Joel might be the last bad ass bus driver on the West Coast. The rest of us have gone over to the unicorns, crystals and health food side.

People ask me about my job. They say, "I bet you've got some stories to tell, eh?"

Yeah, well, so does everybody else.

My job is mostly about knowing how to survive in a bureaucracy- like the military, or prison. You have to know who to watch and who to ignore. You have to know when to speak up and when to shut up. You have to know what you can get away with and what will get you in trouble. Beyond that, most of it is optional. You can make friends or be a loner. You can gossip or mind your own business. You can stick with your own race or make friends outside of it.

The part where you drive buses is kind of a lonesome thing that you do on your own. I try to avoid that part. It can drive you nuts. It took me many years, but the passengers really don't bother me anymore. Now it's the traffic that I hate. When the passengers were driving me nuts, I didn't have time to worry about the traffic. Other than that, I spend a lot of time wondering when I'll get a chance to piss. A lot of passengers tell me I'm good at my job. I hope I'm good at something.

As of this week, I've had my job for twenty one years. That seems like it might be too long. I'm pretty glad I've got it. I'd probably just sit home by myself if I didn't have a job.

This little routine is pretty close to what my job is like. I was surprised.

Bus Driver- The Whitest Kids U' Know(buy)

Mr President, Step Aside

"My administration is the only thing between you and the pitchforks."
-President Barrack Obama

You Dont Own Me - Joan Jett and the Blackhearts

Biff! Bang! Pow! - The Creation

Blessed

This little guy is my good friend. He is the most gentlemanly rooster I have ever known. He is kind to his little flock of hens. He worries over them, will not eat until they know that there is food and will not go to sleep until he is sure that that are safely roosting. He trots over to visit with me when I walk out the door and he will eat out of my hand.

At some point in my life, I realized that everything, every single thing, that has ever happened to me has been a blessing. The only problem was whether or not I was willing to recognize and accept the blessing.

Today I read the following remarkable comment from Ask Aunt B, a regular reader at Frankie's Blog.

"There's always at least two ways of looking at any given situation, Frankie Darling. Might I mention something I happened to have learned?

You have to have gone through it to see it, to recognize it but believe it or not, you and I have been given a gift not all are privy to.

See, when a person goes to Prison, they come out one of two ways; Bitter or Blessed. Most will come out bitter and pissed off at the world for their demise. They have no idea of what personal accountability is, just for starters so how could they possibly appreciate a diddly damn thing?

When I walked out of prison, all I had to my name was a flippin plastic cup, plastic spoon and a little radio w/the ear bud. That and my donated clothes were it except for my undergarments a la prison wear with my name and number on it. Everything and almost my dignity had been stripped from me.

Yes, we had to start over from scratch, did we not? We started over mentally, physically, emotionally, even materially. What was born from that though was and is something most take for granted I was so very pleased when I got my first pay check. I went out and bought a brand new shiny metal travel mug and 4 real spoons. I also splurged and purchased a throw rug that brightened up my tiny room in the ghetto.

My parents mailed me a laptop. Which by the way was a miracle in itself that they had forgiven me. Parole did not allow us to have cell phones and although it took me a minute,I had cable/internet/phone turned on. I was happier than a pig in shit, life was good, really good. And I appreciated it all.

The gift came in the form of a knowledge, an awareness of all that I had taken for granted; love, life, even laughter as I had stopped laughing long before. What was there to laugh about in existing to shoot heroin?

Yes Frankie, you've been given that gift too or you'd have not shed a tear. Prison a gift, you say? Well, it saved our lives at a time when we were too sick to see. Way too sick to see.

Yes, we were hand picked for the mission as we'd already earned our degree, a PhD in Street, Crime and Drugs.


Now...watcha gonna do with it?"

If you want, your life can have meaning and purpose.

The Christians Hope - Densons Sacred Harp Singers of Arley, Alabama 13.11.1928

Thought for the day

I don't blog much about my spiritual life. That or everything here has something to do with my spiritual life. I definitely don't blog much about my off and on relationship with organized religion. I went to Palm Sunday mass yesterday. I left scratching my head. I couldn't tell if I'd gotten anything out of it or not. I will probably go to some of the other Holy Week services too.

So let me alienate my heathen readers with this quote from Paolo of Jamie Bakker's Revolution Church:

"Even the sin of unfaithfulness was covered by Christ on the cross. So go forth, and struggle with your faith, and have your doubts. And do it all without shame, and without guilt; because these things too were atoned for at Calvary. That’s all."

Is That You - Buddy Miller

Last Speech

It took a while for me to understand the role of prophetic speech in King's ministry. I thought he was an ethnic politician who knew how to take the moral high ground and use it to his advantage.

Late breaking news: The new Handsome Family CD just arrived. Exciting. Gotta run.

Lorain, Ohio

I have an anonymous regular reader in Lorain, Ohio. I've been meaning to write about Lorain for a while now. I was only there once, thirty years ago.

I've been in three riots in my life. I'm not the riot type. Crowds make me anxious.

My first riot was in Paterson, New Jersey. The Paterson cops attacked a group of mostly Black high school kids. We were holding a prayer vigil to support their polite requests for improvements in the Paterson schools. The cops went crazy, firing tear gas, clubbing students and arresting one of my teachers and a friend's mom. I was only 14 and I was scared shitless. I have not had much respect for cops since then. The Paterson cops were notoriously lawless. They fire bombed the Paterson office of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference and beat up a bunch of people. Then they claimed that the building was burnt in a "Negro riot". I also learned that racism is a racket that the rich and powerful use to stay rich and powerful. At least I learned that early and well.

My last riot was in 1981 when IU won the NCAA men's basketball championship. No one called that a riot. It was a celebration. It was a celebration where white college boys smashed storefronts, raped coeds, tore down lamp posts and destroyed a cop car, but it was a celebration because it involved white college boys and sports. It was a manly celebration. About two AM I watched a drunk guy punching a parking meter until his hands were smashed and there was blood all over the parking meter. I decided it was time to go home and go to bed. The next day the papers all agreed that events had been "spirited". Kiss my ass.

In between I was in a little riot at the US Steel Mill in Lorain. I've been trying to write about that one for years. Not today though. Hi Lorain.

Hand made

This is a lovely little video tour of the Aquila string factory. Aquila gut strings are made by hand using a few simple machines. I like that.

I tend to dislike and distrust the modern world. Yes, I am using a computer to write this. I suppose you could argue that I contradict myself. That's what you call a paradox. Three of my ukuleles were built by individuals using hand tools. One of the reasons I like tattooing is that it is a craft that is passed down from master to apprentice. I do not look forward to the day when you can get a technically perfect tattoo from a computer guided machine. I would rather have a sloppy tattoo with a misspelled word. Mind you, I don't want (another) sloppy tattoo. I own a lot of typically American, Chinese made, "perfect" plastic crap. Hell, my "house" was built in a factory. It is nice to see something that is purely human, touched all over by human hands.

I have no idea what a perfect world would look like. This world kind of sucks.

Rainbow Stew - Merle Haggard

G20

As far as I'm concerned the Obama honeymoon is over. Back to struggle as usual.

Job Action - Utah Phillips

Thanks to Amy Crehore's Little Hokum Rag. Published at the intersection of fine art and ukuleles.

I'm not good at April Fool's

Pictured above is my Atomic Ukulele. Click on the picture for a very large detail view. It was built by Peter Hurney, the owner of Pohaku Ukuleles. I bought the Atomic because it is so damn pretty, but it has turned into a favorite player.

Before I discovered the ukulele, I spent years struggling with the guitar. I never seemed to get anywhere with the guitar. When I play one now, it is like wrestling a piece of furniture with strings. The ukulele just seems like a friendlier alternative. I have no desire to be a professional musician. I think that anybody who talks as much about music as I do should be able to play a little bit of music.

Despite my feelings to the contrary, Ukulele Hunt, possibly the world's preeminent ukulele website has published a piece titled "Ten Reasons It's Easier to Learn the Guitar than the Ukulele"

"1) It’s easier to tune: The shorter scale length of the ukulele makes it decidedly tricky to get in tune. A slight tweak of tuner can send it wildly out of tune. Add to that the fact that strings take a couple of weeks to bed down and you’ve got a big problem. If even professional musicians like Amanda Palmer and Stephin Merritt can’t get their ukuleles in tune, what chance has a beginner got?
2) It’s possible to find a teacher: Google results for “guitar teacher” = 316,000. Google results for “ukulele teacher” = 1,480. The best way to learn a new instrument is sitting face to face with someone who is already an expert. It’s much easier to find those people with the guitar.
3) It’s easier to make it sound OK: Guitars naturally have a big sound which is generous to less careful playing. It takes a bit more experience to tease a good sound out of a ukulele. It’s all to easy to smother all the tone out of the poor thing.
4) You don’t have to worry about holding it: Sometimes ukeing standing up is a little like playing whilst juggling a sack of potatoes. And using a strap feels like giving in.
5) They don’t have friction tuners: The friction tuners on beginner level ukuleles are universally awful. I wonder how many people have given up on the ukulele because they couldn’t get the tuners to stick and didn’t realise you could tighten them.
6) It’s easier to find tabs and lessons online: There’s a whole lot more than there used to be. But the uke stuff still doesn’t come close to the amount (and, dare I say, quality) of guitar stuff.
7) You can buy a decent guitar in a shop: Imagine that. Walking into a shop and being able to try a wide range of instruments of playable quality and decide which one you like best. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a shop with more than one ukulele for sale. And I’ve never been in one with more than zero good ukuleles for sale.
8) No one cares what strumming pattern you use on the guitar: In my many years on the dark side, I don’t ever remember anyone discussing any strumming patterns.
9) The strings are in the right order: What the hell kind of sense does re-entrant tuning make anyway?
10) It’s physically possible to play and E chord on the guitar."

So now I'm supposed to post a ukulele song, right? Here's a song featuring the bass instead. It has four strings too.

Luqman - MeShell Ndegéocello

Transit and racism

As ancient buses fart and bellow their way through ghetto streets, clean shiny trains pass overhead, extending the life of the suburbs, if only for another day.

I've been in the transit business most of my life. That means I've spent most of my life watching public transit in decline. Outside of limited rush hour service, buses have become the absolute rock bottom transportation alternative for people too poor to own cars.

I'll admit that buses aren't the best transit mode. At one time, most American cities were served by interurban light rail systems that performed far more efficiently than buses. That was before the creation of suburbia as we know it. The interurbans were destroyed by a well documented conspiracy involving General Motors, Firestone Tires and Standard Oil.

At the heart of the conspiracy was the creation of suburbia, the great evil at the heart of America. I'm not kidding. There's very little wrong with this country that can't be traced back to suburbia. I'm not guilt tripping suburbanites. I got tired of stepping over used syringes and pools of urine on my doorstep. I moved to suburbia a long time ago. This isn't a matter of individual choice. (Goddamit!) I'm talking about a system that leaves us very few choices. You can make all of the choices you want. When it comes to buying green you will never put a dent in the system of suburbia.

Suburbia has created a nation of dispersed and isolated consumers. We are de-ethnicized, de-classed and self identified as white and middle class. Those of us who are unable, or unwilling to accept deracination and loss of personhood are forced to exist as "others". The great suburban mass does nothing in it's own name, but rather drives from work to store to failed personal wealth creating investment, home, where we consume propaganda and wonder what went wrong. We are isolated so that we can be taught to hate each other, to believe only in the myth of the nuclear family. We are dispersed so that we do not identify with fellow workers or members of our nonexistent communities. We live in terror of the great mass of others, just over the horizon. They want we have.

Meanwhile, The Others are maintained in a state of perpetual misery: Ceaselessly harassed by the state, allowed to work at only the worst paid most dangerous jobs, demonized in the media and blamed for their own condition. The Others live in a police state where every institution exists to maintain their misery. Even the institution of public transit, my own personal institution, is part of that Police State system.

Public transit is, in some sectors, being reborn. Inner cities are being gentrified and recreated. Young suburbanites are being recruited to move into new developments where they will continue to exist in consumer isolation, stepping from their hybrid cars into hermetically sealed architectural masterpieces. On the weekends, they can step over the former residents of their new neighborhoods and visit the many new businesses that have sprung up to cater to neo urbanites - and to exclude ur urbanites. A wonderful new system of public transit is being envisioned to connect these exciting new urban suburbs and the old but still thriving traditional suburbs.

Trouble is, the whole capitalist thing is just not working out. Money belongs to the wealthy and should not be spent on people who do not have enough entrepreneurial spirit to loot society. Our first responsibility is to provide wealth to the wealthy. There isn't enough money left to provide services for the middle class, never mind the poor. Where will money come from to build the gleaming railways to suburbia? Where else can it come from but from the poor?

Which brings me to today's transit news:

"A federal magistrate has dismissed a suit by AC Transit riders who accused the Bay Area's transportation funding agency of racial discrimination by steering state and federal money to trains with a relatively higher proportion of affluent white riders and away from buses that carry more poor and nonwhite passengers."

In other words, "Fuck you bus riders. We know who you are."

Is It Because Im Black? - Ken Boothe - Various Artists - Blood And Fire