Significant in the way that anything is

1. My computer mouse only scrolls up. This has led me to discover something very important: I never scroll up. Having a computer mouse that can't go down is like having an elevator that can't go up: It's only good for the second leg of the trip. Which in practice means it's useless.

2. I saw a legless dude on a skateboard today. It was awesome.

3. The largest woman I have ever seen sat next to me on the bus when it was 100 degrees outside and crushed me up against the window for fifteen minutes. There were two things that made me uncomfortable about this. One was that I was pressed up against another human being on a day hot enough to set water on fire, and the other was that I was covered in someone else's stomach. This leads me to several important thoughts about the bus.

One is that I have never gotten on a bus in Berkeley that doesn't smell funny. And I don't mean in the "someone was smoking pot in the back" kind of way, which is what a remarkable amount of the city smells like. I mean in the "someone went to the gym without deodorant and rolled around on all the seats" way or the "a child took a secret dump under the handicapped bench" way. Or just some pervading scent of wrongness that has no origin. There's a line in Beauty and the Beast that goes, "Every day a new surprise!" My mornings align well with this sentiment, only I live in the real world rather than a Disney movie, so my encounters are with a bus rather than true love.

Something else I've learned about Berkeley: People are confused by basic rules of public transportation. One, you don't sit next to someone when there are plenty of empty seats unless said person is sitting in the front and you are missing a leg, 80-years-old, or carrying something heavy. Another important rule is that you let people off the bus or train before judo-chopping the rest of the teeming horde trying to get on out of your way. Every time I come to the Berkeley BART stop on the bus and try to disembark, I am greeted by a wall of people pressed up against door. They're like a mosh pit in density and violence. Only instead of punks it's yuppies dressed in business casual. One day I'm just going to throw myself on top of them and 9-to-5-commuter surf all the way to the escalator.

4. You know that guy on the freeway who drives his car like Speed Racer on crack and weaves in and out of lanes going thirty miles an hour faster than you? I know him. I have been in his car. I think the experience gave me a heart murmur.

Why would you do that?

My office is over a mile away from the BART station, and I hate walking. There were thus two options available: ride the bus and pay $3.50 a day (actually $4, because the bus doesn't give change—don't get me started) or buy a bike. Being the cheap soul I am, I bought a slightly rusty mountain bike at a garage sale. I bought myself a sweet u-lock to protect my piece of junk, and left it at the station overnight.

It served me well for a good two days. But when I returned to Berkeley on Monday, something was amiss. You might think, at this point in the story, that my bike had gone missing. Not so. I stared at my bicycle for a good two minutes in astonishment. More specifically, at the gaping hole where my seat was supposed to be attached.

Yes, you read that right: The thief left the bike, but took my ripped, old seat, including the pole that attaches it to the bike. Buying a new one would probably cost me more than I paid for the bike and the lock. I was at a loss. It had been such a cost effective plan, but it had been abruptly ruined by some ass with a fetish for old, uncomfortable bike seats.

So my bike has been sitting at the Berkeley BART station missing a vital component for the past three weeks. I pass it every morning and stare at it longingly. Cursed walking.