Your poetry moment of the day.

Your cute moment of the day.

That is all.

New El Cars

So, great. They're rolling out new train cars with those long, multi-purpose bench seats. I can't wait for more people to sit next to me and begin elbowing and sitting with their legs spread out as far as they can go.

Seriously. Why does no one get the concept of personal space anymore? As I used to say to a socially inept friend, "Hands back to you."

If you see me on public trans, dear readers, respect my space and please don't touch me, for chrissakes!

Here's another blog on the subject:
http://www.chicagoreader.com/Bleader/archives/2012/11/15/thigh-how-are-you-the-red-line-green-zone

Needy Trixie

"Hi, you...

Did you get my text message?

I sent two. Did you get them?

I just wanted to make sure you got to work OK... (giggle)

I know I just saw you...

I just wanted to tell you that I hope you have a good day...

Did you read my text messages?

I love you...

Did you hear me, A-? I love you..."

Is there anything more annoying than having to listen to anyone's conversation on the bus, at 7:15 a.m.? How about if it's a needy trixie? It was a nice, quiet bus ride, no one was coughing, no one was talking... until this one got on the bus. Luckily, she sat right behind me and continued her banal yammering for the whole ride.

To top it off, Needy Trixie decided she should be rating the other riders to her trixie friend. "There's some crazies on the bus this morning and I'm, like, 'you probably shouldn't wear skinny jeans if you're not skinny!' Right!! (giggle) Yeah, totally! And fake designer bags. So gross."

I mean, why do you want people listening to your conversations? In the rare event that I actually need to talk to someone while I'm on the CTA, I cover my mouth with my hand and speak as quietly as possible. Not only do I not want anyone to listen to my conversation, but I don't want to annoy anyone, either. Isn't it common sense? Does everyone feel this way, or is it just me?

Children and Pigeons

While hanging out at one of my favorite restaurants, a waiter, remarking on some notably ill-behaved kids, said, "Ugh. Children and pigeons. Spreaders of disease."

I was reminded of that today while riding the Brown Line. A woman and her two kids were sitting behind me, and the kids were coughing and sneezing like crazy, dripping with mucous, with no attempt by their parent to cover their mouths or prevent the spread of their heinous germs in any way.

I was cheered by the fact that I was wearing a long-sleeved turtleneck, so I could option "sleeve-gloves" and a "shirt-mask" and hopefully prevent direct contact with the spawns' undoubtedly plague-infested germs. Hey, I know I look like a weirdo, but Kate Winslet's death scene in "Contagion" haunts me to this day. Shudder.

#66 or is it #666? The devil is in the details.

I am not a daily CTA user, but when I do use the Authority, I'm usually on the bus.  Usually, it's the (sometimes literal) shit show that is the #12 Roosevelt, but today found me on a midafternoon jaunt on the #66 Chicago.

 I made my way to the back of the bus.  I'm still looking into it, but it may be some sort of crime for an area to smell that much like a brewery and not actually serve beer.  After a few blocks, I realized I was sitting on the periphery of a half way house field trip.  Trust me, I work in social services and nothing brings together that particular confluence of race, age, and social strata like a current desire to stop using mind altering, life ruining chemicals and a previous inability to do so.

A young, chubby girl was showing a 40 something with pointy nubs where teeth had once been and another middle aged lady a tattoo design she was going to get.  A five pointed star inside a shining sun. It was heartbreaking in its mundanity.  Pointy Nubs was all for it.  The middle aged lady did not care for it.  No, she did not like that "devil sign" that what-do-you-call-it "hexagon."  Chubby girl insisted it was not a devil sign.  That was a six pointed star.  I restrained myself from screaming, "It's a pentagram, which has 5 fucking points.  It says so right in the name.  Pent = 5!"  Everyone decided the tattoo was fine.  Except me.

Meanwhile, a grandma in the most elaborate Bugs Bunny as Vice Lords symbol (1 ear up, 1 down; upside down pitchfork in hand) t-shirt I have ever seen gets on the bus.  WTF?  

Oh, the humanity?

On my way to the bus stop this morning, I was about a block and a half away when I noticed the bus sail through the intersection.

"Crapola," I muttered, much to the amusement of my sidewalk neighbor.

As I turned the corner, the bus was waiting for me. Waiting for me! When I jumped on the driver said, "I saw you walking up!"

WTH?? Must my faith in humanity be restored at the ungodly hour of 6:51 a.m.??

Not really, but to this morning's CTA bus driver, I say, "Well done, madam. Well done, indeed."