Yesterday, my housemate Adaeze picked up her car (shipped to her from family in the fine state of Texas, where I imagine very few people take the bus). It’s a lovely Altima and it smelled like new when I climbed in the backseat last night, and sailed up Rock Creek Parkway on our way home.
Eleanor Robson Belmont said, “A private railroad car is not an acquired taste. One takes to it immediately.” You see, though I enjoy my bus adventures, truth be told, I’ve had few other options.
The fall from grace begins...
It was only the first day she had it, it was late, I was downtown, I called her and she was nearby, I mean that’s no big deal…but sadly I can see it becoming a slippery slope.
Solidarity is easy when you have no other options. But when given the opportunity for comfort, convenience, privacy and new car smell, how many would opt out? “Stewardship”, “intentional living”, “access”, “privilege,” these aren’t just buzzwords, they're hard words.
Other Changes:
The Washington Metro Area Transit Authority has announced the following for the 52, 53 and 54 buses on 14th Street:
Additional buses will run in the evenings to reduce crowding. At night between 10:30 p.m. and 12:30 a.m., buses will run every ten to 15 minutes during the week, every 15 minutes on Saturdays and every 20 minutes on Sundays.
Which of course I’m thankful for, but even further de-legitimizes my excuses for taking the car. Is a new blog on the horizon? “I’ll Take the Car”? Doubt I’d have much to say.
3 comments:
No. Do it for the blog. Do it for the communal solidarity you share with your fellow bus patrons. Do it to prevent oil drilling in the Amazon. Do it to not fund the Saudi royalty that represses the rights of their women. Do it to prevent the multi-billion dollar farm subsidies that will continue to undermine WTO trade rounds if those corn ethanol bastards in Iowa get what they want. Is your soul so lacking in value that you would sell it for a Nissan?
Hey, keep it quite! No one can know that I've sucken so low. Talk about my beautiful yellow swedish mixte bike instead.
I wouldn't sell my soul for a nissan, but if Ol' Scratch offered me an '84 volvo, I might find myself in a dilemma.
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