman giving birth, a guy shooting heroin in the back, someone making out, people sleeping, a couple of suits quietly reading the Wall Street Journal, kids playing, an old lady knitting, a young lady reading, random homeless genitalia, an a partridge in a pear tree... it would be number 2 Houston Downtown. That segues into what I love about Houston. It's a mixing pot... much like the United States over all is a mixing pot. Like everything, there is good and bad. Unfortunately, the US will never have a distinct culture to call its own because we are nothing but a mix of cultures gathered from immigrants and tourists from our founding fathers to present. The closest thing the native culture here is that of the American Indian... all but lost in modern society. Short of searching on Google, most people don't even know where to look if they want to know more about it. But Houston is truly diverse... international even... it's amazing. When I was a child in Texas, I hated Houston. Every time I passed through the city it was all inconvenience and no reward. I lived away from Texas for many years during the 1990's and the entire time I swore to myself that when I returned to Texas (it was never an if), I would live in Austin... maybe San Antonio... anywhere but Houston. Where did I end up? Houston. I fought it at first. I convinced myself again daily that this wasn't the place for me. But RealLife™. tends to take precedence when food and shelter are threatened, so I focused my efforts on more productive things. Now, and I can't tell you the point at which it happened, I love this town. I slept terribly last night. It's like I didn't sleep at all. I'm just a wordy little bitch this morning.
A) know the routes... you have to know the routes
2) aren't afraid of freaky ass people talking, rapping, or singing to you and are cool with imaginary friends, strangers staring at you, and various unpleasant odor
C) you have a lot of time on your hands (this importance of this item can be slightly minimized by being really good at item A)
The bus sign at the outbound stop closest to my house was knocked off the pole by the serious, heavy construction going on in the adjacent lot. I can't wait for it to be complete. The ambient background noise level in my neighborhood has gone up enough to bother my pets quite a bit. Noted over time, you can see a huge difference in their behavior when the construction is in progress during the day. It sounds corny, I'm sure, but I noticed this same thing a couple of years ago during another construction period near my apartment. I managed to catch the 70 on time, so my commute in is filled with eavesdropping and people watching of the worst possible kind. The predictable kind. The 70 is the West U/Memorial route. Most of the chatter on the bus is someone trying to sound more wealthy, important, or powerful than the other. They complain a lot too. It makes me wonder what happens to people when they come into money. Is that behavior in social circles in contagious? The 'ole lay with dogs and you'll get fleas adage? Je ne sais pas. Another thing I'm curious about is the point at which it starts to happen. I mean, I came from poverty as a young adult and consider myself to make a good living now... I am occasionally found at those exclusive, black tie, posh outings and the only thing I feel is disgust and the strong desire for blue jeans and a cold beer. Instead of being converted, I'm revolted. Why? Did I get a vaccination I didn't know about? I'm saying that all the people hopping on the bus from West U are like that, but more often than not, they fit the stereotype. Now the number 2 is where it's at. If you want Houston diversity and a small chance of getting pissed on or stabbed, then you need to hit the number 2 downtown route. Hell yeah. I've blogged about shit I've seen on the 2 before on a few separate occasions. If I were to imagine a METRO that I could step onto going to work and see a woman giving birth, a guy shooting heroin in the back, someone making out, people sleeping, a couple of suits quietly reading the Wall Street Journal, kids playing, an old lady knitting, a young lady reading, random homeless genitalia, an a partridge in a pear tree... it would be number 2 Houston Downtown. That segues into what I love about Houston. It's a mixing pot... much like the United States over all is a mixing pot. Like everything, there is good and bad. Unfortunately, the US will never have a distinct culture to call its own because we are nothing but a mix of cultures gathered from immigrants and tourists from our founding fathers to present. The closest thing the native culture here is that of the American Indian... all but lost in modern society. Short of searching on Google, most people don't even know where to look if they want to know more about it. But Houston is truly diverse... international even... it's amazing. When I was a child in Texas, I hated Houston. Every time I passed through the city it was all inconvenience and no reward. I lived away from Texas for many years during the 1990's and the entire time I swore to myself that when I returned to Texas (it was never an if), I would live in Austin... maybe San Antonio... anywhere but Houston. Where did I end up? Houston. I fought it at first. I convinced myself again daily that this wasn't the place for me. But RealLife™. tends to take precedence when food and shelter are threatened, so I focused my efforts on more productive things. Now, and I can't tell you the point at which it happened, I love this town. I slept terribly last night. It's like I didn't sleep at all. I'm just a wordy little bitch this morning.
You liar.
You’d be drinking apple martinis and smoking cuban cigars.
whoa ho hooooo! Sam fuckin’ rears his ugly head from obscurity. Where the hell have you been motherfucker? Pick up the phone, call my office, let’s get some lunch… heh… you bring the cigars. I’m not drinking. I’m swearing off alcohol and women. They are both extremely bad for me. ;-)
i’ve lived in this town for my entire adult life, and other than a few happenstance park and ride situations, i’ve never taken a metro ride. my mother used to tell me “real people take the bus” - what did she mean by that? i just don’t understand how you function in this town without a car, it just seems so....i dunno, “FUCKING IMPOSSIBLE???” although lately, i have been using yellow cab a LOT more than i ever did...something about nearly getting a dwi that’ll knock you right into REALITY.
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