Thursday, September 6, 2012

Riding on the Metro

Never really having access to public transportation I've often romanticized about trips on a subway. Much like the sexy music video from Berlin. We all know it's not sexy. It's aesthetically unpleasing, generally noisy and for Angelenos a foreign concept. I live about a mile from a Metro station. It's close but not that close. Taking the Metro in Los Angeles is more of a novelty to people with cars which is a solid majority of people. This past weekend in LA was FYF Fest and hoards of 20-somethings ventured out to ride the Metro. Myself included.

Watching Father John Misty under a tree. Beating the heat.


Getting Dressed

Before we get into my journey to FYF Fest, let's talk about the agonizing task of deciding of what to wear. I hadn't done laundry in about three weeks which means my favorite cotton breezy sweat wicking clothes were dirty. And my go to tank that doesn't show sweat I had been photographed in many times. Didn't want that tank showing up on Facebook again (really stupid reason in hindsight). Fuck. This music festival is outdoors, I have no idea what the grounds look like, and the sun is beaming bright. I'm going to be DRIPPING. What do I finally decide to wear? A dress with an under dress. The double dress. I debated if I should throw on some bike shorts to avoid chaffing. "Nah, I feel fine. This should be OK." I grabbed a thin jacket for in the evening. When you sweat through your clothes you will be cold after the sun sets.

The Journey

After walking a mile in mostly shade I thought I had done a good job at keeping the sweat minimal. I go to buy my Metro ticket. I'm sanding idle waiting for the person in front of me. I can feel it. Beads of sweat marching like an army on a mission on their way from my butt, down my crotch and inevitability parachuting down to the ground for combat. I can imagine the pool below me forming and growing. It's of course not. My inner dialogue is that someone will say, "Ma'am I think your water broke." I start moving my legs and awkwardly adjusting so my underwear can soak up the sweat. The sweat dance. I should've worn the god damn bike shorts. What am I twelve though?

I am finally seated in the nice air conditioned train/subway (?). I'm pleased that I have some time to relax and get the sweating in check. Two stops later a middle aged guy asks if he can sit next to me. I gladly move over one seat offering him mine. He turns to me and says, "Were you sweating?"

OH MY FUCKING GOD HOW DOES HE KNOW?!

Me: Uhhh I don't know
Stranger: Oh it's just that it's damp. Do you feel that?

I feel the seat and honestly I don't feel any sweat

M: I don't know
S: Are you sweating?
M: I walked a few miles to the Metro [that's a lie]. I was hustling.

The man starts to lean forward and adjust on the chair. Trying not let his back touch the seat.

S: Yea, sorry it's just I don't want my clothes to get damp.

My sweat army is marching in full force. Panic mode has begun and I'm sweating even more.

S: Are you having a good weekend?
M: [WTF] Yea I am. How about you?
S: Yea, but it could be better.
M: Oh, sorry to hear that.
S: Oh it's a good weekend. I mean just being unemployed and all.

I'm nodding along and thinking how the fuck did I get stuck talking to this guy?!

S: So where are you going?
M: A music festival Downtown.
S: Oh yea? What kind of music?
M: uhhh yea know rock... and... roll... all kinds of stuff
S: Oh cool. How old are you?

Do I lie? Do I say I'm younger? older? Is he going to kill me?

M: 26
S: Oh. Are you from another state?
M: Nope. From California.
S: Sorry you're probably wondering why I'm asking all these questions. It's good to be social.

Dude I wrote the book on being social. I just don't want to fucking talk to you. I feel awkward as hell and why do I owe you the time of day?

S: Did you see where Santa Monica was blocked off for [don't remember what he said]
M: No I didn't
S: Oh. You didn't?

I cross my leg the other way and their is a little bit of sweat from where my leg was.

He reaches over and touches my thigh and says, "OMG you're sweating."

As if we hadn't ALREADY established that. I firmly say, "DON'T touch me." He then proceeded to apologize and claims he really hopes he accepts my apology. LEAVE ME ALONE.

He leaves a few stops before mine and I was fuming. I wrap my jacket around my waist fearing I might have a sweat stain on my butt. Oh and he told me doing that would make me sweat more. Thanks for the advice Stranger.

My Happy Place

I finally get to the festival. Damp. I had some time to hang out under a tree to watch Father John Misty's set. I cooled down and was able to regroup alone. There is something kind of peaceful of watching a band by yourself. I later met up with some friends and we were able to relive our youth a bit to sets from Cursive and the Faint. I danced and bopped around not caring about any sweat. Good music and friends I felt OK to be my sweaty self.

I leave you with this awesome music video from Father John Misty. If you can see them live I recommend it. The frontman is a hippie character who moves like water on stage and provides the crowd with some great zingers.