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Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing

Poppinjay — Sat, 21 Nov 2009 14:29:24 GMT

This effort relaxes into nothingness.

I walked all up and down last night, getting video from people who would like to see solar and wind power take the place of gas, oil, sweat, goo.

What ho! thinks the masses. Easy pieces! Everybody likes clean energy! The videos should come fast and often.

No. No they don't.

About half of the people walk by me as I talk to them, rudely ignoring my production.

So much of america wants to rush in front of a camera for a groin gag, but not for a video extolling solar and wind power.

Boo. You suck, John Q Public.

Trivial Sublime

Poppinjay — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 02:31:12 GMT

YouTube- Flagpole Sitta, Magnificent Tracers or harvey danger?

Yes, more jaaaaaaa. I haven't linked her most recent Lady Gaga knock off, but it's pretty freaking incredible. If it weren't for the fact I hate Lady Gaga, I would post it.

YouTube- It's The End Of The World As We Know It, REM

Lalala. I heart Music stuff.

And also, I feel if you don't agree with me 100% on music taste, there is something wrong with and someone will be by to take you away:

Don't Trust a Ho

Poppinjay — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 20:55:17 GMT

I have an idea for nail polish. A few years back, Urban Decay was all the rage. Literally. Nail polish that reflected rage.

But times are different now. According to a new fanboy book about Sarah Palin, the 61% of Americans who think she would be an awful president are just a few elitist professors sitting in their leather chairs, smoking a pipe with Frenchie tobacco, and those jackets with the patched elbows.

So it's time to cast off the nail polish of failure and introduce Freedom Flash - a sparkly concoction of velvety patriotic colors, that do not ever run.

My target isn't lonely hausfraus so much as nationalistic drag queens. In a world where Ric Ocasek's Beatitudes charted three top 100 hits, there has to be an audience for everything.

Of course that was 1982.

Isn't Julia Nunes cool?

YouTube- dont trust me, 3oh!3

Stolen Moments.... Particularly Those Upon My Bicycle pt 2 - Another Uglified Ride

Poppinjay — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 19:05:00 GMT

For those of you who aren't hip to the new trend of bicycle decorating in urban areas, it is called uglification. You make your otherwise decent bicycle look extremely ugly so it will not get stolen at a mass transit stop. One of my bikes was stolen piece by piece from a DC metro stop, which led me to discover this new, uglyfying trend.

The best place to lock up your bike is directly in front of the station manager's booth. I found just such a spot this past Friday, sharing it with this bike:

Mine is the yellow horse on the other side. The one without the long strands hanging from the handlebars. I half expected this bike to have hydraulics.

Oh wait, it does:

I especially like the multiple colors used in the reflectors.

Also, multiple reflectors on the back, but with a seat like this, would the rider even notice getting hit?

And of course you'll never be lost without this state of the art GPS:

I don't think I would ever go this far to uglify my bike, though it is obviously becoming some sort of competition. The odd thing about this bike, is that the uglified bikes are usually decent quality. This bike was a Toys -r- Us Pacific, which runs about a hundred bucks.

My lone attempt at uglification so far has been to remove two brand decals which resulted in pulling off swatches of paint. So I have two jagged white spots on an otherwise yellow frame. I used a Greenpeace sticker to cover most of one. I have also added a light I found in a shed full of old bike parts. It's nice and small, not like these Schwinn behemoths that are basically cheap adaptations of hand crank LED lights:

Since I ride about half of my daily commute on dirt paths, I like as few jiggly things on board as possible. I'm thinking I really would like to start doing some serious weekend trail riding.

In other news, the Washington Post had an apostrophal error on the front page today. I don't mean an innocuous typo buried in a story, it was what's called a jump tease - a teaser of a story further in.

You can almost make it out here:

Down here at the bottom, where the INSIDE teasers are, it talks about rapper Wale, and the "contradiction's of hip hop's identity".

I've become so used to misuse of apostrophes in every day life that it doesn't really annoy me. But on the front page of the Post?

Kiss the Son

Poppinjay — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 14:54:49 GMT

as a rule, I really dislike contempo Christian music. It's cliche'd crapola. Ubiquitous choral background aiding an earnest male voice.

that, plus the earnest puns on the word Son. Hey, let's get a band together and sing rock, but rock about God! We'll really rock, not like those other bands! And let's incorporate the word Son into the title because Jebus is the Son of God and he's the reason for the season! Man! So we have Sonrise, Setting Sons (which is actually the title of a pretty cool punk album by The Jam) etc.

While studying my bible on how to convert dirty non believers to my faith, I came across the term, "Kiss the Son". And I thought, what a cool name for a band. I feel kind of bad about that, given my distaste for contempo Chirstian music, culture, zombieism, and conformity in general. But still, Kiss the Son. It would also be a neato book title, for a horror story.

The actual verse is, "Kiss the Son, lest He be angry, and you perish in the way, when His wrath is kindled but a little. Blessed are all those who put their trust in Him." Excellent fodder for a Norman Bates type thriller/macabre fest. The verse actually has to do with purity, so no fucking you sodomites. I could totally see a band of psuedo rockers breaking it down in the middle of a set to promote virginity and promise rings, converting those who wish to be Mrs. Jonas III. They might even mention diseases, though I'm sure the primary topic would be chasting for Jesus.

The flip side of that type of earnest earnestness is the cynical darkness that envelopes so many in DC. It came as a surprise to me years back when I related to some friends how my new cow-orkers were cynical and possessed of dark humor. The responses ranged ranged from, "like you?" to "you should fit in then". It's been no secret that the Washington Post, the paper that brought down Nixon, is suffering and reacting to print ephemerality poorly. Let's blog! Let's point our print readers to our blogs! Let's be witty! Let's be droll! Let's care about American Idol! Let's put Jon and Kate on the front page!

At any rate, the Style section has become a haven for reporters who don't report, but prefer to write sarcastic commentaries on the vapidness of pop culture. Therefore, it is also a haven for reporters with notoriously poor skills. But they impress the editors as the kind of people they would like to lunch with. And they hope fervently that these folks will become the next Joel Steins or Mo Roccas, with appearances on "I (heart) the 80's", offering comments like, "oh man, (that popular thing that is now dated) was the bomb! What were we thinking?" hahahahahaha. Yeah, I had one of those popular things too. I relate, man.

It would be nice if there could be a defining line to straddle between the earnestness of belief, belief in anything that involves doing something decent, and the disconnected view askance of pop culture. Then maybe more people would be like me! Unfortunately, I don't think I would get on well with me.

A Plague 'O Nerds O'er The Land!

Poppinjay — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 20:32:58 GMT

I went to the local costume parade this Sunday. The overwhelming majority of costumes were Star Wars related. The... I guess not so amazing thing in retrospect is that the parent's costumes were better than the kids. I was especially charmed by a bespectacled, shallow chested Obi Wan with a patchy five day growth of fungus or beard. An ewok could have kicked his ass and shoved his lightsaber up Mrs. Kenobi's full functional death star.

Funny how anything can sound like a euphemism for sex, unless it's Star Wars related.

All the Star Wars folk had their little daughters dressed up as Princess Leia. The version with the ear muff hairdo, not the Revenge of The Jedi version. That would be sick and exploitative.

Second to Star Wars was the complete student body of Hogwarts, including an 8 foot tall Hagrid, and Dumbledore. Again, the adult cosutmes outshone the kids. Especially since the kid playing Harry was suavely picking his nose and fussing over the eyeglasses. What, he couldn't say accio booger?

The third most common costume was NASA. NASA baby carriages that looked like the shuttle (just... wrong, considering 30 percent of the fleet exploded in space or near it), with the parents wearing their actual NASA lab coats, and kids in the flight suits (which went on sale at the Air and Space museum). An extension of the mindset, "oh, it'll be so cute to dress up little Kip like he works where I work!"

Which is a gross mistreatment of the kids and an impossible predicament for accountants. When our bundle of energy is ready for costumes, I, for one, do not plan to dress him as a professional hobo. So, break the cycle America.

During the parade, a local church had its youth hand out fliers for a keen Halloween experience. Forget that candy and don't take a chance on ringing the doorbell of a fornicator, come to church in your optional costume (no goblins, witches, or ghosts). Play games and swallow wieners. The party is sponsored by the church's teen pregnancy and prevention committee.

I know where I'll be!

Hold still damn career opportunities yuh!

Poppinjay — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 20:40:54 GMT

I got an e-mail from my part time boss. This can get really complicated, so let me explain this: my part time boss is at the same place I used to work full time, but for a different boss. So my old full time boss e-mailed my part time boss, asking if she can spare me for a few part time hours. So, essentially, I would have two part time bosses, in addition to my regular weekday boss in an entirely different industry.

At first my old full time boss asked my new part time boss if she could also spare me a few days in the newsroom, which, yay. I love working in newsrooms, and I'd much rather get indoors this time of year instead of working outside.

So anyways, she forwards the mail to me because that's how she does things rather than replying to my old full time boss. When I finally get with him, the news shifts aren't yet on the table. So I'm hoping. But it would really have been nice to take a leave of absence from my weekday job, which is really flexible like that. At any rate, I'll be making $150 for a few hours weekend work which is nice.

Here's something much more important:

http://www.youtube.com/profile?user=...27/i9t43vXPYfY

This is it, this is the next big thing. Julia Nunes does uke covers of pop songs. She and a friend did a spot on "Bubbly" remake, except they hate the song and Colbie Callait, so it was hilarious.

She started out as a youtube phenom and ended up opening for Ben Folds. Julia is now running a video contest of people watching her original song/vid "Binoculars" which is about stalking.

Two vids that will pick up your day, even if you're in a deep funk:

http://www.youtube.com/user/jaaaaaaa#p/u/37/WkTWL-EDFFs

http://www.youtube.com/user/jaaaaaaa#p/u/9/9JaPNKslTxI

This has been a service of the Dumont Network.

Singin' In Th' Rai'

Poppinjay — Sat, 17 Oct 2009 11:23:34 GMT

At 6:54 this morning, while at work, I started singing along with a Creed song. Not humming, softly adding my vocals, but open throated - leaving Scott Stapp in the wake of my vastly superior talent.

Why? I don't know. I don't much care for Creed, no Creed is on my mp3 player. Running into a Creed song is a work related hazard.

Here's a little word lesson. When an album is self titled, it is frequently called eponymous. It means one who gives one's name to a project. More or less. R.E.M. was clever and instead of titling an album after themsleves, instead titled it "Eponymous". Well played, gentlemen.

For all the pitcures and videos of women of rock I've posted, I have never put in anything regarding Gwen Stefani.

Some half illiterate noisemaker on long haul public transportation I ran into had that stupid pink bananas lyric as her ringtone. When that wasn't blasting on her phone's half inch speaker, she was playing a beeping game that several people asked her to stop. One woman offered her a magazine to read instead, the noisemaker looked at her as she'd been offered a turd wrapped in the script from "Meatballs 4".

Anyways, no Gwen Stefani. Not now, not ever.

Last Saturday I caught the last train of Friday late night. I got to my station, weary and tired from a long day's work. The station manager was shutting everything down. When I merely rode up the escalator, she rattled her keys at me and started grunting.

Far be it from to make disparaging comments about overweight affliction, but this woman was well beyond the morbidly obese marker. It made me feel really healthy and sveldte. But on the very short walk from the elevator to the escaltor to go up top, she started breathing heavy. Really heavy. On the escalator ride, she panted like a big dehydrated dog. And the first thought to my mind is that this woman personifies the problems anathema to Metro rail. Sloppy employees who do half assed jobs and don't care.

Really, what would Lady GaGa think?

Another Minor Celebrity Friend

Poppinjay — Sun, 11 Oct 2009 00:16:50 GMT

I read about Halx's baseball catching friend and thought, "who do I know that is a minor celebrity that I can truly say is a friend?"

I've met a lot of celebrities, both minor, mid-major, and major, but actual friends?

I know a guy who worked at some of the same places I've worked as a journalist. He's also worked for NPR and ABC radio. And he has a book out, his fourth. He told me it was about radio.

I met him a few months back when I went to work for an environmental non-profit stumping for money. He does the same thing Monday through Wednesday. We've discussed radio journalism at great lengths and how even the major stalwarts of that practice are not what they used to be.

His encyclopedic knowledge and ability to get interviews on national shows to push his books made me curious. So I googled Larry. I had been meaning to do it because he said he was going to be on the Jim Bohannon show and I wanted to know when.

It turns out Larry has a closet full of all the major awards. Pulitzer, Peabody, and 18 months in the federal pen for a story he was working on. More on that in a few.

I did not know this was the same guy I had read about as a junior in college. It was an article in one of the news magazines - about him, not one that he wrote. While working for WTOP, an all news station in DC, he did a story on the growing homeless problem. One of the men he tried to interview told him all the reporters wanted the same story, that he should try living it.

And so he did. He left his wife and kids for a while and lived as a homeless man. His story won one of those awards in the closet.

I wrote an essay about that for a class and became fervently inspired to do the same thing in Charlotte, which also had a growing homelessness problem at that time. As did everywhere I guess. My professor gave it a good enough grade but noted on the cover page that it was a good way to end up arrested or dead. The collegiate equivalent of, "you'll shoot your eye out."

That was Larry.

Later, as I was getting started in my first full time job working for a public radio station in the middle of Kansas, a huge first amendment case was brewing. A reporter had been arrested for trafficking in kiddie porn. That was also Larry.

It's amazing the things you learn after a few seconds of googling.

Let me slant this towards his innocence before I go on. The raciest thing I've seen him read was a Richard Russo book, which usually features middle aged to elderly sex, if any at all. His family and his wife stoutly defended him back when it all broke, as did almost all of his colleagues. Larry had already done a three part series on kiddie porn (which also won an award). He had been downsized along with most of his co-workers and was working on a freelance article to sell to a national publication.

Larry's defense was that he was immersing himself in the grimy world of pederasts to report on them, just as he had when he reported on homelessness and countless other subjects. He was convicted of trading 7 pictures of porn. The prosecution never described or released the pics, even with censoring. So nobody knows what was traded except for Larry and them.

Another caveat, Larry used the exact same tactics that the first groundbreaking net porn expose used, the very case that brought the practice to the attention of authorities. Another journalist was busted about the same time and tried to make the same case. The big difference was that that reporter saved thousands of images. Larry had saved none. Even though the bust was a complete surprise he had no images whatsoever stored anywhere. No hard copy, no data. the prosecutor's own expert witness testified that pederasts save their pics and generally has, as found on the other reporter's hard drive, thousands of them.

So attorneys argued that he must have felt guilty because he deleted the images.

Every journalist that worked with Larry testified on his behalf that this was not that kind of guy. Except for one. One guy who I also know and who struck me from day one as being a survivalist cockroach of a reporter. And Larry still really likes this guy. I never did.

Fast forward, Larry went for a plea bargain that turned 15 years and a sex offender tag into 18 months and no designation.

Judge for yourself, Jake Tapper's story from when it all went down

How did the FBI find Larry? He originally went to them with a lead on a woman who had been offering to sell her 8 and 13 year old daughters for sex. By that time, Larry was already on an FBI watch list for reporting on draft dodgers (he himself served in army special operations).

So yeah. That's that guy. The guy who eats his pastrami sandwich next me before heading out into the DC area to canvass for the environment. He's on vacation this week in my old stomping grounds. I told him all the best places to visit - he was primarily concerned about finding the best seafood. Another interesting tidbit, our last conversation was about how he tried to put together a pilot show on faith and religion for NPR.

Sweet Luggage

Poppinjay — Thu, 08 Oct 2009 13:15:52 GMT

People who request money on the street for no other service than to leave you alone will be referred to here as "homeless", though they may have a decent home.

I give out my change along my walk from the metro to the place I work in the Hill area of DC. If I have any. Apparently I have enough that some of them wave to me now and then.

I don't do the shun thing unless it's a really cracked up individual.

If I'm going into a market and there's a guy by the door asking for change we can believe in, before he asks I will say "I'll get you on the way out." And I do. Even if they're looking the other way, or maybe packing to move to the bus stop.

Today there was a homeless man across the street from the metro. He had three pieces of luggage. Decent luggage. It matched. D and I have done enough dumpster diving to know that people throw away some good garbage. We go more after antique furniture to refinish, or in my case, bicycles. But good luggage can be handy. Except maybe if you're homeless. I would think that would turn people off who would be otherwise charitable. Like me. People who don't engage themselves as if they are the ultimate DC Busyperson. There are many of those around this area. I love it when three or four leave an office and walk down the sidewalk abreast of each other because nobody is willing to back down from the alpha position. Jagoffs.

Anyways, I didn't give him money mostly because I was working out the equation of Homeless Man+Good Luggage=?

In an entirely unrelated event except for it being an hour earlier, I met D for lunch. We ate, talked a lot, and I broached the subject of two job possibilities for me. Far away, and an hour further than far away. One pays great, the other pays OK but is in extremely low cost of living area and would allow me to pursue a free graduate degree.

D told me to pursue the positions, that she would love to live in one of those two places. Realistically, her job is here and I would never make what she does. Anywhere.

So more things to think about. I'm glad I got it off my chest though. She has a knack for easing my anxiety. No decisions need to be made this week.

Throw A Bird A Bone

Poppinjay — Thu, 01 Oct 2009 19:24:51 GMT

Tuesday and today I spent a nice bit of time on the Alexandria waterfront.

This is a very relaxing habit. My weeks have been extremely busy lately, and I finally had some time to do something to ease the stress of the 38 pound monster on my back. I call him Earl.

38 pounds might not seem like a lot, but it's far worse than a five pound monster or no monster at all.

When I lived near the Outer Banks, it was refreshing to take off and head to the dunes. They were large enough that I could always find my own isolated space to read, watch, meditate, and rejuvenate. The big advantage Alexandria has, is that I can ride my bicycle to the waterfront. And there's a bazillion shops surrounding it. So I had a nice morning of relaxing, feeding the birds, and talking to the occasional wayfarer.

And I made a friend. Of the 30 or so finches taking my bread, one with white accents was much braver and had no problem hopping around my feet to get at the food. He also had no problem with me giving him the bread directly, while the others nervously scattered away. Which is a good thing I suppose. Alexandria finches have a pretty easy go of it, if there are no crows around, and the steady flow of aimless dorks giving up the bread persists.

After an hour of bird love, I walked around the downtown area, considering purchases. Maybe salt water taffy. Possibly a bottle cage. Theoretically lunch. So I ended up with some miso soup.

All of this laziness, and I forgot my phone. When I got back, there were no messages. Nobody likes me. Except that bird. Hey bird, ring me up!

Stolen Moments.... Particularly Those Upon My Bicycle

Poppinjay — Sun, 27 Sep 2009 21:58:07 GMT

An "Uglified" Bike, meant to turn off potential thieves, in reality is a Puegot.

My main bicycle was stolen, piece by piece last week. Monday was the seat. And the tire pump. The tire pump was broken, so I never worried about securing it. The seat was one of those with the adjustable lever instead of bolts.

This bike was the cheapest Target had to offer 6 years ago. Plus, the gears are out of alignment, both tires have slow leaks, the back breaks don't work, and it still had the original Christmas tag hanging on the tube. I figured, who would steal this? The best I can tell is that the idiots took the seat, thinking a pawnshop would pay high dollars for this fancy seat from this flashy metaflake green bike. When told it was worth less than a handful of dick, they came back to complete the job. I had the lowest level security lock on it. Plus I tended to leave it overnights at the Metro station.

I was too cheap to buy a new seat and post, and found one for free. On my way back to the Metro, I wondered if maybe the whole thing would be gone. It was.

This is how I found out about uglifying bikes. The lads who stole mine were probably turned on by the flashy paint and many stickers advertising caliper brakes and 15 whole speeds (of which about 4 worked). They probably thought they had a high dollar item.

I had seen people with bikes decorated very similar to the one above. The most common technique seems to be wrapping flat tubes around the frame top. I had wanted to ask one aowner about that, now I know. There is no plausible reason to do this. But bike thieves, being the sort to want $50-$100 real quick and not being bright enough to participate in some long term "Ocean's 11" type scheme, don't understand this.

All was not lost for my cross town transportation needs. I had another bicycle at an undisclosed location (our old apartment complex) under lock and key (under lock actually, can't find the key). I had found this particular bike a few years ago in the large item bin to be carted away to the dump. When we moved, we couldn't find the key. So I left it there, chained to a stairwell.

I was working yesterday morning and had nothing better to do, so I looked up how to pick a master lock on the internets. I made the little fake key out of a coke can, but when I got to my bike, it was a tiny lock and impossible to work with. Then I realized that when I chained it to the post those years ago, I stupidly wrapped the cable around the front fork and nothing else. So I fairly easily pulled the cable around the fork and front tire, and it was free.

And had flat tires, rust galore, and much dust.

So I walked it back home, about three miles away, while various urban entrepreneurs eyed it and calculated the possible reward of a smash and grab (smash me, grab the bike). But this bike was already uglified, complete with missing swaths of paint where I removed "Smoking Loon Winery" stickers.

I get it home and go to work on it with tools, an air pump, and WD 40. The chain looked hopeless, but cleaned up incredibly well. the gears and sprockets were caked with black gunk but looked decent after cleaning. I discovered why I thought this bike was an old, heavy POS. The brakes were subtly slowing tire movement. I had never looked at this when I pulled it out of the trash. I just rode it, noted that it was extremely sluggish, and locked it away.

So all clean, wheels (which I noticed also bounced back to life like the chain), frame, seat, gears, and brakes adjusted. I took it for a short test, and it was like riding a cloud with pedals.

While I was cleaning it, I noticed the name "Vuelta" on all the gear, wheels, and saddle. So I looked it up. Turns out this bin bicycle has top of the line components. I searched online to find ways to pretty it up, like graphics to cover the paint spots, then I stumbled on the whole uglified bike movement, which explains all those ugly bikes at the station.

So, my ride stays unpimped, like a Dodge Dart with a 318 engine.

However, I will have to be careful not to let it stay locked up at the Metro overnight. DC bureaucrats being what they are, do what they do.

Hey Everybody! It's My New Attitude!

Poppinjay — Sun, 20 Sep 2009 17:36:00 GMT

I read a few blogs and entries this morning. One in particular made me grumpy. Grump grump grump.

So I decided to turn that frown around! And make it a :) !

:):):)

Life is really great! I have so much! A home, a wifey-poo, a son (I guess you could say I'm advancing sigilization! LOL! :)). Everything is super. Except for the little problem with addictions and the multiple court appearances. But let's just say that's Fairfax County's particular hang up, not mine, man! Because I'm, high on life and meth! I mean life!

I was at my meeting yesterday, and I overheard Jeremy say the funniest thing, "would you like a little coffee with your sugar!" LOL! :hyper:

I also sat next to Sam (short for some Indian name, she's a chick, not a dude) at the strip club last night during our staff night out, and we shared a cheeseless slice of pizza and both drank cokes! Everybody else was drunk! LOL!

I found a dollar on the floor that had some sticky stuff on it, so I stuck it to Sam's head and told her to guess how big the bill was! She guessed a dollar! But I think she cheated by looking at the mirrors behind the stripper.:rolleyes:

Something about Sam...... she just has that certain quelquefois. In fact, quelquefois I want to fuck her third world brains out!!!! LOL!!! ROFLMAO!!!

Oh man, but we have great times at the office. Stu gave me some totally hardcore snuff DVDs, I swear, you can see the blood run out of the boy's nose after he's sodomized by a cougar (and I don't meant Courtney Cox! Rowr! LOL!).

I used to think. And that was the extent of my problem. I was a gloomy gus. I had all these opinions and ideas. Jesus, that sucked. So now I live on the sunny side, smile and wave, and stalk. And we end every day as a family with our simple dinner time prayer: Dear Lord, we thank thee for this bountiful offering, found on route 29, and please Lord, watch over Geoff while he's in the crooked daycare from that NBC report, and mostly dear Lord, please arrange the painful death by mastication of the Jonas Brothers while every tweener girl in the country watches.

G'nite!

Exploring The Blue

Poppinjay — Wed, 16 Sep 2009 14:54:30 GMT

8 (eight) years it's been. I put these in my briefcase to deliver to D:

I stopped at the Pentagon City metro so we could exchange salutations over the gate, so I wouldn't have to re-pay the fare.

Yes, it sometimes boils down to saving $1.85. These are the things I think of when a person posts that after six months the magic is gone, that they "love but are not in love" with their SO.

She put them on her desk and sent me a pic further up the line.

I saw this while out working on Monday:

It looks abandoned, but the owner has restored the interior to the original specs. It runs.

It's rusted, aged, and sun baked, but wonderful as it is.

Underneath It All

Poppinjay — Mon, 14 Sep 2009 03:53:22 GMT

This tree is across from the bus stop that takes me to the metro station. In context, it's surrounded by other trees, traffic, an ugly shopping center, and ugly pedestrians. I sat on the concrete ledge provided by Earl Scheib Body and Paint, waiting for the right moment to capture it. It is unlike the other trees. This tree is full and robust, as if it were new to the median and had not yet inhaled the fumes of trucks, buses, and cars. We've passed this tree hundreds of times. In a car.

I took the pic with simple effect and e-mailed it to D. "Pretty, where is it?" was her reply. "In front of Target" was my reply.

This tree is beautiful. Unique. Special. In the middle of a crowd trying so damn hard to get somehere faster today than yesterday.

Friday night/Saturday morning I left just a little earlier for my other job, a nice short gig that makes the rent. It was a different sample in contrast with the last train home crowd. Lots of tipsy people, but mostly couples while the last train home crowd are usually the three and outers.

Just an half hour earlier and the atmosphere is so much louder, as if they brought the bars and clubs with them. I got off at Gallery Place/Chinatown to catch a red line. That's where the crowd really gathers.

I went to the far end of the stop to get on at the front of a train (the first and last cars are usually the least crowded). No big hurry as the next sub to my destination wasn't due for 16 minutes. It was 3am by this point. I sat on a bench and studied the neon artwork that I've seen so many times now. It seems to say many lines go through this tunnel.

While waiting, a young couple, apparently early on in the dating process sits down next to me. I can smell the dark liquor. Easy to do when you woke up fairly recently and are more in mind for a cup of coffee than a relaxer of inhibitions.

So I ignore them and listen to my mp3 player, until a petite raven haired woman slumps down between us. She can barely stay awake. From her dress, I'm guessing that she was not out partying. More like late office work, or completing an unpleasant errand associated with that time of night.

Our train comes and we all get up, except her. We all start to walk to the doors, except her.

She's asleep. Asleep in her red leather coat, sensible shoes, jeans, and hoopy earrings.

I know this is the last train and obviously one she needs to be on. So I go back and touch her lightly on the shoulder, "miss, is this your train?" Foggily, she says yes and gets on.

She sat across from me, continuing to battle sleep. She started to get off at the wrong stop in her dawn patrol haze.

My stop came, and I went.

I hope she found her way.