Cold Thoughts

Day two of my bus riding adventure was postponed by an act of war. Yes, dear readers, we American's are involved in yet another war. And of course, the liberal media (a wholly owned subsidiary of News Corp) has failed to bring it to your attention. They're probably trying to hide yet another thing this awful president with a lowly 60% approval rating and a massive list of social and economic successes has allowed to happen. So allow me to inform you of the latest developments: The attack came by surprise in the middle of the night. At 4am on February 1st, 2011, Canadian weather waged war on the state of Texas, concentrating its most brutal attacks on the city of Dallas. We woke up to a catastrophic war zone. Nearly 2 inches of solid ice blanketed our fair city, crippling our non-existent defenses against such weather systems. It was an abomination. It brought our means of transportation and economic proliferation to a grinding halt. Everything closed, with the notable exception of the brave patriots at 7-11.

We do not posses salt trucks, snow plows, or even shovels with which to tend to our own driveways. We were caught helpless and unaware, with our proverbial thermal underpants down. (We don't have those either.) 13 degree temperatures ravaged our meager insulating preparations, designed to combat heat instead of cold. They must have known that our homes are designed to retain cold air, thus making their plot as ruthless as it was ingenious. The ravages of their low pressure systems brought our temperature down to degree marks that our thermometers were not built to handle.

So I got Tuesday off of work. I'm sure one day it will be declared a national holiday, but again, with the dirty liberal media outposts in this country that refuse to report on anything but what their corporate owners deem necessary, the heroes of this day may forever go unsung.

Wednesday we were called back into the office. The ice was still present, and as fresh as the horrors lodged deep within our hearts and minds. Unspeakable horrors like having to wear a sweater and a coat at the same time. I won't go into detail, but scarves were involved.

I drove to work. Bus resolution fail. I did it, and I'm not proud of it, but at least I'm honest. Barely able to forgive myself, I resumed the bus riding again on Thursday. The trip to work was lovely. DART win. The story of the trip home, however, is a story of almost unbelievable proportions.

The 463 picks me up a mere 40 feet from the front door of my building at 5:31PM sharp, Monday through Friday. Or at least it is supposed to. On this fated day it arrived after 6PM. Don't worry, driver, I love standing outside in 3 degree wind chill.

Finally, the bus arrived. Having grown up as a white male in middle class America, I expected a drury ride home full of complaints and malicious remonstrations of the mass transit system from my fellow passengers. Surely we would brood and commiserate on our unfortunate circumstances. Instead, the hypothesis posed in my last post (go here: http://politifarce.blogspot.com/2011/02/transitional-thoughts.html) was proven. I am the outsider here. The sore thumb. The stranger in a foreign land. You see, the atmosphere on the bus that cold, dark night resembled a reunion of old army buddies more than it did the reality of the situation. It was...fun. Virtually everyone was talking to everyone else. Exciting stories of the days events were shared and enjoyed. Jokes were made at no one's expense, many of which were shockingly creative and funny. And I don't mean that 'within the context of an otherwise miserable situation', it was genuine humor. As I said mere sentences ago, it was fun.

Why was I surprised? Because I was assuming instead of thinking. What happens within a crowd at the airport when a plane is late? Misery. Anger. Belligerent behavior, empty threats, promises of revenge in the form of economic sanctions against the offending airline. It's a catastrophe. And it is fully self induced. When we feel entitled to something, for whatever reason, we are much less likely to be able to cope with disappointment. We feel put out, inconvenienced, even cheated. But the less we expect others to do for us, the more likely we are to manufacture our own perspective. The more apt we are to turn inconvenience into pleasure, cold temperatures into warm smiles, a late bus into a good time.

How fitting then that the same man screaming at the airline ticketing agent for his inconvenience is very likely to be the same man who doesn't feel that he should help feed our poor, or care for our sick. For he is entitled to something better than the rest of us. It's similar to the illusion of the self-made millionaire. No one does anything alone, certainly not achieving success. Every employer, employee, lender, borrower, consumer, or maker that you worked with (or used) to get to where you are is just as much a part of what you did as you are. Without them, you would be both lonely and broke. How soon we forget, I guess the air up at the top is thin and slows brain function.

A successful society requires a delicate balance of self-reliance and collective effort, just like a good bus ride home. Yet the definitions that we work with to define both of those concepts are too narrow and restrictive. They are not opposites, rather they are dependent variables in a simple equation. An equation that contains many other variables, like memory and pride, but is simple to balance nonetheless.

If the poop hits the air conditioner, and society collapses upon itself, you won't find me huddled in the north 'burbs clinging to a gun and a sense of fear. You will find me in the 'hood', because at least they know how to have a good time when things aren't going their way.

Agree or disagree, thanks for reading, and thanks for thinking.

transitional thoughts

It feels good to be back, doesn't it folks? I know there's been a delay since the last post, but you'll get over it. Trust me. I promised no filler when I started this, and I intend to keep that promise. Now dry your eyes and let's get going.

Yesterday I began a new phase in my life: I took the bus to work for the very first time. In fact, it was the first time I have ridden a bus, outside of a school field trip, ever. Needless to say, it made me think.

Now those of you who don't live in Dallas may have already stopped reading, but here in the Big D, this is kind of a big deal. I lived in Chicago for a while and I've visited the Big Apple a time or two, so I'm familiar with decent and efficient public transportation. Let's define this for you non-Dallas-residents. Decent and efficient, in regards to public transportation, means the kind that takes you from a place you may want to live to a place you may want to go in a somewhat timely manner, and also at times that may be convenient to the average Joe's routine. To provide some context, it must be noted that DART (Dallas' mass transit market monopoly holder) does none of the above.

To provide further context let me relate to you a short story. My office recently moved. We are directly up the street from Addison, a suburb of Dallas that literally has more bars and restaurants than residents. I noted while gazing from my 13th story office window that a favorite eatery of mine was in plain sight, and mentioned that we should amble there one fine spring day. The reaction was incredulous. 'Too far to walk' was the general consensus. So I leaned on our dear friends (unless you're a Chinese dissident) at Google and mapped out the trip. Three tenths of a mile. I expected the case to be closed, and a date to be set. But alas, this was still too far. It may take a whole 10 minutes. Someone really said that. Note that I do not work with the elderly or infirmed. These were all late-twenties/early thirties males. I mentioned that in no other city in the world would people consider driving such a trivially short distance. My arguments went unheard. In Dallas, we do a lot of things, but walking isn't one of them. In fact, outdoor recreation of any kind is banned without a significant investment in toys with which to do it, but that's for another day. In Dallas, we drive. Everywhere.

DART operates a train system that is sleek, new, clean, and runs straight north and south. My commute so happens to be west to east, so I take the filthy bus. It should be noted at this point that the author takes no artistic license in using the word 'filthy'. There were Funions in my seat.  Funions the snack product.  The one that mimics the flavor of onion rings fried in garlic oil after marinating in stoner day dreams.

But clean and dirty are not what this is about. This is about a thought on thoughts, so let us commence.

Every day on the way into my office building I see pretty much the same people. I often spend awkward quality time enjoying the wafts of their hangovers and farts in the elevator. And we acknowledge each other, often going so far as to communicate verbally. There is a familiarity hosted by routine and the easy common ground of geography and all of its wonderful accoutrement's like sports teams and weather. So one would assume that the same might be true of the bus. These people, at least a significant majority of them, must travel this same route daily at the same time. If they did not then the very spirit, as well as the economic lifeblood of mass transit would be defeated.  But there are no glances.  Not a single hint of recognition.  If verbal communication is simply too much, then a passing glance, a nod, any kind of acknowledgement. Nothing. If they do know each other on some level, even the most basic level of circumstantial similarity, there is no sign of it. The only conclusion I can draw is that somehow they must lack any form of commonality. Even though the means of transit is the same, the reasons behind it are far too varied. From the teenager digging change out of his pockets hoping it will cover the fare to his girlfriend's place, to the woman riding the bus from the same starting place as me to the same building as me, everyone on a DART bus is there for a reason that is wholly unique to them. After all, in a city that drives, why are you on the bus?

Then it occurs to me that I have several reasons.  It's emotional: I suffer from severe road rage, and the commute to work starts and ends my day on the wrong foot. It's logical:  I am a crappy driver, and not driving is a win/win for me and society. It's political: I believe firmly in the spirit of mass transit, and that it is and can be functional for most. It's economical: I'm cheap, preferring to use the money most would put towards a car payment for other things that I find far more valuable, like not using credit cards. It's environmental: I'm reducing my impact on this planet significantly.

But even those reasons have commonalities - they are reasons that justify a choice. And some days I may not make the choice to ride the bus. I may drive, or bum a ride from my hetero life partner (aka: the wife). And maybe that's why I can't see the recognitions. Maybe I'm the outsider here. Maybe the lack of recognition is a retainer of anonymity. Maybe it provides a firmer illusion of security. Maybe it's some social fear, with or without good reason. Maybe it's just too early in the morning. Maybe maybe maybe and blah blah blah. I think that 'outsider' comment was closest to the truth...

As the bus makes its exit from my day, stage right, after depositing a handful of us off on the corner, I observe the final collapse of commonality as I turn and walk towards the side of the street where the suburbs begin and the city ends, and notice I am suddenly traveling alone.

Take the bus to work tomorrow, it will give you plenty of time to think.