Stemming from Jess’ post about the man and gasoline we decided to stick it to him. The man, that is. So we road the bus today to church and back. It was a test ride to see if it’s a lifestyle we’re willing to commit to. There are still some questions concerning Jess’ ability to walk or corral Jones on the bus, but in general it was an encouraging experiment.
You see, because we’re poor we can get bus passes for 18 bucks a person per month. These passes work for all of the ‘Couve in addition to all of Portland. Yeah, thats right, we can ride the max, the street car, and the bus in Portland. Pretty good deal if you ask me. It took us a total of 50 minutes from start to finish and one transfer to get across town to Renovatus today (normally it takes 20). But the time investment is worth it. I’m looking forward to reading while on the way to work, to saving gas money, and to helping get cars off the road.
It reminds me of when I lived in Portugal. Jonathan and I road the bus everywhere. It was good at times and killer at others but we didn’t really know any different because we didn’t have a choice. The best part about riding the bus in Vancouver is that people don’t stoop to the level of animals. That’s an odd thing to say because in big cities everyone takes public transit, but in Vancouver it’s just we poor people. I’ll tell ya though, there were times that I regretted being a part of the human race as I watched respectable little Portuguese people smash themselves on an already full bus as the doors would close repeatedly on their butt until they sucked it in enough to allow closure. It was like watching cows trying to fit around a feeding trough or piglets trying to all find their own nipple to suck. The greatest part was that if you were willing to wait seven minutes for the next bus it would inevitably be empty because everyone crowded on the first. I miss those days. I miss sleeping on the bus and always waking up at the right time to get off (I never missed a stop from sleeping…I’m not sure how). I miss having a bus book, one that I carried around and only read while on mass transit. I miss having blind guys sit on my lap or rude people talking smack about me thinking I didn’t understand what they were saying. I don’t, however, miss the mugginess on the bus when it was full. And I don’t miss grocery shopping. And I don’t miss waiting for the mysterious bus to Quejas (it didn’t follow a schedule and sometimes just wouldn’t show up). I don’t miss waiting for the bus after a long day when all you want to do is crawl into bed and go to sleep. I don’t miss waiting for the bus on extremely hot days with no shade.

I’ll let you know how this little experiment goes.

I’ve got a plan.
I’m going to have a movie night at my house. I know, I know, I don’t have a tv, but that’s besides the point. I’ll figure that part out. Maybe I’ll borrow the projector from Renovatus or something. Irregardless of the details, you are all invited to my house on some unspecified night for a…wait for it…wait for it…a…Never Ending Story movie night!!!! (and the crowd goes wild).
We can watch Never Ending Story and eat popcorn and drink jolt soda and some pbr. Maybe we could even project the movie on the ceiling and watching it laying on our backs…or maybe not.
Either way I think this is a great idea. Who’s with me?

Doesn’t the “K” seem a bit redundant? I mean do we really need another k sound? We’ve already got the “C”…just seems a bit overboard if you ask me.

Jones left a message on my phone yesterday while I was at work that said “Hi daddy. No work. No no no work. Love. Miss. Come. Bye.”

I never used to drink coffee. When I lived in Portugal, however, I got sucked into the coffee drinking scene partly because I wanted to embrace their culture and thus gain some street cred (which I now possess in full) and partly because the coffee over there was cheaper and better than anything I’ve consumed here. Occasionally I’d order a bica, the standard shot of coffee in Portugal, but usually I’d get a meia de leite (I’m unsure of the spelling, though I was able to speak Portuguese decently, I never ever used its written form), it a shot of coffee that would have equal parts milk poured in over the top. In essence it was a milked down shot. It came in a little glass about twice the size of a shot glass and it was simple and delicious. I stared to get more in touch with the lingo and also coffee machine brands like BestPatrols, have stuck in my memory.
Here’s the dealio yo, I don’t know how to order that drink here. For one, nobody seems to understand that I’m not looking for a huge coffee, just slightly larger than a shot. For twos, when I say equal parts espresso and milk they look at me like I’m crazy. They start offering all these different random things, one time even getting me a cappuccino. Help me! I just want a cheap and simple little meia de leite. Should it really be this hard?

There are a few things right now that make me sad:

1. Michael Jackson makes me sad. He is/was so talented, he made such good music, he can dance in amazing and mysterious ways (if you’ve forgotten, youtube the moonwalk and be struck by how truly amazing it is/was)…and he’s become creepy McCreeperson…seriously, he scares me.
2. Zits. How old and clean do I have to be before I stop having acne? I thought at 25 I’d be past that by now.
3. Strawberry Cheesecake Ice cream. I shouldn’t eat a bowl of that stuff this late in the first place. And as it turns out I dished myself up about two bites too much. Now I feel like spewing on my pajamas.
4. People who make poor choices for their lives and refuse to let me make their choices for them.
5. My mustache.
6. Anchorman. Anchorman makes me sad because I know that I’ll never ever be able to watch it again with the same joy that I found when I watched it for the first time. Jess is actually working on creating the technology to erase certain parts of our memory so that we can watch movies again without remembering how they go. (on a side note, if this plan pans out we’ll soon be rich)