Planes & Buses
Of late, I've purchased a plane ticket home for the holidays, and back shortly thereafter.
For those who care, I'll be in Santa Barbara around 10:30am, December 22nd.
I believe I depart the 28th.
I believe I will partake of some form of chemical inducement to get on these deathtraps.
My mornings have become slightly more annoying, as the underground train tunnel, which runs the length of downtown Seattle, has opened.
I've found that I like watching the city wake up, and the sun rise.
Instead I'm now in an overlit tunnel with a bunch of other people surrounded by plastic tiles.
It's odd to me that Starbucks didn't find a way to weasel a kiosk into each station.
It's also played merry havoc with the regulars.
A couple of weeks ago I was late downtown (my first bus didn't feel like showing up for an hour), and I ended up a step or two behind my usual run to find that the people that had stopped taking the earlier run with me had simply fallen back a step or two.
It's strange when you find yourself missing the total strangers you ride the bus with. You start to wonder if you should call the cops to report them missing. But then you realize you have no idea what their real names are. You just have the ones you made up:
Fidgit; Sartre; Twist; Crumple; Screw-Top; White Toes; THE PROFESSOR!; Hashbrowns; Shitface; Falcon & The Stuntman; Jizzadora Duncan, Ernest Fistingway, Captain Fuckbeard & Count Thrustula; The Executive Luchadore; Cloudhead; Ginger's Mom; Moonhead; Venom; Chinese Corpse; Jeeter the Demonologist; Helldey-Doody; Crisp; Sinews; Fruitpie; Twain; Leatherdaddy Maynard; et al.
I'm sure I've forgotten a few.
For those who care, I'll be in Santa Barbara around 10:30am, December 22nd.
I believe I depart the 28th.
I believe I will partake of some form of chemical inducement to get on these deathtraps.
My mornings have become slightly more annoying, as the underground train tunnel, which runs the length of downtown Seattle, has opened.
I've found that I like watching the city wake up, and the sun rise.
Instead I'm now in an overlit tunnel with a bunch of other people surrounded by plastic tiles.
It's odd to me that Starbucks didn't find a way to weasel a kiosk into each station.
It's also played merry havoc with the regulars.
A couple of weeks ago I was late downtown (my first bus didn't feel like showing up for an hour), and I ended up a step or two behind my usual run to find that the people that had stopped taking the earlier run with me had simply fallen back a step or two.
It's strange when you find yourself missing the total strangers you ride the bus with. You start to wonder if you should call the cops to report them missing. But then you realize you have no idea what their real names are. You just have the ones you made up:
Fidgit; Sartre; Twist; Crumple; Screw-Top; White Toes; THE PROFESSOR!; Hashbrowns; Shitface; Falcon & The Stuntman; Jizzadora Duncan, Ernest Fistingway, Captain Fuckbeard & Count Thrustula; The Executive Luchadore; Cloudhead; Ginger's Mom; Moonhead; Venom; Chinese Corpse; Jeeter the Demonologist; Helldey-Doody; Crisp; Sinews; Fruitpie; Twain; Leatherdaddy Maynard; et al.
I'm sure I've forgotten a few.