The Bus Bench

Wiping The Figurative Smile From Roger's Fat Face

One wonders just what prompted Metro CEO Roger Snoble to not only smile, but to broadcast his strange happiness in a fashion that is sure to make straphangers and philologists alike cringe in anger at Roger's inexplicable smugness: "I’m having a hard time talking because it’s hard to talk when I’m smiling.” Perhaps, Roger, that tax-payer-funded, warm and fuzzy feeling is the same one which half of those involved in anal sex feel after pulling out of their collective partner? Let me suggest you spend a bit more time reading the Mass Transit Mag, or at least the article title, "Dealing with the Media".

But no. You are too busy making outrageous statements such as, “They all did a huge job in putting together the package and showing that we can work together for the good of the state.” Yes, that is the ultimate aim of all bureaucrats and allegedly elected officials, correct: “the good of the state.” For all the feel-good bluster (in the interview from which the aforementioned statements were taken), the crack in the wall that allowed us a look into the star chamber that is southern California transit policy shows the true colour of bullshit brown.

“This money will make a big, big difference in mobility for our region, and for the whole state, for a long time to come.”
We are waiting, Roger; waiting ever impatiently at the dusty bus stop, waiting on that big bus, waiting to see what is that southern California “mobility” about which you bloviate.
And we have had time to understand why your name is Roger, Roger: you have come to carry on the fuck-fest of transit funds.

-BusTard

Depatterning Societies, Anarchy, Pure Capitalism and The Stench of Semantics

In Naomi Klein's not-so-shocking title titled "The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism," the shock is that it seems shocking.
Indeed, one should be shocked that the rest of the world outside the western world, or at least the U.S., wonders why Milton Friedman's desire for a "state of pure capitalism" is merely a gentleman's way of introducing anarchism. To let the market dictate the ways and means would be one hell of a circus about bread, except that the circus-goers tend to pay whatever price those in power advocating "pure capitalism" desire. And it is these same folk what make such a hue and cry about the abominations of violent dictators who wiggle from out of their capitalist control.
To be sure, I am not advocating the abolition of any western government, nor anarchy of any stripe (anarchy, after all, is based in a responsibility to self; "anarchy" is not possible in a western world where even fat crayons are beyond the comprehension of the middle class) or any fashion of new idiocy.
A daily 99¢ burger at the local fast-food joint is a bargain to none other than junkies; the small bit of change saved for the day will be compounded by the dreadful paucity of quickly diminishing health. Milton, were he still alive, would not hesitate to inform such a fool as what thinks a few dollars a day at the local "fry & die" is done in the name of not spending money for "expensive" food, that the health benefits would be well into the red.

Bon appetit.

-BusTard

Why I "write."

I lost two loved ones in 2001.
Some might sneer that the first was no more than a Cat and that the coincidence of her passing on 03 July was just dumb luck. (I can't blame you lot, even if I were able to retrain myself from lashing out and licking from my scotch-flavoured fingers bits of your rancid flesh.)
The other was not in Los Angeles. She was not alone in her brutal erasure, but she remains relatively alone owing to the city of New York refusing to acknowledge her fatal ascent from Chambers Street that fateful Tuesday morning; the nearly five years of agony brought me back to this land of happy-assed fake sun. Had I not waited, had I not been so ambivalent, had I not wasted my time in 1999, I would not be wasting my time, angrily. As such, I tend to have a frightening appreciation for the New Yorker, owing to my second memory of the World Trade Center being a photo round the pit I took of the Burger King across from Century 21, immediately east of the Duetsche Bank building, and the emergency spray paint on the walls. (The photo is still in storage a few thousand miles from me, but I plan on retrieving it and others in early 2008.)
I fail to deal with said deaths in a mature fashion, and my anger still boils over at strange times. *

-BusTard

A Pot Shot at Pam O'Connor, MTA chair

MTA Chair Pam O'Connor earned the ire of this sesquipedalian scotsman when she made a statement about an upcoming town hall meeting, of sorts. The key phrase of her poorly crafted crap was "or take public transit whenever possible." When the MTA Chair states such an amazingly daft comment AFTER succinctly mentioning motor vehicles, one cannot help but infer that she implies "whenever the next behemoth happens to chug up to the dilapidated sign that may or may not be known as a bus stop by a newly hired bus driver."
I have too many videos that even now are being rendered for an upcoming release to show that Don Knabe, Tom Horne, et al., are long over-due for being brought to justice for their negligence, incompetence and outright insincerity.
Hey, Pam: you have been in government for 30 years, and your teeth appear to be commensurate with the way the MTA works. Since you are asking the overly taxed for ideas about how to better run the buses and subways, lemme suggest that you take a day or two a week and ride them to understand the mess that is America’s Best. . . Wreck. Be glad I do not bill you with what I have already outlined on this and www.ShameTrainLA.com, for what your overpaid albeit grossly incompetent advisers have stolen from the coffers of taxpayers and straphangers.

-BusTard

Dick Alarcon and The New Definition of Council "Member"

Here's a knock-knock joke for Dick Alarcon:

"Knock, knock!"

"Who's there?"

"Dick."

"Dick who?"

"Dick head."

Not funny? Well, Dick Alarcon seems to think that the people who pay his salary are too stupid to not know rudimentary math. (And judging from the way the schools in this lousy spread of sixty suburbs, I am not surprised.)

In the 27 September-03 October 2007 edition of City Beat, one of Dick’s minions (could it be the one who drove the rumoured white vans to Dick’s girlfriend’s house while he was moving in this summer, the same white vans that were copiously recorded transporting astro-turf “supporters” of Home Depot from Foothill Blvd. to the hearing at the school on Mt. Gleason in Sunland-Tujunga?) stated that the reason Dick’s ass does not take the shame train is that “he would have to take a bus to the Red Line, and then the Red Line to [to city hall], and that would take him two-and-a-half hours.” Said minion, press deputy David Fink (another fitting name), seems to not understand what even his idiots, er, constituents know with respect to what the MTA makes perfectly clear.

Hey, Dick: we hope ya don’t cook your books the way you lie. And trust me, you are a liar. I know most Angelinos have not got the backbone to call your ass out, so lemme give you a penumbral taste (surely you know about shadowy shadows, eh?) of my well-aimed, finely shod and all-but Brooklyn borne New York foot—a well-built and worldly shoe that will taste of more countries than your Valley ass might divine with even help of an atlas slapped upside your sallow cock-sucking cheeks—up your provincial, southern California ass.

Why my indignation? Lemme clue you in, schmuck. The time required for the Red Line to run from one terminal (that is it’s ending point, school boy) to the other (which is Union Station in this instance, dumbass; it is about an hour from City Hall, by way of your fractured math. For the real world, it is about a seven-minute walk) is twenty minutes. TWENTY MINUTES. Dick, you live in Panorama City; it is a few minutes—a FEW MINUTES, ya fuckwit—from the MetroLink (it goes to Union Station, too), several buses (please do NOT make me publish a photo of your girlfriend’s house and make some rather rancourous comments about the privileges afforded her street by way of what may well be your power via as a council “member,” bub) and the Orange Line (which your secretary, Dave Fink, failed to mention for reasons that we can only speculate stem from ignorance, incompetence or pure dirt-farmer idiocy). I know the buses and general times—quiz me, ya schmuck, and I will show your duplicitous ass up ON THE SPOT— and I know that “two-and-a-half hours” as implied in your statement is nothing less than a lie.

I have my eye on you, chump, and trust me—you cannot buy me out like you were by Home Depot.

I Can't Get The Water Outta My Body! I Can't Get The Water OUT OF MY BODY!!!

Most significant events happen in threes: The Holy Trinity; Adam & Eve & the Serpent; and other things.
I have learned that the West Nile Virus, carried by mosquitoes that breed in warm, stagnant bodies of water, is now in North Hollywood as well as Shadow Hills and possibly Vogel Flats (that’s three places). I recently read a letter in a Foothills Paper about an amoeba in Lake Havasu (in Arizona) that, if you’re infected with it, will definitely kill you by eating your brain. There were six cases of it reported in the U.S. this year - that’s three TWICE.
Upon seeing some dim bint talk about it on TransitTV (on the south-bound 90 through Glendale yesterday) and mention how the virus is transmitted via a "microscopic amoeba," I reckoned that a seventh was soon to occur. A "microscopic amoeba"? How many amoeba are visible to the naked eye, you moron?! Then I did a quick search on the term "microscopic amoeba," and the results were staggering. I turned to Glenn, who happened to be trying to steal my scotch while I stared incredulously into the screen, and snapped, "Perhaps that 'microscopic amoeba' has infected the nation's collective brain." "No," Glenn retorted. "They're just stoopid."
And now it has been revealed that the DWP, which is already paid far more than it is worth (for all the dangers the linemen talk about, it is far less dangerous than what our boys in Afghanistan and Iraq face EVERY DAY, and for FAR less pay), is about to hit us with a “9%, three-year electric-rate hike.” That’s three!
With what they are paid now, they should be able to assure of water free from the West Nile Virus and those brain-eating amoeba. But they can’t.

as told to BusTard by Dick Nahai

U.S.A. on Fast-Track to Be Canada’s Bitch

On September 21st, ere the Equinox, Canada celebrated the end of its own long day: the end of the dollar’s dominance over the long-laughed-at loonie. The canadian dollar, which has sat deep in the shadows of the american dollar since 1976, seems to no longer harbour cause for alarm the decades-olde threat of "51st statehood." Now it may be the canadians laughing as the dollar becomes the new "north american peso."
Eleven years after the brief country-wide spate of twoonie-popping (prompted by the easily disengaged centre by merely dropping the damned gaff on concrete or an equally firm surface), the loonie (the basic canadian dollar from which the two-dollar coin took its name) has turned a strong feather and all but eaten the diminishing american eagle. The "parity parties" have only begun to stop. Said soirees might well have continued were it not for the encroaching shopping season that will, I wager, bring canucks streaming south like semi-soused hunters in search of the moose what drank the lion's share of last night's left-over Black Label, eh?
But that is no longer news. What should be news is: why was it NOT news then? The rest of the world knew. Wall Street knew. The Financial Times, the wire services, those with something to lose—they all knew. Hell, pretty much EVERYONE knew—save the U.S.
There is no doubt that with China building its navy in ways that remain unreported in the U.S., the so-called civil unrest in Myanmar (it is not because monks and journalists are being killed; look to the poppy markets in Afghanistan and the oil conflicts round there as well as in east Russia near China) and the on-going money pit in Iraq (who knows if more money is going to Eric Prince/Blackwater/zealous religious right or to the loyal opposition: the equally repulsive albeit brutally effective and no less fanatical facets of islam?) and the financial tide of NAFTA doing what all big waves do (get sucked back out to sea), the U.S. is looking at more fronts than Hitler dared to shake a stick at in 1944 as he marched to Leningrad.
Along with the housing bubble bursting, I can only suggest to those who have not wasted their life savings on the American dream that a small cache of reliable firearms is the best way to defend a large library of good books, decent scotch and any edibles.
After all, you do not want to end up re-living—in real-life—the ending of “A Boy and His Dog,” now do you?

BusTard

Nohoooooooo!!! 4 year old rant. The 101. 10/2

I’m never ever living in NoHo I don’t care how many write ups they get in the Daily News. I don’t care how many fucking “theatres” that they have. I don’t care if they have a Red Line stop.

Never, ever, ever, ever, never, ever am I living in NoHo.

(There is no Theatre in NoHo, there is Theatre in New York. What they have in NoHo are sad little live auditions for people who want to be in movies.)

The San Fernando Valley and anything next to it SUCKS and there is no way in hell that neither I nor anyone else with any sense would pay over $350,000 for a condo in NoHo.

Even the name says no.

Anyone who thinks NoHo is even kind of like SoHo in New York has never been to New York and they sure as hell haven’t been to SoHo.

Give me one artful person from NoHo, just one. There is nothing artful in NoHo unless you count washed up actor who couldn’t make it and decided to go into theatre or art or whatever it is actor types do when they are trying to be artful.

This individual must be under the influence of some kind of horrible street drug, not a glamorous one like coke, but some fucked up one like meth or cough medicine mixed with baby farts.

I don’t know any sane person who would pay to live in NoHo.

You end up in NoHo after you fucked up.

Everyone in LA knows that.

It’s where you go to die in some stupid play, in a sad apartment, in some pathetic non-fantastic way.

It’s not even fun trashy like Van Nuys, it’s “trying to be bourgeoisie, but doing a very bad job” kind of place.

It reminds me of that lady Hyacinth Bucket in that British TV show "Keeping Up Appearances."

They don’t even have porn there. I love porn. It’s the only great thing about the valley.

What’s the point of living the valley if someone is not having anal sex on camera next door?

Yes screw the NoHo redevelopment (at one point doesn’t a place have to be developed to earn the prefix re, just asking) and the people trying to push that bs down people’s throats.

North Hollywood is not ok.

And no I don’t want to go to your play about some dead actress…

by Browne

Vomit of Festivals. Myanmar. LA. 10/1

What exactly is going on with all of the festivals in Los Angeles as of late?

I was invited by three people to three different festivals going on this weekend, oh and next weekend two more. The only of which I am going to is the Brewery Art Walk, because that’s the “festival” I went to before it became oh so hip (and more importantly oh so annoying) to have a festival every god damn weekend.

No, actually five festivals every god damn weekend.

I miss the times when people just went to one place for a movie, another place for art and another place to listen to a band. It was an organic thing, not this five piece chicken meal, gyro special, salami sandwich, pizza and Chinese food mess of entertainment that’s planned and calculated like Citiwalk.

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     The visual reprentation of the vomit of that is the LA festival madness. The Pioneer Chicken restaurant on Sunset across the street from Tiki Ti. They sell chicken, gyros and salami sandwiches, oh and breakfast between 7:30-12:00pm. They have eat in and drive through and dine in options. Pretty disgusting isn't it?

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Ok another thing that is boggling my mind the insanely wide coverage of Myanmar (formerly known as Burma aka China’s bitch.) Don’t get me wrong I love America, but I know my girl America and she’s a selfish whore. Never ever has she been concerned with anyone just because people were being mean to that person. Yes the Japanese journalist getting killed by stomping and bullets is horrible, but what is the real deal?

People get murdered, tortured, exploited everyday all over the world and lots of times it is my girl America that’s behind it.

“I don’t think torturing people is a great way to get info,” me.
“I’m not torturing anyone my boyfriend Blackwater is doing it. Now that is not my fault. He’s crazy, but he just loves me and wants what is in my best interests,” America.
“Well, if you’re ok with that,” me.
“I must certainly am, I didn’t see you bitching when I provided you those cute Citizen of Humanity jeans. How do you think those jeans are possible? How do you think your do nothing life is possible? Don’t judge me bitch? You want to live in Iraq?” America.
“No, I’m just saying,” me.
“Yeah, just save it or stop using my kick ass Christmas and birthday gifts,”America.
“Fine, you don’t have to be such a major bitch about it,” me.
“Keep talking bitch. I’ll show you what a bitch does,” America.

So what’s so special about the people of Myanmar?

Is it the heroin?
Is it the oil?
Is it the China is evil and we must help them against the evil Chinese that’s killing our pets with tainted dog food, our children with lead based toys and stole the Olympics from a perfectly good non evil country like, Toronto for the 2008 Olympics?

What is it? Yeah I see the Buddhist on TV and the “evil” Chinese putting them under house arrest, but I know that Buddhists are no different than people of the Judeo-Christian faith. Baby-boomers are just obsessed with that religion for some reason. No matter what Buddhist do anyone who went to Woodstock (or claims they did) thinks that no wrong could possibly be done by a Buddhist.

“If he’s Buddhist. He must have killed that person for a good reason, because Buddhism is the religion of peace,” hippie baby-boomer with a Mercedes and a green “business.”

I’m pretty sure Buddhist serial killers exist. I know Buddhist moochers exist.

My dad’s friend is a total moocher and he doesn’t have a house (because he says that’s not keeping with the eightfold path), he doesn’t have an official job (because he says that’s not keeping with the eightfold path), and he doesn’t have a car (because he says that’s not keeping with the eightfold path.)

But fucker has no problem using everyone else’s “ill begotten” gained stuff.

Fucking Buddhist moochers.

So America what’s up girl? What’s going on with Burma/Myanmar, because I am not buying the whole human rights violations and the democracy thing, because people are still being taken out in Sudan, Niger, Mali, Sri Lanka, Kosovo, Columbia…

by Browne

Silver Lake Dash. 101. Los Angeles. 9/29

Because I care about the environment and being green I don’t drive.

My initial attempt to get on the brand new Silver Lake Dash (actually it’s not new, because it hasn’t started it was simply a test run) didn’t go well.

Owing to the fact that I had some plumbing work done. The plumbers broke the hinges on my toilet and threw away my bath stopper, so I had to go to Home Depot first.

Taking the MTA bus to Home Depot can be very entertaining if you’re a single woman by your self.

The good:
No question is too stupid.
The employees will walk to exactly where you need to go to find a tool.
Cute guys will give you cuts.

The bad:
The people there are not the brightest tools in the shed.

The ugly:
You get comments like this from the freelance construction workers outside, “How many men do you need to work on you today?”

Yeah so after taking the 180 to Home Depot and purchasing some crap, so I could get my boyfriend to fix my toilet I then got on the Hollywood Dash. I asked the driver about the Silver Lake Dash.

“I don’t know. I drive this one. I think it will be around the Mayfair,” sort of helpful driver.

Mayfair used to be Gelson’s for those of you who just moved to the Silver Lake, Los Feliz, Echo Park, Franklin Hills, whatever other new made up neighborhood that is on the “eastside”.

So I get off at Sunset and Fountain and trek up towards Silver Lake.

I walked from Sunset and Fountain to Griffith Park and Hyperion (which is what Fountain turns into.) I saw the Silver Lake Dash several times, but no stops. I asked some people at Trader Joes where the new Silver Lake Dash stopped. I asked some people on the street where the new Silver Lake Dash stopped. Several people told me where to catch the Los Feliz Dash, but no one in the neighborhood of Silver Lake was aware of the new Silver Lake Dash or the test run of the soon to be new if everything works out and the right hands get greased Silver Lake Dash.

I wonder does this have to do with Gloria Jeff ( the former head of the LADOT which runs the Dash)  getting fired…you know if you’re on your way out the door, who the hell cares about the customers. I remember when I got fired from Ron Herman and a scarf my customer wanted had just come in. I didn’t bother to call her, because I was fired.

Fuck her.

Anyway after wasting a good hour I went towards home and caught up with BusTard who told me he had looked up where the Silver Lake Dash was, so he would show me.

As we walked back down Griffith Park Blvd with BusTard the signs noting where the stops magically appeared, not only that, the Dash had become a sort of urban carriage (I don’t mean black when I say urban like they do in LA City Beat. I mean metropolitan, thanks Matt.)

“You don’t ever notice anything,” BusTard.
“Fuck you,” me.

So we get on the Dash that has a layover at Trader Joes (the other lay over is at the Silver Recreation center by the reservoir, you know the lake.)

It was free for today.

It was kind of entertaining, but the last stops by the lake and by Trader Joes? Those locations don’t hook up with any major bus lines, so I’m not sure exactly why they did it that way.

We also got to hear interesting stories of how people came to taking the Dash.

“My landlord had this inspector come-and he thought it was my fault-he thought I called the inspector- so he got my car stolen and ever since then -I haven’t had a car- and- I haven’t been able to get in groceries- and you know -the case was civil- but now it’s going to be criminal,” an OG Silver Lake Resident.

That was kind of fun. It reminded me a bit of the old neighborhood, until I had to get on the Silver Lake Dash going back the other way and this dick with an Izod shirt (with an upturned collar, no fucking lie, upturned like in the 80s)  in a green Mercedes almost hit me and brought me back to 2007.

Hopefully this is only a test and the real one will have layovers in places that don’t piss people off (the people who were trying to get in the organic, green parking lot of Trader Joes looked mighty pissed at the bus just stopping in the middle of Hyperion.) They should have a layover a little off Sunset or even a little farther up Griffith Park Blvd closer towards Los Feliz.

I have a question though. How are you going to tell how successful a test is, if you aren’t taking a count or collecting money?

That’s not a judgment. Just a question.

Maybe the next test the Dash has they can take a count by marking how many pedestrian they hit and kill in the (formerly more deadly) Trader Joe's crosswalk.

by Browne

Watch the whole video. It's kind of funny or at least the captions are.