Happy Earth Day, Earth
Happy Earth Day, everyone. I changed my desktop picture the other day and thought the image would look good in The Quiet Man. It's called "October Path" and you can find it at MacDesktops.
What have you done today to make the planet a better place, to decrease your impact on our environment? I’ll give you a hint about what I did: I’m at work but my car is back at my apartment.
Yep. I took the bus.
I’ve thought about doing it for a while. I knew what stop to go to and what bus to take. The Orange County Transportation Authority (OCTA) website has a nifty trip planning feature. Fill in your starting address and destination and it provides the best itinerary. All I had to do was walk a couple blocks (and I’m talking about half mile long, western grid blocks) to hop on the 178, which stops at UC Irvine. The thing is I’ve been too lazy to do it. My clock radio goes off at 7 a.m. and I lie in bed, listening to the music, for a half hour before getting up to take a shower. With my car I can get to work in 15 or 20 minutes. Taking the bus means getting up earlier, skipping my half hour of Bubba Jackson and KKJZ, and walking to the stop to catch the 7:44 a.m. After winding through Huntington Beach, Costa Mesa, and parts of Irvine, the bus would reach UCI about 50 minutes later. Going to work by car means sleeping in a little longer and getting to campus earlier.
Of course, I knew it would be better — environmentally, economically, and consciously — if I took the bus. I’d feel better about not polluting, not representing another four wheels on the freeway, not spending so much on gas. One less car on the road is better for everyone. It’s good for California, for the country, for the Earth. But I kept making excuses. My car gets decent mileage and I’m not sitting in traffic or driving long distances, so the footprint my commute creates is nothing compared to those of others (especially those dumbasses with giant, jacked up trucks — I fucking hate those guys).
Next week, I always thought. Next week I’ll start taking the bus. Of course, next week came and went and I was still using my car.
Lately, though, my guilt had built to the point where my excuses lost their sugarcoating magic. As I passed bus stops on my way to work I took notice of the people waiting. I thought, “Now they’re responsible.” Everything about my commuting routine began to feel faulty, greedy. I almost couldn’t bear it when I walked to my car at the end of the day and saw it sitting there, an insatiable glutton. There was a better way to do it — a way I wasn’t taking advantage of.
Until today, that is.
I made attempts last week to do it. I had two small stacks of quarters — $1.25 each — at the ready on my desk. I changed the alarm on my Dream Machine so it went off at 6:45 a.m. I went to bed excited and eager to do something new the next morning. It was like going to sleep the night before the first day of school. But I chickened out when I woke, opting to lie in bed for another 45 minutes.
But today was the day, and Earth Day to boot. My radio sounded off and I thought, “You’re doing this, so get up.” I showered, dressed, collected my stuff, and walked out the door and past my car, parked in the alley. I looked back and said, “See ya, girl.” The morning sunlight was bright and fresh, as it always seems when you get up earlier than normal. I walked the mile stretch of Beach Boulevard to the covered bench and sign stuck into the concrete, the unmistakable characteristics of a bus stop.
I had never ridden an OCTA bus before, so I hoped someone else would be at the stop to get on in front of me, unknowingly teaching me how to insert my fare. A woman was sitting on the bench, talking on her cell phone, when I got there. Another man was there, too. He asked me if I was going to work or to school. I thought it was a weird question (like, “Are you a movie star?”), but I told him both: I work at a school. He asked me if I had graduated from high school (yes), if I had gone to a community college (no; a four year college), and where I had gone to college (the University of Iowa).
“My grandpa went to the University of Des Moines,” he said. “He was Phi Beta Kappa.”
Before the bus came he talked about how his grandpa worked as a mortician. (Don’t ask me why he started talking to me. I guess it’s because I look inquisitive and attentive; I look like I want to listen, so people give me something to listen to.) I wasn’t really listening to the business details of it (an aunt and uncle owned a funeral home…blah blah blah), but I heard him when he said his grandpa slept in the basement with the corpses during the hot summer months.
“It get’s really hot in Nebraska during the summer,” he said.
Iowa, I thought, but I let it go. Of course, maybe the mortuary was in Nebraska and not Des Moines. I don’t know. A few moments later I was rescued by the 178 when it turned the corner from Yorktown and stopped in front of us. The man said goodbye (interestingly, my grandpa had gone to the University of Des Moines, too) and I watched the woman as she dropped the change into the fare box. The bus had been empty except for the driver.
I sat in back on the elevated platform over the rear wheels. All I had to do was enjoy the ride. The trip was smooth. The big bus, powered by liquid natural gas, glided through traffic, picking up more riders along the way. I couldn’t help but watch the cars alongside us, peering down from my high seat into the little, individual worlds on wheels. One woman in a Mazda held a mug of coffee in her left hand and steered and shifted gears with her right. Many drivers talked on their cell phones, which will soon be illegal in California. Stopped at a light, I watched puffs of exhaust sputter from a Mercedes. A short stream of water rushed from the tail pipe when the car moved forward.
Gross, I thought.
What have you done today to make the planet a better place, to decrease your impact on our environment? I’ll give you a hint about what I did: I’m at work but my car is back at my apartment.
Yep. I took the bus.
I’ve thought about doing it for a while. I knew what stop to go to and what bus to take. The Orange County Transportation Authority (OCTA) website has a nifty trip planning feature. Fill in your starting address and destination and it provides the best itinerary. All I had to do was walk a couple blocks (and I’m talking about half mile long, western grid blocks) to hop on the 178, which stops at UC Irvine. The thing is I’ve been too lazy to do it. My clock radio goes off at 7 a.m. and I lie in bed, listening to the music, for a half hour before getting up to take a shower. With my car I can get to work in 15 or 20 minutes. Taking the bus means getting up earlier, skipping my half hour of Bubba Jackson and KKJZ, and walking to the stop to catch the 7:44 a.m. After winding through Huntington Beach, Costa Mesa, and parts of Irvine, the bus would reach UCI about 50 minutes later. Going to work by car means sleeping in a little longer and getting to campus earlier.
Of course, I knew it would be better — environmentally, economically, and consciously — if I took the bus. I’d feel better about not polluting, not representing another four wheels on the freeway, not spending so much on gas. One less car on the road is better for everyone. It’s good for California, for the country, for the Earth. But I kept making excuses. My car gets decent mileage and I’m not sitting in traffic or driving long distances, so the footprint my commute creates is nothing compared to those of others (especially those dumbasses with giant, jacked up trucks — I fucking hate those guys).
Next week, I always thought. Next week I’ll start taking the bus. Of course, next week came and went and I was still using my car.
Lately, though, my guilt had built to the point where my excuses lost their sugarcoating magic. As I passed bus stops on my way to work I took notice of the people waiting. I thought, “Now they’re responsible.” Everything about my commuting routine began to feel faulty, greedy. I almost couldn’t bear it when I walked to my car at the end of the day and saw it sitting there, an insatiable glutton. There was a better way to do it — a way I wasn’t taking advantage of.
Until today, that is.
I made attempts last week to do it. I had two small stacks of quarters — $1.25 each — at the ready on my desk. I changed the alarm on my Dream Machine so it went off at 6:45 a.m. I went to bed excited and eager to do something new the next morning. It was like going to sleep the night before the first day of school. But I chickened out when I woke, opting to lie in bed for another 45 minutes.
But today was the day, and Earth Day to boot. My radio sounded off and I thought, “You’re doing this, so get up.” I showered, dressed, collected my stuff, and walked out the door and past my car, parked in the alley. I looked back and said, “See ya, girl.” The morning sunlight was bright and fresh, as it always seems when you get up earlier than normal. I walked the mile stretch of Beach Boulevard to the covered bench and sign stuck into the concrete, the unmistakable characteristics of a bus stop.
I had never ridden an OCTA bus before, so I hoped someone else would be at the stop to get on in front of me, unknowingly teaching me how to insert my fare. A woman was sitting on the bench, talking on her cell phone, when I got there. Another man was there, too. He asked me if I was going to work or to school. I thought it was a weird question (like, “Are you a movie star?”), but I told him both: I work at a school. He asked me if I had graduated from high school (yes), if I had gone to a community college (no; a four year college), and where I had gone to college (the University of Iowa).
“My grandpa went to the University of Des Moines,” he said. “He was Phi Beta Kappa.”
Before the bus came he talked about how his grandpa worked as a mortician. (Don’t ask me why he started talking to me. I guess it’s because I look inquisitive and attentive; I look like I want to listen, so people give me something to listen to.) I wasn’t really listening to the business details of it (an aunt and uncle owned a funeral home…blah blah blah), but I heard him when he said his grandpa slept in the basement with the corpses during the hot summer months.
“It get’s really hot in Nebraska during the summer,” he said.
Iowa, I thought, but I let it go. Of course, maybe the mortuary was in Nebraska and not Des Moines. I don’t know. A few moments later I was rescued by the 178 when it turned the corner from Yorktown and stopped in front of us. The man said goodbye (interestingly, my grandpa had gone to the University of Des Moines, too) and I watched the woman as she dropped the change into the fare box. The bus had been empty except for the driver.
I sat in back on the elevated platform over the rear wheels. All I had to do was enjoy the ride. The trip was smooth. The big bus, powered by liquid natural gas, glided through traffic, picking up more riders along the way. I couldn’t help but watch the cars alongside us, peering down from my high seat into the little, individual worlds on wheels. One woman in a Mazda held a mug of coffee in her left hand and steered and shifted gears with her right. Many drivers talked on their cell phones, which will soon be illegal in California. Stopped at a light, I watched puffs of exhaust sputter from a Mercedes. A short stream of water rushed from the tail pipe when the car moved forward.
Gross, I thought.
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