George Packard Rides Again, The Key to the Highway, and More Bus-Inspired Scribblings

Yes.

George Packard was on the move.

Racing and careening,

Travelin hard

Along with the #20 bus

Down ol’ Wilshire Blvd.

✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭

George was very pleased to be writing for Bumbastories again, especially since Bumba had abandoned that Monday Magazine format. Some magazine! Nobody read it anyway. Poor Bumba! Boo hoo. As for himself, George was relieved to shelve, at least temporarily, his journalistic ambition of capturing a “Breaking News” story, what they call a “scoop”. Scoops are OK in their place, reflected George – and here it must be mentioned that our journalist George Packard in his “professional” reflections on scoops typically conjured up in his mind scoops of ice cream perched upon a sugar cone – all the same this “breaking news” stuff that is pushed in the media tends to involve occurences that are generally the most gory, the most tragic and horrific – and, well….. most generally the kind of things that George Packard thought it most prudent to try to stay away from. Better it was to just go to the beach and forget about scoops, thought George, retired schoolteacher and still-roving reporter for Bumbastories. George rode the #20 bus.

As George Packard sat on the bus he eased back in his seat and opened a book. Without all that pressure to come up with a big story every week for that silly magazine, George was able to relax. The book was Language and Species by Derek Bickerton, a most interesting book that explored the roots of language in humans. Surely the development of language was the key event in our evolution as humans: Yes, language, the great accelerator of our evolution and enabler of our “success” as a species. Our use of language and ability to work with abstractions sets us apart from the other animals, and allows us “mastery” over nearly all the land, not to very laudable results so far.

The evolutionary roots and origins of language are usually considered an unanswerable question by linguists. But surely, Bickerton expounds, such a neurological development had to arise from somewhere. “Primary representational systems”, perceptual categories, and innate behavioral patterns – which were already well-developed in many social animals – somehow gave birth to proto-languages in humans, explains Bickerton. With the incisiveness of a surgeon, Bickerton explores the origins of language and covers many of the most interesting questions of human evolution and psychology. It’s not an easy read, admitted George Packard, especially with some of that convoluted, technical mumble-jumble that seems to plague the science of linguistics, but it’s definitely a ‘highly recommend”. This Bickerton fellow was a great find. George planned to read more of his works. Bickerton, a professor of linguistics at Hawaii Univ has a blog too, discovered George. Gee, thought George as he stepped off the bus, this Bickerton fellow is something of a literary scoop. George’s mind soon returned to thoughts about ice cream……

The Bumbastories Sunday Magazine Section

The Bumbastories Weekly Magazine – Sunday Edition

HUH??? What’s this? First you say it’s an Every Day Another Story blog. Now you’re talking once a week? What’s the story, Bumba?

The following is a once-a-week literary (well, not so literary), humorous (funny might be too strong a word), illumunating and enlightening (Hey, take it easy!) magazine sort of blog with a couple of informative articles, a few pictures, some musical accompaniment……..

Presenting Bumbastories’ Sunday Special. Start off your read with some music recorded by Bumba and Maybank

This week’s Edition of Bumbastories’ Sunday Special – a Weekly Magazine – the first and perhaps the last issue of 2014-

presents

A Bumbastories Science Report – An actual Refutation of Newton’s Law of Gravitation!

An As I Sat On The Bus contribution by George Packard.

Two Poems – Yikes!!!

A Picture by Max Ernst

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Los Angeles Buses Defy Newton’s Law of Gravitation

By Bumba on March 8, 2014 | Edit

According to Newton’s Law of Gravitation, the gravitational attraction between two objects is directly proportional to the product of their masses and inversely proportional to the distance between them squared. Or, G=m1m2/d2.

So, the farther away two things are from each other, the weaker the gravitational force. Right?

No!

Los Angeles buses defy Isaac Newton’s universal – and heretofore-thought-inviolable principle of physics. MTA buses, supposedly spaced across the space-time continuum by the “bus schedule” to run at intervals of up to 20-30 minutes, appear together amazingly often. These buses, spaced evenly by the schedule along their long routes, somehow wind up travelling together! The evidence is overwhelming, and clearly speaks to this fact of MTA reality: the buses cluster, they group, they travel in pairs, even in convoys.

Newton must be turning over in his grave – or mausoleum – in Westminster Abbey. (And then we’d only have to bury him again!)

What possible explanation can there be for this mass transportation pairing and clustering? Physicists are puzzled.

Is it perhaps some special esoteric energy generated by the Los Angeles/Southland basin – some underground tectonic plate effect? Or are we witnessing a manifestation of dark energy?

Bumbastories, in a fine piece of investigative journalism, investigated the problem last year. A simple, but admittedly silly, explanation was proposed. In short, a socialization instinct, indeed a sexual drive, was ascribed to the buses.

In any case, as the universe expands, as the matter from the Big Bang disperses and entropy increases, we wonder whether the expansion will ever stop. How can the expansion be reversed? Perhaps Einstein’s cosmological constant is actually the MTA bus system. The jury is out – or perhaps they’re late. That’s right, they’re waiting for the bus!

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As I Sat On The Bus (AISOTB #33) by George Packard

By Bumba on March 8, 2014 | Edit

George Packard was back on his bike again.
Yup. George had drawn yet another of those As I Sat On the Bus assignments.
George didn’t mind. As a roving reporter for Bumbastories, he was always roving around anyway, performing his various assigned roving tasks, and …… well, it was pretty easy to spin out one of these AISOTB thingies.
So thought George Packard.

As a somewhat concerned and involved citizen of the City Los Angeles as well as the County of L.A., George wished to tip his hat to whatever gov’t agency it is that has been slowly and gradually painting bicycle lanes on the streets of the city.
“It helps. It saves lives,” thought George.

“Also,” George considered, “if it were safer to ride a bicycle around town, a lot of people would chose the bicycle over the car as a way of getting around – at least part of the time.
“I’d bet a lot of people would be riding their bicycles to work and the like if they had decent, safe bicycle lanes,” said George Packard to himself.

In further AISOTB deliberations George Packard asked himself:
“And do I really have to sit on the bus today to post an AISOTB post? I could just as easily insert an old photo taken weeks ago. Nobody would know the difference. Bumba has a ton of them stored on his Cloud thing…..”

“No. That would be cheating. It wouldn’t be ethical….. Hmmm.”

Posted in: George Packard Series, The “As I Sat On The Bus” Compendium | Tagged: “As I Sat On The Bus”, As I Sat On The Bus Invitational, George Packard, LA City, LA County, Los Angeles

Two Poems

By Bumba on March 8, 2014 | Edit

TWO POEMS

Enjoy the Beauty I

Enjoy the beauty of the day
The majesty unfolded
The water rushing through the valleys
Where we lingered
The silence of the sun
On a September morn
A song to you
Unsung but
Burning still

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Enjoy the Beauty II

Enjoy the beauty
Of unfulfilled love
You dream…..
And remember yet

The grace

Of a love fulfilled
And then it all disappeared

In the chill of the late afternoon
You walk through the fallen leaves.

Posted in: Poems | Tagged: New Poem, poem, silence of the sun

Symmetry, Balance, Beauty, and Max Ernst

AISOTB #32: As George Packard Sat On The Bus

As George Packard, roving reporter for Bumbastories, sat on the bus he thought back fondly to when he was a young man in his 20’s. He recalled how startled and upset he had been when he first observed that many people in America lived their lives and modelled their behavior after television characters. These people seemed to impersonate television actors; they were modelling their behavior based on TV characters they saw on television. It just looked very false and very weird to young George.

Back in the seventies, on a trip to Florida to visit relatives, George had been almost horrified. His uncles and aunts and their friends reminded him of the way people acted on the Johnny Carson Show. His uncle was doing an imitation of Don Rickles. someone else was playing Ed Mc Mahon. Of course, today the influence of the electronic media was even stronger. This dominance of television over people’s lives bothered George. It’s Nature imitating Art. The process is being reversed, thought George. And George did not like what he saw. Where were their souls? he asked. How could they lose sense of themselves so easily? Perhaps this new America is not for me. I’ll never fit in here, thought young George.

So George left America. He joined the Peace Corps. George was out of the United States for seven years. He returned with a clearer idea of who he was. He accepted the fact that he might never fit in. However, he was no longer worried about that fact. He felt it was too difficult for him to lead a false life. He had to be honest. He had to be himself.

And George Packard, retired schoolteacher, looking back on his life could see that he had lived a genuine life after all. He still did in fact. He found that not fitting in and not belonging he could fit in everywhere.

“A certain freedom in that,” he thought to himself as he sat on the bus.

George Packard, roving reporter for Bumbastories, roved on.

As Marcuse Marx Sat On The Bus (AISOTB#31)

As Marcuse Marx sat on the bus and calmly gazed out on the streets passing by he thought about his father and smiled. Marcuse’s life had been a life blessed with good fortune, and it was to his father that Marcuse was indebted. For his Dad, God bless his soul, had christened him with the name Marcuse – which, together with the family name Marx, had given Marcuse a certain leg-up on the others. Marcuse Marx! It had a ring to it. His name stood out. Teachers liked to call out his name. Army drill sergeants loved to bark it out. As a salesman his name opened doors.

In no way whatsoever was he related to either Karl Marx or Groucho Marx, nor to the 20th century German philosopher of the same first name.

It was a good thing he had a good name because Marcuse’s talents, in particular his intelligence, were not exactly sterling. He was not the sharpest knife in the drawer, as they say. And he knew it. He wasn’t that stupid. He knew he wasn’t a genius. But, thanks to his name, he had always been able to get jobs, always had made a decent living, always had been able to keep his head above water. At several points in his life he had been almost wealthy. Marcuse Marx was also lucky. At least he had been lucky so far. A lucky guy. “Thank you, Dad,” he muttered softly as the bus rolled on.

Singing on the Bus (AISOTB#29)

Here’s a song to accompany you on your bus ride and to strenghten your political resolve. And if you sing out loud it’s OK.

As Sandra Marvinsky sat on the bus she listened to This Land is Your Land played by Bumba and Maybank. She hadn’t heard the song done that way before. It was a great song no matter how you played it. Even Bumba couldn’t mess it up. As she sat on the bus, she looked out the window, and unconsciously she began to sing the words out loud. An older woman turned and cast a sour glance. Two teenagers turned and grinned at her. An older gent flashed a peace sign. But most employed good old inner-city discretion and simply didn’t look at the crazy woman in the back of the bus singing off key. “What a world,” she thought.

As Sandra Marvinsky stepped down from the rear exit door and walked up the busy street, she thought about the glory of the song. And about its message. In today’s political conversation the notion that the land belongs to the people, that “this land belongs to you and me”, was refreshing. Thank you, Woody. It’s a beautiful world, he reminded us, and it is yours. Walk through the land. The land of America, the land of any country – is a beautiful land. And it belongs to you and me. The wealth, which is made from the land, belongs to all as well.

The political climate today is so dismal, thought Sandra shaking her head as she walked on. The enormity of the problems of the world combined with the malfunctioning of governments was quite a deadly combination.

It was good to sing.

As I Sat On the Bus (#28) ——–Is this world an illusion?

As I sat on the bus I thought of finer moments: places and people from not too long ago. Why, it seemed like only yesterday I was out on the trail, the wild canyons calling to me…..

…………………………………………………………

Was this world all a dream? Was I really on the bus? Was I really in that canyon, or was it just in my mind? I heard the sound of a beautiful old country song. What was real?
A voice inside of my head said:

“It’s all real, stupid. Yesterday you were in the canyon. Today you’re on the bus. And the song? Well that’s Bumba playing around with Footprints in the Snow. And that was last week. It ain’t so complicated.”

“Oh,” I said.

“It’s true,” continued the voice, “that this material world is mostly space. The impression of solidity is an illusion. Even the matter in the universe, those little atoms that are comprising the large molecules of your body are essentially waves. Even the bus is composed of atoms that are not really there.”

“Oh well,” I replied. “That explains the long waits.”

How the 1% Control the Rest of Us (AISOTB #28)

The shops in Mid-town Los Angeles were buzzing today.

As I sat on the bus I looked out at all the people and cars that filled the sunny streets outside the shopping center. I rejoiced. “Ah, the U.S. economy is doing well,” I smiled to myself. This post-Christmas shopping rush will boost the economy. I felt happy, pleased.

Yet much of this business, this cash flow, this money train was headed to the overflowing coffers of the 1%. Not to me. Not you either. (Most likely you’re not in the 1% either, like 99% likely you’re not in the 1%)

The money goes to the rich. The rich get richer. The poor get more action movies.

Yet, there I was, and here I still am, sitting on the bus looking out at the busy human spectacle, happy for the economy.

Happy for them. Happy for the rich 1%.

Now that’s control.

To conclude this week’s As I Sat On The Bus entry, here’s a quote

“There’s a sucker born every minute.” P.T. Barnum

and a political song by Bumba

As I Sat On The Bus (#27) or Advice to Love-Lorn Writers

As I was sitting on the bus and waiting calmly for the inspiration to write to rise from the depths and wash over me (as it usually does when I sit on the bus), as I was sitting there, I had the realization that perhaps I could seek inspiration and perhaps obtain an even higher level of inspiration from another activity or venue. Depending on the buses for inspiration was so plebian, and, let us be frank, quite a dull way to obtain “inspiration”.

Yes! I would seek inspiration from…….

……Well, let’s consider the choices:

1. I could seek inspiration from Love. Ahh, how wonderful that would be!
2. I could seek inspiration to write and to live from the Beauty of the World. Ahh again!
3. I could seek inspiration from the Lord the Creator. Ahh and Amen, brother!
4. I could seek inspiration from the Grandeur of the Universe. Ahh again! Double Ahh!

There were clearly some viable and some very well-established avenues of inspiration open to me. There were clear alternatives to my artistic and philosophical dependency on buses and other modes of mass transportation.

A voice said from the back of my head:

“Think it over, Bumba. It’s not a bad idea. You could forget about the buses. You could even forget about writing for a while. You could engage in what they call Life for a while. Life, in and of itself can be pretty inspiring I’ve heard say.”

“Never!!!” I responded.

However, as I sat on the bus I began to consider my choices……

As I Sat At My Computer (AISOTB #26)

As I sat at my computer……

“STOP THE MUSIC!!!!!”, yelled a voice inside my head. The voice was that of Jimmy Durante, which I thought was strange, as the great Schnozola has been dead for a considerable long time.

“WAIT!!!” cried a second voice whose author was not identifiable.

“Just wait a minute. Hold on,” continued the second voice. “Don’t all of these ‘As I sat on the bus’ things have to begin with the phrase “As I sat on the bus”? What’s this with the “As I sat at my computer”? Bumba, you are a shameless iconoclast! And it’s your own icons that you’re breaking!”

“Hold on to your horses,” I told the both of them. “First of all, it doesn’t necessarily have to open with As I sat on the bus. The bus can come in the middle or the end. Actually, in my experience the bus tends to come at the end – after a long wait. Furthermore, it doesn’t necessarily have to be the bus for the AISOTB Invitational. Any means of public mass transportation is perfectly satisfactory.”

“So,” I intoned, “I’m happy to clear up some of these misunderstandings. But please to let me continue. What I had started to say (before being so rudely interrupted) was:”

As I sat at the computer I copied down what I had written the day before on the bus. The #30 bus had come surprisingly quickly, less than a ten minute wait. The #30 with its long and weary route from downtown Little Tokyo up to West Hollywood is a hardy traveller. I think some of the # 30’s never make it all the way. They drop off; they fall by the wayside. Perhaps they stop for a cup of coffee. I think that’s why sometimes you can wait several years for the #30 to come. In any case this lonely #30 had made it, carrying just a few brave and lonely travellers. I took a seat in the back.

I finally made it to the Beverly Hills Library. I took out some videos and three Kurt Vonnegut books. Good old Kurt had left us with a lot to read.

I walked back down from Beverly Hills – back to San Vicente Bl – to catch the #30 line. I walked on Burton Way, a street that sometimes reminds me of the Grand Concourse in the Bronx. Actually it doesn’t look much like the Grand Concourse at all, but I suppose I have expanded or lowered my threshholds for nostalgic moments.

Again to wait for the #30 bus.

and again I need to thank the MTA gods for their generosity in granting us writers so much opportunity to write. Not to mention time to read books, newspapers, sudokos and crossword puzzles. Ah the glorious MTA gods. Praise be the gods of the MTA…….

The voice then interrupted: “Is this going to be one of those religious, pantheistic sorts of AISOTB posts?”

“No. Don’t worry,” I responded in a soothing and reassuring voice. “Bumba is cruel. But not that cruel.”

As I interrupted myself from this rather silly internal dialogue (internal dialogue being a word lifted from the Carlos Castaneda/Don Juan books and it means exactly what it says: the internal dialogue is that conversation we so often have in our so-called minds. “Shutting the internal dialogue” becomes a command/exercise/preliminary task for a sorcorer or man of knowledge to accomplish.)

However, and to continue (internal dialogue aside), I would like to conclude this week’s AISOTB post with a song of course – which you will have to sing for yourself, because Bumba can’t do it yet. The song is “Hello I Must Be Going”, written by Bert Kalmar and Harry Ruby in 1930 or so and sung so splendidly by Groucho Marx (See Groucho’s entrance in the opening of Animal Crackers. Highly recommended!)

Hello, I must be going.

I cannot stay.

I came to say

I must be going

As I Rode On The Bus #25

Yikes! This is #25 of the As I Sat On The Bus thing. Bumba thanks the brave bloggers who have contributed to this remarkable mass transportation series, and invites one and all to make a contribution to the AISOTB Compendium and to ride the bus every now and then.

Bumbastories environmental engineers have made a rough estimate that if everyone in the (over) developed industrialized nations reduced their energy use by 20% – that means everyone uses 20% less gasoline, electricity, natural gas (also 20% less water, plastic, and paper – all of that reduction, this 20% to 22% reduction, which is indeed easily do-able without much sacrifice by anyone who claims to be worried about global warming and pollution – would make a significant difference. Bumbastories environmental engineers figure the price of a gallon of gasoline would go down by 35 to 40%, not to mention the lower doctor bills.

Ride the bus one day a week, find inspiration for an blog article.

In any case……

As I sat on the #20 bus rattling with the others up Wilshire Blvd, I thought: “What ever shall I write of next? This whole riding on the bus thing is getting a bit long in the tooth.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll think of something” a voice told me.

No sooner had these exact words “don’t worry, you’ll think of something” run across my mind, that a unique occurrence, an epiphany of sorts played out before my very eyes. Or rather the epiphany played out behind me. From the rear seat of the bus a young man had taken out his guitar and launched into a perfect rendition – indeed it was almost an exact copy – of Marcel Marceau’s famous 1962 recording of the Hank Williams hit Lovesick Blues

At this point I noticed that Bumba was making a quick escape from this week’s AISOTB Invitational, as he hopped off at the next stop. I myself stayed on the bus and heard the song till the end. It was OK, but I thought Marcel Marceau sung it better.