Public transportation slows me down

I had neck surgery two weeks ago and I'll be wearing a cervical collar for another four weeks. My cervical collar restricts my neck movements quite a bit. Many people are surprised that it is nonetheless legal for me to drive a car even while my neck motion is so restricted. It's not legal to drive while wearing a cervical collar in every state, although in Missouri and many other states, it is legal. Not that I'm comfortable driving a car without the ability to rotate my neck freely. I've only done it twice during the past two weeks, and it was on low-traffic roads during off-peak driving periods. For the most part, I now get around by exploiting a public transportation monthly pass. Using public transportation has slowed me down quite a bit, but I'm enjoying it immensely. I'm learning the routes much better than I ever did before, and I'm seeing that it's possible to get a lot done without a car, even in St. Louis, because we have a fair number of bus routes in the city, along with several light rail lines. What I've repeatedly noticed is that you can't just get anywhere you want. Now can you get where you want when you want to. You need to check the schedule and work with the system. Sometimes, the buses are not exactly on time. If you're not careful, you'll just miss a bus and then you'll need to wait another 20 minutes for the next one. If you don't think ahead, you'll get rained on because you forgot to bring your umbrella. Sometimes, the places you want to go are not exactly on the bus route, and you might have to walk a mile after getting off the bus. If you have something that you need to bring along, you can't put it in the trunk because there is no trunk. You either carry it with you or you don't bring it at all. I find that I'm really becoming much more empathetic about other folks who must use public transportation. Yesterday, I because really frustrated when I saw a woman barely miss the bus. What if you need to take your kids somewhere and you don't have a car? Well, you use public transportation. Last week I saw a woman with five young children pile them all onto the bus. They were all quiet and well-behaved as their mother carefully put six bus fares in the fare box. There's also quite a few characters on public buses. Today, I sat next to a man who was selling pirated DVDs to fellow passengers. One woman told him that she didn't need a DVD, so he told her that he sold cosmetics too. His entire inventory of DVDs and cosmetics was in a paper bag that he carried along with him. It's inspiring to see how often people in public buses help each other out, helping each other with the doors or with each other's bags, or calling out to the bus driver if someone needs a little extra help. There's other kinds of characters too. Some of them don't smell so good. Others talk to themselves rapidly. Some of them are extremely friendly and willing to give lots of encouragement to a stranger with a neck brace. Others sit quietly and still others look notably confused. Many people strike up animated and entertaining conversations with fellow passengers, oftentimes with people they don't know. Many of the passengers are overweight, and it's tempting to see how they will fit themselves into the smallish seats between two equally large passengers. Taking a bus is much different than driving a car. When you take a bus, you don't have to worry about your car. You don't have to worry about maintaining it or parking it or keeping it from being stolen. You don't have to worry about getting distracted and running over a young child in a crosswalk. What I most notice about taking the bus, however, is that the rhythm of life changes. I can't have what I want exactly what I want it anymore. I can't just get downtown in 12 minutes on a whim. Rather, it will take 10 minutes to get to the bus stop, another 20 or 30 minutes to catch a bus up to the light rail stop, and another 10 or 15 minutes to get downtown on the light rail. It really does take about four times as long for me to travel one way to my place of employment (that's about twice as long as it takes to ride a bike there-- I've been told that a bill to ride a bike again in about a month or two). Some might think that it would be extremely frustrating to not get where you want when you want to get there, but I'm finding that these moments are golden opportunities to think about important things and not important things, and to enjoy being out in the world with a lot of decent people who don't have fancy cars or fancy houses. There's not a lot of bus passengers trying to impress each other with what they own because on the bus most people don't own much. You can see it for the way they dress and you can see it from how they talk. You won't hear people bragging about taking a trip to some fancy vacation spot. There's nobody trying to impress anyone else with his BMW. You won't hear people confusing who they are with what they own. It's all so refreshing, relaxing, therapeutic, normal.

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Who I Am Is No One Else’s Business

As this just happened, I thought I'd come right home and write about it. I just had one of those customer service incidents that sends me over the moon. I walked into a store to find something. I was in a frame of mind to buy. I found the something and asked the sales person "How much is that?" Back at her desk, she sat down, I sat down, and I expected her to punch up the price on her computer and tell me. Instead: "What's you name?" "Private individual," I replied, a bit nonplussed. "I need a name for the quote," she said. "You have to have it?" "Yes." "Have a nice day." And I walked out. Now, this was perhaps petty of me. What, after all, is the big deal? She needed to punch a name into her computer to open the dialogue box to ask for the price. Here's the big deal: IT'S NONE OF YOUR DAMN BUSINESS WHO I AM UNTIL I DECIDE TO BUY FROM YOU! This is a persistent and infuriating condition in our present society that causes me no end of irritation because so few people think it is a problem that I end up looking like a weirdo because I choose not to hand out private information for free. It has crept up on us. Decades ago, when chain stores began compiling mailing lists by which they could send updates and sale notices to their client base. Then they discovered they could sell those lists to other concerns for marketing. Now we have a plague of telemarketers, junk mail, spam, and cold calls and a new social category with which to look askance at people who would prefer not to play. Like me. In itself, it is an innocent enough thing. But it is offensive, and what offends me the most is my fellow citizens failing to see how it is offensive and how it on a deep level adds to our current crisis. Look: if telemarketing didn't work, no one would do it. A certain percentage of those unwanted calls actually hook somebody into buying something. Direct mail campaigns have an expected positive return rate of two percent. That is considered normal response and constitutes grounds to continue the practice. Economies of scale work that way. So if only two to five percent of the public respond favorably to the intrusions of these uninvited pests, they have reason to persist. I think it might be fair to say that people with money and education don't respond as readily as poorer, less educated folks who are always on the lookout for bargains---and often find bargains they don't understand and probably end up costing them too much, like sub prime mortgages. We are too free with our personal information. Maybe you or you or you find nothing wrong with always giving out your phone number or your zip code or even your name and address when asked, in Pavlovian response to the ringing bell behind the counter, but what has happened is that we have made available a vast pool of data that makes it easy to be imposed upon and that has aided and abetted a consumer culture that has gotten out of hand. And made those of us who choose not to participate in this look like some form of misanthropic libertarian goofballs. How hard is this? If I choose to buy from someone, then I have agreed to have a relationship, however tenuous, with them. Unless I pay cash, they are entitled to know with whom they are dealing. But if I'm not buying, they have no right to know who I am. And I can't know if I'm going to buy if I don't know how much the object in question is. Trying to establish the buying relationship in advance of MY decision to buy is...rude. I have walked out of many stores when confronted with a request for personal information. I've had a few shouting matches with managers over it. In some instances, the unfortunate salesperson is as much a victim, because some software programs these days have as a necessary prerequisite for accessing the system the entry of all this data. The corporation won't even let the employee make the call whether it's worth irritating someone over collecting all this information. Concerns and worries over Big Brother have a certain validity, but it is largely unremarked that the foundation of such a system will not be imposed on us---rather we will hand the powers that be what they ask for because we can't muster up enough sense of ourselves to say, consistently, "None of your damn business!" There. I feel better. I needed to get that out. This rant has been brought to you by Consumer Culture LTD.

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Alleyway Church, a short photoessay.

Columbus has a certain type of neighborhood layout. Near the city, we don't live in cul-de-sac'd, freshly built ranch homes that every other Ohio suburbanite inhabits. We live in cracking, ancient buildings on narrow streets, which garages packed, unattached into narrower alleys. Every street therefore has its own alleyed sub-street, a little afterthought that lets you see the more personal details of the inhabitants- the rusted patio furniture, the cornhole sets, the stacks of beer cans being picked over mid-day by local homeless. I was strolling through one of these alleys this Sunday, taking in the back yard details of the many local homes, when I found something really peculiar:

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