Monday, April 06, 2009

The Late Night Diner....


I have this friend Jon who lives in Northern California.

To put it mildly, Jon is an interesting fellow.

And, as near as I can figure it, one of the original Mid-Western Westerbergians (ie. punk rock hobos from the Heartland that fanned out all over North America).

And if I'm wrong about that, I'm sure he'll let me know it....

Jon also got me hooked on this DIY Ukulele business.

But the thing I like best about Jon, like so many of the folks I've gotten to really know in the Bloggodome, is the fact that the guy can flat-out write.

And when he really gets cranking, the POV Jon brings to bear on any subject pretty much blows my mind every time.

Like last week when he somehow managed to turn a post about riding buses into an opus on 'The Decline Of The American Empire' or, at the very least, 'The Evil That Suburbs Do'.

Here's a short passage:

"....I'll admit that buses aren't the best transit mode. At one time, most American cities were served by interurban light rail systems that performed far more efficiently than buses. That was before the creation of suburbia as we know it. The interurbans were destroyed by a well documented conspiracy involving General Motors, Firestone Tires and Standard Oil.

At the heart of the conspiracy was the creation of suburbia, the great evil at the heart of America. I'm not kidding. There's very little wrong with this country that can't be traced back to suburbia. I'm not guilt tripping suburbanites. I got tired of stepping over used syringes and pools of urine on my doorstep. I moved to suburbia a long time ago. This isn't a matter of individual choice. (Goddamit!) I'm talking about a system that leaves us very few choices. You can make all of the choices you want. When it comes to buying green you will never put a dent in the system of suburbia....."

Good stuff, no?


And if that is not enough to get you hooked, John's actual address in the Bloggodome is one of the best I've ever stumbled across:

"Poetry Is For Assholes"

So finish up those greasy fries, push away that plate, pay your cheque, and head over and visit him.

Because that's all the tip I need.


Image at top is from Detroit's Motor City Madhouse Transportation System...Apparently they have all the lines you could ever want running to/and from the leafy suburb of Gross Pointe with only one thing missing....Riders!


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