Orange Streaks, Snowballs, and Trains

It has snowed rather heavily here in the last week. One day, after it snowed eight inches the night before, I was inside, relaxing with a nice salad of romaine, spinach leaves, and tomatoes after a vigorous workout of shoveling the sidewalk and convincing my rear-wheel drive, full-size pickup that it should MOVE and not just spin its tires, when the doorbell rang. I looked outside and see the big brown truck that lets me know that the UPS guy has just rung the doorbell. I was super excited, thinking (of course) that there was a secret package headed my way. I went out to the front porch, saw that the guy in brown had left TWO boxes in the porch, and just as I was bending down to see who the packages were for, I saw an orange streak out of the corner of my eye. Then I heard the big brown door that separates the porch from the rest of the house slam shut. That’s right. The orange kitty had accidentally locked us out on the front porch. But it was cold and I was wearing a t-shirt and slippers. My roommate was in the basement, but she couldn’t hear the doorbell and there I was, stuck with an angry kitty on the porch (it almost broke my heart to hear the little meow as he looked at the door begging me to let him in, but I also almost killed him because it was HIS fault). Eventually I was able to pound on the backdoor enough to get her attention (walking back and forth IN MY SLIPPERS from the front porch to the back door), but we had been on the front porch for twenty minutes. Biker Boy and I got up early this morning so that we could build a snowperson. Unfortunately, the snow was too powdery and we ended up throwing snowballs at each other (snowballs that disintegrated as they flew through the air), making snow angels, and, very maturely, throwing each other into snowbanks. It was great fun. I took the train home a bit later than I normally do tonight. It was a little before midnight. And some very drunk woman threw up on the train. I was repulsed. Our trains are nice. They’re new. But if you throw up on them, they won’t stay new. And it’s gross. I wanted to lock her on the front porch and throw snowballs at her.

Disconcerting

It was a weird day on many fronts. 1) Taking the train for the first time in a few weeks. I had forgotten the nose pickers, the book readers, and the decibel level. 2) Seeing my entire name on a blog I didn't know existed. 3) Being called an expert in my TA class and kind of thinking, "yeah, I really do know how to answer all their questions." I mean, no, I'm not an expert by any means, but to your average undergraduate, I know stuff. That's right. I know STUFF. 4) Watching prime-time television for the second night in a row. Last night I watched two hours of The Bachelor. ABC, I'd like to get two hours of my life back. Tonight I watched the new episode of Gilmore Girls. I rarely watch tv, but now I can see what draws people to it. 5) Getting an authentic email asking me to participate in a DVD presentation of me teaching something. Oh, the laughter. NGS: (hee hee hee hee hee) Innocent Person in Computer Lab: What's funny? NGS: points (hee hee hee hee) IPICL: Someone has to do it. NGS: But me? (points at self) (hee hee hee hee) IPICL: Why not? NGS: (hee hee hee)

Turn, Turn, Turn

Growing up where I did in the middle of a cornfield, I was on the school bus for a long time each day. An hour to school and an hour back. I remember fifth grade as an especially painful, long time on the bus. Once the kids who lived within the township limits were let off, there were only a handful of us left on the bus. Some of them were Matt K., a guy who chewed tobacco in fifth grade and sat in the back of the bus with all the bad asses so obviously I had a tremendous crush on; Jeremy C., a kid with Coke bottle classes and a farmer's attitude about crop dusting and deer hunting TO PROTECT THE CROPS; that annoying kid who always wore suspenders and whose father owned a huge farm in the middle of fucking nowhere and was the reason our bus had to go ten minutes out of the way in both directions just to drop his ass off; a small girl in first grade who was scared to death of being late and the bruises she frequently had on her arms led me to assume her father beat her when his schedule was thrown off; Micah A., a super smart, quiet kid that I later had a crush on in high school; and his baby sister, Becky, who was in first or second grade at the time with her bright pink snow pants and gap-toothed smile.

We were the kids on the bus. One day, we were sent home from school two hours early because of the snow that was falling. On east/west roads, it was like nothing had happened. But on north/south roads the wind was whipping the snow around and it was impossible in spots to determine where ROAD was and where BIG DITCH YOU WILL DRIVE THE BUS INTO was. And, because we had to drop off the annoying kid with suspenders, we had to drive onto one of the worst maintained dirt roads running north and south that existed in the county. But Pam handled it with the grace one expects from a school bus driver who drives kids in rural Michigan. I can't picture Pam in my head without her in the driver's seat of the bus. She always had that black jacket on with her name embroidered in the upper left of the front. On the back of this jacket, the side that faced us kids on the bus, was a big picture of a school bus with the slogan TRI COUNTY TRANSPORTATION written in yellow below it. I sat towards the back, in the seat with the heater, which was also the seat with the wheel well. I figured it didn't bother me to have my feet up and I was always warm, which was more than I could say for the fools in the rest of the bus. Of course, my knees were usually propped up on the seat in front of me so I could peruse the book I was reading, trying to avoid eye contact with any of the other kids who would undoubtedly mock me for any number of my annoying know-it-all mannerisms and statements. On this day, however, I was anxiously looking outside, aware that all I could see on any side of me was white. I heard Pam radio in the condition of the road. The bus garage head lady, Mary, told Pam that she had to drop off the annoying suspenders kid. Pam sighed and gunned it. Right into the ditch. The annoying suspenders kid gave this superior look to Pam and said he would walk home and get his father to get the big tractor to pull us out. Pam couldn't let the kid go because she was in charge of his well being and if he died in the snow, she would be held responsible. After much radioing back and forth to the bus garage, the little girl with the abusive father crying incoherently, and me trying to be invisible from the boys, the suspenders boy sneaks out, gets his father and the tractor, and we are saved. I remembered this day vividly one day when I was home over Christmas. The unrelenting white, the abusive parents we all took for granted, and the sort of mentality that allowed us to think that a fancy tractor could save us from the evils of the world. I was walking the dog and all I could think about was getting away from the white. Being home for Christmas is a mixed bag, you know. I realize that I'm glad I'm out of that environment, I realize that my life now is as happy and fulfilled as it has ever been, but it reminds me that I hate that place, the memories, and the open fields of relentless white that will drive you crazy and slowly convince you that the world will eventually get the better of you and there's nothing you can do to prevent it. But I also realize that I am happy here. Happy, kind of, with my job, happy with where I live, happy with my roommates and their adorable cats, happy with my boyfriend, happy with the sun that was shining today, and happy with the idea that I can come and go as I please and that the white doesn't follow me.

Interesting Notes

1) There was a guy playing "Blowin' In the Wind" on HARMONICA on the bus today. It was awesome. I don't know if it beats the guy singing "Sunday Morning Coming Down," but it's definitely a close second. 2) You know how when you learn something new, it just keeps popping up over and over again? I learned the word obstreperous and then I read it in TWO books. I learned that Harry and David's was a fruit place (they make fruit baskets, I guess) and then I saw someone on the train with a Harry and David's paper bag. 3) I have given away one CD of This American Life. I will marry Ira Glass someday. Actually, I think Ira Glass in on the top of my list of people I will never meet who if I did meet I could have sex with. And I'm going to end that sentences in a preposition and the grammar Nazis can bite me. 4) Tonight the Bearded Boy and I are going to celebrate Christmas. There will be an exchanging of gifts, a trip to Jeune Lune to see The Little Prince, and then some ice cream for dessert. We will then separate and not see each other for the better part of a month. I am sad, but I'm attempting to come to terms with it. 5) I'm going to go away from the Internet for a while. I'm going somewhere for a few weeks where a high speed connection is not valued and while I plan on getting SOME work done, it will be work of a non-Internet variety. I may check in once in a while with some notes from elsewhere, but it won't be very regularly. One of my New Year's resolutions will be to update more often, but it just won't happen until I get back to town.

How dare they?

Funniest line of the weekend came when Biker Boy and I ran into some folks we know from school. "I hate art." Yeah, so do all normal denizens of Uptown during Art Fair weekend. Fuck it. Some people live there. No place to park. You may find a place to park fifteen blocks from your destination and count yourself lucky, but not lucky enough not to have to wade through tons of smelly, sweaty yuppies from Maple Grove. Oh, what? I should not drive, but take the bus? Sure, I'll give you that. But because Hennepin is closed for several blocks, the bus stops are super confusing in location and how should I know where to get on or off? I hate art, too. And yuppies from the suburbs. Some people live here. Just saying.

Things I Learned on The Bus

1) You have been riding the same bus route too often when you start to recognize the smelly men who get on and you also know which stop they exit the bus because of the change in air quality and you have begun to NOTICE THE PATTERN. 2) A sign that says "EFF. for rent" means efficiency apartment for rent. I had to think about that for a LONG time. 3) Gauze is the newest, hottest fashion accessory for the urban young. In the past week I have seen more and more young men sporting guaze wrapped around their arms and/or legs. Hip. 4) I still hate, hate, HATE the Starbucks at the corner of Franklin and Nicollet. It offends my sense of superiorness for living in the ghetto. How DARE Starbucks enter my hood? 5) There's a bridal place on the corner of Marquette and 10th going out of business. I promptly called and left voicemails for the two women I know who live in the Cities who may be interested in this nugget of information. 6) It's hard to fill out surveys on the bus. The driver gave me one this morning to fill out on my way to work. I HEART Met Transit, so I filled it out with gushing praise for the drivers and how much money it saves me in gas and parking and doctors appointments because heaven knows it saves me from getting ulcers because I don't have to drive on I-94 every single day of my life. Oh, yeah, but the point it that it was hard to fill out the little boxes when the bus was moving. 7) I don't know what is grammatically correct among: "He needs washed," "He needs washing," or "He needs to be washed." And the fact that I don't know may keep me up tonight. I said, "he needs washed" and Biker Boy laughed. This is on the bus list because we had the discussion on the bus. 8) The new Marshall Field windows will be opening June 30. Apparently there will be live entertainment and everything. Can't wait.

No More Being Sick

We tell our GMAT students that if an answer in the grammar section has the word "being" in it, it is automatically incorrect and you can eliminate it. So I eliminate my title because I said being. Actually, I'm still sick, but I'm not allowing myself to talk about it anymore. Except to tell you that a few days ago I had a doctor's appointment and he gave me this cough medicine with codeine in it, bascially cuz I need a pain reliever to sleep, damn this rib. I've never had codeine before and everyone told me it would knock me out and I would love it. But I DIDN'T LOVE it. I was so paranoid I was going to not hear the alarm clock go off in the morning because I'd be so knocked out, I woke up EVERY HOUR. And my side hurt the whole damn time. So now I'm scared of the stuff. Oh, and the reason this is a funny story? I HAD NO REASON TO GET UP THAT MORNING. I didn't have class until 2:15. I could have slept until noon with NO CONSEQUENCES. Stupid me. Okay, so here's really why I'm writing. I have, since moving to Minneapolis, become a lot better about personal safety issues. And, by that, I mean I'm not super paranoid that everyone at the bus shelter is going to try to rape and/or mug me. Bus rides are now almost pleasant, because instead of fearing everyone on the bus, I am amused by them and take great pleasure in people-watching. The old black man with the orange beard...how did his beard get orange? WHere is he going? The guy at the bus shelter who asked me what time it was in a Jamaican accent? Why the hell is he in the coldest place ever and not back at his tropical island? The woman with a baby in a stroller and two other little kids with her? Hasn't she ever heard of the two children per one adult rule? But today I felt like I was in the middle of a social science experiment. Maybe I'm paranoid because I'm TAing for this experimental methods class, but really. This guy was yelling at another guy at the bus shelter. And I felt like it was one of those experiments where someone yells help and no one does anything. The shelter was way crowded. And none of us said anything. And then on the bus the yelling continued. And no one said anything. I was scared, but more because I didn't know what to do then because I thought that the guy would hurt me. He was threatening to beat the guy up. Should I have called the police? Was it any of my business? And did it make a difference to me that it was a guy yelling at a guy? I mean, no question, if it were a guy yelling at a woman or a child, I would stepped in. Or would I have? Why do I have this strange double standard? Okay, that's all. Oh, no, that's not all. Last week was Date Night and we were going to celebrate Valentine's Day then, and we did, but by celebrate, I mean Biker Boy did all the work and all I did was show up. Because I was too busy being sick. He cooked me dinner and gave me presents and make me feel like I was worthy, except for the part where I didn't reciprocate. But this week I feel better. So I just went to our local co-op and spent tons of money on gluten-free baking supplies and I'm going to make him gluten-free desserts and then I'll always have these gluten-free supplies, so I can make him desserts whenever I want to. And I'm going to get up early tomorrow and go to the florist and get him flowers and a card and a stuffed snake. I don't know why the snake, exactly, but I want a snake. And the parking lot at our local co-op. It's so not user friendly. I used to be scared of it. Now I'm just annoyed with it. So take that, local co-op with bad labor practices. So no more being sick and from now on I will not mention it again. Unless the doctor tells me that I am dead. Then I might mention it once again.

21A

There's a guy out there. I've never met him. His name is Kevin Kling and he's written a play called 21A. This play is based on a South Minneapolis bus route. It's a one act play and it's about eight folks on the 21A bus. I rode the 21 last night. Not the 21A; I think it was the 21G, but it's the same route for the part I was on. Yeah. Here's the deal. Biker Boy and I had some stuff to do and it involved taking the light rail. Well, the light rail stations aren't all that convenient to where I live, so Biker Boy and I had to take the 21 from the light rail station to my place. Yeah, I live two blocks off the 21 route. Anyway, so here Biker Boy and I are, riding on the 21 at about 9:30 on a dark December night. First of all, the only two seats next to each other are in the back of the bus. As I head to the back, I notice that the passengers on this particular bus are a diverse mixture. Biker Boy and I exchange grins because this is the stuff stories are made of!! At the very next stop, three really large, really stoned black men stumble on to the bus. I can smell them before they get to the back of the bus, where they collapse. The perfume is what I imagine San Francisco smelled like in the 1970s. The bus is full now. People are standing in the aisles, but these men get seats. One sitting across from me becomes as horizontal as is possible in the seat. He's sitting there, as if it would be impossible to move, when something across from him catches his attention. "Is that the new LL Cool J album?" He sits straight up and leans in quite suddenly to the guy across from him. "LL Cool J has been around forever," says another guy in the back of the bus. It's unclear to me if this guy knows either the owner of the LL Cool J album or the guy who asked the question. "Can I see the cover?" the guy asks when the owner of the LL Cool J CD answers in the affirmative. "LL Cool J is old," the other guys adds. No one has asked this guy his opinion, but he keeps giving it. "He's been around forever." The owner of the LL Cool J CD gets off the bus. He's wearing a jacket that promotes one of the Cincinnati sports franchises. As he gets off, one of the other fellows says, "Cincinnati's gay." The other men laugh. This other guy starts asking everyone if they have a light. "You? Gotta light? You?" Then there's yelling. "Hey! Hey! HEY!" I turn around. This man smiles at me, showing off his gold tooth. "You gotta light?" "No, I'm sorry," I say, trying not to laugh. Biker Boy says under his breath, "is he going to light up ON the bus?" "You're all lame. I'm on a bus full of lame people." This makes it difficult not to laugh, because one of our profs is always telling people that stuff is lame. LAME. As we come to the stop across from Taco Bell, the stoned men get out. "We gotta get us some Taco Bell." Yeah, I bet. I would too, if I were as high as you. The munchies do strike hard. Biker Boy points out later that within two blocks the demographics of the bus change entirely. It's no longer quite so diverse. By the time we actually got off the bus, I couldn't help but laugh and laugh and laugh. The quotes are numerous. "I'm on a bus full of lame people." "Cincinnati's gay." Rock on, 21!!!