The commute to Santa Monica was killing me, driving me nuts. So I quit to find something better. Now I do Web work for the marketing department of a bank in a very tall building downtown.
I love downtown L.A.—so historic and so fresh! I have plenty of transit stories, yet little time to share them. 
My life is again changing for the better. More to come….
I no longer work for LA 411.
It was a good experience, though, because I expanded my knowledge of e-business, Web editing and reporting. I learned about the industry from the inside-out, from below-the-line on up. (I now know, for instance, the difference between a gaffer and a grip, and that “best boy” can refer to a fully-grown woman.) And as a perk, I got to attend many screenings and industry events, see celebrities and speak with the people behind the scenes.
But it’s time to move on to another media company, where I’ll be focused on Web production, increasing my tech skills and perhaps even my knowledge about cars!
Delilah, in fairy form, pictured on her birthday cake.
My little baby Lah celebrated her 9th birthday with a Renaissance-themed gathering of fairies and other magical creatures. I made an invitation with clip art of faes and elves and invited a select few of her friends (can’t handle too many kids at once!). We dressed them up in fairy wings, gave them wands and taught them how to make flower crowns.
Ray set up the music (woodland fairy Renaissance stuff like Courante and Round Dance by Richard Searles), Christine helped decorate, my mom and her friend made a feast, Brian drew a picture of Delilah in fairy form for the cake and everyone pulled together to make the party a success.
Simple crafts kept them busy and simple games kept their spirits high—bobbing for apples, donuts on a string, and, of course, the piñata! (And yes, Piñatas are a game of the renaissance.)
Delilah and I took the bus to visit Ray at work today. We were sitting toward the front, facing forward, when two strange men boarded and plopped right in front of us in the sideways seats. This was odd because those are the seats reserved for the elderly and disabled, and there were plenty of regular seats available.
They sat across from each other talking loudly, one of them drinking out of a can of malt liquor. The drinker looked and acted like a punk rocker type, a lot like Flea only less grounded. The other just looked homeless but clean.
The punk rocker spoke in shouts, sometimes angrily about record contracts, sometimes happily about his plan to buy a cabin in the woods. He’d sometimes glance toward me and Delilah as if he wanted to engage us in conversation. Please don’t, I thought. I don’t like crazy people around my daughter.
As a bus rider, I see many weirdoes and crazies on a regular basis, but they rarely scare me. This one, however, was particularly unnerving not only because of his volatile nature but because he was in close proximity to Delilah.
He kept fidgeting wildly, making me wonder if he has a disease that affects motor coordination.
When Delilah asked if our stop, Fairfax, was coming up, he repeated “Fairfax!”
He chuckled to himself, “Fairfax, huh! FAIR FACTS!”
I avoided eye contact and pretended that I didn’t hear, but my annoyance was turning into anger now. Fortunately he left soon after that, and we relaxed a bit.
But then when we arrived at Fairfax, the homeless guy got off too and trailed us down the street. He asked for a few dollars and I said no, so he asked for some change. I again said no and then he asked if I knew where he could get some work. I again said no and he kept talking about how he was homeless and he wanted to find some work at a restaurant.
“I can sweep and mop,” he said. “I can mop tables and clean up.”
After many “no’s” from me, he finally gave up and walked away.
Lately I’ve been experimenting with a new route that takes me right through downtown—by Grand Central Market in fact.
In other words, I have a new set of weirdos to deal with.
This one middle-aged latina woman sat at the back of the bus with her shirt wide open and a good portion of her floppy tits hanging out. Amazing. I thought, maybe she’s wearing that body tape that keeps her clothes in place, just teases the eye. But alas, no, for at one point I caught sight of a dark brown nipple.
Gross as all hell.
I wondered if she’s a hooker. She looked drunk—sleepy and irritable.
Hooker maybe, looker no.
The bus came to the Chinatown transfer point and a lot of people got off, so some of us at the back seized the opportunity to move up to the forward-facing seats.
I sat next to a lady that had moved up from the back just like me. “It’s better to face forward, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Yes,” I replied. “And the view back there was too disturbing.”
She laughed because she knew what I was talking about. We then chatted about the “interesting” nature of bus rides in L.A. until we arrived at my bus stop.
She asked me how long I had been riding the bus. I said since 2002, and mentioned my transit log.
She asked if I remembered “General Hershey,” a famous transit weirdo who dressed in military regalia and told funny stories. It was probably before my time but I remembered my dad talking about a guy he called “the general” who would always ride the bus and talk about his military history.
“I”m going to ask my dad about ‘the general’,” I said, “And maybe see if it’s the same one.”
