OHIO/CINNKY: Breaking the addiction

The Kristymobile has been dead for 7 days and 21 hours. I have been an official bus rider for 7 days and two hours. Today marked a small anniversary -- this time last week, I was rolling up into work nearly an hour late due to my inability to know which bus, exactly, to take, and finding myself out in Western Hills as opposed to the lovely Government Square I had expected.

I took the same route today and got here spot-on time. It was a liberating experience.

But it was my morning "commute" that changed my life. I had made plans with the ever fabulous and long-standing local community activist and self-proclaimed "cheerleader" (I still think she's a lot more organizationally minded than she ever gives herself credit for) -- JB. JB works out 71, in one of those little suburbs that I have never been to and probably will never visit. I work in Clifton/Corryville. The plans we made included a car to meet at the IHOP off Ridge Road "out there" on the Eastside beyond Hyde Park.

For the uninitiated to Cincinnati, the Eastside/Westside divide is severe in town and you rarely find someone crossing the border, much like a Cincinnatian will rarely cross the river into NKY and vice versa (except for must's -- cigarettes and Newport-on-the-Levee, for example -- funny, my 4 movies for $20 Blockbuster habit is actually quicker fed over the river in Covington, but I always insisted on driving the extra 10 minutes to go out on Glenwya). For the unitiated to my life, the Eastside is a vast world of unknown's punctuated by a few places I can get to: Hyde Park Square (barely), my gym, and Adonis the Nightclub.

Our breakfast plans were for 630am, made when the Kristymobile still lived, but I changed them to 7am when she died so that I could account for bus time.

I know this all seems silly and kind of minute to the rest of the world: but I made to the IHOP and was hugging my dear friend at 704am, the lateness due in part to a brief layover at the ATM. In short, I made it miles out of the way of my normal life, into unfamiliar territory, on a public transit system I am barely familiar with, with a dead phone in my pocket, and got their on time. This little feat amazed and stunned me.

I can do this, I thought as I left breakfast around 815am, I can survive without.

I half-heartedly joked with my brother on the phone the other day about not buying a new car yet and his text message is still very clear -- Do it, break the addiction. This morning I made the decision to break the addiction. For the next month (at least), I will not own a car. I am not going to buy one... not yet, at least.

Cincinnati is a mid-sized, Midwestern city with a mediocre public transit system. The amazing thing about public transit in a city this size is that everyone bemoans the lack of effectiveness, with local advocates (in their cars) whining that the idea of a large, interconnected, multi-use system is ineffective and impossible in a mildly sprawled and car-friendly city like Cincinnati. To those people I say: bullshit.

Thousands of people ride the Metro every day -- to the tune of 22 millionbus rides in the course of year, over 60,000 bus rides a day. So it's not ineffective, it's not "in need of some changes," it works for thousands upon thousands of people who rely on it as their only means of transportation. And, today, I join their ranks. I am challenging the public transit, city planning, environmental, health, (anti-war), etc advocates to join me. I am challenging the very idea that you need a car here; that, somehow, to be car-less is to be at a disadvantage. I just don't think it's true.

As the 43 glided up Reading Road this afternoon, the minutes ticking by and I finishing my book (I read 650 pages on the bus this week, btw -- which is time better spent that sitting at home and watching reruns of A Shot at Love 2 on VH1), the gas prices struck me, and I saw, get this, 3.62. All of us have been making excuses throughout this whole process of rising gas prices, and the question still remains: at what point do we stop bitching and alter our habits to take into account this exorbitant change in our very system? Don't give me any slack about the idea of a subway, and the ongoing local debate about light-rail is still, IMHO, a pipe dream.

We have the busses and no one uses them.

Long ago, when I was a young and impressionable Urban Planning student at Miami University, we discussed the problem of busses. People just don't think they're cool. They are the transit system of the masses, of the poor, of minorities, of druggies, and of XYZ. They aren't hip like a subway would be, or a train system. They're just there, and they just aren't cool enough for anyone to ride.

Bullshit.

Get over your high-minded classism and hop on the bus.

That was a rant and highly de-personalized, so I apologize. I'm part of all that people feel as well, and I very much own up to the fact that I felt the same way. However, my mind has changed this week, and I'm enjoying myself immensely. I really like the time I get to spend reading or writing or talking to passengers or just watching the world pass by, all the time not worrying about traffic or lights or any of the minutiae that bother us when we drive. Somewhere along the lines, I had become a terrible driver. Lighting a cigarette, changing the music, talking on the phone all left me, probably, a huge liability on the road. And, what's worse, is that I spent all this time spending money on gas, leaving at the last moment (so that I could watch as much of my TV show as possible), and drunkenly attempting to get home in my car, that the freedom I found when I got my license at the old age of 19 was gone. I had always loved driving, but I was taking advantage of the privilege -- for a lot reasons, because I didn't view it as a privilege.

Fountain Square is now one of my favorite places in the world. It's busy, it's filled with life, and it's the center of the city. I spent so much time attempting to turn my city into a suburb by ducking through the streets on a car that I forgot -- I'm in a freaking city, and one that is nearly five times bigger than the one I grew up in. In Charleston, I always felt like I was connected to everything, like I constantly had the opportunity to see everything that was happening in the world because the world was aligned on a few streets and those were the streets you stumbled on after a night at the bar, or the streets you walked down to get simply to the grocery store. But Cincinnati is so much bigger and I find myself somedays thinking that there is nothing to do. But when did I ever stop and find something to do? It is not the city's job to bring my life to me, it is my job to take my life into the city. And with the windows rolled up, the music turn up on high, a cigarette in one hand, a phone in the other, and controlling the car with my knees... well, there was nothing for me to see.

I'm sure I'll get tired of all this, but I'm enjoying the newness. And that's why it's only a month. I'll adapt, I'll learn -- I'm already changing some of my habits and finding freedom there -- and then maybe I'll go back.

Maybe. But I'm going to try and break the addiction.

PERSONAL: The Kristymobile

LK just shot me a text message regarding the now dead Kristymobile: "Aw. I have many fond memories of squeezing into that bitch."

Regarding the name itself, btw, I have to credit that one to TY over at the Vinyl Polis. She referred to it as such at one point, and I didn't accept it. However, the name stuck because of a conversation I had at Union Station -- Cincinnati (how I miss it!!!) between one of the local drag queen's roommates, RM, and the then manager of the shop, GW.

RM was complaining that the drag queen roommate was constantly messy, towhit GW responds that all drag queens are disgusting pigs, and it's just something you have to get used to.

Anyone who has ever ridden in my car is well aware that "disgusting pig" is a more than accurate description of the owner of that vehicle.

So, when I get the new car (possibly on Monday), I'll post it and we'll start thinking names. The history of my car names:

1988 Ford Escort Wagon -- Chibi (it was an inherited car and it was pretty beat up -- in fact, it died while I was driving it too -- hrm -- but it made the sound of chibichibichibichibichibi as it drove)

1994 Chevy Beretta -- Entropy (because it slowly fell apart too) or "the Gun" or "that gay shit he drives" (it was purple)

2003 Kia Rio -- "Fucking Piece of Shit" (I hate Kia's)

2002 Chevy Tracker -- Kristymobile

I want another two door car. Those are so much fun, even if they are absurdly impractical.

I am well aware that, technically, you cannot name a car until it is at least 10 years old, but I like to push the envelope and break rules. So, screw all you purists out there.

OHIO/CINNKY: A day on the busses

The Kristymobile died today. For the uninitiated: The Kristymobile was my rapidly deteriorating 2002 Chevy Tracker that I've been driving since April of 2005. It's my longest car ever (it beat out the much loved Beretta I drove for 2.5 years). It will take thousands of dollars to fix due to the fact there's something broken inside the engine, which means they can't even diagnose the problem without taking it apart, and probably means they have to put a brand new engine in it -- it's just not worth it at this point. What's funny is that TY was in the car with me yesterday in Oxford and I had made the off-remark that "my car sounds funny," but it was the kinda sound that you usually associate with "I need to get something done eventually." On my way to work last night, that little noise turned into a rumble, a shake, and then dead, and I rolled my happy ass down Purcell, praying I would be able to pull the emergency brake correctly and not end up a) in someone's yard, b) blocking a driveway, or c) in the back end of someone's car.

So, before I get to the point of this blog, let's all take a moment to say goodbye to the Kristymobile, RIP 4-17-08.

That said, I got to do something I have come to enjoy over the last couple of months as problems mounted with the Kristymobile... ride the Metro.

I think, unlike most residents, I kind of enjoy the experience. I feel like Lisa Simpson saying "the vehicle of the masses!" The entire rest of the bus and the rest of the world is annoyed by this, but I really do like it, especially on nice days like this. Granted, I had to ride the bus a few months ago without a hat or gloves and just a light jacket, standing at a stop at Bond Hill at 630am in -2 degree weather and with a light breeze -- that particular experience was not as much fun, but today it was wonderful. Clear, sunny day, very few clouds in the sky, and just a beautiful day to walk around.

However, I have a stiff learning curve. I managed to leave my house at 245pm to catch the at 313pm at the corner of Purcell and Bassett up near where I live. The 10, theoretically, would take me to Government Square where I would have time for a cigarette, and then I would hop onto the 43 and head out to work and be there in plenty of time to be at work at 430pm. I had my bag, my cigarettes, my mp3 player, and the book -- for the hour or so trip, I was set.

...or so I thought.

I had parked my butt on the what I believed (and know now that I was correct) to be the proper side of the rode, so when the 10 comes rolling up Bassett the other directions, I make a dart for it without thinking. The driver takes a right off of Bassett and onto Elberon... silly me, not really wanting to seem dumb about this, I just figured we were looping onto Glenway and back down. I get into my book -- now, mind you, I'm, at this point, on page 93 -- and when I look up, we've made it to Nebraska Avenue which is very far from where I needed to be. Oops. Somewhere around Home Depot -- a 15 minute trip in my car straight from my house -- the bus driver looks back at me and says "first time on the bus?" "yea, why?" "you got on the wrong side of the rode didn't you?" She was very pleasant and let me pop out for a cigarette at one of the stops she had to hang out and poked fun at me the rest of the way -- even reminding me when I should pull the little chain to get off downtown at Government Square.

I am deposited on Main Street. It is now, btw, 430pm, time for me to be at work, downtown, on Government Square, on a Friday afternoon. The place is hopping. But I shrug, find a spot, whip my book back out, light a cigarette, and settle in for what I think is going to be a few more minutes waiting.

Wrong. The 43 is there. Throwing a cigarette out at this point -- when I'm contemplating quitting and am thinking that any of these cigarettes could be the prelude to my final one of my life -- is a major sin and I feel like I should have just prodded out the light and stuck it back in the pack. But I didn't have time for delicacy... I was on the A station, and my bus was at the C. And I got onto a very busy bus with Donna Summer's Funky Town in my ear. Fabulous. I have a broken ear piece, btw, so I go around with only one bud in, but, apparently, my other bud decides to work as I'm handing over my transfer ticket and startles the poor driver of this new bus with Gotta make a move to a town that's right for me... blasting out.

I am at work now, thank god. And I am now on page 215 of my book. And, btw, I rolled up in here at about 515. That's right kids, it took me two and a half hours to get here, but I'll know which bus to take next time.

Regardless, the experience was meditative, and I think I'm going to take the opportunity to ride the busses at least once a week. I usually have the time, and it's really quite ... well, it's almost pleasant. But this may be my annoyingly happy mood creeping into my decision making process again, so we'll see, shall we?