Valley of the Dolls





Like, I'm so sure. I was picking up peeps from the slug line.  Totally forgot my sunglasses. Duh. Didn’t see my roommate til I was pulling out.  Yikes!  He was like, mad, and sent me a nasty text.  What-ever!  Anyhow, I was like, late to work and I missed my glasses….Blah-blah-blah-blah-blah….

I just spent fifteen minutes of my precious life sharing pole space with a 20 something year old woman who hurled incessant drivel towards another 20 something year old guy at least 5 passengers away. At first glance she looked innocuous enough, even cute, until she opened her mouth.  Is this really what at least $100K worth of education paid for?  Have mercy on us all, for sure! 

Oohlala!

What comes to mind when I look at Caravaggio’s Fruit on a Stone Ledge?  Scrumptious, tempting, dark, inviting, succulent, mouthwatering, enticing, exotic, elusive, rotund, curvy, pointy, dimply, soft, firm,  earthy, vibrant, delectable --- I can go on and on. 

A friend of mine requested that I write a tribute to DC derrieres – those ubiquitous wonders that he cannot help but admire every time he is fortunate enough to share public transportation with the womenfolk of this great metropolis.  He is quite a connoisseur, he claims, and just relishes those moments when he can exercise his right to “look but not touch.” 

Well then, here’s to you my friend.  Caravaggio’s masterpiece says it all!

There’s something in the water….

Is it me?  Or is the DC Metro population experiencing the fruits of last winter’s snowmageddon labors?  There are pregnant ladies everywhere!  And we are not only talking about youngsters, but many veteran and prime females as well.  For the most part, the summer has been hellish.  It’s bad enough to rub body parts on a single body load; one can only imagine with a double, triple and beyond.  Heaven forbid when the metro is packed.  The poor things look so miserable.  Occasionally, there have been gallant individuals on board who would give up their seats.  But for the most part, our heroines tough it out like the rest of us, looking as regal as Xena protecting their pouches.  I salute the DC Metro Preggers for their stamina and tenacity to bravely battle it out every day on the metro, ensuring that their livelihood is secure and the economy is stimulated by their contributions.  They are amazing, radiant and beautiful goddesses who grace us every day with definitive proof that the human race is still going strong and that there is hope for the future. 

So the next time you see a DC Metro Pregger, make sure you offer her your seat or at the very least a little bit more wiggle room.   More importantly, stop staring at her lactation devices!  Take a mental snapshot instead and move on. 

Waiting to Exhale...

It’s been relentlessly hot these past couple of weeks.  Wilted metrophiles everywhere are beginning to take on the hapless look of the denizens of Fritz Lang’s Metropolis as day in and day out they confront the establishment in droves via the WMTA’s iron horses.  It doesn’t help that many of the wheeled wonders don’t have AC.  I don’t know which is worse, coming into an empty car in the morning or being canned like a sardine later in the day.  Either way, many of the trains evoke distinctive olfactory experiences for the attuned.  The older cars have a musty smell, the kind that results from removing previously sweaty socks that you had forgottenly stuffed in your gym shoes a while back.  And it’s not the sock smell I’m talking about, but the inside of the shoe when you finally want to wear it again.  Then you have that old carpet that didn’t quite dry completely smell that’s a little bit more on the sharp coppery side.  Either way, there’s a miraculous thing that happens every time.  Once the cars fill up with people, the original car smell disappears and then you get a waft of whatever food item your fellow passengers happen to be carrying (fresh or leftovers), or a mixture of exotic perfumes and cosmetics either people poured, laved, or scrubbed on themselves.  And of course, there’s just plain old body odor from every unique human, animal, and pest that happen to be on board with you at the time.  Needless to say, the scintillating chemistry of scents can be a wee bit overwhelming. 

Especially around flu season there won’t be a lack of signs and posters on the metro reminding people to wash their hands or cover their faces when they blow their nose.  Occasionally, you can spot interesting individuals sporting face masks while they commune with other passengers.  Realistically speaking, however, regardless of the season, traveling in enclosed, cramped quarters with a little over a million people a day will definitely either make you super immune to all sorts of critters, or the average 80-minute contact with live bodies (and I don’t only mean what’s visible to the naked eye) on the metro will eventually make even the heartiest individual sick.  A quickie solution to preventing a summer cold - there’s something to singing the Happy Birthday song while washing and soaping your hands or if you don't have time, squirt some Purell.  But don’t go overboard with the antibacterial dispensers, unless your company has an airtight contract with the vendor.

The unbearable lightness of being….

The man ahead of me this morning was blind.  I felt the knee jerk reaction of pity and almost had the urge to pull him towards me when the train came barreling through the station.  I was pleasantly surprised that he knew exactly when it was safe to approach the railcar and make his way safely inside. 

Walking stick folded neatly on his lap, and with his Tony Bahamas shirt and dark glasses, he just looked like a regular tourist. I was busy observing the crowd that I almost missed the surprise that was Mr. Bahamas.  He was craning his neck slightly to the right towards the window as he tried to suppress a smile.  I looked around to see what was so funny and observed that there were two ladies behind him animatedly discussing something that sounded like cooties and hoes. 

Then Mr. Bahamas inclined his head to the left, reacting to a guy dropping one of his ear buds, momentarily exposing nearby victims to his screaming I-Pod.  A little girl in her stroller made a shrieking sound of delight when her mother pointed something funny out in her book.  At this, Mr. Bahamas treated anyone who had cared to look to a big dimple of a smile, his visage far away as if reminiscing.

I continued to observe the myriad of expressions on Mr. Bahamas face as he treated me to more of his visions.  He was acutely aware of people coming and going, the stations that we passed, the humdrum of the car itself and its conductor, the Babel conversations, the popping and grating sounds of briefcases, purses, backpacks and sundry items being lugged in and out.  He adjusted his gaze to the occasional breeze as the metro doors opened and closed, reacted to the combination of smells that emanated from bodies, contraband food items, the scents of the outside world, and who knows what else.  There, amidst the cacophony of sounds and chaos, Mr. Bahamas was the only one truly aware and at peace with his surroundings. 

I was wrong.  He wasn’t blind at all. 

Portus! (A handy spell to know just in case you get stuck on the Metro.)



The Elder Wand



“Tell me one last thing,” said Harry. “Is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?”

“Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?”

I felt like I was on the Hogwarts Express going to the movie theater this weekend.  The usual muggles and magical people were on board.  Garbed in my Gryffindor Quidditch jersey and my wand (aka I-phone), I even got a couple of compliments from fellow metrophiles/Potterites. 

Although the 7^th book had prepared me for the end, there’s nothing like movie magic to seal the deal.  The patent HP circle-shaped 3-D glasses completed my transformation as the proverbial lights were dimmed.  For 2 hours and 10 minutes I got to relive almost a decade of wonderful adventures and poignant memories, all courtesy of Ms. Rowling and Warner Bros.   

It was so apropos that it all started and ended at London’s King Cross Station, Platform 9 ¾, with Harry and the gang culminating with their biggest adventure yet – sending their children off to school to learn about life.  Who’s to say that the magic has to end?  It’s everywhere around us, even on the Metro.    

The Lord of the Flies

As a youngster I remember going to the grocery store one day and while waiting in line at the checkout, noticed that the man behind us had yellow shorts peeping out the front of his pants.  Cheeky by nature, I blurted out loudly to my mother (while pointing at the object of my attention) that a banana was sticking out of the man’s pants.  Many things happened simultaneously and in slow motion.  Both my mother and the man turned bright red.  Everyone in line, including my mother and the man looked at the “banana.”  The man zipped his pants so quickly; he didn’t get a chance to stuff all of his shorts inside.  My mother turned back to me and gave me the “You are going to get it” look.  The other people in line were trying to look away or hide their smiles.  The man took his basket and went to another checkout counter farthest away from us.  I will spare you the details of our ride home, but suffice it to say, I have been careful about my “banana” incidents since.

This morning on the Metro I was lucky enough to get a seat near the door.  A couple of guys came in, both metrosexuals from the look of them.  They both sat down behind me.  The manly man next to them gave them a once over.  I can imagine from the look he gave them that he was a little jealous because they looked like GQ covers.  But the quick dismissal he made next looked like he decided they were probably gay.  The 20 something with the short skirt taking up the whole priority seating with her person and her purse, while applying make-up also sized the guys up and gave an eyebrow arching thumbs up.  Then she gave them another look as if making up her mind that they would be too high maintenance, i.e., she would have to be on a constant look out for other predators.  She adjusted the big rock on her fingers instead, as if feeling content with what she had.

Well, that would have been an ordinary scene in the Metro if I didn’t happen to spot one of the guys with his fly open.  That one sat on the inside of the seat.  One would think that the other young man would have spotted the faux pas and said something as they both sat down.  But alas, he just proceeded to read his Wall Street Journal and the other one dozed off, leaning onto the window pane.

I spent the next 10 minutes trying to catch glimpses of corrective action from the reflection of my own window and listening to a heads up.  Yikes!  Nothing!  Four, three, two stops!  What to do?  The railcar is crowded.  Should I turn around and say something loud enough to overcome the din?  Do I employ the simultaneous eyebrow and head nodding signal?  Or should I just let it be and have the schmo go through a few more hundred encounters from strangers who don’t end up saying anything to him?  Eventually when he goes to the bathroom or puts his feet up in his office, or admires his profile while passing a full on mirror he will discover his Joe Boxer’s are peeking out, right? 

Okay, one more stop left.  The guy next to him got off at the last station.  I get up myself preparing to detrain.  I still don’t know what move I was going to make until I made it.  I folded my newspaper, turned around and dropped it on the guy’s lap as my station was pulling in.  He woke up and looked at me.  I smiled.  I told him, check out what’s underneath the paper. 

What a difference a day makes!

Yesterday, the heat index reported triple digits.  Everyone was sweltering.  Even critters were panting and holding onto any structure that promised dry, cool and tolerable friction.  The Red Line experienced massive delays due to a bent rail that literally popped out of alignment from the heat. At least that was what I heard from the chorus of people who passed it down the platform line.  Did I bother to double check?  Nope.  It wasn’t a jumper and it wasn’t a bomb.  What to worry about?

Had the misfortune of getting in a railcar with no AC.  People were drenched but stoic.  It was not surprising to expect tempers to be at boiling point, but the crowd was pleasantly mollified.  One could hear occasional grumblings of discontent, but for the most part people were resigned to the latest catastrophe and were just concentrating on not losing any more bodily fluids to the thick ether. Despite the crush, people were careful not to physically rub against each other.  The malodor meter was thankfully on the low end, and there was a lack of obtrusive backpacks to jab or elbow.  All in all, the ride was almost pleasant!

Electronic devices helped a lot.  People were busy texting, typing, talking, shopping, playing games, reading, etc.  The claustrophobic conditions offered a safe cocoon for the thumb tribes oblivious to the world, deterring any thievery and promoting subtle advertisement for mostly Google and Apple products.  Individuals who had companions whiled the time away with mundane conversation, occasionally interrupted by apologetic updates from the conductor. The railcar I was on finally passed the particular track that was being repaired.  Metro workers in their bright vests were diligently working.  If I was hot, I can only imagine how they felt under those hard hats and steel-toed shoes.  The materials they were surrounded with reminded me of giant Lego blocks and Duck Tape rolls.

When all was said and done, everyone present, including passengers and Metro personnel, acted their parts in a most civilized and orchestrated manner.  It was a DC Metro classic!    

A dumb translation to a deaf conversation!

Communication is vital to the survival of the species.  With that said, I am always fascinated by people who can actually convey sensible thought, let alone project meaningful gestures to one another.  For instance, on the Red Line, I have witnessed some dramatic conversations between hearing impaired individuals.  Not knowing any sign language myself, I can’t say I can even follow along.  But imagination is a powerful thing, and mine has a will of its own.

The following is a rendition of a one-minute catfight I  “heard” between two fine looking young women, balancing on the balls of their feet, in the middle of a crowded railcar. 

Blonde:  (Flat of her right hand rubbing her chest, smiling) – I’m in love!

Brunette:  (Slaps her chest and circles both hands back and forth, gestures as if holding a baby) – Again!  Are you kidding me?

Blonde:  (Slaps the flat of her hand against her legs, snaps her fingers) – You’re just jealous! 

Brunette:  (Sharply brings her open right hand down to her left hand; claps twice) – As if! I’m outta here!

Blonde:  (Points both her index fingers at the Brunette) Oh, yeah!  Get out!

They both get off at the Gallaudet University stop.  I can only imagine what happened next.

Well, you probably know what’s coming next.  I don’t necessarily endorse ignorance as bliss, but I don’t like eggs on my face either.  I mentioned my clever summation to a friend, who works for the courts as a simultaneous interpreter for the deaf.  And he basically gave me the low down on what I witnessed.

Blonde:  Probably asking for something, saying “please.”

Brunette:  Glad/happy to do it --- (baby reference tied to below)

Blonde:  Is talking about her dog --- (probably asked the brunette to babysit her dog) 

Brunette:  Gestures to stop/pause.  School's up. 

Blonde:  Let's go/Come on!

Makes sense that they got off where they did, after all Gallaudet is one of the world’s leading universities for the deaf and hearing impaired.    

Drat! Those girls were boring!  I like my version better. 

Ever heard of Skunk Works?

Ever wonder about the guy or the gal sitting next to you on the Metro?  After all, according to the International Spy Museum (ISM), of which Founding Fathers are notorious spies or members of the Intelligence community themselves, there are more spies in DC than anywhere in the world.

It was actually on the Metro that I first heard about the ISM.  A fairly mature set of Russians were discussing how shocking it was that Oleg Kalugin, apparently a highly decorated and recognized general in the former KGB, turned traitor/defector, was now running around bad mouthing the very institution and country that made him rich and famous in the US.  They went on and on about how Kalugin compromised many of his comrades for his own gain and how he can never step on Mother Russia’s soil ever again or he’ll be “dealt” with on the spot.  Of course, this heated conversation took place in the span of approximately 15 minutes, with side stories here and there of the motherland and other KGB heroics.    After all was said and done, the couple got off at Gallery Place, complaining how much the tickets would cost to get in the museum!

The lesson in this tale?  It’s a small world, even smaller in DC.  How many people do you think besides me understood those people in their language, while pretending to be reading the Express!

Woohoo!

Great news, metrophiles!  It looks like 364 of the currently 1,142 rail cars that WMTA owns will be replaced by 2013.  Sixty-four are already dedicated to the Dulles expansion effort.  In hindsight, I should have been completing those metro surveys all along so I could have told them what I wanted changed. But no worries, it looks like lots of other DCtonians have spoken. The blue and grey color scheme looks modern and easy on the eyes.  

Anyhow, I have summed up the upgrades for you here.  All in all, it looks like we will have more handholds to brace ourselves with for the onslaught of more passengers being squished in new stainless steel cages, of which aisles have been increased by a whopping 2 inches in width, sturdier seats, gunk resistant floors, fancy map and stations displays, as well as I-Pad like devices for our conductors, a better PA system for mostly exotic messages, and lastly security cameras for potentially rich You Tube vignettes.   

Here’s a complete list of features, per Metro's press release.

• A stainless steel exterior with 64 vinyl padded seats and seat-back grab handles.
• Added handholds in the door area and vertical poles added at each seat – for a total of 25% more linear feet of bars than in the most recently built cars.
• Carpeting is replaced with resilient, nonslip flooring.
• To accommodate all passengers, aisle width increases from 32 inches to 34 inches, and there is an added designation of a priority seating area.
• Improved lighting and privacy screens in the vestibule area.
• Two dynamic LCD route maps and four video screens in each car allow customers to easily track train locations and station names.
• High-tech automated public address systems and closed circuit television cameras for added safety and security.
• The cars will be in a “quad-unit configuration,” meaning that four railcars will be connected, allowing the accommodation of 40 more passengers per 8-car train than an older model railcar grouping because of fewer operator compartments.
• Vertically oriented touch screen controls for train operators and better diagnostics for easier evaluation and troubleshooting if there are mechanical problems.
• Placement of certain gauges and relocation of the master controller.
• Exterior emergency door activation.

If you want to see more, take a virtual tour here.  I don't know about you, but I can't wait!

What was that again?

Listening is truly an art.  And on the metro, it can be a real challenge.  Just like every transportation depot in the U.S., there is a public announcement (PA) system.  Now imagine yourself patiently waiting for your train in Union station, along with countless other commuters and you hear this on the PA:

Atenseeownemtrechpasegeers!  Wee invaight yu toburd zienurthbund treintoo New York.  Pliz urry up ore we leeveyu. Giteftrektwintieat.  Gud day!  

What the hell was that?  The message is repeated again, and I still don’t get it.  Then I see all these people rushing to the gates and I panic and go along with the masses.  Holy s--t!  I think it was something about New York for sure, and I’m totally freaked out I’ll miss my train.  The announcer had a really bad French accent, or at least I think he/she sounds French!  There’s a flurry of excitement near the trains.  I get a hold of a person and swallow my pride by asking what the PA announcement was.  The seasoned Amtrak rider doesn’t even blink and tells me the northbound train to New York was boarding.  Gate F, Track 28. 

A Sea of Legs

Summer in DC - I’m sure you’ve heard of the expression, “This must be what hell feels like.”  Well, that’s an understatement.  I didn’t even know I can sweat that much from crevices I wasn’t even aware that could sweat.  I digress.  One of the very first things I noticed was the profusion of women’s legs on the streets, on the metro, in buildings, you name it, and you’ll see it!  Women of all shapes, sizes, colors, and ages parade bare legs everywhere. 

Legs are mostly shorn, but the ones I occasionally see that aren’t quite smooth and silky are quite Euro sexy.  The point is, the women who utilize the DC metro are practical to the core, strutting their stuff without debilitating hose and they wear their dresses, skirts and whatnot with pride.  And come to think of it, not too many ladies wear slips either.  Who would in feels like hundred degree weather with matching humidity?   And one would think that many would at least hold on to their attire while ascending the escalators in the various stations, but no.  Many a time when looking up, there really is a lot to view.

So I got to thinking, why not write about these proud women and the legs that carry them to and fro?  The footwear alone that adorn the tiny, midsize and huge feet of DC’s female populace could be of scientific value one day.  Speaking of which, how ever do the ladies do it?  DC streets are not really known for their flat and well maintained conditions.  I’m surprised that not more women are walking around with skinned knees or ankle braces at the very least.  But bless their hearts; there are lots of them who wear their slippers and walking shoes to work, only to come out of their offices shod in killer stilettos and pumps. 

There are well oiled muscled calves that Tina Turner would die for.  There are legs so dark like mahogany that the soles of their feet stand out in their striking whiteness.  There are legs so white; they look like beacons in a sea of pedestrians.  Then there are the different shades of tan, where one could only imagine if the rest of the package were the same color.  There are freckled legs and mottled legs.  Veins of all thickness and color adorn the young and the old.  If I was a leg connoisseur this would be my city.

Then you have the feet and the toes themselves.  An explosion of artistic designs coats the millions of toenails that go about their business on a given day.  Just the idea of having a multimillion dollar industry dedicated to the care and beautification of the feet is mind-boggling.  And I’m not only talking about the aesthetic part, but also the medical care that goes into the treatment of bunions, fungi, calluses, etc.  Yikes!  And what about the many others who don’t give a drat about their lower appendages?   There is something to be said about the pedicure phobic. 

The Daily Grind

Between sunup and a couple of hours before noon, when everyone looks crisp, chic or rumpled in their work getup, one can admire the elaborate, rushed or distinctively absent grooming that went into the ensembles cat walking up and down the metro platforms and cars.  Depending on seat availability and travel distance one can always spot riders sleeping, texting, listening to music, talking on the phone, reading newspapers, applying make up, fidgeting with clothing, reviewing papers, eating or drinking, etc.  There is always some manic activity going on.  The activities however are distinctly individual and isolationist, unless riders are metro pooling.  Commuters go out of their way not to make eye contact with anyone, minding their own business; especially in the morning when many of them are bleary eyed and work is not the primary adventure of choice. But one occasionally sees fellow watchers who unobtrusively observe their brethren.  It seems the later the time, the fuller the cars, the more tempers rise and often culminate at Union Station or other similar major hubs where masses of people either eject themselves from the same doors or propel themselves violently into the throng of tightly compressed bodies.  Suffice it to say; when one makes it to his/her stop at a relatively decent time with body and soul intact, then the first real accomplishment of the day is done!

Around 10 AM, one can pretty much tell that the morning commute is over.  Throughout the city, the imprint of lipstick and teeth on thousands of recyclable and Styrofoam cups, soda cans and remnants of breakfast edibles are ubiquitous in overflowing trash bins. Morning meetings and routine work set the stage for the discombobulation process.  As the morning turns into day, coiffures become askew; clothes are wrinkled and creased even more from too much ergonomic sitting. Shirt tails may already be untucked, hoses ripped, shoes scraped.  Hands are dry from too much Purell.  By lunch time, it just gets worse.  Ladies who didn’t have the requisite bathroom breaks due to excessive conferencing exhibit make-up degeneration, commonly: bleeding mascara, coagulating or smudged foundation, and lipstick deficiency.  The men are not much better.  For some reason they are more prone to food and beverage spillage and the acquisition of unidentified substances on elbows and the fronts and backs of their trousers.  It gets progressively worse for everyone as the day goes by, with a sudden spike in energy reserves a few minutes before and after clocking out for the day; the former spike attributable to the joy that comes with the thought work is over; the latter girding up for more metro battles. 

Rush hour in the afternoon is a wee bit more electric than the morning commute.  People are a lot more impatient because they are trying to get to their second jobs, families, or schools.  The more tolerant metrophiles tend to be tourists or locals destined to meet up with friends, indulging in some form of tribal ritual involving loud music and alcohol.   The rest of the populace are the ones who have been toiling and grinding for the last 10 hours or so, the majority of them not in a good mood and the metro a likely target of their ill humors. 

To add insult to injury, by this time of the day, commuters also have to deal with the state of the metro cars that have gone through a significant metamorphosis since the morning.  Literally a million or so commuters have worn and torn the vinyl seats and the rubber floors throughout the day.  A word to the wise - Commuters beware!  Gum maybe lurking everywhere.  You’re lucky if it’s already hard like a rock, but if it’s still gummy, your person or your belongings are fair game.  At least with gum, you know what that is. It’s trickier if you encounter UMO, which endearingly stands for unidentified metro objects. UMO can be any solid, liquid or gas matter that is occupying the same space as you are.  Ever wonder about that oily film on the glass?  Well, that can be from somebody’s forehead, cheek, or greasy hands.  And then again, maybe not.  From dead skin cells to bodily fluids and gastric substances on seats, newspapers, hand holds, window panes, etc., make sure you look where you sit, where you lean, and most definitely where you grab!  And for crying out loud, make it a point to shower when you get home.  You don’t want to bring that stuff to bed, do you?

All things considered, the second most important accomplishment of the day is surviving the after work hours commute.  Despite the trials and tribulations of a typical commuting day, DC metropolitan patrons can’t get enough and will come back for more over and over again the next day!

Start Here or Skip: The District

Just because I'm a researcher at heart and an analyst to boot,  I did  a little bit of recon work on the Metrorail system just to impress people who look me up on their travels, especially since I deliver them to the metro once I serve them a hospitable meal. 

According to many helpful tourism sites, the District of Columbia is 67 square miles in total and is divided into four quadrants:  Northwest, Southwest, Northeast and Southeast.  The quadrants converge upon the U.S. Capitol building, so if one is lost around that area, more than likely a metro stop is nearby.  And for die hard street walking enthusiasts (no pun intended), numbered streets run north and south in the District. Lettered streets run east and west (there are no J, X, Y or Z streets), becoming two-syllable names, and then three-syllable names as you travel farther out from the center. Avenues named for US states run diagonally, often meeting at traffic circles and squares. 

To spice things up, the DC metropolitan area extends even further than most people who have never been here before (like I was) realize.   It encompasses not only the District of Columbia, but seven counties in the State of Maryland (Anne Arundel, Calvert, Charles, Frederick, Howard, Montgomery and Prince George's), five counties in the State of Virginia (Arlington, Fairfax, Loudon, Prince William and Stafford) and six Virginia cities (Arlington, Alexandria, Fairfax City, Falls Church, Manassas and Manassas Park).

Downtown DC is really made for traversing on foot, bicycle, Segway, or public transportation.  If you prefer your own car, good luck with the traffic, streets under construction, very friendly and ubiquitous parking meter personnel, and let’s just face it, the most verbally enthusiastic motorists you’ll ever find on this planet.  There is always something going on in the many colorful neighborhoods, museums, gardens, embassies, and even in our government institutions.  There are also lots of things to do when you leave the downtown area.  From the history buff to the shopaholic, the DC metropolitan area is a gem. 

The Washington Metropolitan Transit Authority (WMTA http://www.wmata.com/)

According to the American Public Transportation Association, the WMTA operates the second largest rail transit system in America, at an average of one million commuters daily, 207.9 million commuters per year. (Now try to read that sentence again out loud without hyperventilating.)

Here’s the Top 5 list: 

1. New York – MTA Staten Island Railway @ 6 million riders/day
2. District of Columbia – WMTA – I already told you the average above
3. Chicago – Chicago Transit Authority – @ 624,000 riders/day
4. Boston – Massachusetts Bay Transit Authority – 483,000 riders/day
5. San Francisco – San Francisco Bay Area RTD – 365,000 riders/day

WMTA has 5 subway lines:  Blue, Green, Orange, Red and Yellow, which covers about 106.3 miles of subway and surface rails, retrieving and dropping off commuters at 86 stations.  Car dimensions are 75 feet long by 10 feet, traveling 59 miles per hour at maximum speed, and 33 miles per hour average including stops.  You would be surprised how many people can fit in the cars, especially during rush hour.  Think college and telephone booth.  Btw, there's a Silver line in the works and a Purple Line to go to Dulles airport!

There are 271 elevators in the stations, and 589 escalators in the operating system, one of which is the longest escalator in the Western hemisphere at 230 feet (Wheaton station).  Metro service hours open 5 AM weekdays and 7 AM weekends, and metro closes midnight Sunday – Thursday, 3 AM Friday – Saturday nights.  It was news to me that only Verizon wireless cell phones work in all tunnels and stations; AT&T and Sprint work in some, but all cellular service works on the surface.   

Whew!  That was a mouthful. 

In the beginning...

I thought about writing this blog in the middle of the night. Couldn’t sleep.  Inane thoughts, mostly work related and general day-to-day woes crowding my mind.    Mostly, I was thinking about doing something radical and getting paid for it.  Yup, money - the root of all wretchedness for modern humans.  Realistic enough to realize can’t sell anything worth a damn.  Probably could if I really tried, but don’t have it in me.  Have lots of interest, but nothing really lucrative.  Decent enough writer (that’s my personal opinion), but too addicted to the adrenalin rush experienced at the onset of a writing project, so I never really quite finish anything.  I’m all a sizzle at the beginning, then the romance is over and I get bored.  So I have a love hate relationship with my computer, sue me.  But right now I’m itching to write again, so let’s get on with it! 

I had an epiphany today.  It’s not a matter of finishing a project or sticking to one plot, with a bunch of characters that I end up hating or wanting to forget.  Maybe it’s simply better to have short or long term affairs with the characters in my mind whether they are real or imagined people.  I’m not harming anyone and I get to set all the rules.  Industry specialists encourage mock interviews all the time to prepare for the real thing.  Guilt is such a cliché anyway.  When all is said and done, I’m the only one who really knows what happened.  And I’m certainly not going to waste the padre’s time confessing lurid vignettes that went on inside my head.  Those days are long gone, and I have the knees to prove it.  I’ll tell it like I see it, hear it, and smell it!  If I run out of gas, then let somebody else figure out their own ending or beginning, or whatever.  C'est la vie! 

I’ve lived in Southern California most of my life.  As an adult, I can’t even imagine the horror of not having wheels to go wherever I needed to go, regardless of how much time I have to spend in a steel cage getting there.  It was a given for normal people to bond with the asphalt for most of their working and non-working life there.  When I moved to DC and the metro became my new mode of transportation, it was like waking up from a catatonic existence.  I actually have time to do something other than chew the inside of my cheek, listen to cheesy music and look at other motorists who were worse off than I was. 

I actually noticed that I have legs that can take me from point A to point B after I leisurely utilize the escalators, working or not, to ascend from and to the bowels of the subway.  I am constantly assaulted by a rich array of odors that I never had the opportunity to inhale or notice before due to exhaust acclimation.  And the colorful characters I get to engage with physically or mentally during sardine crush times never cease to stimulate.  When the metro cars are relatively free of human squash, there are always opportunities to observe the loungers and the posers.  Then there's DC itself!  So many happenings, so little time.   I am finally in the real world, an actual organism in the Petri dish called America, incubating in the capital of a country that constantly reinvents itself and is still the best place to live, regardless of its many flaws. The possibilities are mind-boggling, endless characters to scrutinize and fantasize about.  All I have to do is let my imagination run amok and savor those moments of lucidity when I am inspired enough to write something down. 

I do have a disclaimer, however.  My musings are not for the weak of heart and stomach; and most certainly, it is not for individuals without a sense of humor or imagination.