Third Thursday is nigh! Did you miss my November 21st opening at Kate Alkarni Gallery in Georgetown? Have no fear- the show is still going, with new odds and ends! Stop by for a chat if you have a moment, and take in some art. 

Unlike last third Thursday, this time I'll actually be there! That's a promise. The opening is from 6pm-9; due to 358 commitments, I'll be there from 7-9. 

Details, directions, and location here; 

Further information about this month's opening here.

A small moment~

A middle-aged woman boards my 4 and sits up front, watching me for a while. She seems to be appraising something she hasn't seen before. Finally, she says,
"Look at you, you little cutie. You have no business driving this bus!" She breaks down laughing. "What are you doing here?"
"Actually, I love this job! I love driving buses!"
Sputtering: "what??"
"It's all true! We're doing this only for the sheer enjoyment of it all!"

She looks around with new eyes. "What?" Passengers who know me look on, grinning.
I want to affirm the sentiment by saying "strictly volunteer!" but I hesitate. I don't want her to think my earlier statements were sarcastic. Instead I simply look over and give her a big smile. 

Did you miss the print version of my Real Change profile mentioned a while back? Here it is, courtesy of Tricia Sullivan and Real Change!

"We're actually gonna use that bus in front up there. This one has vomit all over it."
"Sounds like you've been having a great day!" someone says in amiable jest.
"Oh, awesome!"

I explain to the passengers that we'll be trading buses out at the next zone. It's a lazy Autumn afternoon on the 4. The madness has passed, and we're languishing in the mellow onset of evening. The sun's still out, casting long shadows, the rays no longer high enough to reach over the tall buildings. We pass through downtown in the emerging shade.

The incident happened an hour or so ago, and as I've been driving around subsequently the odor has evolved, taking us to strange and interesting new places. Now it smells uncannily like a demented cocktail of rancid peanut butter, rancid tomatoes, and rancid Elmer's glue (if there is such a thing). Didn't think I'd smell that when I woke up this morning! I take it all in stride, both for myself and as an example for the people; let's keep them calm. Earlier a supervisor came by to rope off the back lounge area of the bus with yellow caution tape. It's an ominous look, but I balance it out with a comfortable, breezy approach.  

In time the looming mystery pile at the back of the bus ceases to intimidate and instead becomes an excuse for the moment to shed its normalcy. The load is light, with most of us sitting toward the front, spread out and relaxed. We talk to each other, breaking the ice, thanks to the benevolent ooze. A youngster accustomed to sitting in the back by habit improvises, listening in on our new space. There is a uniqueness to the moment that isn't threatening. We aren't being united by a common misfortune, but rather by the absurdist touches of the great human comedy.

"Okay guys," I announce into the PA. "We're gonna go ahead and switch buses at this next stop, right here at Union. There's our new bus up there, we're all gonna go get on coach 4126, there it is, finish up the route 4 on the bus in front of me. Once again everyone, we're switching buses today because this bus is UN...sanitary. I repeat, we're changing buses here because this bus is... soiled," I finish, laughing. 
A older woman just recently boarded asks, "what happened?"
"Oh, there's a bunch a vomit in the back there." 
"Uh-oh! So that's what that is! I was wondering,"
"Well, there was this fine young lady who vomited, into her purse, and she left her purse and it got everywhere."
"She did what she had to do," a tanned middle-aged commuter says, chuckling.
We riff off of each other. The woman chimes in with, "hey, I guess she didn't need her purse anymore!"
"Exactly, it fulfilled its purpose!" 
"I mean, you don't take your vomit bag with you," the man affirms.
"Words of wisdom."
"One of those one-time-use purses."
"One of those, yeah. Wish I had one."
"So yeah. We're gonna trade this one out."
"You just thought it might be a good idea?" ribs the man, smiling at me in a glimmer of the last of the day's sunlight.
"Just a thought!" I say. "As fascinating as this bus would be as a biology experiment... we'll let someone else explore that!"

They both exit the bus in high spirits. He volunteers to help the woman carry her heavy jug of kitty litter down the stairs and over the next bus. I can only hope that their good spirits, at least in part, are built off of my choice of tone for the situation. I gather my things and pause for a moment, watching them. They walk toward the new coach together, enthusiastic but tentative, in the way strangers often are before they become friends.

Is the current show in Georgetown too far away? Or have you already seen it? Stop by at Toast Ballard, the delightful new cafe at 5615 24th Ave NW. I have fifteen framed images there for sale (at coffeeshop prices, no less!). As always, these are handmade darkroom prints, made entirely with analog processes from start to finish. 

There's no overlap of work between the two shows, so please feel free to stop by both! Images are on display now through the end of the January.

They have a familiar ease with each other, these two, getting on now at the Courthouse. I've seen this couple before. He's upper fifties, still with a few teeth left, tanned skin Native, with a fishing hat and bundles in both hands. She's upper forties, blue-eyed with a ready smile, clad in a formless black sweatshirt and pants. In one hand is a backpack/suitcase of sorts; in the other she carries a swelling industrial-sized black garbage bag.

"We're lookin' for 125th," he says as they take a seat by the front of my 358.
"I'm goin' there myself." Often I'm struck by how completely at ease I feel being myself around such souls.
"All right."
"Well, that works out."
After a pause, while they talk amongst each other, I hear the man say, "hey. This bus driver's my friend. He's gonna kick you out if you don't watch it. Hey, bus driver? Can you kick her out?"

There is no malice or real feeling in his voice. It's obvious he's joking.
"Naw, we don't wanna do a thing like that!"
"But I thought you were my friend!"
"I'm too nice, is what my problem is. I'm just too nice!"
"Oh, you can kick her out! Look, driver, she's harassing me!"
She laughs. No harassment is taking place; he looks at her with affection before repeating his plea.
I respond with, "but it's the holidays, I can't kick anyone out during the holidays!"
"Oh, sure you can!"
"But would it be part of the giving spirit?"

Later on, as we pass through the Linden deviation, I hear him ask her, "where are we? Are we-?"
"This is 72nd," I say.
She says to him, "we're not even at 7-11 yet, sweetheart."
"I love you more than anything," he responds, looking at her. He says it again, and the woman smiles bashfully in response, looking at him with warm eyes. In his tone I hear truth, time, memory... they spread a light around them, a confidence of self both vivacious and gentle, in no way hindered by their sordid, ramshackle appearance. I'm reminded of Patience Escalier by Van Gogh, or Millet's Fiadeira.

I can hear her talking about me: "...drive all night."
"Oh no, not him," says the man. "He's got a date. He's goin' on a date later tonight."
Now, on this evening that happened to be true, but I hadn't said word one about it. I was flabbergasted. "How did you know that?"
"Oh, I know!" He says. Naturally everyone's listening now.
"That is amazing! I don't know how you did that. You know all about me!"
"Hey, I know these things. It's all out there, on the computers,"
"Figured out all my secret history?"
"Oh, yeah. Well, kids your age these days, everything on Facebook-"

"No way, maaaann!" The sentence is a gesture of supplication on my part, an attempt to let him know that in fact not all of us youngsters are so glued to the bright screens.
"Yeah, dude!"
"No way. In fact, my date doesn't even have a Facebook account."
"She doesn't?!" It's his turn to be flabbergasted.
"Yeah, she doesn't go there. There's still some of us,"
"Well, you better watch out then, don't know what she's hiding on that secret Facebook account."
"Oh, dear! Is that how it is."

"Hey listen, can we open a window and throw my friend out?"
"What?"
"Can we throw her out the window?" Of course he's joking, in his gravelly slur.
"Well you know, generally that type of thing is frowned upon."
"No, it's not. Lemme tell ya one time. I threw her backpack in the river, and the cops came over and asked me why. I said it was between the backpack or her, and I threw the backpack. Cops asked why, and I said go talk to her about it. When they came back they said, 'why didn't you throw her in?'"
"Nooo! They didn't say that!"
"That's what they said! They said that, said, 'why didn't you throw her in instead?'"
"Oh no!"

His ladyfriend is rolling her eyes under all this, saying, "are we there yet?"
"Hey, even the cops said it," he repeats to me.
"Well, the thing is, throwing people in rivers is usually bad manners." I love conversations like this.
"Well, I still threw the backpack."
"We'll ignore that. That's the lesser of two evils."
"How much time till, where are we?"
"This one's 90th, so we have,"
The woman finishes my sentence, saying, "we have just about thirty blocks, thirty-five blocks, yeah."
"But he's going to start doing increments of five." Referring to the stop pattern.
"You know everything about this route!" I say to him. "I should let you drive! I'll just come back and sit with you guys, take a break."

This is a sentence I say often in jest, and most every time passengers understand it as such. But our friend tonight is different. He's actually taking me seriously. In a tone of complete incredulity and excitement he hollers, "REALLY?"
"Well, I love my job too much, or else I'd totally let you."
"Oh, we'd be ALL over the road. I GUARANTEE we'd be all over the road. Oh, YEAH."
As long as I get to some backseat driving, I think to myself. "Let's do that next time."

Eventually we arrive at 125th, and I ask if they're sure they really want to leave. "I mean, we got some good stuff comin' up ahead, some real fun stuff lined up for ya..."
In a whisper he says, "oh, I'm 'bout to have some real fun!" Somehow I get the sense that he's talking about those strip motels on the left, and not Mekong Village or Leows Home Improvement.
"Oh, dear! Well, don't let me interfere!"
"It was good chattin' with ya!"
"Merry Christmas," I say to him. I make eye contact with the lady and wish her a good holiday as well. I want her to know that she is appreciated, and that there will be no forcible kicking of bodies out of windows or doors tonight. She returns my beaming smile with one of her own, no less joyous, lighting up the night.

Happy New Year, my wonderful readers. Thanks for your unwavering enthusiasm and support. Look for me on the road! Say hi!