Your poem, on a bus
Calling all bus poets! Poetry on buses is back. This year's theme is "writing home." You can find submission guidelines here.
Bus cuts are coming
Thanks to the failure of our state legislature--and the subsequent failure of Prop 1 (aka, "plan B"), King County will lose 72 bus routes and see reduced service on over 100 more. There is a chance a plan will be cobbled together to save some service, but it will be even less ideal than the less-than-ideal plan that just failed.
- On busing and bad language (or, the “s” word, according to Chicklet)
- Fully embracing the role
- Multimodal Monday: 180 miles
- Bus riders have sense
- Westbound 14, 8:30 AM
- How to pass the time at a bus stop, part VI
- The bus life with “big” kids
- Eastbound 4, 4:15 PM
- Calling all bus poets! (again)
- Multimodal Monday: Baby Busling on a bike
In the Bus Bag
Heartbeat of Struggle: The Revolutionary Life of Yuri Kochiyama, by Diane Fujino
Tag Archives: bus mack
Earlier in the week, Bus Nerd hipped me to this Slate piece about subway psychology. It didn’t turn out to be as interesting as it sounds, but it did contain one useful (and fascinating) tidbit: Apparently, parking yourself in the seat closest to the door* “offer[s] the best opportunities for falling in love with the proper stranger.”
Talk about a revelation! If only I’d known this back when Nerd was a “proper stranger,” it might not have taken us so long to meet.
Unfortunately, the article does not propose any theories about what seat choice has to …
A man sitting directly behind me is chatting up the woman next to him.
Man: “Oh, you hurt your finger! Want me to kiss it and make it better?”
Man: “You know, like when you were little, and you hurt yourself, and your mom would kiss it to make it better?”
Woman: “No. Mom wasn’t around. My grandma always said, ‘quit your whining and keep moving.’”
Would-be bus (stop) mackers in the ID will have to start getting more creative (but not too creative!) with their opening lines. The time, you see, is available to everyone (everyone who can read roman numerals and tell time, that is), now that the clock at King Street Station is once again functional.
As if I wanted to know the exact number of minutes late my post-TAC 14 is.
My friend Monique, although hardly a minor, is a BCiT in her own right. In March, she moved from transit-unfriendly Houston to Boston to accept a year-long contract position that advanced her career and satisfied her taste for adventure. Since it’s not a permanent job, and since she owns a home in Houston, she’s subletting a cool apartment in South Boston and getting around by bus, train, foot, and, very occasionally, Zipcar. (Boston, as some of you might know, is the home of Zipcar.)
Transit-based living agrees with Monique. She loves her walkable neighborhood and the freedom …
Last night, on the way to her first Transportation Choices Coalition meeting, Chicklet took her first ride on the 27. The ride was definitely more thrilling for mother (whose favorite bus happens to be the 27) than it was for daughter, who slept through the ride. During her nap, Chicklet missed the chance to witness her first bus mack, one of the relatively rare driver-on-passenger variety.
At the meeting, my little chicklet received her second award in a week (the first being the November Golden Transfer): a lifetime membership in TCC. Check it:
In the hunt for my next job, “only a bus ride away” will be mandatory criteria in my list of wants. “Why?” you might ask. Well, besides the obvious environmental and traffic-relieving reasons, I want to ride the bus because I think that:
The bus is an untapped gold mine of potential dates with Seattle’s singles.
Lately, I’ve noticed a marked increase in a certain kind of driver-passenger interaction. It started on a Saturday in December, on the 48 ride home from an open house (in Ballard, of course) for my friend Rachel’s jewelry business. An attractive, middle-aged woman (well, maybe not middle aged, but far too old to be as drunk as she was at 3:00 in the afternoon) got on a couple of stops after me–near the beginning of the route. The driver, who had been distinctly sullen to the rest of us, perked up when she chose the seat closest to …