I am much too lazy to type this morning. So instead I will just type a lot of random boring stuff that I see on the bus ride to work.

“Lai’s Nails and Feet” The homonym makes it sound like it’s a sex shop for fetishists.

There’s a guy at the back of the bus, a handsome guy with a full head of dark hair, wearing a powder blue shirt, a shockingly green tie, and a buff corduroy jacket. Astonishingly, it all works together. I’ll bet if he took off any one element of his outfit there’d be a problem.

When I was taking piano lessons, every night I would drive back past this little office complex where apparently a guy was using one of the upstairs back offices for his apartment, because every single time I would pass by, I would see him slumped in his La-Z-Boy watching TV. I built this whole backstory about the lonely old bachelor marking the days in his tiny little apartment isolated in a commercially zoned building. In my fantasy, I befriended him and we enriched each other's lives with our intergenerational conversations.

On 99 at 175th, there’s a sign that reads “Welcome to the Dance Workshop -- Swing * Latin * Hustle”. It is pretty beat up sign, and looks as though it was painted on plywood to begin with. I wonder if there really are dance classes there. I’ve seen the sign for the last eight years, but have never seen a class in progress through the windows, or even lights on behind the constantly-closed blinds.

The Aurora Church of the Nazarene donates their parking lot during weekdays for Park and Ride parking. I’ve never thought much about it, but I suppose they probably get some compensation from the city. Even so, that’s pretty generous and environmentally minded of them.

You probably haven’t had occasion to notice unless you’re typing on the bus, but I-5 right at northgate suddenly becomes very bumpy and it is difficult to keep your laptop in your lap.

These sideways seats in the join-portion of the bus are the prime typing seats. The guy across from me just opened up a wide-screen powerbook. I’m not an Apple kind of guy, but I sure do admire those notebooks.

60% of the people riding the back of the bus are wearing glasses. Is America going blind? Are people with glasses genetically predisposed to ride the bus? Or do we have a standard sample on this bus and perhaps the people with glasses tend to gravitate towards the back of the bus? I like the image of punks and people with glasses all competing for those back seats.

I like trees. That’s trite, as is this whole entry. But I like other people’s trees. I don’t like to think of the poor dying/near dead tree in my front yard that for two years running I just haven’t had the heart to cut down. Other people’s trees never break your heart.

One guy (10% of the back of the bus) is wearing a baseball cap. Since we’re about 40 people shy of a statistically significant sample size, I am unable to assume that one in ten people reading this page is wearing an orange baseball cap right now. Bummer. Early research was so promising.

Here’s a proposition: I’ll give you a million dollars and an RV if you promise to live in that RV for the next decade, never sleeping in the same city two nights in a row, never spending more than 8 consecutive days in a state, and never visiting the same state twice in any three-month period.

It would be a very different kind of lifestyle. The internet could keep you in touch with friends, but how do you stay close with those friends when you can only seem them for a maximum of a week every three months? Though you wouldn’t necessarily require employment, I imagine the creative possibilities for a person on the road would be fun to explore. Finding a gym would be a real problem. Maybe you’d figure out how to work out in your RV.

You wouldn’t be able to subscribe to NetFlix, either.

The best thing about our new office space at work turns out to be the Pioneer Square station in the bus tunnel. The ride between the University and Pioneer stations is a long, straight shot through the round tunnel. If you stare forward and unfocus your eyes a little, it is easy to imagine you are a bullet being shot from a gun.