And Now We Go to Our Reporter, Live on the Scene

I am now a famous reporter.

I got to report on a story, live--as it was happening, via my trusty iPhone.

(Actually, I was super pissed off and I was whining to the only person I thought might be able to help me, Greg from The N-Judah Chronicles. I ended up with an 1.5 hour commute today.)

But I'm choosing to look at it like I was helping him report an important story. Please excuse my swearing. Greg had other reporters, too, but they seemed more calm.

If you are unsure about my reference to a unicorn, then you should read this post too.

Friday Morning Commutes Are Not Supposed to Be Like This

Today, the Friday morning before the Memorial Day weekend, I envisioned a commute with almost empty trains, arriving almost every two or three minutes.

Boy, was I wrong.

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There is a stable of mythical beasts in San Francisco. I have never seen one of these creatures myself, but I have heard tales of their existence.

They are called shuttles.

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When Muni breaks down, you hear a garbled, usually cryptic, message telling you to get off the train and that a shuttle will be coming for you shortly.

Like I said, I have never seen one of these things. Even this morning, when we all got kicked off the train (which was crowded) and were told to wait for the shuttle.

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I am starting to feel like Muni is playing with the good people of San Francisco. Next time they mention the word "shuttle" over the almost unintelligible PA system, in my mind I am going to substitute "Santa's Sleigh and Flying Reindeer" or "Beautiful Mystical Unicorn."

Because those things are as likely to pick me up and take me to work as one of their shuttles. Feh, Muni. Get your shit together already!

***

I have also decided to come up with some alternative methods of getting to work in case the city can't find any unicorns.

Here are the choices I am leaning towards:

A sedan chair, carried by buff guys.

The Jaguar hearse from Harold and Maude.

A pumpkin coach.

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A float covered in flowers and princesses (including me).

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A rickshaw (I especially like this one).

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A tickertape parade.

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But most of all, I would love to go to work in this. Although if I had one of these, I wouldn't need to work, would I?

Muni Lust

Despite the fact that I am all jacked up on Excedrin this morning, I got a brief respite from my morning tiredness/commute/
yucky headache by standing almost face to face with someone who looked like a young Harrison Ford. Holy cow. (Normally, my time spent on public transporation is more like this and this.)

He looked like Harrison Ford circa first Raiders of the Lost Ark and maybe Witness. Floppy hair over the forehead, just perfectly scruffy and unshaven enough but not in a planned, affected way but also not too messy either, square jaw, green/hazel eyes.

Of course I averted my eyes. But my 13-year-old heart went pitter-pat and I forgot about my headache for about five whole minutes.

Yay.

PS. I was going to write a different post but this one got in the way. I'm sure you understand.

Strangers on a Train

When I first moved to the city, I used to really love taking the train to work. The whole idea of not having to sit in traffic, worry about parking, look for gas stations when the tank's on empty--all of those normal little anxieties instantly evaporated. (Actually, I still am really grateful for not having to deal with those things anymore.)

I used to tell people that I loved Muni when I first moved here, and they looked at me like I had carrots growing out of my ears. Now I realize that that was a pretty greenhorn thing to say because the SF public transportation system has some major problems. But taking the train still beats driving (at least here in the city where people drive like nuts--be warned). Now I just get embarrased for us in theory, picturing what imaginary Parisians taking our trains must think because our meager subway system is such a sad little joke when compared to the Paris metro.

You just have to learn the unspoken rules on how to ride on the train. Like where to stand on the platform to get on the least crowded train or who gets dibs on a newly vacated seat. The other thing you are supposed to learn about the train is how not to look at people. (There's an interesting concept about the familiar stranger that ties in with this, and of course the Walker Evans photo above says a lot.)

When I don't get a seat (which means I can't read my book--I'm not one of those talented, multi-tasking riders who can grip a pole with one hand and a book in the other), I have my little train games. I still do enjoy looking at people (it's my train cabaceo). Once in a while I can get a person to smile back at me. I like to wink at the occasional little kid, but many of them are unresponsive. My other game is to decide if which rider I would pick to kiss if it was my last kiss on earth. Sometimes I don't have very good choices with that game. Or if a person resembled an animal, which one they would be.

I like to see what other people are reading. One Thousand Years of Solitude has been a very popular book on trains I ride. Also The Kite Runner and Absurdistan. Lately, I've noticed a few Atonements (myself being a recent McEwan fan, too, but not because of the film) and some Jane Austen--Northanger Abbey and Emma. Lots of people read The Economist and The New York Times. It makes me happy to see that people on the N-Judah have pretty good taste in their reading material. Once in a while, I'll see someone reading a book that I've never heard of before but looks really interesting and I put it on my mental reading list.

Once in a very great while, you actually strike up a conversation with a fellow traveller. One night, I was on my way home and just finishing the last few pages of Fahrenheit 451. A scruffy young guy--not homeless but definitely wandering--sat next to me, noticed what I was reading, and his face lit up. He said to me, Wow, I remember when I read that book when I was a kid. I really liked it a lot.

I told him the book is still as good as he remembered it (I read it in the 7th grade and again several times years later) and asked him what he likes to read now. He told me that he really didn't buy books anymore (I could have guessed that), but once in a while he goes to the library. I gave him my book and said it's one of those great books that's worth re-reading, but that he had to promise to give it to someone else when he was done with it, because that's the whole point of Fahrenheit 451: Read books and pass 'em on.

He was so happy. It was really cool. That's a little train game I'd like to play again some day.

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Even though it doesn't get the hype that Rear Window, Vertigo or North By Northwest gets, I think Strangers on a Train is one of Alfred Hitchock's great movies. Check it out if you haven't seen it. Robert Walker is really, really creepy in it.

SF Is Full of Partypoopers

This morning I woke up 30 minutes earlier than usual so I would have time to do my makeup for tonight's Macabre Ball at Teatro ZinZombie. I won't have time to go home first so I did my best diva eyes at 7am and will touch up before I leave today. I brought my fab goth black-and-red Can Can skirt from Venice, black fishnets, my red suede faux Christian Laboutins and my gorgeous mask from my shopping spree in Venice and will change in the bathroom at 5:30 into a Venetian princess.

I am wearing my most extravagant Shu Uemura lashes to date:

I got on the train this morning and no one else was dressed for Halloween! Not even a teeny-tiny bit. One woman was wearing an orange scarf but that does not count, in my book.

Not even a drop of glitter to be seen! Come on, folks, this is San Francisco! We're supposed to be the trendsetters for the nation, at least in funky funny wierdness.

A few stops later a young man got on the train, dressed in a policeman's uniform, with boots and a fancy cap. But he was probably about 3 years old, holding his mom's hand. At least someone else had the Halloween spirit on Muni today!

Then I heard this conversation between the two men standing next to me:

Guy 1: Oh, Michael and I were going to go out tonight, but we changed our minds.
Guy 2: Oh, that's right. It's Halloween.
Guy 1: You can borrow my tiara if you want. I won't be using it.

Even guys in the Castro aren't dressing up! What, did George Bush win here, too? Jeez.

***
When I got to the bakery to get my morning's cinammon bun, the guy behind the counter was dressed as a sexy nurse, with a crazy blond wig, nurse's cap, white mini nurse's dress, white thigh-high fishets with red bows at the top, bright red lipstick, and a classic 5-o'clock shadow beard.

I told him he looked awesome and he smiled.

Thank god. I was starting to get worried.

Sardines

Today was one of those days on public transportation where you wished you had a big gas-guzzling limo and driver to take you wherever. Home, Jeeves.

We were all hanging, like so many sides of beef, suspended from bars and handles, not that any of us could have fallen even if we wanted to. There was no where to move in the crush of bodies on the N-Judah.

Since it was hard to ponder anything else, I wondered why it was that this same type of contact, in the arena of the dance, is pleasurable, and yet the same type of closeness on a commuter train causes such stress and displeasure and whining.

I think what struck me most is that even though both situations require us to be physically close, often with total strangers who we'll never see again, that the need to be embraced or to embrace is what is paramount. In our day-to-day lives, it's so hard to get a passersby to even meet your eye, let alone smile at you. So how do we change so much from this public persona to such an intimate embrace? The person you are sandwiched next to on the train could just as easily be your dance partner at a milonga later that night. Maybe they should try playing tango music on the trains and see if we all get a little more comfortable with the commute.