30 August 2011
Another good day to you lovers, friends, family and visiting extraterrestrials.
GF and I use Metrorail to get to and from work every day. I would find it quite easy to turn this blog into a continual self-absorbed groan on the frequently inoperational Metrorail escalators.
But I won’t.
First, I don’t really mind out-of-order motorized incline devices. I like walking. Walking makes me remember I’m alive. Walking makes me realize the world and I are the same. Sometimes walking is the only thing that feels real to me.
Second, we have a functioning Metro system. It could be better, yes. But it could also not exist. I would not enjoy that alternative.
However, sometimes I feel like I should complain about Metrorail. There are lots of things about which I feel I should complain even if they don’t really make me angry. I can’t explain (and neither can Pete Townshend).
Today, two of three escalators leading out of the Court House Metro station were broken (or at least not running). The other escalator was [pretentious description ALERT] transporting humans and luggage down into the bowels of public transit.
So, GF and I walked up the escalator. The person in front of me was wearing a book bag, carrying a book (defeating the purpose of the book bag?) and was wearing exercise gear. My face felt magnetically attracted to her book bag. I stared at it and it stared back. The abyss is a book bag.
Yeesh. If you made it this far in today’s post, I apologize. I don’t remember reading or hearing anything so schmaltzy and pretentious that would have influenced me so lately. Perhaps it is the combination of whisky and Icelandic chocolate.
And yes, I did eat the chocolate while listening to Bjork. I think it intensified the effect.
By the way – Did you remember the video competition from yesterday’s post? No? Then read it and enter to win a parcel from…me!