“I ain’t gonna chase no fuckin’ train. Thug life!” – Random black lady at the Metro station as I ran towards the train.
Who knew a component to thug life was laziness? Easy E taught me there’s more to a thug than not being able to move your legs faster down a flight of stairs so you don’t have to wait for the next train. Fuck, I guess I’m wrong. I’m gonna intentionally miss a train next time to get more street cred.
I took the Red Line down to Hollywood tonight with a friend to snap some pictures and practice my (lack of) knowledge with depth of field. I’m recognizing things a little better now. Living life off automatic. I have to think for myself now. I had buttons that did thinking for me. My favorite was the green one that just said “AUTO.”
I wandered over to the Hard Rock and got some of The Doors star on the Walk of Fame. The enthusiastic lady who worked there told me that Jim Morrison’s leather pants hung inside. She must have known I’m a fan since I was at the star for 10 minutes getting various angles. “He wore those everyday for over a year. That shit is sick, but it’s inside. Go check it out!” she said. As long as I can’t smell em, I’m good.
I wanted to get some Egyptian Theatre shots, but they didn’t have it lit up tonight. They can’t possibly be that broke. If they are, I’m sure Rob Reiner will cut em a check or something. Ran out of ideas and decided to take a walk down Hollywood all the way over to Vine. A nice 3/4 mile walk.
On the way we encountered a lady who was two feet away from me and made a motion to steal my bag before I caught her in my peripheral vision, then we saw an astute gentleman in a black suit eating out of a Popeye’s box with greasy chicken bits on the ends of his mouth and finally a badass Elvis statue outside of a tattoo/piercing shop. The two go really well together.
Hopped back on the Red Line and caught a great fight between two black ladies over a pair of seats. Since I didn’t get their names, let’s call them Madame A and Madame B. Madame A saw Madame B with her kids and offered her seat. A kind gesture, no doubt. Then Madame A stood a few seats away and started telling everybody in a raised voice that Madame B ran her off, stole her seat and was a bitch for doing so. Madame A then called out the two kids with Madame B. Madame B had “enough of this shit” and the two got in a great yelling match that had the entire car enthralled. For one whole stop it was like Jerry Springer Live. Hell, I thought by the end of the tirade I’d be revealed as the father of the children, but it wasn’t Maury so no dice.
There’s always a point in a shouting match between two people when one of them runs out of imaginative ways to cuss the other one out and just repeats one phrase, but in a louder and higher tone each time. In this fun exchange, it was B saying, “Say that on the streets, bitch!”
I think we’d all be better off if we cussed at ourselves in the mirror as practice every now and then so more people side with you during a fight. People will more than likely back the clever one.
Thug life.
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Few things are certain in this life as much as the impending Google takeover. Once it becomes self-aware, every little secret you’ve ever confided into it will turn on you and you will perish in a shameful way. Google is a necessary evil. Today I needed to use Google to see if there was a Taco Bell in Portland (don’t ask) and I handed the search result to my friend, The Average Blonde.
