"Bet you fuck a lot!"

Walking home from work when a car full of girls pulled up, honking hooting, whistling catcalls. I was surprised but not annoyed. I smiled, walking over to a nearby ledge to prop my backpack on, so that I could put the grocery bag I'd been carrying in.

I bent down.

"Ooh, bend over, yeah!"

I was laughing.

"Ooh, I like your backpack!"

Thanks, I replied.

"You have yourself a very good night."

You too, I replied.

As the car pulled away, "Bet you fuck a lot!"


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Wow, that was just funny to me. I didn't really feel flattered, I certainly didn't feel threatened. This is the kind of thing that can only happen when you're a harmless looking pedestrian. The girls were shielded by their car so they could mess with me knowing they could speed off, I could not hurt them.

If I was a woman and the situation was reversed I'd probably have been scared, and I can definitely see how women would feel threatened and annoyed by such unsought come-ons from strangers in public places. For one, the men are probably more serious about their attraction. Two, men often get angry when their "compliments" are rejected. Three, there is the frightening possibility that the physically stronger male may become violent.

I guess in certain situations women are more vulnerable than men as pedestrians. Generally, driving is far more dangerous than walking and people in cars can also be quite easily preyed upon.

One word of caution though, when you're walking stubbed toes can occur: BE CAREFUL!!!

"Crazies" on the bus, and dead eyes

There are many kinds of people on the bus, social classes, races, and ages. A good number of poor people. Some homeless, some insane. Some who most people would just call crazy or kooky—lacking certain social graces and communication skills, but not medically insane.

When you first start riding the bus, or you ride rarely, you have an innocent, wide-eyed look to you. Oh my gosh, you think as you look out the window, I've never seen that building before, what architecture. The landscape is altered, you see more from the bus's elevated vantage and because you're not focused on driving.

You look with curiosity at fellow passengers, why are the Mexicans mostly sitting in the back two rows? Why are the old and infirm up front--oh, practical reasons, it's harder for them to get to the back? Why is the driver talking on his cell phone and steering with one hand? Another blog will cover this one.

Your receptivity is observed by one or more fellow passengers, they strike up a conversation with you. They are nice, interested in you, and say wild things. You listen with curiosity and being polite don't interrupt. This is a new experience for you. You're getting to know a kind of person who rides the bus, like you. Or not. This person keeps talking, only occasionally asking you a question as a rhetorical device so s/he can keep talking.

You're getting a little bleary eyed, the words don't all make sense. So the talker is an Egyptologist, dislikes the government, sees much injustice in the world, his wife no longer cares for him so sometimes he drinks and goes riding on the bus, etc, etc. It's a tad random, not the kind of conversation you'd have anywhere but on a bus. These kind of talkers don't fly and can't afford Amtrak.

Not everything adds up, or it kind of does, but you're tired of listening. You start to notice what is behind the words of this talker, it's a very deep emotionally honest, soulful human being, who is sharing their truth(s), because s/he feels safe in your presence. You're not like all those dead-eyed other bus passengers, you're nice, you're open. And the talker feels somewhat relieved and s/he likes you, and you know you'll never see each other again, and it's ok, and you chalk up the "conversation" to experience, as having heard another soul's story. It's not apt to happen again.

But it does, nearly every time you ride the bus. After a while you become a little less open, you'll listen but for not as long, and soon you find yourself riding with "dead eyes."

You ride the bus consistently now to get to work, to go places; you bring a book, you close your eyes to doze or meditate. You talk on your cell. You rarely notice the type with a story, anymore, but when you do your eyes feign deadness, the lamp of the soul is dimmed without enough light to share. The would-be talker is invisible now and your are comfortable in your own little portion of private space in the public one all around you, just as you used to be in your own car.

public transport

I ride the bus a lot, it's a big part of my carlessness, it's where I see others like me.

Los Angeles is a city built up since at least the 60s on the idea that people would have cars and be able to drive them everywhere. It's really become part of the culture to drive here, it's generally considered the first best option. Like in Steve Martin's LA Story when he literally drives across the street to visit a friend

On many occasions though, it actually does make sense to take public transport. Avoid road rage, save money on parking, valets, don't have to drive home drunk after clubbing, and can get stuff done like reading, writing, meditating, thinking, sleeping. It's always more environmentally friendly and generally safter on public transport than when driving alone.

I wish Agelinos would ride the bicycles, busses, rails and water taxis(?) of this great metropolis whenever possible. Stop excess pollution, unnecessary traffic, get out of their insulated, bad-karma-mobiles.

That was my attitude even before I lost my car. If I could avoid driving, I did. Living in compact Westwood Village afforded me that opportunity daily. Errands are done on foot here, mostly.

Ideally, I'd love mass transit to be something for the masses, instead of something only as a last resort sought by those with their cars in the shop and the working poor who can't afford them. Like in Boston, New York, London, etc. A stat I found recently in an online newspaper stated that in Manhattan 75% of people don't have cars and take public transport.

That's awesome! That means it's normal not to drive there, it's normal to be carless, you can partake fully in the life of the city without a car. Which is arguably impossible in L.A.

Say my friends from north county are having a beach bonfire at county line. I'd like to go but there's no bus service out that way past 9PM and the bonfire doesn't even start till 10. Or say there's a cool event in Long Beach I want to check out. It's about 2 1/2 hours on public transport for what would be a 40 minute car trip.

It'd just be so easy, convenient and require hardly any planning or thought to make those trips with a car.

I'm thinking of getting a vespa

Anyone know of any good places to buy one?

Thanks!

Walking/running more

I get more exercise without a car, I'm in better shape. I walk/run more. Every morning I walk (or run if I'm late--I nearly always am) three blocks from my west Westwood Village apartment to my East Westwood Village bus stop. I always pass a homeless guy on the way. Sometimes he'll yell "faster!", or when I'm running slower or walking he'll say "not late today." That precious interaction each day makes my boring life that much more interesting.

After I get off the Culver City 6 or the Santa Monica 1, either way a ten minute walk to my office, it's usually about 5 till 9 or later. I work 9 to 6, give or take, okay just take.

Sometimes after literally running in late, my supervisor will say to coworkers, "Now that's the face of a man who ran to work."

After a long day at the lemon law office, I often just walk 35 minutes home. It's a nice way to unwind from a hectic day of ball-busting shouting lawyers and "I am fortune's fool!" clients with shitty new cars.

I see nature walking through Westwood park and take time to smell the flowers. Best of all I save 75 cents bus fare.

How I became carless in L.A.

I was driving home from a publicist's apartment in Orange County, merging to the 5 from the 91 East. My black 19931/2 Saab Aero's electrical functions died for a moment and resurrected (as they intermittenly had), then expired permanently.

I had spent the past five months jobless, living off a sizable savings, spending precious hundreds paying the small-potatoes publicist to try to jumpstart my utter lack of acting career. It hadn't worked.

Nearly broke, I was already in the midst of a frantic job search, ready to do just about any soul killing job for money, except anything involving porn or violence.

I had no money for car expenses, no more money for the publicist. I felt as if my life in L.A. had just been slammed over the head with a grey fold-up chair.

The car was towed off the freeway by AAA, then to my parents' house by a guy my dad knew. Parents paid to fix it and sold it.