Los Angeles’ ranks of graffiti rats has another addition – Leba. You can see more work here.
Good Friday
26 Mar
5:01pm I am impatiently waiting outside for the bus, anxious for the arrival of my particular line. Since this stop caters to several lines, I am already covered in debris from other buses that pass by – a barrage of dust, leaves and small pieces of trash kicked up by their broad wheels. I fail to use a magazine to shield my eyes.
5:10pm I’m on the bus towards home. It stinks. It smells like sweat, fecal waste and curry. This is my Friday bus ride home. Fifteen minutes. It’s not a lot. It’s doable.
5:12pm It’s worse than I thought. There’s got to be a homeless man somewhere, I can smell the urine, but I can’t spot him. There’s a teenage couple speaking quietly, their heavy-lidded eyes dropping as they take turns swigging a bottle of water while protecting several bags of protruding luggage. The boyfriend keeps lifting up his shirt to reveal heavy tattoos and skinny muscles. She tells him to put his shirt down. They are blocking the entrance to the bus with their navy blue bags and oncoming passengers are having problems getting through. Uh-oh. We’ve pulled up at the next stop and the old ladies are making their way in.
5:13pm Decorum on the bus dictates that you must move for the elderly and handicapped. There are both ascending towards the door now, but the teens aren’t moving a thing. Or at least for the moment, are making no effort to move. I’m positive that the girlfriend will wrangle her tattooed, macho boyfriend away from the door, urging their bags towards the back, but as the old lady starts to push their cases from her path, they make no movement and someone starts to yell.
5:14pm Turns out the old woman is part of a couple – a Russian couple. Her husband is helping her move the cases away, so the teens make a move for the bags and start to haul them away as the old woman starts waving her hands and yelling in Russian, joined quickly by the tattooed teen who surprisingly yells back at her in Russian. They are fighting, the girl keeps calling the old woman ‘crazy old bitch!’ and sits down in front of them with one of her bags. She glares at the old couple. The old man starts yelling and pointing menacingly, and the boyfriend starts to explain to his girl what they are threatening. The boyfriend repeats ‘I can take you!’
5:15pm Oh holy hell! The bus driver opens the back door and starts bellowing. Someone has to get off. We wait for two minutes. No one is moving. The driver finally closes the door.
5:17pm This bus ride is already too long. Just close the goddamn doors and get moving. The fighting ceases, they are simply staring at each other while the young girl continues to oscillate glances between her boyfriend and the old woman, repeating quietly ‘crazy ol’ bitch’ and shaking her head. Everyone is silently glancing around, or staring out the window. I fantasize about every which way this situation could erupt further; several scenes involve guns. I look around at today’s passengers. What are the odds? I think I watch too much tv.
5:21pm I’ve located the smell. There’s a man with matted hair and crusty white eyes nearby. He is carrying a satchel with god knows what inside. I plug my nose.
5:22pm Good Lord I can’t even concentrate on the podcast playing on my iphone. It is a hot day, heat that augments even the slightest waft of crude aromas. It is retchingly putrid.
5:24pm Oh Hallelujah. I am a minute away. I see my stop, the fresh air, the freedom to move – and my dash for the door is the worst part of all. I must make my way out of the cramped and immobilizing vehicle to the exit, roughly and clumsily falling toward the door in heels because I cannot gain my balance while trying to play twister through the crowd.
5:26pm Ha. Freedom.
Like Skittles, Full of Color and Just as Fruity
19 MarI recently came across an article, in the wonderfully free newspaper and L.A. Times underling, Brand X, touting the adventurous rides of a certain blogger (not me) on L.A.’s bus lines. Though I applaud the author for sniffing out and highlighting the oft erratic and tempestuous nature of metro’s particular clientele, the worst experiences of this girl amount to a small hill of beans. When it comes to strangers, I’ve got former porn star turned tweaked out judge and dirty Jesus; she’s got stares and inconvenience. We are obviously not on the same stranger train.
Wearing a neon Lululemon jacket, matching cap and sunglasses while carrying her to-go mug, we see our hero in action marching up the sidewalk to catch the morning’s ride. Though the article aims to present the eco-friendly purpose of public transit and the unexpected opportunities to help others out (when an old woman desperately cries out for change, the rider jumps to her aid) as well as providing a petri dish to mix with new people each day, by the end I’m left with the impression that though this chosen route often presents an occasion to observe severe juxtaposition of the city’s humanity – it’s older citizens with their life stories and shaky canes, foreigners trekking their way to Grauman’s Theatre and shopping on Melrose Avenue, Mom’s with kids and groceries, the homeless tied in sheets and mumbling, tired workers, hungry students – it all comes down to convenience. A car really would be better:
“Just to note, there are some pressing things about not having a car and riding the bus that I ponder at times. Like how long it takes me to get somewhere with the leaving the house early to walk the 15 minutes to the bus stop, to wait for the bus, to play stop-and-go down Wilshire. Or, when the bus is late. I mean, I know it happens but it really puts a kink in my schedule. Or, when you just want to listen to the radio and sing at the top of your lungs with the windows rolled down”
Certainly, the freedom of a car is wished for after several months on the MTA. Though the article is truly about “one bloggers Journey through the multicolored world of the MTA” it’s a pretty tame ride, and more like ‘one bloggers journey through the primary colors’ instead of a rainbow. I think given my experiences, and the visceral nature of time spent inches away from people’s faces, flattened against strangers bodies, there could have been more meat on those bones.
I See Stars
22 FebThe city does continue to astound. Intelligentsia coffee, which I’ve talked about before, is a place to be seen and see others, if only for the Silverlake hipsters who want to wait in line for twenty minutes to grab a cup of (well, very good I’d-wait-twenty-minutes-for-it) coffee from baristas who compete nationally (yes, they do have competitions to see who makes the best cup), even if the large cup at Intelligentsia is what Starbucks considers a small (or, tall if you like), and still charges you $4 for it. Also, this place is a hotbed for celebrity action.
It’s always funny to see celebrities. They are invariably smaller than you think they are, and generally look like regular joe’s (ok, much better looking – usually), and wait in line like everyone else (unless you’re Jennifer Lopez maybe). So, who pushes by me on his way out? Zachary Quinto (Skylar from Heroes and Spock in the latest Star Trek), while Malcolm in the Middle’s Chris Masterson chills with his (also actress? She seems familiar) girlfriend in front of me. Surreal.
Mr. Monopoly Runs
18 FebLook who’s making an appearance.
Though I’d agree with the last commentator on Alec – he’s not doing anything unique here. It’s a sticker for one and using Mr. Monopoly to decorate the town might be a bit on the side of copyright infringement. Let’s hope Alec gets a clue.
Valentine’s
12 FebI am bleary-eyed and working on completing the last day of the week before the holiday – the chocolate covered, valentine’s card, candy heart encrusted, and all-around gooey – weekend devoted to love. Here’s hoping a trip to Rio is in my near-future.
There is little to discuss around L.A.; bus rides, social interactions and city experiences have been surprisingly banal – minus the exception of a co-worker who groped me slightly while in his office* and then called me a prude because I said that a company party held at a water park is not my idea of fun (can you imagine your co-workers in bikini’s?). I shudder.
HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY everybody!
*P.S. If anyone knows how to tell someone to knock it the f**k off, but in a nice way, then please let me know so I can maintain some professional integrity.
RAIN
27 JanWhat’s best about rain in L.A.? Besides the magnificent smell of Jasmine, we get magnificent color, and a clear day at the beach:
Slogging Miles
27 JanThere’s no way around it, this certain time of year, the beginning, or the end of all bad habits; the resolve to start anew the resolutions you forgot about sometime before Spring Break or the start of Winter. It’s gym time.
The treadmills have been largely commandeered by the rats back in the race. I’ve ended up stuck on soggy soil and slippery streets (if you haven’t heard, L.A. is in the throws of a downpour), jogging around the neighborhood because the only gym time I can manage is a 15 minute trek on the closest stairmaster not weighed down with a newbie member. Even in L.A., where you might suspect live the most prolific of hard bodies and handsome faces, there comes a time when new year’s resolutions of losing weight and getting in shape tend to get the best of us, and suddenly the gyms are packed and everyone’s waiting in line for a machine. So, good for them. But in six months time, as happened last year, I’ll be jogging free and clear at the treadmill of my choice; chugging down miles with ease. Is this what happens where you live?
Surprisingly (at least to me), Orange county is the fittest county in the nation, followed closely by Boulder, Colorado; but frisking the foothills or jogging oceanside is very different from hoofing it alongside Sunset Boulevard. You know that Honda commerical where they all hold their breath before they realize the car isn’t spitting out swaths of fumes? That’s me – without the breath-holding – trying not to chuckle in the exhaust. Like the newbies though, I’ve been there, just starting on the long road to health and possibly a little less poundage, and it’s not fun. Exercise is hard work, and staying on track even more so. Even if the people I see now in the gym won’t be the people I see in July, it might be good that I’m forced to go outside, and running around the neighborhood brings a new way to explore the city; even in the dark, even on slippery roads.
NO SAINTS IN L.A. 