as my normal walk to the train involves trekking down Irving Park between two of the largest cemetaries in town (as you can imagine, this stretch of sidewalk doesn't get shovelled or anything), i was forced to rely on the unreliable, the 80 Irving Park. this bus must have a schedule, but even on sunny days, it adheres to a proud urban bus tradition: show up when you damn well feel like it.

now, miraculously, i didn't wait long, and i wasn't even late to work. not bad for my first real snowfall.

here's where the fun begins. i'm not feeling sufficiently hyped up on the bean, so i resolve to venture out into the elements to procure me some extra.

riding down the elevator, it stops on the dreaded 13. Dread, not due to some numerological superstition, but real life experience. 13 is where they store the crazies. there is a "clinic" on the 13th floor and i brace for impact.

joining me are two kids in their early 20's, who immediately start in on some co-worker who obviously has a tendency to overuse the phrase "like, you know". they begin to repeat this over and over, like a mantra, but in that midwestern flat lilt and drawl. you know, that lilt, like how someone whose first language is hindi or italian sounds, sort of singsong and that drawl, like they were channeling Frances McDormand in Fargo (what i was hearing was "doncha know?").

before i can decide to be tickled or horrified (tight spaces call for extreme reactions...i don't hide my claustrophobia very well), we reach the lobby and ms. midwestern charm speaks with finality, "i mean, this isn't LA!". my head begins to spin. first, there is the irony of ms. speech impediment criticizing ANYONE for their own involuntary vocalizations. second, there is the added twist of her condemnation of SoCal sounding to my ears like a wry comment on current surroundings. then, the twinge of agreement, as my NoCal instincts kick in to support any swipe at LA. and finally, the rush of indignation as I feel the insult stretch to include me as a native Californian. sort of like how it's ok for me to call myself a fag, but you better step lightly. all this flooded through my consciousness in a split-second and i was so disoriented i couldn't even muster a sharp retort. she wouldn't have gotten it anyway.

slogging through the mush, i reach my destination only to be confronted by the following warning:

CAUTION: FALLING ICE

now, i knew that this sort of thing was a danger, but now i can't decide which is more likely to keep me from harm's way: looking down or looking up. i'm fairly certain that looking down is my best bet, given that FALLING ON ICE is a greater threat to mr. accident-prone than FALLING ICE, but one never knows.