The Bus Bench

Easy Being Green. Al Gore. Santa Claus. 10/13

I have to say I am completely disillusioned. Possibly that’s too clichéd, maybe I have just gotten the joke. There is no Santa Claus and there is no idealism.

There are five camps of people.

1. The stupid
2. The ignorant and don’t care.
3. The ignorant and not given the opportunity.
4. The know the truth and feel the urge to inform.
5. The people who know the truth, but get it truly is pointless to inform.

Most people of any level of success are at level five. I know it’s shocking. Those people tell you that most people are at level two, but that’s just so they can stay at level five, but you don’t get to any level of success in Los Angeles, New York, London, Paris or any other type city that people dream about (and sorry Philadelphia and Dallas aren't cities people dream about,) you don’t make it there without getting to level five.

I realize everyone isn't ignorant and it's not that they don't care.

I realize that it is not even that everyone is stupid, which was actually a much more positive and hopeful thing.

There is hope for the stupid.

Stupid people can be taught. Stupid people can be informed, but most people aren’t stupid. Most people know. It is not that they know and don’t care, but they know and they truly get there is nothing that can be done.

I think I’ve reached level five, fuck man.

It’s not that I don’t care anymore, it is just that hey what can I do? I need to just focus on art and documenting things. The world is a much more entertaining place if you’re not trying to fix it for real. Yeah you can fix it for fakes, but for reals…you end up like Ralph Nader for fakes you end up like Al Gore.

So the Nobel Prize is like an Emmy now. A popularity contest. I think the day I left the green movement was the day Grist interviewed Rupert Murdoch that’s the day I realized corporate green was the new way to be environmental. The environmentalist had become “cool” like Christian Rock, which to me is just a kind of impureness that reeks of poseurdom.

Just another product to sell.

I think when I saw Rupert face on Grist’s website, I just about vomited. Fuck Grist, seriously. I would rather read National Review. The environment is political you fucking whores.

Fuck any environmentalist who would dare tell me or anyone anything if they get their book published by a company Rupert Murdoch owns.

 

I am not anti-corporate, but I am anti-bullshit. You want to sell me something, tell me you are selling me something, don’t tell me I’m giving a donation, don’t tell me I’m helping the world, don’t feed me shit and tell me it’s brownies.

Al Gore winning the Nobel Prize shows me the Nobel Prize means nothing. It is simply a prize for the person with the best publicist. Who is going to be next Ed Begley Jr.? Is he going to be lauded for his work for the planet earth?

If Ed movie career had taken off do you think he would be driving around in an electric car? Do you think he would be hanging out at Worldfest?

The environmental movement is a wasteland for failures.

Failed actors, failed politicians, failed models, failed wives, failed husbands, failed mothers and failed fathers.

Why don’t people who start as environmentalist ever win prizes, why is it always the beautiful losers who want to redeem themselves. It’s similar to born again Christians.

Fuck the environmentalists.

Fuck the planet.

Not that I hope the world dies, but I’m not jumping on a bandwagon of the defeated.

Buying an electric car and not using a plastic bag isn’t going to save the planet while the United States is still number one in waste production (not China, shocking I know.) I’d rather be at a party with people who are real and trashy and smoke cigarettes and litter it on the sidewalk than at a party who are remaking themselves a yet again in hopes of fame and fortune disguised in a “I care so fucking much” uniform.

I don’t want to be a beautiful loser. If the world beats me I want to go out toothless with my middle finger raised yelling, “fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.” I don’t want to repent. I don’t want to be sorry and start teaching yoga, pilates, doing theatre in North Hollywood, joining some save the tree, lake, river bullshit.

If there is a god, I don’t think he let’s you get a do-over. You are who you were at your peak, not your twilight.

Life isn’t third grade. If you fail you can’t hide in your green uniform. No one is buying that except other people who want to pretend like they are in the third grade too.

by Browne eighth grade class president

MTA is Off The Hook!

On Wednesday, 10 October 2007, the CalTrans and MTA customer "service" lines went down.

Waiting on that broken-down bus? Wanting to have Customer Relations "Manager" Tom Horne or one of his colleagues or cohorts lie through their teeth to promise you a responce to anything MTA-related? On hold only to hear some half-assed, tenuously trained operator offer their panacea, "I don't know?"

Well, like they usta say when the world was at war: Tough darts, sonny.

Here one can hear what happened Wednesday, thanks to a Burbank-based back-BusBencher who managed to capture the following video-styled audio tracks. (And remember, like the MTA, "We appreciate your patience.")

Off The Hook videos
1 of 2) 1-800-COMMUTE (1:24 minutes)

800 Commute OffTheHook
Video sent by shametrainla

2 of 2) 213-922-6235/1-800-464-2111 (both MTA customer “service” numbers; total of 2:04 minutes)

2139226235OffTheHook
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MTA’s “answer” video 213-922-6235 (9:21 minutes)

MTAanswer
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The Brewery to the Detour. Downtown LA. 10/09

Part II

After I drank a Black Dahlia, fiancé got a Jack and Coke and BusTard had a double scotch and we all had our fill of nuts we finally got on the 76 and was on our way to the Art Walk (to go to Kevin Flint’s party,) but we were pretty drunk by that point. Somewhere about five minutes into the bus ride BusTard says, “we have to get off, because we’re going to miss it…”

The Department of General Services, what the hell does that mean...

Now I know this particular projects (just for your info a projects is a place where the economically disadvantage live all together like a big happy family, its like a co-op, sort of like eco-village but everyone qualifies for section 8 and there are no white people or daddy to make it go away when you’re done with slumming, it takes a long time to get in, sort of like eco-village, but it’s still pretty shitty, sort of like eco-village, but it’s cheap, sort of like eco-village…) which are on Main we hadn’t even passed yet, which is before the tenth block, which would be about ten blocks away from the Brewery which was at the 20th block, but BusTard was adamant about us getting off.

We get off and start walking and then I say, “You’re such a fucking dumb ass, we had a good three stops to go.”

So 20 minutes later and after passing the Department of General Services we finally arrive at the Brewery Art Walk to attend Kevin Flint’s party, but on our way trying to find it we run into Mat Gleason.

I think Mat Gleason is the best thing since sliced bread, but Mat and BusTard are contemporaries, so I don’t know if BusTard thinks he’s as neat as I do.

“So do you think it’s a conflict of interest that you work for Gallery C and running Coagula,” BusTard.

Then Mat tells us about a bigger conflict of interest. I tell Mat I’m happy that’s he’s all legit now and things.

For god sake BusTard this isn’t New York.

No one ever gives their real opinion out here.

Everything is a conflict of interest.

Then Mat, BusTard and I walk to this other gallery and then we lose him (or he ditches us,) but fuck, I’ve forgotten to ask where Kevin Flint’s loft is.

At this time the fiancé gets a bit tired and decides to take a cab home….I should have gone with him, but I was determined to find this party and BusTard was determined to find a fight.

After 30 minutes of going in circles we finally get to Kevin’s place and we run into Adrian and Richard a photographer and sculptor respectively.

Richard tells us that there is something better going on at the 410 Boyd Grill, so we decide to hitch a ride with Adrian, but first Richard asks what the fuck is up with us not having a car.

I explain cops are bastards and I explain that BusTard thinks this is New York and won’t let that dream go.

Richard finishes his drink.

They tell us to come along.

We hop in Adrian’s very sensible Honda Civic and follow our drunk friend Richard in his vintage diesel Mercedes (which I’m in the market for,) he tells us not to worry about him getting arrested, because they don’t arrest white people in LA.

I guess that’s true, unless you have a vagina and then they make you spend weeks in jail for something most people spend a night in jail for tops, but whatever..

We get to 410 Boyd and we see some art and I get asked if I’m a call girl, because BusTard looks way older than me and people always wonder what the hell, but he’s not that old and I’m not that young.

We see some art with people I know in it.

A person that makes paper dolls, named Steven.

“Hi Steven,” me.
“Hi Browne,” Steven.

Later I’m told by Paige Wery that Steven is the artist Suzan’s boyfriend….I love gossip….

As we were leaving we were going to catch a cab, but decided to walk by some homeless people and heard Turbonegro playing.

TurboTVatDetour2007
Video sent by shametrainla

“Hey that’s Turbonegro,” BusTard.

So we walk towards the sound and we’ve run into LA Weekly's Detour where we let a guard know that we didn’t have to pay.

It was pretty much that easy. You just tell the guard, this is a public street and unless you are going to arrest me, be gone rent-a-cop.

So we walk in. I was about to get a churro, but it costs four dollars. Now it’s not as if I didn’t have four dollars, but I wasn’t going to pay for a dried pastry of fried bread with sugar at the tail-end of a music festival.

We hear this Depeche Mode (BusTard says Cure) like band, I don’t know what the hell it is, but it has a way more huge crowd than Turbonegro. Obvious to me that Turbonegro got the bitch stage…hey I guess playing for an LA Weekly event is worth being on the shitty stage.

But I remember in the ads they were going on about all of the local LA band. I guess that was to make the old timers feel good.

Popular British MTV band with huge crowd plays and me and BusTard find a seat on the balcony lay back and drink and wonder who do they sound more like? Depeche Mode or Cure, then the band leader says, “Hey you kids on the balcony be careful.” And the crowd of 7,000 or so turn around and look at us.

Creepy that British guys still have that kind of power over the teeny bopper set.

After crashing a party that was taking place in City Hall that had nothing to do with Detour and being thrown out and then being told off by some assholes in suits after chatting with security and trying to figure out who the heck would rent City Hall to have a party and hire such a crappy band, singing the very bad songs from the late 80s, which everyone knows was the worse part of the 80s.

“Do you know who I am? Do you know who I am?” asshole in a tacky overpriced suit.
“Why don’t you mind your own fucking business,” BusTard.

We left Detour.

I would have never thought that I would have ever gone to Detour, not because I’m one of those losers who hate the LA Weekly. I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about the Weekly. I for one think they do a good job at what they do. Wouldn’t want to work for them or hang out with the people who read it, but I respect their art.

I think to really hate the LA Weekly you have had to have gotten fired by them, which 75% of the writers over forty who live in LA and didn’t make it to the LA Times can proudly state.

Don't run into them at a bar. They will go and on and on and on about it like that fat chick in HR that keeps going on about how no one asked her to prom.

“I hate the LA Weekly, sure they fired a bunch of people to hire my New York bred ass, but still, they weren’t supposed to fire me,” disgruntled former LA Weekly employee.

Yeah, but it didn’t suck that much, but I think if you paid to get in or paid four dollar for a churro, that you’re a tool.

That doesn’t mean you’re a bad person, but you aren’t very punk rock that’s all.

by Browne

BlocPartyDetour2007
Video sent by shametrainla

KNBC Too Dim to See "Light" Rail?

NBC4 talks about looney commuters on Metrolink, but forgets not to be stupid when doing so.

On KNBC.com, a brief bit of filler about Metrolink train No. 706 that runs between Riverside and Orange County was accompanied by a photo of the two-car Green Line that runs along the 105 Freeway in Los Angeles County. It is such a glaring error that we had to pick on the barmy broadcasters as well as pick out that it is a shot from no later than 2006, to boot: the logo on the car is the old Metro logo employing Scala Sans.

Take a look at the KNBC link as well as the photos of the Metrolink and Green Line cars, and you will understand that it is not unlike confusing a Volkswagen Bug with a Hummer:

http://www.knbc.com/news/14288044/detail.html?rss=la&psp=news#

Will the real Metrolink please stand up? http://www.nationalcorridors.org/df/df10112004a.jpg

Green Line: http://world.nycsubway.org/perl/show?41304
Green Line with olde logo (Scala Sans) http://world.nycsubway.org/perl/show?40637

What else are the "news" crews at KNBC4 screwing up? Who knows?

How to get into LA Weekly's Detour for free.

DetourEntry2007
Video sent by shametrainla

Saturday's Moveable Feast. Part 1. Lincoln Heights. 10/7

Yesterday on my way to the Brewery Art Walk, which took five hours, since we kept getting side tracked. I think we had shit magnet painted on us, because weird shit kept happening to us.

First the 180 with my fiancé and BusTard and there is this 300 pound mentally delayed kid on the bus who was drinking out of a crushed soda can, (because apparently kid liked soda a lot.) As we turned left from Los Feliz onto Vermont big fat bastard gets on the bus. He’s not in a wheelchair, but one of those motorized easy chairs that they advertise on TV. So the bus driver has to let the lift down so he can get on and the people on the left side switch seats, but the people on the right side have to switch seats too, because the chair is huge and the guy as a I stated earlier is a big fat bastard.

“I’ve told you people, you’ve got to move, we go through this everyday,” big fat bastard.

Apparently this is big, fat bastard’s regular route. Anyways he can’t back it up into the spot, so he gets up and lifts it and puts it in the spot and sits back down.

Yes you read that correctly.

Fucking big, fat bastard lifts up huge chair and puts it in the spot. Meaning, he doesn’t need a bloody wheelchair. He’s just a big fat lazy bastard who doesn’t like to walk.

“In New York this kind of bullshit would not happen,”BusTard.

I guess the thing that amazes me is that people will move for a bastard like this, but a little old lady who is the size of a blade of grass gets on and everyone becomes stuck to their seats.

Amazing.

It’s like people in LA have no humanity and the only language they understand in regards to communication is the one handed out in a rude, disgusting and condescending way.

Anyways big, fat bastard had thrown an aluminum soda can in the trashcan on the bus prior to making everyone move out of the way, so as the bus got started 300 pound mentally delayed kid runs up to the front. Bumping everyone on the way, because he’s 300 pounds of solidness, sort of reminded me of what Lennie Small of Mice and Men would be like in present day Los Angeles.

So LA Lennie runs up and gets the aluminum can that big fat bastard had thrown away and then hurries back down  the aisle, bumping people and saying sorry along the way, sits down and starts drinking (or rather sticking his tongue in and licking) the little drops of soda, I guess that were still inside the can.

I had only been out of the house for fifteen minutes.

I have a PO Box at the Los Feliz Post Office, so I couldn’t take being on that bus anymore, so we get off. We go to my box and then we decide to go to the coffee place that is next to Jamba Juice, but past Starbucks, because I had some bad candy earlier and was feeling a big shaky and needed some food.

After eating the most disgusting almond scone in the world we walk to the Red Line Station and this happens. You know the homeless black guy that hangs out at the Sunset and Vermont Station? He’s there everyday, morning, noon and night asking for chang, but wanting attention.

Well, he starts yelling at me.

I could tell, me ignoring him wasn’t going to work for long. I’ve been completely ignoring him for the past three month. In my head it seemed as if he were doing more and more outrageous things to get my attention and make me say hello back.

I have to admit. I did feel guilty not saying hello. Being a black person in LA and rarely seeing other black people, hey even if it’s a homeless black person he’s still a black person…anyways I felt he knew I was thinking that and was trying to Jedi mind-trick me into saying hello. Making me feel guilty for not acknowledging another black person.

Hey it worked. I did feel guilty, but I just didn’t feel like it. My guilt did not override my don’t want the kind of drama homeless ethnic minority can bring to  me another ethnic minority who already feels guilty about being an ethnic minority who can sometimes pay her way around the more insidious nastinesses of racism.

While I seem to be obnoxious via my online persona, I’m actually the kind of person old people, babies, dogs  and homeless people take a liking to right away and since he’s a regular on my route to do stuff, didn’t want to get involved in his world.

At least not at the present time.

Anyways I walk by with BusTard and my fiancé and he starts yelling.

“You can’t fucking ignore forever. I’m here. The government can ignore me, but you can’t ignore me,” emotionally needy Sunset/Vermont Red Line Station homeless guy (by the bike rack.)

BusTard wanted to kick his ass. My fiancé wanted to know why we couldn’t just drive.

I had a talk with both of them prior to going out I said, “Hey, I can’t have you guys wanting to hit people who bother me all of the time, because frankly it’s just kind of weird,” so they both contained themselves.

Anyways we walked by with no testosterone driven event occurring (at least on my team.)

Thank god.

It would have been too early in the morning for that shit.

Anyways we get on the Red Line and one part of the train is out of commission. It’s yellow tagged. 

The last time I was on the Red Line that had been yellow tagged an old retired nurse (from King Hospital) had noticed that someone had peed all over a seat and she felt the need to inform the driver of this. She hits the emergency button intercom and says:

“There is urine on a seat in the third card. I know. I was a nurse for fifty years. I retired from King Hospital,” retired nurse riding the rails, looking for reasons to drive everyone crazy.

Yeah so he had to stop. We all had to look at it. The conductor looked at it. Then the conductor yellow tagged it. We then all had to squeeze into the next car. No one really cared one way or the other, but of course when someone who claims to be a nurse says they see a health hazard, you have to act like you give a damn.

(I think that method might deter people from reporting certain nastiness. I know if I was on the train and I needed to be somewhere and the guy next to me dropped dead, owing to the these experience, I probably wouldn’t say anything. I mean he’s dead. What is me stopping the train and inconveniencing everyone going to do?)

When we got on the very crowded train owing to the yellow tagged front car, Detour, the Art Walk, it being Saturday, I saw what may have possibly happened. There were a group of mentally delayed young adults on the train and one was having a fit.

I assumed she had an accident and the front car being closed was her fault.

I didn’t know for sure, but that’s what I’ve deducted in my head.

She starts crying and getting louder and LOUDER AND LOUNDER. At the loudest point I tell Bustard and the fiancé, “We should get off, unless you want to see a mentally delayed kid freak out on everyone.”

So we do, but since we were at the Macarthur Park stop, the purple line was also coming by, so that made our wait very brief.

We finally get to our destination. On our way out we see them installing gigantic flat screens at Pershing Square. 

Commercials, schedule, amber alert…what could these flat screens be for?

We got out and were trying to find the 76, which would drop us off directly in front of the Brewery, but we got a bit loss and then this happened.

My fiancé wanted to stop buy a particular cleaners to see if they did some kind of odd alterations. Of course as he walks away people start looking at me. I don’t know why. I had on some very unrevealing pants, but people kept trying to look at my butt (it’s not JLo, bootilicous my measurements are 32-24-35, so maybe a little) but really obvious.

One guy smiled and then walked behind me and I turned around and just stared at him and he walked away. Then I’m walking with BusTard waiting for fiancé on Broadway and a black guy comes up.

I thought he was just doing the black people hello thing so I look kind of friendly, because you know I was feeling kind of guilty about not saying hi to homeless emotionally needy black guy (by the bike rack,) but no, he wanted to be a little more than just my friend.

He was trying to pick up on me and I standing with BusTard, who could be my boyfriend, husband...

“What do you want?” BusTard.
“I’m trying to talk to my sister,” not very smart guy.

In my head I’m thinking, oh shit….

BusTard  (who maybe I should add, is white) isn’t a “lets talk this out” kind of person. He’s a kick your ass kind of a person and take a piss on you kind of a person. We all had the talk, but I knew possibly this may count as an exceptional situation.

“She’s not your sister pal,” angry BusTard.
“Yes she is my sister,” not very smart guy.
“I don’t care if you’re black and she’s black. How about you go fuck yourself? Fuck you, you fucking asshole. I will take my foot and put it up your ass. How would…(lots of expletives…)” very angry BusTard.

“You’re with a white man. A white man?” not very smart guy.

“What fucking ever dude, we’re leaving good bye,” me trying to minimize this situation.

At this moment fiancé comes over and sees BusTard is getting ready to kick this guy’s ass, so we both drag him off. Fiancé asked me what happened and I just said, “nothing, you know how BusTard gets...”

I’m not the kind of girl that likes people fighting for me. I think a lie in this case was ok.

So me and fiancé are pulling away Bustard, because I can tell dumb guy doesn’t really want to fight and was kind of surprised by BusTard’s reaction. I think he’s used to the white people who live in lofts or something. I don’t think he had ever dealt with punk rock white people before. They don’t really care about looking like a racist or a nut if you disrespect them…

Yeah so after we dragged BusTard away…we all decided to have drinks at the Gallery Bar…man all of that and we hadn’t even got to the Brewery.

by Browne

Tune in for Part II tomorrow when I actually get to the Brewery and:

Take rides from strangers.
Get mistaken for a call girl (three times.)
See Turbo Negro.
Have a fight with a dumpster.
Say hi to Mat Gleason.
Say hello to Paige Wery.
Crash a private party at City Hall…