A demain le bon sex

...that's a fun phrase from the introduction to History of Sexuality. Oh, Michel, you nut.

Anyway, here's some classy moves I've seen lately:

• The guy taking his baby in a stroller to the liquor store on Laurel and Pacific. Looking good, guy!
• The sunburned guys with black plastic sacks full of bottles riding stolen mountain bikes around. I think those guys are the true harbingers of springtime; the bluebird is obselete, replaced by sunburned mountain-bike guys.

Also, I had the good fortune of bumping into this guy and his lady friend on the 13 the other day and we got to talking about the municipal character(s) of different bus lines. What I mean is that every mass-transit system has a certain spirit, a certain je ne sais quoi, a certain Geist, and here are the three I know about:

• Eugene, Oregon: Lane Transit District. Just a bunch of really nice people...they'll give you directions, they'll stop if you're running trying to catch the bus, they're very careful and considerate drivers.
• Portland, Oregon: Tri-Met. Released from institutions for the criminally insane...they'll run you the fuck over and laugh over your corpse. They'll drive past you without even looking up. Someone could be cooking up meth in the back of the bus and the driver'll just ignore it.
• Santa Cruz, California: Metro. Petty petty petty. They'll deliberately drive away from you if you're running for the bus. They'll shut the door in your face. They'll blaze on through those red lights when they're getting frustrated. I totally like them; I get on at the downtown station, so I get to indulge in mass schadenfreude while they're blazing past people at the later stops.

Back to Gramsci. Antonio! What's happenin', bitch?!