Commuting adventures between Tacoma and Seattle.

Month: February, 2013

The More You Spend, The More You Save!!!


It’s not a Pak if it’s not a ValPak.

Loogie Hocking Zombie plopped down next to me this morning, and tore into his mail: junk mail, to be exact.  He was very proud of his ValPak coupons.  While sitting on the edge of The Fonz’s seat and leaning…no…stretching out toward Momma Lovell, he holds each coupon up to The Weebles, as if to entice their inevitable envy while he shows off the treasures in his fat blue envelope.

Muttering not exactly to himself:

“Hmmm.  Car Wash?”

Momma Lovell waves him off.

“Papa Murphy’s?”

Momma Lovell chuckles.

“How about sun tanning?”

“Oh, I’ll take that one,” she says–not for herself but for her granddaughter…yeah, right.

He casually flips through the remaining coupons, then puts them away.  Probably saving the best ones for his pal, The Fonz.


I’ll bet The Hillbilly Bears and The Cosby Kids shop at the same music store.

If you remember the “Hillbilly Bears,” you’ll recall “Pa” and how he spoke.  You couldn’t really understand what he was saying except for a random word here and there:

“Merphl, gibber, sam, sam, PECAN PIE, flibble, perking, sam, sam, marfl, HUNGRY, sam, sam, bootle, jim.”

His boy would always be there to translate:

“So, you say you smell someone’s baking a PECAN PIE, and it sure is making you HUNGRY for your dinner, Pa?”

LHZ sounds just like Pa when he talks, but is slightly more intelligible.  I’ll bet he plays the tree-branch-and-oil-can bass in church on Sundays.


In Other News

  • The Fonz speaks French to the ladies (“Par-don?”)
  • LeBeau actually works for Holland American Cruise lines.
  • Loogie Hocking Zombie thinks LeBeau’s travel agent job is a cover for his “real” job at the FBI
  • There’s a lot of bitter people who work at Boeing.

Monday Shorts

  • Loogie Hocking Zombie’s ringtone is techno-rave Nightly News intro music
  • The Weebles have jammed themselves into a space meant for two
  • One of the Ewoks stuffed her purse full of Cup-o-Noodles
  • I think that guy over there is dead

Railroad Revival


We Be Los Lobos Fans

Momma Lovell and her friend hopped onto Loogie Hocking Zombie’s stream of consciousness this morning.  Somehow he went from excitement for getting to sit in The Fonz’s seat (“I’ve got Lonnie’s seat!  I’ve got Lonnie’s seat!”), to mispronouncing “Hylebos” over and over again (“Hybelos”).  He was pointing all of his energy at Momma Lovell who was, not surprisingly, a little confused.  Then he started saying alternately “Webelos” and [mispronounced] “Hylebos”, which got him into talking about the progression of Boy Scouts into Cub Scouts (yes, I know that is backward).


Mmmmmm. Don’t you just love the hit of parsley in Original Cragmont Cola?

The stream of semiconsciousness then turned to sharing acronyms that he knows from church.  One was something along the lines of “IWANA” which is supposed to mean something like “I am a willing worker [for the lord]” or some baloney like that.  Not sure if that means there is a Boy Scout equivalent at his church or something.

So he starts repeating “IWANA” and “IWANA Cubby”, back and forth.  “IWANA Cubby” is apparently some group of “willing workers” who are actually children–kind of like Cub Scouts, or so LHZ reports.  The “IWANA Cubby” thing sounds like an icky and ham-fisted approach at taking something totally uninteresting and lame then trying to make it cool for your average young kid; and as we all will remember, this strategy never works.  Toughskins were no substitute for Levi’s, and ain’t nobody got time for Cragmont Cola when there is a frosty Coca Cola nearby.


There is so much wrong with this picture, I don’t know where to start.

In the case of LHZ’s “IWANA Cubby”, it sounds like a transparent attempt at corrupting a child’s innocent and unmolested imagination in order to lead them to a life not-of-their-choosing.  IMHO, it’s not a whole lot different from Hitler Youth or using cartoon characters to sell cigarettes.  Toughskins will always be Toughskins no matter who is VP of Marketing at Sears.


C’mon kid. Don’t be a square. Bibleman loves Camel bare-butts almost as much as he loves raisins.

I mean, honestly, when has any kid legitimately chosen Bibleman over Superman if he/she wasn’t artificially influenced by an adult? Line up all the superheros ever created, and unless the kid has been lead to Bibleman at some point by an adult there is no way a kid is going to self-select Bibleman as his one true lord and savior preferred superhero.  What kid ever got excited about getting a little box of raisins on Halloween?  Same thing here.  Don’t ruin a kid’s Halloween with raisins, and don’t ruin a kid’s childhood with Bibleman.

And don’t even get me started on the Cookie Monster to Veggie Monster debacle.

Trust Issues


I think it will be OK. I’ll just be a second.

Señor Botas is back (sans botas), and he has locked his bike to one of the handrails near the door.  When he got on the train, there was an old dude sitting in the spot where the bikes go; I think the old dude works for Sound Transit counting passengers on the train, or something.  Anyway, old dude won’t make way for the bike, so bike gets locked to a hand rail.  Kind of reminds me of this episode of Bert & Ernie.

No sooner than Señor Botas locked up his bike, he heads over to take a seat next to the old dude–right where his bike should be.  Seconds later, the train stops and another regular bike-folk gets on with her bike (she is a-ok, not a douche at all).  She’s probably 20 years old, a little sassy and adorable, and usually wears a lot of pink and white (and a little green) to match her pink and white bike.  She comes right up to the old dude (and Señor Botas, who is now sitting next to the old dude in the place where his bike should be) and says LOUDLY, “This space is for bikes!”

Señor Botas and the old dude reluctantly get up and make way for her to properly stow her bike.  Pretty awesome, except now Señor Botas is standing in front of me, guarding his priceless bike (girl’s bike frame, BTW), still locked to the pole, and bumping his stinky backpack up against my laptop screen.  Old dude proceeds to amble up to The Fonz and me.  “Can I squeeze in here between you two?”


Make way! Precious cargo.

“You can try,” I said.

“I don’t want to mess up your computer there,” he says to me as he makes his final approach.

Queue sound of forklift backing up….and, we have touchdown.  The Fonz is immediately displaced by the old dude’s giant ass.  The Fonz responds with a loud “Jesus Christ!” then gets up and stands for the rest of the trip.  Good times.  Wish you were here.

In Other News

  • Mitch McConnell runs like a girl.
  • Rosa Parks requires a seat not only for her giant ass, but also for her glitzy handbag.  Do not ask her to move it.
  • Grandma Munster should really sit like a lady.
  • Weebles wobble but they don’t fall down.
  • Louis LeBeau may have been captured by the Russians.
  • Loogie Hocking Zombie has his eye on some brains; probably just a light snack.

I See Your Cycle-Douche Outfit and Raise You



What? I’m just commuting to work. Don’t judge me.

You know you’re taking it too far when your douchey biking outfit is indistinguishable from a scuba diver’s wetsuit.  To the trained eye, there are key differences between Team Douche and folks who simply prefer to breath out of a can when they’re on vacation:

  1. Scuba divers don’t have diapers built into their wetsuits.
  2. Scuba divers don’t have a giant skunk stripe of mud streaked up from their butt-crack to their neck.
  3. Scuba divers aren’t covered in corporate sponsorship logos (imagined or genuine).
  4. Scuba divers don’t get on the train “casually” wearing full scuba diving regalia while on their way to work.

I can’t wait for the next guy to get on the train with an oxygen tank, scuba mask, and a Orbea Orca Bronze/Shimano Ultegra Di2.  Everyday is like a cross between show-and-tell and Halloween with these guys.

“I’m too big for this seat.”

Ladies and gentlemen, we have a first.

A new guy gets on the train and slowly wanders over to the empty seat between me and The Fonz, backs up and sits down.  Clearly, there is not enough room for this guy, but he sits down anyway, leans back and crinkles up his shoulders in a very cramped-looking posture.  Then come the words that none before him have had the courage speak: “I’m too big for this seat.”

He says this in a quiet self-realization, a little sad or disappointed that he is not a malnourished asian woman who could enjoy this seat all the way into Seattle.  Indeed he doesn’t want to sit there wedged between me and The Fonz for the next 30 minutes.  He gets up slowly, sadly, and climbs the stairs in search of greener pastures up-top.

The way he said “I’m too big for this seat,” was haunting.  His tone was as though he was yet again disappointed in himself, like that time he asked out that average-looking girl in high school and she turned him down, or the time he didn’t get the bland job he was after.  It was like he had failed in some way pursuing something anyone else would get right, and hadn’t surprised himself at all.

Sweet Talkin’ Cheek-to-Cheek


The king of No. 2.

Our friend, Loogie Hocking Zombie, knows how to charm a woman.  Maybe he’ll include these techniques in the book he is writing.  I had no idea the path to Momma Lovell’s heart passed through a Honey Bucket…and just her luck, LHZ knows a lot about Honey Bucket, the company, and every intimate detail about how they are cleaned, who cleans them, etc…  This conversation topic is apparently so successful for him that he’s also using it on Grandma Munster (who, for some reason keeps trying to shift the conversation onto another subject).

In the event you’ve been trying to find a way into the sanitation arts as a career path, you’ll be well advised to marry into the business.  Not just anyone can hose out a portable toilet.


Plenty of room; I didn’t even notice you were there.

AND THEN…we have an update on the situation with Louis Lebeau and yesterday’s usurping of his seat.  Once more, Momma Lovells’ travel partner took a load off where Lebeau normally sits, but today he stood his ground and carefully backed his Nazi-resisting butt right into the remaining tight parking place next to this interloper.  It was kind of funny to watch as he backed-in, butt sticking out, one cheek rubbing up against the partition wall, the other squeezing past his neighbor–a tight fit for sure, but Lebeau will not be deterred.  Interestingly, his neighbor didn’t stir from her pretending-to-be-asleep act, and now they’re both sitting there, cuddled up like a momma penguin and her chick, napping and pretending like the other isn’t there.