At the Moment

I am temporarily suspending myself from speaking about the future in any kind of definite terms, because I find that I am contradicting myself and changing my words all too often. If you ask me where I will be after the next few months, my answer one day could be drastically different than the day before. And so, for now, the future will only be spoken of in vague, ultimately meaningless rhetoric about mystery and the unexpected. But I'll keep you updated.

The present, though, is a different matter entirely. Let's talk.

I have a job, for the moment. I'm working in the will call department at Vroman's Bookstore in Pasadena. I answer phones and help people with their book orders, and I do a lot of gift wrapping. This is funny. At some point my manager might realize that my awkwardly packaged gifts are not worth the time, tape, and paper I struggle through, but the learning process is fun for someone whose wrapping has often been a joke at family gatherings.

Speaking of wrapping, Thanksgiving is next week. Christmas is next month. It seems like it's cool to bash Christmas because of the commercialization around it, but I can't help but be excited. More thoughts in a couple weeks.

A job in Pasadena is not conveniently located for someone living in Hollywood. And, perhaps another representation of the idea that I might not fit in around this city, I did not want to drive that far every time I go to work.

Public transportation to the rescue.

I have always enjoyed a fascination with city transportation, but this is the first time in my life that I have been a frequent, repeated participant instead of a visiting passerby. And I am convinced that there is no better way to come to know a city.

To get to work, I bike up the hill to Hollywood and Highland, take the Red Line downtown, take the Gold Line to Pasadena, then bike to the store. The one-way trip takes about an hour and a half and, though perhaps not time efficient, it saves money and provides perfect venues for reading and people watching. Something about the mass movement of people, all these bodies packed into a confined space in motion, always feels significant and puts me in a thoughtful mood.

A few observations...

When the standard interaction involves silence and an intentional lack of eye contact, the interruptions are often profound and always memorable. Exchanged smiles carry a lot of weight in an environment of hurry and discomfort, and a friendly conversation has the potential to affect the mood of an entire car.

During rush hours, no conversation is private, and many people have made an art out of listening while pretending not to. This includes me (see previous post). For when I am not in the mood to talk with anyone, subway eavesdropping is a new hobby of mine. I love these little glimpses into the lives of strangers, no context or explanation offered or needed.

In more compact cities, people from all different walks of life use public transportation because it is convenient and so widely accepted. In Los Angeles, most of the riders seem to be there out of necessity, not choice. While it may save a couple bucks if you're going far enough, it is not timely and, for more normal people than myself, it is not consistently enjoyable. L.A.'s citizens are famously attached to their cars, so those who can afford it choose to leave public transportation to those citizens they would prefer to keep underground anyways. There are, of course, exceptions: there are many who ride the subway because it seems environmentally responsible, or because they too enjoy the deeper connection it offers to their city. Public transportation is at its best when all of these people, from different parts of town and different tax brackets, find themselves standing next to each other, leaning into the turns and bracing for the awkward stops.

This is especially fun when the Gold Line goes above ground and we get to speed past all the cars stuck on the freeway, the mountains ahead of us and the city's skyline behind us.

In competition for my favorite moment every day is on the way home, emerging from the station at Hollywood and Highland. By this point it is usually dark, the air has chilled, and the crowds are out in full force. I love watching people take pictures of the stars on the sidewalk and the performers walking around and the iconic signs and images. Then I climb on my bike, ride past more crowds at the Chinese Theater and the wax museum, up to Gardner, where I lean left and coast down the hill to the house, invigorated by the cold air and reminded once again why so many people flock to this place that, for right now, I am calling home.

Eavesdropping

A conversation overheard tonight on the Metro Gold Line...

Dad: "Did you know your great-grandfather crossed the Delaware with George Washington?"
Older daughter: "That's a lie."
Dad: "Okay. You wanna hear a joke?"
Son and older daughter: "No."
Dad: "Okay. So Obama, Gore, and Clinton are tryin' to get into Heaven."
Son: "I heard this one on the freakin' radio last night. Hurry up."
Dad: "So God says, 'Why should I let you in?' Clinton walks up and says, 'I know I've sinned a lot, but I prayed for forgiveness, so we're alright now.' And God lets him in. Then Gore walks up and says, 'Well, everyone knows I won that election in 2000, but I handled it well, and I've done a lot of good things for the Earth and stuff.' And God lets him in. Then Obama walks up to God and says, 'I believe you're in my seat.'"
Wife smiles, as do a few nearby riders who pretend like they're not listening, myself included.
Son: "I don't get it. I mean I get it, but..."
Mom: "It's 'cause Obama thinks he's God."
Older daughter: "That's blasphemy."
Son: "No, it's a joke."
Younger daughter: "What's blasphemy?"
Older daughter: "It's a sin."
Son: "Is it in the Ten Commandments?"
Older daughter: "No, but..."
Dad (with authority): "I think it's in the Constitution."
Son: "Oh. Maybe the Declaration of Independence."
Dad: "No, it's the Constitution."
Younger daughter: "Daddy, I think that man over there is writing down your joke."


Did you catch that? Not a boy, not even a guy...she called me a man!