Monthly Archives: May 2006

And speaking of church…

Forgive me Busfather, for I have sinned. Over the long weekend, I coveted two classic cars: a 60s-style Oldsmobile Rocket and 50-something Chevy Bel Air. I didn’t want to ride in them Busfather, but I couldn’t help staring. They looked so beautiful, with their rag tops and candy paint and whitewall tires, the bass from their sick stereos shaking the shelters under which I stood.

OK, maybe I did want to ride, but just a little bit.

And while I’m on the subject, I might as well confess: Over the weekend, I rode in cars to destinations I …

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May Golden Transfer

Golden TransferThis month’s Golden Transfer award goes to Good Shepherd Lutheran Church in the Central District–and not just because it’s the church I happen to attend.

Good Shepherd’s congregation has adopted a bus stop (on 23rd Avenue near Union), which means that, starting after the first major cleanup this Saturday, they will keep it free of trash and graffiti for all of the lucky 48 riders who use it.

Mrs. Annie Lamb, the force behind the stop adoption, has been riding the bus for longer than I’ve been alive. …

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Montlake Freeway Station spoken word

Bus Nerd, on missing a transfer en route to a Memorial Day BBQ/Pistonfest on the Eastside:

“Oh 255
Why did you jive
With me?
Why couldn’t you be late
Like the 48?”

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Another “ism” that plagues our society

This week’s Real Change column is about “carism,” the ways in which the infrastructure and attitudes prevalent in American cities (ours included) force the use of cars as the primary mode of transportation. (A more accurate term would probably be something like “transportation mode-ism,” but it doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue, and I think mine’s more fun.)

Some examples of carism I mention in my column:
• The lack of sidewalks and bike paths
• The amount of our city’s land that could be used for residences, services, businesses, or even open space that is instead …

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To transfer, or not to transfer?

OK, so I’m getting a little tired of talking to myself. What happened to all the interesting comments? I know I have readers, and not just because the PI says so. You actually send me e-mail. I love the e-mail messages, but I’d also like to see my blog become more of a conversation than a monologue. I realize that some of my entries aren’t exactly conversation starters. Still, I’d like to have them (conversations, that is) sometimes. If I blog about riding the bus to a house party, I’d like to know if any of you’ve ever done it–or …

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“He’ll get you there”: Bus Chick meets the Busfather

Today I got to attend Metro’s Operator of the Year ceremony. Since childhood, I’ve been seeing the pictures of winners in the ad slots inside buses, but I’ve never actually met an Operator of the Year, or (that I know of, anyway) had the privilege of riding on a bus that was driven by one.

To be selected as Operator of the Year is a huge honor. Winners are chosen by their peers (all of the operators of the month from the past year) and are celebrated (and roasted) at a fairly big ceremony, complete with blown-up photographs and specially …

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Another reason for the 8 to run more often

Powell Barnett openingToday, Powell Barnett Park reopened to quite a bit of fanfare. What a tribute to the legacy of the man for whom it is named!

The park is on Martin Luther King, between Jefferson and Alder. You can get there on the 8, but unfortunately, the 8 does not run down MLK in the evening or on weekends. Here’s hoping that changes soon.

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On twentysomething men: volcanoes, hurricanes, and the breaking of things

I’m already home from the party, and the last bus hasn’t even left my brother’s street yet. Shoot, the second-to-last bus hasn’t even left. The party was fun, even though I was the only woman there for the first two hours. One of Jeremy’s friends (who also happens to be a bartender at Flying Fish) made a big tub of hurricane punch. I only had one cup, but that was enough to make me grateful for the designated driver (one of the may perks of the bus-chick lifestyle).

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Hold that chariot!

Turns out, the last bus is at 12:57.

There goes that excuse. Where’s my Geritol?

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Birthday boyToday is my little (actually younger–he’s not so little) brother Jeremy’s birthday. To celebrate the 26th anniversary of two equally cataclysmic events (his arrival on the planet and Mount St. Helens’ eruption), he’s having a house party, and he was kind enough to invite his old, almost-married-lady sister. What screams old lady louder than even the most sensible pair of bus chick shoes? Leaving a party before midnight. Unfortunately, the last bus leaves his street at 11:57, so that’s just what I’ll be doing.

Perhaps if I found a …

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