Riding the subway: an effective mode of transportation or just the newest Hollywood diet fad? For some reason this train system has half of Los Angeles running for the first time since their childhood. For a person such as me, driving in L.A. seems a bit redundant with gas prices up to your very soul for a fill up. So being stingy, yes, I do admit to being cheap (I do enjoy my soul or what's left of it, that is). Though I do find it sadly ironic to live a life of non-mobility to choke on the thick Los Angeles fumes, and yes, choke a bit more on my carcinogen habit. But all that is racing through my head at this moment is the fact that I just ran up three flights of broken escalators to miss a bus that for the first time in the history of mankind, was, should I say it? On time.

I am panting like an obese child in a round of soccer and sweating as if the ball has just been kicked towards me. And now that I am not safely underground where I can bury my head in a book, the catcalls have commenced. My favorite insult towards my sexual appeal so far would have to be the use of the title, "strawberry." Yes, I understand my hair is artificially dyed the color of said fruit, but only to mask the insult of living in Hollywood and being blonde. Secondly, I do have seeds, but I will never permit you near a harvest. So with the mixture of heat and humidity bearing down on my body, I am now as moist as the proverbial pig. Although, I do recall reading somewhere that sows do not perspire, or was that some other species? I'm not sure. I have never claimed to be well educated in the area of swine proverbs.

Right, to get back on track, the Metro has to be this great "Lose Weight Now" scheme the city thought up. Once boarding said contraption, one is nearly knocked unconscious by the ripe smell of society. The aromas of body odor, obnoxious people, and half-chewed cuisine land you hard on your back. It takes any inkling of hunger that once possessed you out to dry. I have had the fortunate luck to possess the friendship of a woman who sold her freedom to a slayer of gardens. The more politically correct verse would be read as she is employed by a florist. So with her enchanting gift of robbing the store blind, one fragrant rose at a time, has saved our nose. Ah, but our appetites have not been spared from the horrors below; nothing would save those, short of being aromatically challenged.

So yes, we are melting away pounds by the most convenient form of transportation. And yes, in a way we are being cost-effective, saving the Earth in our own tight fisted ways. But that brings the next point to mind: what about our sanity? Is it still in tact? I'm not sure, for now we run for these damned trains, holding our pants up with one hand and our flowers shoved under our nostrils with the other. I believe I should bottle and patent this formula; I would make millions from society's cluelessness. But hey, so many are doing so in other get-rich-quick schemes. Yes, I understand this is dripping with cynicism, but I strongly believe this to be the theoretical fruit of my womb. I am writing this, sitting in the midst of a Mid-simmer's day bus stop. Very slowly I am realizing that the Los Angeles transportation system believes that people without cars should not be granted the luxury of having a life on Sundays.

I bid you adieu with a final tip to today's society. Not owning a vehicle in this city is the quickest route to ending America's so-called obesity epidemic. Don't get me started on that one, people. But in ending, all I have left is to say good luck, and ride the Metro.

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