How does my future transportation affect this moment?
On Monday, Nathan and I are embarking on a road trip. A month of van riding and music listening, hiking and the building up and breaking down of my parents' old purple tent, eating trail mix and tuna fish and canned soup and seeing the ocean.
Future transportation. Sitting in the passenger seat. Mostly. Because I love sitting next to Nathan while he does something as simple as driving on the highway. He's just so good at it. One of my mom's friends said this trip will either "make or break" my relationship with Nathan, a comment I've heard more than once, and I wonder what exactly that means. Talitha said today, as she transported me via her white Toyota to my grandma's house, that the trip can't "make" Nathan and my relationship, because the relationship is already sort of made, and furthermore, does surviving this trip with Nathan mean that the relationship can't break after just because we lasted a month sleeping on hard ground together? The answer to that, as unsettling and honest as it is, is of course no.
But yes, this month of transportation could definitely break us.
And there's not much to be said of that. Going on a trip as intense as this could be asking for a break up, but here's the thing: I still went to Israel even though there are constant car bombs, I still went to Spain even though I could have gotten mugged, I still went to New York even though I could have gotten lonely. And there were bombs in Israel, I was robbed in Spain, and I got lonely as hell at times in New York.
So, you go. You go on the trip, take the risk, hope you're a better person because of it. Hope you come out stronger.
I'm so ready to move on, out, around. So ready to travel, I can barely stand it. My heels are itching. And this is the first time I've traveled with anyone. I mean, as an adult, a full human being, this is the first time. And I don't think I could have chosen a better partner for it.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Friday, May 15, 2009
If I Had a Nickle
Back to the bus. Yeah I know I promised big things. We were going to move to a strict diet of walking, longboarding, van-riding, but tonight I bolted to catch the 10. Eastward home. Left the comedy club downtown where Talitha's friends were trying their hand at improvisation, and paid my $2 fare. Yes, Wendy, I paid this time; didn't use my expired pass. Used cash, sat in the fifth row on the left, kept to myself. A man got on around Corona Street and told the driver he didn't have enough money. Brought out a roll of nickles and dropped a few in the cash box. He lingered at the front a moment too long and the driver pushed him back. He sat near the front, and spoke to every single person around him, eyes wide open. "I know you, sister," he said to the women, and "We are brothers," he said to all the men. He said to the young man reading his book, "Brainiac. Hey brainiac, how'd you learn to read?" No one around him made eye contact, but I kind of couldn't help it. He didn't look at me for a minute, but then, once he caught my eyes, he wouldn't let go. We had to stare at each other. He said, "Sister, I know you, and you goina be okay. Just let it happen, sister, don't have to worry about it, trust me, sister, you goina be okay." He kept talking, I got up to exit, and walking down dark 12th Street, I thought, Yeah, crazy man thinks everything's going to be okay. Also, he knows me. He knows. Everything is going to be okay. So yeah, I got my $2 worth. No wobbling on the way home--total confidence.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Long Ride
I've decided to expand the blog. Listen, all of you hardcore fans, we're busting out of the bus world bounds. We can't be held back, we won't be detained by more promises of quarter-hour pickups and rainy day disappointments. We've moved on to bigger and better transports. Here are my latest new modes of transportation:
Foot. Well, feet. I have two, I've been using them. New shoes, moleskin, iPod, warmer weather.
Snowshoes. Cold, beautiful scenery, makes Nathan really happy when I go. Have started to love it independent of him, but I’m not sure that I would ever go alone.
Longboard. Requires a bit more explanation. Am still not officially a Dude Bro, but edging closer, I suppose. Nathan and I found that we both have longboards available to us for free (roommates/landlords), and have been taking advantage of that. Not so much like a skateboard. Longer. Bigger. Bigger wheels, a wider wooden platform that wobbled the first time I put all my weight on it. No--it wobbles every time I lose confidence or go down a hill too fast. It wobbles and I wobble and I have to remind myself to give up on the idea that I won’t fall. The idea that I can control it, myself, everything. I went longboarding with Virginia the other day. Peruvian Virginia: small, wears her thick, short black hair in two small pig tails, speaks with a slight Peruvian accent. She wants to teach me to longboard mostly, I’m told, because she’s been desperate for a longbaord partner. Before last month I would have had no idea what that meant, but I sort of get it now. It’s not a solo sport, it’s something to be shared. She is a magnificent longboarder, albeit at times still the tiniest bit shy of steady. This only makes Virginia more delightful.
Nathan. Transports me in his 1997 Dodge Caravan. Never thought I would love a minivan, but I kind of do. White, dented, battered, slowly falling apart from the ceiling cloth to the electric locks. Here’s the thing: it smells like cinnamon because of this novelty cinnamon-scented broom that’s been in there since Nathan and I started dating. The first time I got in the car, I commented on the smell, and since then I’ve gotten to mostly ignoring it. It’s mixed in with all my other associations now. There’s a story behind the broom—something about his roommate and Christmas, but it doesn’t really matter. Here’s another thing: Nathan never cleans the van. He’s messy. There are piles of trash and dirty clothes from snowshoeing and tools and our longboards and blankets and ski poles and. The van transports me. To being with Nathan. To letting go of the need to gather food wrappers in some sort of receptacle (though I’ve tried on more than one occasion. He hates that, and pushes the bag and trash out of my hand, back to the floor. He has a system, he assures me). To being in an adult relationship that involves moving myself, moving him, allowing him in and out of my life.
I haven’t had as much need for the bus lately. Other modes of transport. New modes, old modes, finding ways to get around. New ways. Erin is getting a motorcycle, and Nathan and I are going on a road trip this summer. One way or another I’m transporting. Don’t worry about me, I’m getting around.
Foot. Well, feet. I have two, I've been using them. New shoes, moleskin, iPod, warmer weather.
Snowshoes. Cold, beautiful scenery, makes Nathan really happy when I go. Have started to love it independent of him, but I’m not sure that I would ever go alone.
Longboard. Requires a bit more explanation. Am still not officially a Dude Bro, but edging closer, I suppose. Nathan and I found that we both have longboards available to us for free (roommates/landlords), and have been taking advantage of that. Not so much like a skateboard. Longer. Bigger. Bigger wheels, a wider wooden platform that wobbled the first time I put all my weight on it. No--it wobbles every time I lose confidence or go down a hill too fast. It wobbles and I wobble and I have to remind myself to give up on the idea that I won’t fall. The idea that I can control it, myself, everything. I went longboarding with Virginia the other day. Peruvian Virginia: small, wears her thick, short black hair in two small pig tails, speaks with a slight Peruvian accent. She wants to teach me to longboard mostly, I’m told, because she’s been desperate for a longbaord partner. Before last month I would have had no idea what that meant, but I sort of get it now. It’s not a solo sport, it’s something to be shared. She is a magnificent longboarder, albeit at times still the tiniest bit shy of steady. This only makes Virginia more delightful.
Nathan. Transports me in his 1997 Dodge Caravan. Never thought I would love a minivan, but I kind of do. White, dented, battered, slowly falling apart from the ceiling cloth to the electric locks. Here’s the thing: it smells like cinnamon because of this novelty cinnamon-scented broom that’s been in there since Nathan and I started dating. The first time I got in the car, I commented on the smell, and since then I’ve gotten to mostly ignoring it. It’s mixed in with all my other associations now. There’s a story behind the broom—something about his roommate and Christmas, but it doesn’t really matter. Here’s another thing: Nathan never cleans the van. He’s messy. There are piles of trash and dirty clothes from snowshoeing and tools and our longboards and blankets and ski poles and. The van transports me. To being with Nathan. To letting go of the need to gather food wrappers in some sort of receptacle (though I’ve tried on more than one occasion. He hates that, and pushes the bag and trash out of my hand, back to the floor. He has a system, he assures me). To being in an adult relationship that involves moving myself, moving him, allowing him in and out of my life.
I haven’t had as much need for the bus lately. Other modes of transport. New modes, old modes, finding ways to get around. New ways. Erin is getting a motorcycle, and Nathan and I are going on a road trip this summer. One way or another I’m transporting. Don’t worry about me, I’m getting around.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Who's Hand Is This!?!
A more eloquent and entertaining blog post about riding the subway than I could ever muster. Plus: there's a picture! http://jamesfallows.theatlantic.com/archives/2009/04/china_v_japan_the_packed-train.php
(i can't figure out how to post a real link here. it just shows up as invisible, or rather, not at all. any clues?)
I don't worry about getting groped, although when the train gets packed people do stand unreasonably close. When in line, I used to give the person in front of me a little of what I deemed "personal space". in the us, no one would dare jump in there. this was my weakness for awhile; i kept getting budged as "personal space" means no space here.
(i can't figure out how to post a real link here. it just shows up as invisible, or rather, not at all. any clues?)
I don't worry about getting groped, although when the train gets packed people do stand unreasonably close. When in line, I used to give the person in front of me a little of what I deemed "personal space". in the us, no one would dare jump in there. this was my weakness for awhile; i kept getting budged as "personal space" means no space here.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
The iPod Shuffle
The truth is, dear Sarah, when it comes to moving around this city, I rely on my iPod to an almost pathetic extent. I take one earbud out of one ear before boarding the bus, to show the driver that I'm "making an effort" to be a part of the bus culture, but I put it right back in when I'm seated, and generally try to ignore all that goes on around me. Generally.
I find my curiosity occasionally wandering beyond the constricts of my tiny music machine, but my world is often so self-contained, so tightly packaged, that I have enough to think about on a Colfax bus ride. The feeling of my leg touching my neighbor's is almost too much information, the wrong kind of information, and I prefer not to process it. Prefer to let it go unnoticed. Prefer to lose my thoughts in something less immediate. The lingering feeling from earlier that morning of Nathan's leg against mine. The electricty of it still makes me squirm. It's so distant and overwhelming that it erases the bus entirely.
The reality of riding the bus is mundane. Inane. Pungent. Dull and unnecessary. Most often, riding the bus is not a metaphor for the possibilities and beauty of this great metropolis, but a morsel of the ugliness. Vague cigarette fumes, boredom, obesity, overcrowding, handicaps and poverty.
We don't all fit in the bus. Not all of us together. It's too crowded, too hot, too much.
But these are just the bad days. When I need to be somewhere else. In Beijing. On the subway. Back in New York City for the briefest of moments, just to catch my breath, to remember why I love it here, in Denver, Colorado.
Sometimes I need breaks from my own unrequited idealism. Sometimes I just need to be the deep-sigher. I need to be the one who gets on and off the bus without thanking the driver. I need to be the one who hates the routine of it, the absence of control, of personal space. Of sitting next to someone so beautiful or plain, so lonely or so tired.
Apparently F Scott Fitzgerald took his notebook to the park and made notes about all the people he saw, and created entire biographies and curiosities to match each. Sometimes it's just too much. I don't want to imagine a life for any of these people. I want to be alone with my iPod, my life, the same dumb songs I've heard a million times already. Really bad pop songs and old podcasts turned all the way up.
I find my curiosity occasionally wandering beyond the constricts of my tiny music machine, but my world is often so self-contained, so tightly packaged, that I have enough to think about on a Colfax bus ride. The feeling of my leg touching my neighbor's is almost too much information, the wrong kind of information, and I prefer not to process it. Prefer to let it go unnoticed. Prefer to lose my thoughts in something less immediate. The lingering feeling from earlier that morning of Nathan's leg against mine. The electricty of it still makes me squirm. It's so distant and overwhelming that it erases the bus entirely.
The reality of riding the bus is mundane. Inane. Pungent. Dull and unnecessary. Most often, riding the bus is not a metaphor for the possibilities and beauty of this great metropolis, but a morsel of the ugliness. Vague cigarette fumes, boredom, obesity, overcrowding, handicaps and poverty.
We don't all fit in the bus. Not all of us together. It's too crowded, too hot, too much.
But these are just the bad days. When I need to be somewhere else. In Beijing. On the subway. Back in New York City for the briefest of moments, just to catch my breath, to remember why I love it here, in Denver, Colorado.
Sometimes I need breaks from my own unrequited idealism. Sometimes I just need to be the deep-sigher. I need to be the one who gets on and off the bus without thanking the driver. I need to be the one who hates the routine of it, the absence of control, of personal space. Of sitting next to someone so beautiful or plain, so lonely or so tired.
Apparently F Scott Fitzgerald took his notebook to the park and made notes about all the people he saw, and created entire biographies and curiosities to match each. Sometimes it's just too much. I don't want to imagine a life for any of these people. I want to be alone with my iPod, my life, the same dumb songs I've heard a million times already. Really bad pop songs and old podcasts turned all the way up.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Subway Update
Well, I've been taking the subway a lot lately because let's face it, even in China where we sip martinis and toast to what recession!, taxis are kinda expensive and getting stuck in traffic is a big time bummer--not to mention the good feelings you get when you're doing your part to cut down on air pollution.
(not to be a jerk about the recession, but seriously. you wouldn't know it here. even in Hong Kong, a more economically developed place, people were living it up. when i get homesick and dream of coming home and moving to sf, i remember my country is pinching pennies and employees--not a good time for post grad yoga teachers to return from the land of expat playgrounds, asia, and look for a job.)
But back to the subways. It's like, two RMB a pop to take the subway, and it's pretty easy, really. I complain a lot, and sure, it's crowded and sometimes the man next to you has such bad breath the whole car smells like baiju or eggplant, but mostly its efficient and fast. However, there are such caveats like the ones above, and more annoying things like people staring and people shoving. But here's the subway dealmaker: IPODS!
I wrote in my other blog about dancing around to the Talking Heads on the train and it was a lifesaver. For some reason, I haven't been using my ipod lately. What's my deal? I recharged and deleted all those quiet, thought-provoking podcasts, because what I really need on a crowded Beijing train is the screechy, post punk hipster wailing of Karen O. And I need it LOUD.
Alyssa so eloquently writes about riding public transportation to connect to the heart of a city, staying tuned in to the heartbeat. But I think at this point in my Beijing life, the heartbeat of the city is too loud, too strong. I gotta stay tuned into my iPod for the time being.
(not to be a jerk about the recession, but seriously. you wouldn't know it here. even in Hong Kong, a more economically developed place, people were living it up. when i get homesick and dream of coming home and moving to sf, i remember my country is pinching pennies and employees--not a good time for post grad yoga teachers to return from the land of expat playgrounds, asia, and look for a job.)
But back to the subways. It's like, two RMB a pop to take the subway, and it's pretty easy, really. I complain a lot, and sure, it's crowded and sometimes the man next to you has such bad breath the whole car smells like baiju or eggplant, but mostly its efficient and fast. However, there are such caveats like the ones above, and more annoying things like people staring and people shoving. But here's the subway dealmaker: IPODS!
I wrote in my other blog about dancing around to the Talking Heads on the train and it was a lifesaver. For some reason, I haven't been using my ipod lately. What's my deal? I recharged and deleted all those quiet, thought-provoking podcasts, because what I really need on a crowded Beijing train is the screechy, post punk hipster wailing of Karen O. And I need it LOUD.
Alyssa so eloquently writes about riding public transportation to connect to the heart of a city, staying tuned in to the heartbeat. But I think at this point in my Beijing life, the heartbeat of the city is too loud, too strong. I gotta stay tuned into my iPod for the time being.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Skip bus driver
For this post, I want to focus solely on my regular bus driver. As I don't know his name, I will refer to him as Joe. Because let's face it, the likelihood that his name is Joe is very high.
Joe is a fairly new RTD employee and he takes his job extremely seriously.
I am going to describe a typical bus ride with Joe from beginning to end:
I wait at the bus stop a few feet away from the curb, as to not get run over or splashed by the pools of water by the sidewalk. Joe pulls up in the Skip and opens the doors. I look up and he is waving me in. "Come on, come on". This makes me feel like I'm wasting his time and I get flustered and run up the stairs into the bus. I sit down and he announces over the bus' PA system "Heeeere we goooo!" And we pull away. This makes me feel like we're on a ride or a fun tour bus, so this makes up for the earlier incident.
Before every single stop, Joe pulls down his microphone and says either "For this stop, exit out the back door folks, back door at this stop thank you" or "Either door works for this stop folks, either door at this stop thank you". I appreciate this because I don't like when people exit out the front door when there are people waiting at the stop to get on. So when the driver sees that there are people waiting or no people waiting, he can direct his passengers accordingly.
As you may have noticed, Joe is a little bipolar. You may like him at first, but then he gets mean. For example, I was on the bus yesterday and someone had accidentally pulled the "stop request" cable a stop too early. Joe stopped and there were other passengers getting on anyway, so it wasn't a big deal. He opened the back door because the "stop request" light was on, and the person who had accidentally pulled it yelled "Sorry, I'm getting off at the next stop" and Joe looked in the rear view mirror, gave him a dirty look and yelled back "Good for you!" and continued to glare at the poor sap. When the bus arrived at the next stop, our hapless friend mumbled "thanks" and rushed off the bus to escape Joe's burning stare.
I've noticed that Joe is like an old abused dog. The more he becomes familiar with you, the friendlier he gets. He still hurries me onto the bus, but he always smiles at me in the rear view mirror when I get off the bus and yells "Have a great day!"
Joe is a fairly new RTD employee and he takes his job extremely seriously.
I am going to describe a typical bus ride with Joe from beginning to end:
I wait at the bus stop a few feet away from the curb, as to not get run over or splashed by the pools of water by the sidewalk. Joe pulls up in the Skip and opens the doors. I look up and he is waving me in. "Come on, come on". This makes me feel like I'm wasting his time and I get flustered and run up the stairs into the bus. I sit down and he announces over the bus' PA system "Heeeere we goooo!" And we pull away. This makes me feel like we're on a ride or a fun tour bus, so this makes up for the earlier incident.
Before every single stop, Joe pulls down his microphone and says either "For this stop, exit out the back door folks, back door at this stop thank you" or "Either door works for this stop folks, either door at this stop thank you". I appreciate this because I don't like when people exit out the front door when there are people waiting at the stop to get on. So when the driver sees that there are people waiting or no people waiting, he can direct his passengers accordingly.
As you may have noticed, Joe is a little bipolar. You may like him at first, but then he gets mean. For example, I was on the bus yesterday and someone had accidentally pulled the "stop request" cable a stop too early. Joe stopped and there were other passengers getting on anyway, so it wasn't a big deal. He opened the back door because the "stop request" light was on, and the person who had accidentally pulled it yelled "Sorry, I'm getting off at the next stop" and Joe looked in the rear view mirror, gave him a dirty look and yelled back "Good for you!" and continued to glare at the poor sap. When the bus arrived at the next stop, our hapless friend mumbled "thanks" and rushed off the bus to escape Joe's burning stare.
I've noticed that Joe is like an old abused dog. The more he becomes familiar with you, the friendlier he gets. He still hurries me onto the bus, but he always smiles at me in the rear view mirror when I get off the bus and yells "Have a great day!"
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