tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13228512.post2662495780375385494..comments2007-10-20T02:49:40.089-07:00Son of a Fishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06029653953873433903noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13228512.post-49670840418340201812007-10-20T02:49:00.000-07:002007-10-20T02:49:00.000-07:002007-10-20T02:49:00.000-07:00I also ride the bus, and I have seen a thing or two, let me tell you. Most of these things have involved wild-eyed, wild-haired passengers shouting angrily at unsuspecting fellow-riders for no readily identifiable reason, or the driver kicking a charming fellow in an oversized Raiders jersey off the bus for hanging out a window to shout obscenities at a blond UCSB co-ed, or a mousy middle-aged man in thick spectacles and a red windbreaker telling me my hair smells like oranges while squeezing my knee, but this one time it involved a baby. I was sitting next to a young mother holding her almost newborn baby girl. The baby was for some reason fascinated with me. She kept reaching for my hair or my nose or my watch, which is a pretty sweet 1979 Casio 'electric luminescence' goldish shiny thingy. Her mother kept pulling her away and trying to apologize, and sadly, because yo ha olvidado casi todo de espanol, I couldn't find the right words to tell her I didn't mind if her baby played with my watch, even though I had to hold my arm up for her to reach it and my hand was falling asleep. Anyway, while this was going on, I was having almost the same thoughts you were having on your busploit. I feel you, dawg. By the by, Los Campesinos! at the Troubadour on Nov. 27? I will almost certainly be there with bells on. Maybe we can actually meet one another in person. And then ride flying pigs together. Yay. Okay, it's fucking late and I've smoked too much keef. Au revoir. (Or just voir, I guess.)Kierstenhttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VtD5dxTcXm4noreply@blogger.com