Friday, August 31, 2012

Could It Be the Blue Moon?

I was jarred by two in-motion experiences today.  The first was on the bus into work.  I overheard a would-be passenger ask the driver if he stopped at 3rd and Denny.  This bus route turns off of Denny onto 3rd, but the closest actual stop is 1.5 blocks back.  The driver answered "no, I stop at 1st and Denny."  I was dumbfounded when she did not board the bus.

I know.  The driver could have been clearer and more helpful.  But this was a seemingly healthy specimen who had somehow found her way to a bus stop in a decidedly non-residential area.  It's certainly not very savvy to think you can tweak your Metro ride closer than a couple blocks to your ideal destination.  Would you embark on a bus ride in unfamiliar territory without doing some research on routes ahead of time?  And what are those legs for?  If, by some magic, there was another route picking up at the same place that would have deposited her on her target doorstep, unless it was right behind us she could doubtless have crawled the couple blocks and gotten there faster.

I hope I have not become a snooty 1% commuter.  Maybe she was dealing with a crisis of some sort, e.g., car breakdown, urgency, and no prior bus experience.  But I did ponder a bit what her decision-making in the ensuing 15 minutes or so would involve, as likely another 3 or 4 buses would stop, most of them following exactly the same route as my bus, at least in the critical area.  The exception would not even go near her target.

A few hours later I was enjoying a stretch of trail out of the Rainier Valley headed west towards the International District, where I planned to catch a bus back to work after a generous stretching of legs.  Just before I reached the junction with the Sound-to-Mountains trail coming west from the I-90 floating bridge I was accosted by a walker with knapsack headed east.  He pointed up at the S-to-M path he had just passed and asked where it went.  I answered "to the floating bridge to Mercer Island."  He looked absolutely mystified.  "Floating bridge?  Mercer Island??"  Neither seemed to be in his searchable list of place-names.  Asked how to head south, I pointed him back down my trail to Rainier Avenue.

I noted when I came to the trail juncture that there was clear signage indicating the other trail led to the floating bridge and Mercer Island. This pilgrim was amusingly carefree and casual about his wandering, probably geographically-challenged (not a great combination!), and quite possibly "not from around here."  How he ended up on this great bit of trail amongst all the Urbia with his seemingly-limited internal cartography is fascinating to contemplate.  At least he was seemingly well aware what legs are for.

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Worth Waiting For - the 2012 RNC: "We Built That"!

I've never had the stomach for actually watching the political conventions.  My digestive tolerance is pretty high, but 4-star Thai food with fish sauce and tabasco-laced BBQ prawns a la Paul Prudhomme are no match for the steadily morale-corroding drivel these affairs seem to consider a balanced diet.  And truthfully, that goes for both parties.

But if you can just find one of the last surviving actual journalists to report on the things you might be onto something.  I wouldn't typically bother with an obvious "mainstream media (msm)" outlet - I gather actual reporters in that environment are listed as Endangered Species.

But poke around a bit on the web, and you can find some actual reporting and commentary:
The increasingly surreal reality show that is the Republican Convention is rapidly shaping up to be one of the most offensive displays of mendacity, racism, and bloodlust the Republicans have yet performed, as evidenced in the “color” stories coming out of it.  From a black CNN camera operator pelted with nuts by some slack-jawed cracker slurring, “this is how we feed animals,” and a Puerto Rican billionairess speaker shouted down by the mob chanting, “USA,” Ann Romney waxing lyrical about her “real” marriage, to a bloated and surly Chris Christie bragging about union-busting in his laughable fake Sopranos style, the whole undeniably engrossing spectacle, harried by a hurricane, is just a few midgets shy of a Fellini movie.
Better yet, the whole theme of the convention, “We Built That,” is based on just another well-marketed lie, and yet takes place in a facility financed largely by taxpayer dollars.  Seriously, I couldn’t make this up if I tried.  Those who not inaccurately call this the first post-truth election might be missing the point; this election, fittingly being orchestrated behind the scenes with the help of Karl Rove, seems to no longer have much need to hide the truth.  Post Citizens United, they no longer have to.  What else could explain the 150 foot yacht emblazoned with the flag of the Cayman Islands?  They just aren’t bothering anymore.  They bought it, it’s theirs, and they’re coming to take possession.
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Hell, you might actually learn something.  Say, which public figures are prepared to simply stand up and make up crap while the camera rolls:
TAMPA, Fla. — It was about halfway through the speech given by Mary Fallin, by the grace of a pitiless god the governor of Oklahoma, where I finally came close to losing it. She rolled herself into this remarkable passage:
The history of my great state of Oklahoma offers a great example of pursuing the American Dream. It was built and settled by pioneers movibe west to seek better lives. During the Great Land Run of 1889, thousands of families rushed to put a stake down on empty plots of land. They built tent cities overnight. They farmed the land and they worked hard. And, in 1897, eight years after the land run, a handful of adventurous pioneers risked their own money — not the federal government's money — to drill Oklahoma's first oil well, the Nellie Johnstone. By doing so, these early-day pioneers changed the future and Oklahoma forever and today Oklahoma is one of the nation's key energy producers and job creators. President Obama wants us to believe that Oklahomans owe that success to the federal government — to the Department Of Energy,to the EPA, to the IRS, or maybe even to him. Mr. President, we know better. As we say in Oklahoma, that dog won't hunt.
Handed in as a seventh-grade history essay, this would get no better than a D. Delivered to the convention of one of our only two political parties, it was perhaps the most singularly dishonest speech I have ever seen a politician give, and I grew up in Massachusetts, and Willard Romney was once my governor. My god, Oklahomans wouldn't even have Oklahoma without the federal government, without the Homestead Act of 1889 or the Railroad Act — both, by the way, achievements of a Republican presidents named Abraham Lincoln and Benjamin Harrison. And the land wasn't exactly "empty," Governor. It got emptied by a big-government program called the United States Army. You know what your state would be without the federal government, Governor, without the votes for the legislation from congressmen from the east and north, without the soldiers from New England and the Great Lakes? You know what Oklahoma would be?
Sand, with a whole lot of pissed-off Native Americans.

I'm not sure if it will be played this way. Ann Romney was sweet and lovely — and very defensive about people "attacking" hubby's success, but only as a "mom," of course — and Chris Christie brought down the house. But the Republican Party did something remarkable at its convention on Tuesday. It set out on an experiment to see exactly how much unmitigated hogwash the American political system can contain on a single evening. The Republican Party has set out at its 2012 convention in search of the Event Horizon of utter bullshit. It has sought to see precisely how many lies, evasions, elisions, and undigestible chunks of utter gobbledegook the political media can swallow before it finally gags twice and falls over dead, leaving the rest of America suckers all the same.
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I can tell from these articles that my historical pattern of avoiding actual convention coverage was an especially apt choice this time around.  I may still get around to perusing that leaked platform text, but give me filtered coverage or give me mania.

To whit:

I may be a shy stay-at-home mom......but I feel compelled to say that Paul Ryan is a lying, shameless fuckball weasel who should be repeatedly tased in the crotch until his balls shrivel to raisins--for the rotting mountain of puke-inducing, bald-faced lies that just spewed out of his rancid, frat-boy pie hole.

This is a new look for me, but I kinda like it!

I note that the third comment to that last post references Eddie Haskell conversing with June Cleaver.  I certainly understand the sleazeball commonality, but greasy as Eddie could be, he had nothing on these conscienceless goons.