You may know Isaac Fitzgerald as the managing editor of The Rumpus, but what you may not know is that he’s got a little hero complex, which got him into a … situation on the 14-Mission. He told the story at Muni Diaries Live a few weeks ago at the Make-Out Room, and we invite you to enjoy his tale in this video.
Category: Muni Diaries Live
Photo by Breanna Lambert of Scoutmob
More than 150 of you came out to share a night of good laughs, strong drinks, and general fun at our fourth spoken word party Friday night. We learned a few important things from our stellar storytellers. If the rain kept you away from the fun on Friday night, let’s review:
- Never try to skateboard wearing cowboy boots.
- It takes approximately 12 people to lift a car off of the Muni tracks.
- Reading a low brow book on Muni can give a certain fellow passenger Lit Rage.
- Holding onto the handrails with both hands on Muni can have unintended consequences.
- Muni Interruptus can ruin your dating life.
What else happened on Friday night at Muni Diaries Live? Let’s see… Read more
If you bring a story to tell on stage, you might win a prize from one of our awesome sponsors, including Anthony’s Cookies, Chronicle Books, The Summit, Metronome Dance Collective, and Market Street Railway.
And you can rock some SF love and shop with our sponsor Secession Art and Design — the lovely Eden will be on hand to sell transit-themed baby onesies and t-shirts.
So pen us in, write us on a Post-It, tap us into your iPhone, enter us into your Google Calendar, do whatever you gotta do to join the fun and share a drink with your fellow riders. We can’t wait!
Photo by Troy Holden
This time our story tellers include Derek Powazek of Fray Magazine, comedian Bucky Sinister, and Isaac Fitzgerald, whom you may know from The Rumpus, but did you know he is also the recipient of a royal Bhutanese sword? Tara the sea shanty songstress from our first show will be back too, so we hope you’re ready.
Also, if you’ve been wrangling with your Clipper card and silently mourning the end of the paper “A” Fast Pass, come to this show to see the beginning of the final faceoff between the paper Fast Pass and the Clipper card. You’ll have to be there to see what we mean…
And as always, you will have an opportunity to tell your Muni story on stage, with prizes galore! We’ll be announcing more about the lineup and prizes in the next two weeks. If you missed Muni Diaries Live! one, two, and three (how could you miss out on so much fun?), we hope to see you at this one! A mere $5 at the door will get you a night of entertainment and camaraderie, so get your stories ready and see you at the Make-Out Room!
Muni Diaries Live!
Friday, Oct. 29, 7:30 p.m. to 9:30 p.m. Only $5!
Make-Out Room — 3225 22nd Street
Routes serving the area: BART 24th St. Station, 12, 14, 22, 33, 48, 49, 67
Photo by christine.ricks
Jesse told a two-minute version of this story at Muni Diaries Live! two Fridays ago, and there was no question that he was the crowd favorite of the evening. People couldn’t get enough of Jesse so we asked him to write his story in full here for you.
I was heading home from work, a task that takes about 45 minutes and one transfer. In the afternoons, I prefer to take the 1-California, as it has consistently proven to be the gentler, cleaner, more Asian cousin of the consistently troubling 38-Geary. Little did I know that this was to be no ordinary ride home. This was a bus ride that, even years later, is still burned into the memory portions of my brain (those are somewhere in the upper middle, right?). When dealing with Muni, I suppose one should always expect the unexpected.
As I approached the bus shelter, I heard a loud, angry voice taking someone to task for being a “Lazy-Assed Cracker.” Soon it was revealed that the man attached to the voice was a tall fellow who would sporadically refer to himself in the third person. His name was Leroy. Leroy seemed to be pushing 60, though I suppose he could have been younger. One thing was for sure; Leroy was not new to the streets. He was crusty in a way that is almost special. It seemed that Leroy had maintained a long and devout abstinence to water, since Y2K was a genuine threat. Leroy’s hands were swollen, coated in years and layers of sedimentary funky junk and it dawned on me that Leroy’s claws have quite possibly touched many of the same public surfaces that mine have over the years (I resolved at once to stop biting my nails). His T-shirt advertised the 1984 Los Angeles Summer Olympics and was so timeworn that maintaining its structure must have been accomplished through ancient magic long since forgotten.
Photo by Julie Michelle of i live here: SF
Ed. note: Silvi Alcivar of The Poetry Store told this story on stage at Muni Diaries Live! last Friday. If you missed her and her beautiful typewriter at the show, here is her story. She was also featured on SFGate this week. Oh, and yes, we take Caltrain and BART stories, too! You can find the rest of Caltrain stories on this page and on our @caltraindiaries Twitter feed.
I was having a terrible morning. Not only did I have to get up at 6:30am after about a week of way too little sleep, I had to get up and get on my bike, to get to Caltrain, to go to Menlo Park to get my boobs squished in a machine. Why did I have to go all the way to Menlo Park for my annual mammogram? Because I’m a poet, and poet’s don’t have health insurance, at least I don’t, and the free breast screening program I’m enrolled in meant I had to venture out of the city if I wanted to make sure my boobs were cancer free.
Not only did this feel like a hassle, I was also so broke that I almost couldn’t justify paying $12 for a day pass. I thought maybe I could get by without one, but I didn’t want to chance it, so I dished out $12 I felt like I didn’t have.
Thanks to the timeliness of Caltrain, I arrived at my appointment proud of myself for being half an hour early. I’m never early. Ever. When I went to lock up my bike, crap! I didn’t have my lock. I walked in, bike in tow, and a man appeared out of nowhere and started ushering me and my bike out. “No, no bikes in here, just leave it out there.” He pointed to a far away space not within easy eyeshot of anyone, let alone me, who was going to be in another room, getting her boobs squished in a machine. “Look,” I told him, “this bike is worth more money than I have right now. I can’t risk anything happening to it.” He gave me a look that told me he obviously was not a bike commuter, or even a bike commute appreciator. I begged the receptionist and finally she let me leave my bike right outside the door.
When I went to check in, sure enough, they had no record of my appointment. In fact, the receptionist informed me, “But we don’t do mammograms here.” A phone call or two later it turned out I was sent the wrong paper work and sent to the wrong place. A woman on the phone told me, “Your appointment is actually in San Mateo in 10 minutes.” “I’m on my bike,” I told her, “and on Caltrain, there’s no way I can’t make it.” She offered to pay for a cab. I was so frustrated and disappointed I couldn’t even talk because if I talked I was going to cry. She asked if I wanted to reschedule and I choked out, “Not. Right. Now.” Then I retrieved my bike from the place it remained perfectly safe and I headed back to Caltrain.
Of course, when I got there, I had just missed the SF train and had to wait. When finally I got on, all I wanted to do was close my eyes and disappear. Lucky for me, no such thing happened. It was about 10 a.m. or so and the bike car was virtually empty, but of course, some guy decided to sit right in front of me. Read more