Two hundred people took a look here after the L.A. Observed link. Whether it’s the Metro Orange Line or what I ate for breakfast that intrigues you, thanks for your interest. This morning, I had Cheerios with Rice Dream rice milk, shared with the child. (Trader Joe’s O’s are actually better than General Mills’ Cheerios, though Wal-Mart’s generic rendition is much worse).
There was pie sitting out overnight in the Daily News newsroom, but it mysteriously disappeared. Guess some misguided person thought that pie can’t last overnight without risking food-borne illness. I, for one, am willing to live a little dangerously, especially when it comes to pie.
Photo by Andy Holzman/Daily News
I don’t have a lot of time, but I wanted to give a shout-out for Mike Teatreault, the Daily News’ letters editor. Mike, who I had the pleasure of working with on the Features copy desk at one point in our Daily News careers, wrote a great Orange Line piece. He gives our oft-photographed mayor a good ribbing:
I was going to ride the bus on Saturday but I was afraid of Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa. Not Antonio himself, but of Antonio’s almost mystical ability to get his picture taken. Where there is Antonio, a camera will appear. I don’t like to have my picture taken; a picture steals part of our souls. Look at the movie stars, look at the celebrities, look at the politicians.
The bus arrives a little more than two minutes after I do. I get on through the rear door, just behind the strange accordion thing that allows the bus to turn on a dime. The bus is almost full, but nobody is standing. Half of the seats face the center of the bus. I choose a seat facing the aisle.
It’s the best seat for the second part of why I rode the bus. The Orange Line is my retirement plan. A lot of people are worried about the dangers of this busway: No intersection crossing gates. Poor placement of light signals. Poor placement of warning signs. Neighbors will be kept awake nights by the sound of buses bumping into cars, bicyclists and pedestrians.
What if they aren’t just dogs-in-the-manger, sour-graping-it, light-rail chauvinists? I intend to be on the bus. Even a slow-motion accident, a tai-chi collision, will be sufficient for my retirement. I have my lawyer’s business card in my wallet.
I am the only coat-and-tie person on the bus. Everybody else appears to labor for a living. There are no blondes going west; perhaps they ride east in the morning.