Tuesday, May 30, 2006

LA vs NYC

Most people who compare Los Angeles to New York follow two clichés: New Yorkers think L.A. is nothing but one big suburb while Angelenos brag about their weather. Both perspectives are silly. Most of L.A. is closer to Queens or Brooklyn than a typical post-war suburb--in terms of density although not in terms of architecture--and very few days in New York are too cold to take a long stroll through Central Park.

The first serious comparison to be made between the two cities should revolve around live music, and in this regard, unfortunately, New York wins easily. It's not so much that the music is better in New York or that there is more to choose from--although the latter is probably true--it's that the access to it in New York is so much easier.

Whenever I go to New York the first thing I do is find a newstand and buy a copy of Time Out magazine. The magazine has beautifully organized listings of everything that is going on in New York. Most importantly the cover charge is clearly displayed after every entry and free or very cheap gigs are easy to find. To save the space required for repeating addresses for each listing, venues are listed with addresses in a separate section, and next to the addresses are the nearest subway stops.

This magazine has versions for London, Chicago and New York but not for L.A. When I have complained about the lack of a Time Out L.A., Angelinos tell me you can find the same thing in L.A. Weekly or even better on the L.A. Weekly website. Well yes, and I could get the listings free in New York by picking up a Village Voice rather than paying 3 dollars or whatever it is for TONY, and I could buy Robusta rather than Arabica coffee beans, but personally I don't like the taste of cardboard. As for the "convenience" of the web, the LA Weekly site is the definition of design chaos.

But even if there was a clean, easy-to-browse website, why would I want to spend any more time on the computer? I'm sitting with my hands on the keys for eight or more hours a day, so it's nice to lay back on my couch and browse a magazine occasionally.

I still haven't mentioned the most bizarre element of TONY's listings from an L.A. perspective: listing nearby subway stops. Someone taking public transportation to go out in L.A. sounds as reasonable as taking George Jetson's flying car, but taking the subway to a New York club is the norm.

And after you leave the club, the most wonderful surprise awaits you back in the subway where musicians play anything from classical flute to steel drum. In L.A there are a few places that sanction street musicians--3rd street promenade or Venice Boardwalk--but there just isn't the natural audience created by people waiting for a train.

Last Spring, while waiting for a south bound 6 train at 59th street, I heard an extraordinary musician playing the log drum on the northbound side. Typically subway performers stop playing when the train arrives with its rattling din. But this drummer seemed to play with the rattle, maintaining an intricate rhythm similar to a minimalist piece by Steve Reich. Mesmerized, I let several trains pass by, then decide to cross over and buy a CD from him. I stand listening, ready to him pay him when he stops. He keeps playing, keeping an incredible pace. After perhaps 15 minutes he stops. I ask if I can buy a CD. He looks surprised. "Oh you should have interrupted me!" he smiles. "I didn't want to interrupt you." "Oh, thanks so much!"

His name is William Ruiz. I wonder if he will come to L.A. I would definitely take the bus and see him.

Sunday, May 28, 2006

"I Need Work"



I saw this man while waiting for the 760 at Ventura and Sepulveda. His small suitcase and white plastic bag wrapped to a luggage carrier stood at the corner. As cars arrived at the stop light he would walk into the street look directly at the people stopping in their Escalades or Acura TLs and gesture to his sign, underlining with his hands "INEED WORK TODAY."

When the light turns green, the cars speed off and he takes a seat in the shade. I walk over and ask if I can take his picture.
"What for?"
"To post on the Internet"
"Do you think I could find work that way?"
"I don't know, maybe."
"I really need work. I need a place to stay tonight, so I have to get some money to pay for a room tonight."
"How long have you been on the street?"
"25 years. But I have to find a place to stay tonight. I got bit by something and I need to rent a room. Do you know anybody who needs some work done?"
"No, I'm sorry." He has his work gloves in hand, but it is hard for me to picture this man of perhaps seventy lifting drywall or pulling weeds.
I give him a couple dollars.
"If you know someone who needs work. I really need some work."
I give him a sad nod and head over to step on the bus.

Friday, May 26, 2006

The Solution


(Image of Curitiba from www.trekearth.com)

The solution to L.A traffic is absurdly easy and inexpensive: bus-only traffic lanes on major corridors and freeways. The best way to get people out of their cars and on the bus is to make riding the bus faster than driving. Right now, even on the freeway, you can be stuck going under 15 miles per hour at almost any time of the day. If buses are allowed to zip past this traffic, you can bet more people will want to be a passenger.

The first step is to create exclusive lanes for the dozen or so rapid bus lines. These lines run down major corridors such as Ventura, Wilshire and Vermont and stop only at major intersections. Although they are meant to be "express," during peak traffic times they are no faster than regular bus lines. A bus only lane on Wilshire might mean traveling from Santa Monica's Third Street Promenade to Downtown L.A. in under a half hour.

Yes, of course this would make traffic worse for car drivers, but that's the point. Make traffic worse for the car and better for the bus and people will choose the bus.

Perhaps the problem with this plan is precisely its simplicity. It does not have the glamour of a rail system that our mayor is so high on. But it is a couple billion dollars cheaper, and it could be implemented in a few months rather than a few years.

This is not a new idea. A lot of press has been given to Curitiba, Brazil with its extensive bus system that acts like an above ground subway system. But many cities in the U.S. and Europe use exclusive bus lanes. 15 years ago when I lived in the medium sized city of Clermont-Ferrand in France, they used exclusive lanes, multi-part buses, and bus stations much like light rail stations.

Last Fall the Bus Riders Union initiated a campaign to create the bus-only lanes on major thoroughfares. What happened? The city council would not even allow lanes on a small portion of Wilshire. Apparently, businesses along Wilshire are concerned it would push customers to areas where there is more street parking. They have a point. Lanes must be created on all corridors in order to be fair to all businesses. On the other hand, parking in most L.A. shopping districts is ridiculous, so it might actually encourage people to shop more on Wilshire!

Don't get me wrong. I appreciate our Mayor's enthusiasm for mass transit, and I don't discount the value of an inspirational vision. Once exclusive lanes are created for buses, they could over time be replaced by light rail. Even Clermont-Ferrand, a city of less than 140,000, where Michelin Tires is the principle industry, now has an electric tram!

Wednesday, May 24, 2006

Stinky fingers of a single hand

It's after 10 in the evening and the bus has only seven or so riders. The pungent smell of an unwashed body extends throughout the bus.

As inhabitants of the 21st century "developed" world, we are made neurotic about smell. We expect our environments to be free of stink. The stink of others disturbs us most. Over the course of the past 100 years technology has worked to eliminate body smell. Hair removal and aluminum chlorohydrate have created sweatless cyborgs. Most importantly, we glory in the ability to shower at least twice a day. When we don't think anyone is looking, we occasionally take a sniff at our own armpits because we can't even stand our own stink.

Of course, there is a big difference between the smell of fresh sweat from a recently exercising body--a smell which can be appealing and sensual--and the smell of a body that has not bathed for a month. And this body most likely has spent that month carrying a person's entire possessions from one neighborhood to the next.

When traveling by plane you do not expect someone's odor will make you reach for that little blue bag in the seat pocket. Common courtesy, otherwise known as modern discipline, means we brush our teeth and bathe before flying, and we expect our neighbor to do the same. On the bus, one can expect the kid in front of you to be eating sour cream potato chips for breakfast and the woman next to you to have splashed herself with perfume from the 99 cent store.

Unlike filth, which I can avoid by focusing on the pages of a book or moving to another part of the bus, the only way to avoid smell is to plug my nose. And even if I was willing to call attention to myself in this way, I would still feel sick from the feeling I was breathing parasites . It requires intense meditation skills to transform the stench of a cow barn to the fragrance of a pine forest. I'm not there yet.

A man with a very dirty long beard sits across from me. He is sprawled out, perhaps falling asleep, but his eyes are open. The woman next to him leans over and takes a whiff. Is he the source of the smell? I can't tell from her face. It is often hard to tell the source, and she doesn't change her seat. The man doesn't seem to notice, or he doesn't care. We're all family. My unwiped ass is your unwiped ass.

Monday, May 22, 2006

Rule 2

When the bus is crowded, unless you are elderly, disabled or with young children, move to the back of the bus. There are two things that prevent people from moving all the way back: fear of the people back there--don't worry, although we look like monsters, we're friendly monsters--and fear of not being able to escape when the bus arrives at your stop. Here's the trick: prepare yourself a few stops before your stop by moving slowly toward the exit. If you say firmly "excuse me", a path will be cleared. DO NOT hang out by the back door. The back door rider, usually a young guy who likes to spread his legs, is the scourge of the rapid bus. Unless you are about to step off, move out of the way!

Saturday, May 20, 2006

Singing on the Bus

We have a talker on the bus. Actually he is a talker and a singer. When I sit down across from him he starts singing very loudly some top 40 hit I recognize but cannot name. Is it Janet Jackson? At first I assume he is singing along to something. It's not uncommon to see young guys rapping loudly to the hip-hop or "alternative" music of a digital player. It's the performance of mini-masculinity. But his ears contain no headphones. The song is in his head.

He actually has a nice voice. The woman sitting next to me laughs. "Hey, we've got someone for American Idol." I remain silent and bury myself in a magazine. As an L.A. bus rider, I take the New York subway approach: avoid eye contact and create an invisible wall around yourself. But in New York you feel protected by the mass ridership--a commonness felt across the city.

He stops singing and starts talking. The first topic seems to be string theory. "You see, any moment we could pass a gap in the time space continuum---Ok, see, right NOW, It could happen right NOW." Talkers scare, annoy and fascinate me. While other riders laugh or give them dirty looks, I have come to recognize that they often say quite profound and troubling things. Indeed, they are the vulgar unconscious voice of the city.

"The xanax has really helped. Yes, I feel much better now. Yes, they say I'm doing much better now. Yes, oh yes." I sneak a glance at him. His battered sneakers move rhythmically to the internal song. A white guy in his thirties with a couple weeks growth of a dirty blond beard--the scraggly beard of a young Bob Dylan, he starts singing something from Highway 61 Revisited. It's a tough song, so he mumbles through some of the lyrics.

My attention slowly shifts to some teenagers on the back of the bus. "So I smoked a bowl with her, and then she says do you want some crack." The talker turns around. "Yeah Man, that's some crazy shit!" The mocked becomes the mocker. They all get off at the next stop. My shoulders relax. I look up and stare at the now empty seat. There's no need to hide anymore.

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Not a "real" city?

One of the most annoying things I hear said about L.A. is that it is not a "real" city, and one of the frequent claims made to support this statement is that nobody takes public transportation here. Of course, these people have never taken the bus, because the reality is that buses are stuffed like my sinuses during allergy season.

It might seem surprising that the most crowded buses are actually the ones that run most frequently. If one wants a seat riding down Ventura Blvd, it's better to take the 150/240, which runs every ten minutes during peak times, than the 750 Rapid, which runs every six minutes and makes fewer stops. People would rather stand and be moving than sit and wait.

The Orange Line, which just started running across the valley last fall, is packed even on Saturdays when the freeways are supposedly clear. More than once there was simply not enough room, and riders had to wait for the next bus. Of course, if you are aggressive enough, there is always enough space. One time, the entrance was blocked with teenagers and their bmx bikes (the ability of people to bring their bikes on the MTA doesn't help the crowding). I crawled my way past them, using the moves I learned on the New York Subways and before that pushing my way to the front of the stage when I used to see punk bands in my youth. As I shoved past him, one of these kids slugs me in the back. "Is that all you've got? I've had worse from my six year old niece."

Monday, May 15, 2006

"My car exploded in a fire."

A man on the Reseda Bus tells everybody that his car exploded in a fire. This happens occasionally on the bus. You find some people who just love to talk to strangers. Thats what riding the bus is all about isn't it? The opportunity to commune with anonymous others?

He wonders if people saw it on the news.

"I had all of my possessions, everything I owned in that car. So I had to go downtown, to one of the missions. It's CRAZY down there. If you've been down there--MAN--some of those people are really crazy!"

Of course, many of the bus riders would say this about him, but I know what he means, because yes I have been down there. It's a homeless ghetto. Thousands of people live on the streets. They live in tents patched with garbage bags. They wander the streets drinking coffee and eating stale donuts dumped outside a Winchells. Some mumble, some scream and a few are so strung out they tear at their clothes as if in a straight jacket.

There is a popular myth that deinstitutionalization of the mentally ill is a major cause of homelessness, but most patients of mental hospitals had left before 1975, ten years before the boom in homelessness. You do not have to read Foucault to realize that the category "mentally ill" is an easy way to devalue the homeless and create a blinder to their experience. Imagine the psychological strain on the most "sane" of individuals after living on the street for a week. I know people who start acting weird if they miss even one night of sleep.

Los Angeles has 90,000 homeless. That's more than the entire population Santa Barbara. Many live in their car, until it explodes, and then they lose everything.

Saturday, May 13, 2006

Absolutely Disgusting

I step on the bus and I almost want to puke. It looks like someone has--right in front of the back door--but its just some spilled chinese food--lumps of meat in a brown sauce mixed with rice. Then, as I move to the back seat someone has placed a condom in the center seat. Used or unused?--I cant tell.

Most of the other seats and the floor are covered with trash, so there are few places to sit. It smells like rat droppings (and yes I know what rat droppings smell like. I once had a pet rat named Albert.) I was going to get some work done, but Im too disgusted. Instead I curl up in a corner and shield myself with a magazine.

The shared filth is the most difficult element of riding the bus for me. Being a descendant of that American Protestant tradition associated with Catharine Beecher, where cleanliness is a sign of moral goodness, seeing people treat the bus like a garbage pail grates on me and makes me grate my teeth.

For example, why do people feel the need to clip their fingernails on the bus? Its quite funny to me-- people who are so concerned about their personal grooming, find it perfectly acceptable to scatter their detritus on the floor. What do they think, the vibrations from the bus will make the clippings move like little ants to the back door and climb down the stairs at the next stop?

Friday, May 12, 2006

The Real L.A.

Although I have many criticisms of the MTA, public transportation in L.A. is actually much better than many people think. If you choose the right routes, you do not have to wait that long for a bus, and you never have to walk more than a couple blocks to find a stop. Rapid Bus Lines traverse major corridors and travel about twice as fast as regular bus routes because they have fewer stops. I have traveled from the West Valley to Long Beach and another time from the Valley to Carson in under an hour and a half with no problems.

No doubt transit was much worse 10 years ago, and it has improved in large part due to the hard work of the Bus Riders Union (which I urge everyone to join). In 1994 they filed a class action suit against the MTA pointing out the profound racism embodied in the horrible state of bus transportation and demanding more equitable funding. They remain active in assuring that the terms of their victorious settlement are fulfilled.

People who ride the bus live in the real L.A.: the L.A. of immigrants, homeless and ex-convicts, the workers who clean toilets, bus tables and manicure lawns. They live five to a room in Panorama City, Boyle Heights and South L.A., in cheap apartment buildings or garages converted to bedrooms.

People who drive in L.A. live in the television L.A.: the L.A. of L.A. Law, Melrose Place, 90210 and Joey, the movie stars on Access Hollywood, Entertainment Tonight and your local news. They live in Woodland Hills, Brentwood and West L.A. and complain about the traffic, gas prices and the lack of good places to park on the Sunset Strip (or they don't care about money and just pay the valet).

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

People on Wheels Help One Another



(Image from www.streetcarmike.com)

I am running to catch the 761 at Westwood and Wilshire. A teenager runs beside me carrying his long board? skateboard. (I don't know the different kinds of skateboards, but it looks long to me.) As I run I notice there is no need. Two riders in wheelchairs have delayed departure.

Waiting for the disabled is a routine for the bus rider. It develops patience, but sometimes that patience can be tried. Frequently the lifts have difficulty, and sometimes they get stuck. The other day on the 240 the lift got stuck on the curb after the wheelchair rider was already on the bus. The mechanism whines hard but it refuses to move. "Maybe I should get on the other side of the bus", says the disabled woman. People look at her quizzically until she explains that the battery operated chair she is in weighs several hundred pounds. She awkwardly maneuvers her chair to the other side. Wawawawawarr. No help. The driver gets off the bus and tries to dislodge it, then gets back on the bus--Whrrrrrr--still doesn't work. She asks a strong looking man from the back of the bus to get down and push up while she tries the mechanism again. The man hops down and grabs, presses, strains and grunts--rwarrawrawrarwwwww--Nope. At this point several of us get off the bus, deciding it might be faster to walk.

But sometimes the delays are timed perfectly. When I notice the wheelchair riders must first be lifted on to the bus, I stop running. The skateboarder arrives first, but there is a problem. These disabled riders, a man and a woman in their 60s, have old manual chairs, and while the man was able to wheel himself up the slight incline onto the bus, the woman is stuck. She doesn't have the strength. She turns to the skateboarder, "Hey, can you give me a little help here." He puts the long skateboard in her lap, and pushes her up the ramp. "No problem."

Tuesday, May 09, 2006

Keine Schadenfreude




There's no joy in the daily slaughter of the streets. Only relief.

Sitting on the 761 heading up Hilgard there's some horrible traffic. What's causing all the backup? After 5 minutes we see. The bus makes a collective gasp as we turn to face the crash. A kid talks into his cell phone "man, you got-a see this! This is gonna be on the news." Riders start gesturing and discussing how it happened. I step up to the front of the bus and take a shot through the front window. As I walk back to my seat I smile at the guy on his cell.

It is a smile of calm. Since I have lived in LA, almost every day I see the wreckage of tangled metal and scattered glass. Sometimes the cars have been towed, but the fresh splatter of fluids indicate a fresh accident. When I drive I am amazed at how many close calls I have. A few times I have been an eyewitness, and many more an ear witness, turning quickly to see what caused the bang.

What is amazing is not the number of crashes I see, but how few there are. Aggressiveness on the LA streets is the norm, and this means screeching and swerving near misses are ubiquitous. Sitting on the bus, you escape this daily sacrifice of life and limb that drivers choose willingly for the false feeling of normality it gives them.

Monday, May 08, 2006

A prayer for higher gas prices


Today gas is about 3.50 a gallon. I pray it continues to rise.

Every day the price goes up is a happy day for me. Sure I feel sad for those with limited incomes who are struggling to put a couple bucks in their tank. And indeed the poor are often the ones driving the old beaters that get horrible milage and need a tune-up. But the pride the working poor have in their cars is precisely the pride that they are one step above those lowly bus riders. And it is the feeling of superiority among the marginalized that destroys the potential alliance among them.

Rising gas prices screws with the poor, but that screwing might unscrew the stigma that puts bus-riders in a category nearly equivalent to beetles--the beetle of Kakfa's metamorphosis: a strange creature that is shunned and we all fear becoming.

Any time the bus-rider can laugh at the car driver is a gift of wild daisies.

Saturday, May 06, 2006

Rule 1

When you are about to get off the bus, whenever possible use the back door. People who are waiting to get on are delayed every second they are waiting for you to step off. The elderly and disabled are excepted from this rule. Those about to get on should keep an eye out for those stepping off before hopping on the bus. "Step aside, Step aside".

Friday, May 05, 2006

the orange line


(Image from www.streetcarmike.com)

Its way too slow' that's what SHE said! I was talking to an east coast native who now lives in LA. She, like most LA residents, drives everywhere, but because she lives in the valley, she thought- why not give the orange line a try.
'It stops at every traffic light. I dont get it.' she said.
being from the east coast naturally she would think this is absurd.
The orange line has dedicated lanes. It uses a former rail corridor, and it is promoted as similar to a light rail system, but this thing is not even 'rail lite'. instead it's a bad joke played on the residents of the valley.

What is extraordinary about the horrible condition of LA transportation is how easy it would be to fix, but the sloppy job they did on the orange line shows the deep resistance to any serious rethinking of auto-LA.
If the orange line is really supposed to be an alternative to the 101
it has to average more than 15 mph.

To fix the Orange Line only two things:

First, ban turns into the bus corridor. This is not hard to figure out. When I was last in Boston, I noticed they did this for the "T" whenever it ran at grade level.
At every intersection the stoplights go through multiple cycles for every turn. This means long waits not just for the bus but also for cars at the intersection.
Wouldn't this confuse drivers that are used to turning at these intersections? Yes, initially they would get frustrated at not
being able to turn, but they would learn to turn earlier or later.

Second, create gates at the intersection. This is again so obvious and
simple. The blue line is treated very differently, why is that?
Look, the idea here is to encourage people to get out of their cars, so every time people on the bus can look down and laugh at people having to wait in their cars as the bus speeds by, they will get a psychological boost.

There is not enough attention paid to this psychological aspect of transportation, but it was perfectly expressed in the movie Crash when the character played by Ludacris notes the reason for big windows on the side of buses: " to humiliate the people of colour who are reduced to riding on them."

Monday, May 01, 2006

the story


I just got an old pda from my brother in t.o. Its about five years old but I am hoping that it will make me really do this...
that is really create this story that I have been meaning to write since I moved to LA almost two years ago...
the story of the LA bus rider.