If you guessed I just had to test my bus pass, you’d be right. I hopped on the 1 to Terminal and the 10 to Mizner Park. It was more than a ride as I was testing it for everything from entertainment to alternative beach routes. My verdict is no, it isn’t worth it. Riding the bus is not fun. It took five hours round trip, including two quarter-hour transfers in Ft. Lauderdale. Depending on how you value your time, it was actually more costly than throwing three bucks gas in the scooter and taking the coast road.
The bus was nice, they don’t skimp there. I may try to ride the 11 along the coast in a few days but the inland routes rate a D minus for scenery. As usual, the stops and transfer points are in the middle of nowhere or Broward Blvd, same thing. I watched for businesses and locations that I don’t see when driving. Florida also has an aversion to house numbers that can be seen from the street.The ride provided time to ponder my changed financial outlook. Put simply, if I get to do anything this summer, it will require a miracle. I can understand how people are outraged by the system. This place is getting as bad as India for disrespecting the time of others. Mind you, my memories of how bad India was could be fading. The salt in the wound is that even if things to work out in six months, it will be the wrong season to leave for Colorado. And Florida, that sucks.
The box office agrees with my assessment of “John Carter”. Disney today announced it has lost $200 million. That’s a new record, I believe. The weaknesses in that movie are a culmination of the infective conservatism since Walt passed on. Not enough adventure, too much romance, like how the latest “War of the Worlds” was turned into a chick flick. Nobody at Disney is willing to take chances any more and it shows. I suppose we should be glad they didn’t turn Mars into a Broadway musical.
My Yelp review of the Kiss’s bakery must have made a substantial difference. Shall we say my coffee budget sure goes further than a week ago? It is a must-read for anyone who doubts I can sell myself to younger women. If I can sell bread, I can sell buns.
Hungary is a medium-sized purple country in the middle of Europe. The aerobics instructor babe didn’t show up this week. I got fifty bucks says she met some deadbeat who’s stringing her some line on the Danube. Her plan is to put the nice boy on hold until she checks out the loser. I have an old girlfriend that thinks if you don’t see her doing it, nothing happened. To her credit, that mentality really works unless the nice boy is older than 18. I’m not saying I’m right, I’m saying I’ve still got my fifty bucks.
So I took the evening off and went to the old club (not specified) for three hours. It was the same old. The overhead was playing “Wheel of Fortune”. It was me against the regulars, guess who won every round? I stayed a while after that, thinking and remembering. It does the soul good in moderation, especially when you avoid temptation and come home for a cup of tea. That’s me tonight, a long way from Budapest.
