Thursday, December 21, 2017
Us Versus Them
The saga continues
into the night,
argue the fools
"I'm right! I'M RIGHT!!"
shouting so loud,
with cracked shards
of jagged vinyl
littering the floor.
Who can yell louder?
Who can type faster?
Who can be wittier?
Who can care more?
It all repeats
into the next day
when light breaks
and darkness fades away
while the fat cats
of Wall Street
recline once again
to play the game
of social division and decline,
just to get richer and richer...
And all the while,
unbeknownst to the masses,
as much as we try,
nothing advances,
the left and the right,
the black and the white,
will scream at each other
until our ears and fingers bleed, but
nothing will change, friends,
nothing will change.
So quit *****ing.
Thursday, June 1, 2017
Cynics rise!
It's 2017, and although I find myself in a familiar scene and setting, at O' Toole's Pub in Richmond, Virginia, it all seems so strangely different. Once again, the buzz of a game one of the final in a sports game, louder advertisement s, and boozy laughs accompanied by busy conversations throughout is comforting, like a mother's embrace after a long, hard day.
However, the odd factor rests u easily upon the sight of this particular affair: new, tiny companions. I'm sitting at the corner of a shiny, mahogany bar, and down one line sit eight men with different hair shades of reds, browns, and greys. A majority of them have a blue glow on their faces due to their smartphones that are lying down seductively before them. This has become a societal norm, to be confronted with loneliness when in a public setting and assuaged by miniature bits of technology; the smartphone is the America's new best portable buddy.
I suppose the image of that one guy writing on a cocktail napkin at a bar, as yours truly is known to do, is just as queer. I'm no stranger to taking the path less traveled, but I'm still u easy with this phenomenon. At the mature age of 33 (Ha! Revisit this in a few years!), I feel it's far easier to take a few steps outside of reality to become the chaperone of society and its trends of culture. Man, in my 20s, I was all about being active in the scene, knowing what was up. Now, in my 30s, I couldn't be bothered by it at all. So, why the quandary about what occupies others' interests? Could it be my concern of the depletion of social interaction and building human relationships? Eh, it's something to do.
I acknowledge this trend, I refuse to conform to the ways of Twitterverse and such, and I remain content with what's around me rather than what's digitally in front of me. To each their own, of course, and I'll gleefully be grateful for the everlasting presence of cocktail napkins at taverns as others are with their portable pocket pals.
Oh, boy! I'm excited to be writing I can't wait to whip out my toy and blog about this on my smartphone!
The irony...
However, the odd factor rests u easily upon the sight of this particular affair: new, tiny companions. I'm sitting at the corner of a shiny, mahogany bar, and down one line sit eight men with different hair shades of reds, browns, and greys. A majority of them have a blue glow on their faces due to their smartphones that are lying down seductively before them. This has become a societal norm, to be confronted with loneliness when in a public setting and assuaged by miniature bits of technology; the smartphone is the America's new best portable buddy.
I suppose the image of that one guy writing on a cocktail napkin at a bar, as yours truly is known to do, is just as queer. I'm no stranger to taking the path less traveled, but I'm still u easy with this phenomenon. At the mature age of 33 (Ha! Revisit this in a few years!), I feel it's far easier to take a few steps outside of reality to become the chaperone of society and its trends of culture. Man, in my 20s, I was all about being active in the scene, knowing what was up. Now, in my 30s, I couldn't be bothered by it at all. So, why the quandary about what occupies others' interests? Could it be my concern of the depletion of social interaction and building human relationships? Eh, it's something to do.
I acknowledge this trend, I refuse to conform to the ways of Twitterverse and such, and I remain content with what's around me rather than what's digitally in front of me. To each their own, of course, and I'll gleefully be grateful for the everlasting presence of cocktail napkins at taverns as others are with their portable pocket pals.
Oh, boy! I'm excited to be writing I can't wait to whip out my toy and blog about this on my smartphone!
The irony...
Friday, May 12, 2017
GRIT
Keep at it. All of the obstacles are temporary mental blocks, but remember what you're fighting for and achieve success. Nothing will stop you. The only enemy that will prevent you from reaching your goal is yourself. Continue on your path, and you shall succeed.
Your opponents, the stage bosses of the different levels of life, will do all they can to defeat you, but they will fail. You may encounter a setback or two, but persist. The American spirit is one of true perseverance. Keep placing one foot in front of the other, and move on to your goal.
Your opponents, the stage bosses of the different levels of life, will do all they can to defeat you, but they will fail. You may encounter a setback or two, but persist. The American spirit is one of true perseverance. Keep placing one foot in front of the other, and move on to your goal.
Monday, February 20, 2017
The Great Greyhound Adventure - Tennessee
Day 1
1-18-2017
9:55 p.m.
Greenville, TN Greyhound Station
Sleep has become elusive. Stops every hour involve the lights being cast for all of us fishies to catch. Life on the road is tricky. I feel that I'm gonna have a rough night...
11:45 p.m.
Knoxville, TN
The bus driver told us we had an hour, so I figured stretching my legs and whetting my thirst would be the best course of action. After we disembarked and left the bus for a much-needed nightly service cleaning, someone couldn't hold it and pissed on the floor in the middle of the bus, thank the heavens I was lucky enough to sit in the back, I took a walk down the hill from the Greyhound station because I've heard that Knoxville is a cool city. I found a cute downtown area, with a lively nightlife scene and bars peppered here and there. I'll have to return with Annie when everything is open.
Also, good news, I was only propositioned by one working lady! She was a young-ish brunette with wavy hair that was still air-drying, wearing loose blue jeans and a black t-shirt, hanging back by the door in the shadows of an apartment building's stoop, smoking on a cigarette that burned way too low, in fact, all I could see was its yellow filter that she was still sucking on.
"Hey, you need something?" she asked.
"Sure, I need a drink," I said, smiling and trying to be cordial because I knew I was in the South, all the while the mental gears were working for what this lady wanted, you can take the boy out of Jersey...
"Oh, there's some bars down there," pointing down the street that was lit with the romantic glow of streetlights and dark nights. "You got a smoke?"
"Nah, I don't smoke."
She asked,"OK, well, where you going?" and she gave me the slightest grin, one that I bet had worked on hundreds of guys, from her father, siblings, teachers, and bosses all the way to her paramours, and then it all made sense.
I bet she thought I was an easy mark, as I was walking down from the Greyhound station in a bright red Northface jacket and bookbag. We were the only two souls in the world at that point, and I had been up past my bedtime, so I didn't realize she was looking for some work.
"Nah, I'm good. Thanks." At the time, I thanked her for wanting to help me out, I suppose, but more importantly, I thank her now for the experience and giving me something to write about. I wish her good luck and much success!
7:00 a.m.
Memphis, TN
We're all going somewhere, but the passengers and company you keep are vitally important.
I'm sitting in the Greyhound Terminal after a night devoid of slumber and a lap around the station itself. People are starting their morning routines, brushing their teeth, drinking coffee, smoking their morning joints, and I'm looking out of the window at the clouds of pot smoke wafting from the occupants of parked cars and swirls of cigarette smoke dancing and spinning each other in the misty, rainy air.
1-18-2017
9:55 p.m.
Greenville, TN Greyhound Station
Sleep has become elusive. Stops every hour involve the lights being cast for all of us fishies to catch. Life on the road is tricky. I feel that I'm gonna have a rough night...
11:45 p.m.
Knoxville, TN
The bus driver told us we had an hour, so I figured stretching my legs and whetting my thirst would be the best course of action. After we disembarked and left the bus for a much-needed nightly service cleaning, someone couldn't hold it and pissed on the floor in the middle of the bus, thank the heavens I was lucky enough to sit in the back, I took a walk down the hill from the Greyhound station because I've heard that Knoxville is a cool city. I found a cute downtown area, with a lively nightlife scene and bars peppered here and there. I'll have to return with Annie when everything is open.
Also, good news, I was only propositioned by one working lady! She was a young-ish brunette with wavy hair that was still air-drying, wearing loose blue jeans and a black t-shirt, hanging back by the door in the shadows of an apartment building's stoop, smoking on a cigarette that burned way too low, in fact, all I could see was its yellow filter that she was still sucking on.
"Hey, you need something?" she asked.
"Sure, I need a drink," I said, smiling and trying to be cordial because I knew I was in the South, all the while the mental gears were working for what this lady wanted, you can take the boy out of Jersey...
"Oh, there's some bars down there," pointing down the street that was lit with the romantic glow of streetlights and dark nights. "You got a smoke?"
"Nah, I don't smoke."
She asked,"OK, well, where you going?" and she gave me the slightest grin, one that I bet had worked on hundreds of guys, from her father, siblings, teachers, and bosses all the way to her paramours, and then it all made sense.
I bet she thought I was an easy mark, as I was walking down from the Greyhound station in a bright red Northface jacket and bookbag. We were the only two souls in the world at that point, and I had been up past my bedtime, so I didn't realize she was looking for some work.
"Nah, I'm good. Thanks." At the time, I thanked her for wanting to help me out, I suppose, but more importantly, I thank her now for the experience and giving me something to write about. I wish her good luck and much success!
Day 2
1-19-2017
7:00 a.m.
Memphis, TN
We're all going somewhere, but the passengers and company you keep are vitally important.
I'm sitting in the Greyhound Terminal after a night devoid of slumber and a lap around the station itself. People are starting their morning routines, brushing their teeth, drinking coffee, smoking their morning joints, and I'm looking out of the window at the clouds of pot smoke wafting from the occupants of parked cars and swirls of cigarette smoke dancing and spinning each other in the misty, rainy air.
Friday, February 10, 2017
The Great Greyhound Adventure - Virginia
Day 1
1-18-2017
7:15 a.m.
Norfolk Greyhound Station
I grabbed my gear and left the house at 6:00 a.m because I was afraid of missing my bus at 8:00 a.m. I munched on two strawberry frosted Pop-tarts. Before I crossed the bridge, I spotted a huge, black wolf-dog creature with bold laser points for eyes and was on edge when I approached its block.
With neon letters glowing, a pawn shop illuminated the way to the Greyhound bus station. I arrived here in approximately fifty minutes; I've still got the mailman's pace. I've been expecting some type of domestic adventure with this trip across the country to Aptos, a small city 90 minutes southeast of San Francisco, California, to see my buddy, James. As usual whenever I travel, a premonition appears of some cataclysmic event that never occurs, which leads me to overpack. This occasion is no exception. I stuffed my gunmetal gray Jansport daypack with clothes and snacks, clearly in anticipation of the coming zombie apocalypse, or worse, sudden dawning that I hadn't packed my favorite white bandana. I wonder when my worrisome spirit will rest...
(Man, I need to get tissues for my butt...)
8:00 a.m.
Leaving Norfolk Greyhound Station
As the bus pulled out, I felt a true rush of adrenaline course through my body with a brief stop at my heart for Happy Hour where there was a quick frenzy of dance fever. We're on the way!
(I have to get out at Richmond, VA and go to gate D by 11:30 a.m.)
11:30 a.m.
Richmond, Virginia
Beware of
the bearded giggle monster,
whom dwells in
the Richmond Greyhound Station.
Dressed in a
blue hood, pj's, and slippers,
for he throws
his Cheerios everywhere...
One look and
he will sit right beside you
and strike a
meaningless conversation.
He once was
such a promising, young lad
but, seduced
by rocks, he fell off the path.
There he sits,
wheels of oats on the floor,
unaware,
ignoring all of our mores.
He chuckles
and lies down on the steel bench;
He snores, then
pops upright and looks around.
So restless,
the imp, in his own world, laughs
at trav'lers
passing by, just like life had.
Is he free,
or is he trapped, in the space
of time lost,
the bus station in Richmond?
12:05 p.m.
Richmond, Virginia
It turns out that I survived another one. While we were boarding, I noticed two young ladies, one with an eight-month old, and what seemed like a huge duffel bag or rolling suitcase for each hand and foot. I didn't want to be some creeper, so I helped the with the biggest ones. It's crucial to assist others as it demonstrates hope in society, whether for the self or others. We're on our way to Memphis!
(Open some of that trail mix.)
1:30 p.m.
Charlottesville, Virginia
A lot of passengers bring plenty of bags and pieces of luggage onto Greyhound Buses...I'm sure there's a joke somewhere there about people who take Greyhound have a lot of baggage...It makes me wonder about this being the only option for travel for a silent majority of Americans. We're all feeling the financial hurt somehow.
(Be grateful for what you've got.)
4:00 p.m.
Roanoke, Virginia
Roanoke is a cute, little city! I'm grateful for my experience traveling in South Korea and Peru on buses because, sometimes, there's nothing better than a rest stop. The bus driver told us it was better to get out here for lunch/dinner because the next rest stop only had a McDonald's. We had an hour to kill, and I know how much ground I can cover in 10 minutes, so I decided to walk around and find a bar...and find a bar I did! An Irish country bar, not even around the block, was open. They had a lovely Happy Hour special where shots of whiskey were $4. Sometimes, a little nip here and there takes the edge off!
I didn't want to be late for the next bus, so I headed back to the waiting room. I entered and felt a wall of silence as everyone looked at me, sizing me up. Kinda like being late as the new kid on the very first day of high school, I rushed and found a seat, any seat, where I would be inconspicuous. It just so happened to be by the water fountain. Inside the room, I found about twenty of my fellow riders, and we were all shifting in our seats or on our feet, antsy to get back on the road again. I've learned that, whenever you get the chance, it's best to take a sip of water or grab a bite to eat, so I saw this liminal moment as the best opportunity for nourishment. Looking around, I found my oasis, and also the realization that I ought to be more careful with what I wish for.
I don't know how I did it, but I was guilty. From my seated position, I leaned over and drank five seconds of water. It seems like I either pushed a little too hard, or I don't what, but I had somehow managed to break the only water fountain, too. Of course, I didn't mean to break it, and no one ever does. However, it's what I did, and I'm owning it.
(What a fascinating business my life is.)
Saturday, February 4, 2017
Easy Porter Attempt #1 (Brew Day)
Revolution Porter Beer
Yield: 2 gallons of Porter beer
This is my first attempt at a porter brew and I'll adjust this recipe when necessary. I want to add brown sugar or vanilla extract.
UPDATE: This is my second attempt at a porter brew. I added brown sugar. Next time, I want to add honey (0.5 cup), and a lager yeast for a smoother, drier flavor.
Stock pot (8 quart will do)
Mixing spoon
Measuring cup
Colander
Large glass bowl
Fermenter (Mr. Beer works for me.)
First step: Sanitize everything, dramatically. When you think you've sanitized enough, sanitize some more.
StarSan 1 ounce for 5 gallons of water. Get gloves, and mix. Start with Mr. Beer Fermenter. Wash thoroughly. When done, wash again. DO NOT RINSE. After, air dry fermenter. While fermenter is drying, wash spoon, measuring cup, colander, and bowl. Air dry materials.
When fermenter is dry enough, assemble the spigot. Fill with water and let sit for 15 minutes to test for leaks, 30 minutes max.
3.3 pounds of CBW Traditional Dark (Pure Malt Extract)
3.3 pounds of CBW Porter (Pule Malt Extract
.0625 pounds of Fuggle US Hop Pellets
One pack of Dry Active Brewing Yeast
0.5 cup of dark brown sugar
Second step: Boil four cups of water with high heat.
UPDATE: Pour in half cup of dark brown sugar now. Stir until it dissolves.
When the water boils, stir in all of the pure malt extract. Stir vigorously so that the unfinished wort neither foams over nor burns to the bottom of pot. This should take 5-15 minutes.
When the fermenter is leakproof, pour in one gallon of cold water.
After 15 minutes, pour in the hops and stir vigorously until the hops dissolve. Smell is important here. The hops should remain floral and not burnt. Lower the heat to medium-high. Continue stirring. This should take 10 minutes.
UPDATE: Boil the hops for a half-hour for a hoppier, drier taste.
Third step: Remove finished wort from heat. Continue stirring. Pour a quarter of the mixture into the colander over the large glass bowl. This will remove some of the trub, or the coagulated protein that forms while stirring. How many more times can I use the word "stir?" I'm guessing two more times.
UPDATE: I didn't strain anything at this time.
The large glass bowl should contain a thinner mixture of finished wort. Pour the contents of the large glass bowl inside the fermenter. Pour the rest of the finished wort from the stock pot into the fermenter.
Pour cold water into the fermenter until you reach two gallons. Stir the contents to create a stable temperature for the yeast. Open the packet of yeast. Pour it in. DO NOT STIR THE YEAST.
Close the fermenter.
Wait three weeks.
UPDATE: Use the second Mr. Beer fermenter to "clear" the beer from yeast for three weeks. The first batch was good, but the yeasty aftertaste was undesirable.
http://www.brewersfriend.com/homebrew/recipe/calculator/
Yield: 2 gallons of Porter beer
This is my first attempt at a porter brew and I'll adjust this recipe when necessary. I want to add brown sugar or vanilla extract.
UPDATE: This is my second attempt at a porter brew. I added brown sugar. Next time, I want to add honey (0.5 cup), and a lager yeast for a smoother, drier flavor.
Materials needed:
Stock pot (8 quart will do)
Mixing spoon
Measuring cup
Colander
Large glass bowl
Fermenter (Mr. Beer works for me.)
First step: Sanitize everything, dramatically. When you think you've sanitized enough, sanitize some more.
StarSan 1 ounce for 5 gallons of water. Get gloves, and mix. Start with Mr. Beer Fermenter. Wash thoroughly. When done, wash again. DO NOT RINSE. After, air dry fermenter. While fermenter is drying, wash spoon, measuring cup, colander, and bowl. Air dry materials.
When fermenter is dry enough, assemble the spigot. Fill with water and let sit for 15 minutes to test for leaks, 30 minutes max.
Ingredients:
3.3 pounds of CBW Traditional Dark (Pure Malt Extract)
3.3 pounds of CBW Porter (Pule Malt Extract
.0625 pounds of Fuggle US Hop Pellets
One pack of Dry Active Brewing Yeast
0.5 cup of dark brown sugar
Recipe:
Second step: Boil four cups of water with high heat.
UPDATE: Pour in half cup of dark brown sugar now. Stir until it dissolves.
When the water boils, stir in all of the pure malt extract. Stir vigorously so that the unfinished wort neither foams over nor burns to the bottom of pot. This should take 5-15 minutes.
When the fermenter is leakproof, pour in one gallon of cold water.
After 15 minutes, pour in the hops and stir vigorously until the hops dissolve. Smell is important here. The hops should remain floral and not burnt. Lower the heat to medium-high. Continue stirring. This should take 10 minutes.
UPDATE: Boil the hops for a half-hour for a hoppier, drier taste.
Third step: Remove finished wort from heat. Continue stirring. Pour a quarter of the mixture into the colander over the large glass bowl. This will remove some of the trub, or the coagulated protein that forms while stirring. How many more times can I use the word "stir?" I'm guessing two more times.
UPDATE: I didn't strain anything at this time.
The large glass bowl should contain a thinner mixture of finished wort. Pour the contents of the large glass bowl inside the fermenter. Pour the rest of the finished wort from the stock pot into the fermenter.
Pour cold water into the fermenter until you reach two gallons. Stir the contents to create a stable temperature for the yeast. Open the packet of yeast. Pour it in. DO NOT STIR THE YEAST.
Close the fermenter.
Wait three weeks.
UPDATE: Use the second Mr. Beer fermenter to "clear" the beer from yeast for three weeks. The first batch was good, but the yeasty aftertaste was undesirable.
http://www.brewersfriend.com/homebrew/recipe/calculator/
Thursday, January 26, 2017
Salt Lake City to Denver
8:00 am- We pulled in at 6:15 am into a lavish spread of a terminal. I suppose this one is brand new because it has everything that Reno lacks, except for The Avengers. There's a light snow falling around us, drifting in from the clouds, much like some of my fellow passengers.
I ended up talking to Banjo for a good bit. He's a freight train hopper, one of the last of his kind, pursuing the American Dream and fulfilling the manifest destiny of going west. He bought the banjo he carries from a heroin junkie in The Tenderloin of San Francisco for an oddly specific amount of $29. We connected over having our dogs sit beside us while we strum our instruments and our affinity for being outside.
8:18 am- The surprise of the morning: we're heading back to Salt Lake City Greyhound Terminal because, according to the bus driver, "something ain't right."
8:25 am- We're back. I was a little bummed to discover we weren't traveling through The Rockies; we're traversing through multiple points in Wyoming instead.
8:45 am- We're rolling out. I was just reading the news about about federal department, like NASS and US Parks Service, complied to shut down their official Twitter accounts due to Trump’s order. It brings pride to my eye to find out that several departments are opening "Unofficial" Twitter accounts for real news and real facts. The American spirit is one of defiance and remains indomitable in the face of injustice.
2:05 pm- Man, I've been sleeping better on this trip than I thought! Wyoming is a picaresque state with snow covered mountains galore. I always thought it was a Prairie state.
I ended up talking to Banjo for a good bit. He's a freight train hopper, one of the last of his kind, pursuing the American Dream and fulfilling the manifest destiny of going west. He bought the banjo he carries from a heroin junkie in The Tenderloin of San Francisco for an oddly specific amount of $29. We connected over having our dogs sit beside us while we strum our instruments and our affinity for being outside.
8:18 am- The surprise of the morning: we're heading back to Salt Lake City Greyhound Terminal because, according to the bus driver, "something ain't right."
8:25 am- We're back. I was a little bummed to discover we weren't traveling through The Rockies; we're traversing through multiple points in Wyoming instead.
8:45 am- We're rolling out. I was just reading the news about about federal department, like NASS and US Parks Service, complied to shut down their official Twitter accounts due to Trump’s order. It brings pride to my eye to find out that several departments are opening "Unofficial" Twitter accounts for real news and real facts. The American spirit is one of defiance and remains indomitable in the face of injustice.
2:05 pm- Man, I've been sleeping better on this trip than I thought! Wyoming is a picaresque state with snow covered mountains galore. I always thought it was a Prairie state.
Wednesday, January 25, 2017
Reno to Salt Lake City
6:50pm- We pulled into Reno Greyhound Terminal, and immediately, I felt a sense of stomach-churning dread. I wearily staggered through the terminal and was confronted by a scene of social distress. I wasn't too concerned though, because my next bus was leaving for Salt Lake City in 10 minutes.
The very first sight I saw was a sign across the room for Reno Police's Homeless Services. I started thinking about how great of an idea that was until I looked around. Most terminals have a concession stand where one can buy overpriced snacks. In Reno, it was completely gutted, as if someone had recently set fire to the stand to completely destroy any trace. In exchange, the area was swept up, painted, and remained lifeless with the concession sign and pictures of hot dogs and flapjacks left as a reminder of what once was.
The downtrodden passengers appeared to be mesmerized by what was playing on TV, The Avengers, I think. All I remember was seeing a dramatically choreographed fight scene, with guns blazing, explosions abound, roundhouse kicks that would make Chuck Norris tear with joy, and tight clothes on ridiculously good-looking people.
That's when I really noticed who I'd be riding with for the next twelve hours of my overnight life. Clearly, I entered the station of hard times. I figured, let me walk to the defunct pay phone, lean my back against the wall and keep my eyes open. Remember that junkie with the tattooed face, holding a banjo over his left shoulder like a twangy club, and clutching a leash with a fluffy Husky attached at the end? Well, he had plenty of friends in this station.
Banjo dropped his gear and dog with a strong-out lady methhead, and he went to use the bathroom. At this point, I'm fairly certain Methhead walked past me and went outside to the five or six guys hovering at the entrance smoking weed, wispy swirls of happiness floating into the night sky, and tried selling them this Husky. As I watched this, it dawned on me that the Greyhound horror stories were born in Reno, Nevada.
Typically, I feel Greyhound riders fall into several categories: those leaving or turning themselves into prison, military personnel, college kids, the infirm, thrifty travelers, druggies, and the last-chancers. The prison folk honestly couldn't have been more compassionate individuals. They exhibited a sound ethical code and demonstrated just actions. For example, one college kid had his book bag on the adjacent chair. A passenger came and asked if he could sit down. The seated college kid told the passenger no and to find another seat. One gentleman, who told me he was traveling across country to Arizona to turn himself in, told the college kid to move his bag, otherwise he'd have a burlier, no-nonsense companion, complete with handlebar moustache, for at least two states, one being Texas, to contend with. Because of Handlebar's intervention, College promptly moved his bag.
Now, at any given station, you have a healthy mix of passengers. That wasn't the case in Reno. It seemed like I would be riding with majority druggie/last-chancer population. Overnight. To Salt Lake City. I hope the irony is not lost.
Back to my chosen reality. I turned my head forward and saw three more characters of concern...and got in line front of them to increase my chances for a restful night. One guy was a tall stoner from California with a severe overbite of rotten, browned teeth that looked like had been smoking, weed and other, for forty of his twenty-seven years of life. He opened his stained, smoky jacket, and pulled out his bus ticket that stunk like weed...as in, he reeked so badly, even I could smell pot from his tickets.
Another guy with a Cheshire grin had somehow fallen into a puddle of cheap vodka, and he was proud to be wearing a black bandana around his neck that he claimed was his sleep aid. Curious, I asked him to elaborate. Verbatim:
"Yeah, man. I soaked it in ether and I hold it over my nose until, lights out man!"
Ah. Okay. That makes sense.
The third guy, man, did I feel bad for this guy. He was a young Asian dude, about five feet tall, and he'd seen better days. This dude looked like he just fought Rocky, with his hands tied behind his back, at least two weeks ago. He had black eyes that were healing, but were once obviously swollen. I suppose his eyes could have also been recently pepper-sprayed, because they were swollen and pink, like patted ground beef right before you grill burgers.
He had a red shirt tied around his head, red shorts, red Converse sneakers, a pink t-shirt, all worn over baby blue scrubs. Visually, his puffy, swollen red eyes and blue/red attire seemed more like skin to me. His black-and-blue eyes were turning to red, and naturally he wore baby blue scrubs under red gym clothes to match that. To make it worse, he was asking each person in line if a random bag he found on the floor was garbage. After beginning in the front, and one-by-one asking each person, he decided it was no one's and emphatically slam-dunked [cue R. Kelly's "I Believe I Can Fly" in slow-motion] in the garbage can by the front of the line and strutted confidently to the back.
The last action depicted that he was a courteous young man who possibly made a wrong choice somewhere, and I can only presume his predicament is due to rolling the wrong dice in Reno...
7:15pm- We boarded bus, and after changing my seat three times, once due to faulty socket issues, and twice because I gambled and didn't want to sit near any weirdos, I ended up settling in the back...and guess who I found hunched over?
That's right! You guessed it!
Methhead!!
I'm currently sitting across from the lady who's spun out on crystal meth, missing the top row of her teeth, who had been chatting everyone up about her step-son's love affair with the Avengers, which is kinda cute actually, and formerly trying to unsuccessfully sell a Husky.
I found her hunched over in the back of the bus and dry-heaving, and after I sat down, she went into the bathroom. After a vigorous coughing fit, she declared to whoever was listening to not worry, she's just pregnant...
I should have stuck with Cali Stoner...
The very first sight I saw was a sign across the room for Reno Police's Homeless Services. I started thinking about how great of an idea that was until I looked around. Most terminals have a concession stand where one can buy overpriced snacks. In Reno, it was completely gutted, as if someone had recently set fire to the stand to completely destroy any trace. In exchange, the area was swept up, painted, and remained lifeless with the concession sign and pictures of hot dogs and flapjacks left as a reminder of what once was.
The downtrodden passengers appeared to be mesmerized by what was playing on TV, The Avengers, I think. All I remember was seeing a dramatically choreographed fight scene, with guns blazing, explosions abound, roundhouse kicks that would make Chuck Norris tear with joy, and tight clothes on ridiculously good-looking people.
That's when I really noticed who I'd be riding with for the next twelve hours of my overnight life. Clearly, I entered the station of hard times. I figured, let me walk to the defunct pay phone, lean my back against the wall and keep my eyes open. Remember that junkie with the tattooed face, holding a banjo over his left shoulder like a twangy club, and clutching a leash with a fluffy Husky attached at the end? Well, he had plenty of friends in this station.
Banjo dropped his gear and dog with a strong-out lady methhead, and he went to use the bathroom. At this point, I'm fairly certain Methhead walked past me and went outside to the five or six guys hovering at the entrance smoking weed, wispy swirls of happiness floating into the night sky, and tried selling them this Husky. As I watched this, it dawned on me that the Greyhound horror stories were born in Reno, Nevada.
Typically, I feel Greyhound riders fall into several categories: those leaving or turning themselves into prison, military personnel, college kids, the infirm, thrifty travelers, druggies, and the last-chancers. The prison folk honestly couldn't have been more compassionate individuals. They exhibited a sound ethical code and demonstrated just actions. For example, one college kid had his book bag on the adjacent chair. A passenger came and asked if he could sit down. The seated college kid told the passenger no and to find another seat. One gentleman, who told me he was traveling across country to Arizona to turn himself in, told the college kid to move his bag, otherwise he'd have a burlier, no-nonsense companion, complete with handlebar moustache, for at least two states, one being Texas, to contend with. Because of Handlebar's intervention, College promptly moved his bag.
Now, at any given station, you have a healthy mix of passengers. That wasn't the case in Reno. It seemed like I would be riding with majority druggie/last-chancer population. Overnight. To Salt Lake City. I hope the irony is not lost.
Back to my chosen reality. I turned my head forward and saw three more characters of concern...and got in line front of them to increase my chances for a restful night. One guy was a tall stoner from California with a severe overbite of rotten, browned teeth that looked like had been smoking, weed and other, for forty of his twenty-seven years of life. He opened his stained, smoky jacket, and pulled out his bus ticket that stunk like weed...as in, he reeked so badly, even I could smell pot from his tickets.
Another guy with a Cheshire grin had somehow fallen into a puddle of cheap vodka, and he was proud to be wearing a black bandana around his neck that he claimed was his sleep aid. Curious, I asked him to elaborate. Verbatim:
"Yeah, man. I soaked it in ether and I hold it over my nose until, lights out man!"
Ah. Okay. That makes sense.
The third guy, man, did I feel bad for this guy. He was a young Asian dude, about five feet tall, and he'd seen better days. This dude looked like he just fought Rocky, with his hands tied behind his back, at least two weeks ago. He had black eyes that were healing, but were once obviously swollen. I suppose his eyes could have also been recently pepper-sprayed, because they were swollen and pink, like patted ground beef right before you grill burgers.
He had a red shirt tied around his head, red shorts, red Converse sneakers, a pink t-shirt, all worn over baby blue scrubs. Visually, his puffy, swollen red eyes and blue/red attire seemed more like skin to me. His black-and-blue eyes were turning to red, and naturally he wore baby blue scrubs under red gym clothes to match that. To make it worse, he was asking each person in line if a random bag he found on the floor was garbage. After beginning in the front, and one-by-one asking each person, he decided it was no one's and emphatically slam-dunked [cue R. Kelly's "I Believe I Can Fly" in slow-motion] in the garbage can by the front of the line and strutted confidently to the back.
The last action depicted that he was a courteous young man who possibly made a wrong choice somewhere, and I can only presume his predicament is due to rolling the wrong dice in Reno...
7:15pm- We boarded bus, and after changing my seat three times, once due to faulty socket issues, and twice because I gambled and didn't want to sit near any weirdos, I ended up settling in the back...and guess who I found hunched over?
That's right! You guessed it!
Methhead!!
I'm currently sitting across from the lady who's spun out on crystal meth, missing the top row of her teeth, who had been chatting everyone up about her step-son's love affair with the Avengers, which is kinda cute actually, and formerly trying to unsuccessfully sell a Husky.
I found her hunched over in the back of the bus and dry-heaving, and after I sat down, she went into the bathroom. After a vigorous coughing fit, she declared to whoever was listening to not worry, she's just pregnant...
I should have stuck with Cali Stoner...
San Francisco to Reno
1:10 pm - Well, so far I count three dogs, one Husky, one pregnant pit bull, and one chow chow that may soon be the pit bull's lunch, and about twenty people on this bus. We're pulling out. Prayer of protection said. We're rolling out!
3:42 pm- rest stop in Sacramento, no munchies in sight, California continues to smell faintly of weed...
4:20 pm- Yup, crawling in Sacramento traffic allows us to exercise our political bug. I found this quote about Trump's draconian immigration stance quite humorous:
"If they [Trump and his administration] actually are successful in building a wall, you're probably going to have a new generation of Olympic pole vaulters come about," said de Leon, state Senate President from Los Angeles. "And they'll probably be quite successful."
It's crucial to find moments of humor during times of sorrow.
6:27 pm- Man, I just had the ultimate pleasure in driving through the Sierra Nevada mountains. I took a nap in sunny Sacramento for what couldn't have been longer than an hour, and when I woke up, I found myself in a winter Wonderland high in the mountains, covered with two or three feet of snow on the ground, peppered with happy little and seriously gigantic evergreen trees whose exhausted arms were weighed down by the fluffy stuff. The plan was to see The Rockies in Denver, but this was a lovely surprise. It's a beautiful country.
3:42 pm- rest stop in Sacramento, no munchies in sight, California continues to smell faintly of weed...
4:20 pm- Yup, crawling in Sacramento traffic allows us to exercise our political bug. I found this quote about Trump's draconian immigration stance quite humorous:
"If they [Trump and his administration] actually are successful in building a wall, you're probably going to have a new generation of Olympic pole vaulters come about," said de Leon, state Senate President from Los Angeles. "And they'll probably be quite successful."
It's crucial to find moments of humor during times of sorrow.
6:27 pm- Man, I just had the ultimate pleasure in driving through the Sierra Nevada mountains. I took a nap in sunny Sacramento for what couldn't have been longer than an hour, and when I woke up, I found myself in a winter Wonderland high in the mountains, covered with two or three feet of snow on the ground, peppered with happy little and seriously gigantic evergreen trees whose exhausted arms were weighed down by the fluffy stuff. The plan was to see The Rockies in Denver, but this was a lovely surprise. It's a beautiful country.
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