gold line to Pasadena

My hosts have left for south by southwest, and now the house is mine.  I'm not totally sure what to do.  What should I do?  Pet the dog for an hour?  Walk to the grocery store and then walk around in the grocery store?  Become incredibly stoned on pharmaceutical grade marijuana or, as the parlance goes in L.A. dispensaries, smoke some flowers?  Do some meds?  Who are they kidding with this nomenclature?  That stuff is not medicine, and though buds are technically flowers, they're not the kind of flowers you give to your girlfriend on Valentine's day when you want to make up for some stupid shit you said.  For that you want to march down to the gas station and buy some roses.  Nothing says I'm sorry like roses.  I'm getting off track here.   

The other day I was in Pasadena and I ate an excellent hamburger at a hip young chain called Umami Burger.  At Umami Burger they first cook their patties sous vide—for those of you who don't know what sous vide means, it basically means sticking something into a bag, vacuum sealing it, and then cooking it in a water bath at a low temperature over a long period of time—and then they sear the hell out of the patties.  This produces an excellent and juicy burger that can be consumed very pink.  There's more to sous vide cooking than that, but that's enough for now.  I was in Pasadena, eating fancy burgers, and singing The Little Old Lady from Pasadena by the famous rock group, the Beach Boys.  I was in Pasadena and it was impossible not to sing that song.  In case you don't know, the little old lady from Pasadena "is the terror of Colorado Blvd."  Colorado Blvd is the main drag in Pasadena.  I wonder if the song is based on a real life granny?

  
This is the Gold Line train, heading south from Pasadena, approaching the South Pasadena station.  The driver in this photograph appears to be concealing, just below the dashboard, a 24 oz. can of Miller HighLife.  His windshield wiper appears to be pointing down and to the left; although, technically, from his perspective it's pointing down and to the right.  Perspective is so important.  Or, as somebody once said in a poem, "perspective is a real bitch."  It just depends on how you look at it.  That's the thing about perspective.

Whenever I walk into a busy hotel lobby or a crowded train terminal, the people around me stop dead in their tracks and stare at me while I whisk through their silent approvals. I took this photograph because I wanted to capture how that feels.  I was standing on an empty train platform and I was dreaming.  Or I was deep in worry.  Sometimes it's hard to tell the two apart.  Worry.  Dreaming.  Worry.  Dreaming.  It can be so hard to differentiate the two.  It's like being blindfolded, presented with two roses, a pink one and a red one, and then asked to tell the world which is which using only your hands and your nose.  It can be so hard to come up with the right answer.  Colors are the blindfolds of reality.  I don't know what that means, and I have nothing else to say.