Upon getting just my third vinyl record- Yes, I've fallen victim to the latest vinyl comeback- I get it. I get the appeal.

Let's clarify: I am currently enjoying the genius that is The Smiths, The Queen Is Dead.

The Smiths, Arcade Fire, Mumford & Sons

After periodically researching article upon article on why vinyl is better, or if it even is better, I was skeptical. Am I just another sucker for the latest indie trend? Are the marketing moguls laughing at me?

None of my research, though, explained just what it is about vinyl that, simply put, rocks.

Sure, it sweeps you up in the process itself of slipping the vinyl out of the case, blowing off the dust, placing the needle just so. The intermittent crackle between songs.

A record gives my most prized albums a tangibility- I can touch, feel, look at the music that I so love. I can watch it turn and magically spit out those songs I've only known until now as a file on a computer.

Beyond all of this, though, there's really nothing you can read about records that will convince you more than putting your favorite album onto the turntable and listening to it through.

There's no such thing as "random" or skipping through a song. Listen to the album, song by song, and you'll get it. Like I do now.

Bigmouth strikes again
And I've got no right to take my place
With the human race

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It's been long a while since I've blogged, and come to think of it this probably shouldn't be named "Mi vida en España" anymore. This sad realization is, admittedly, why I haven't revisited my blog since leaving Spain a year ago in June. Alas, all good things pass.

I like to think have more adventure in store for me yet.

My current adventure: Commuting on the ART bus. Route 53, from East Falls Church to Ballston Metro, specifically.

Quick update: I work in Washington DC and live in Arlington (with my father). Hardly the dream. There is NO siesta.

D.C. Bus stop. 3 am. Friday.

I've made a lot of what we'll call "acquaintances" on my bus route to and from work each morning. Today's encounter is not with one of those.

Standing waiting for the bus, chatting on the phone to pass the time. I sense someone standing very close behind me. The figure places their hand on my waist, pauses there, says hello. I turn, fully expecting to see my cousin who lives nearby or some random high school friend.

To my chagrin, it is a tiny, hairy, dirty little man. Smiling at up at me.

"You... You stand by me? Keep me warm tonight?," he whines, with a strong latin american accent.

Those teeth. So yellow, plaque-covered. That thick plaid coat. Why did I think it was someone I knew! All I can think is, here we go again. My commute is full of surprises.

What I've learned from journeying on the ART bus is that you cannot react with insolence. It takes a certain balance of composure, patience, and politeness. Oh, and firmness. Be firm. Tell this small, perverted Hispanic man to back the hell off! Which is what I did, just with a hint of those aforementioned qualities.

Until I saw him, after I swiftly walked as far away as possible, target another helpless victim. The approach from behind. The few seconds until she realizes he is standing just an inch behind her. That smirk!

"BACK OFF. That is INAPPROPRIATE and you know it!" - Me, without any hint of patience or politeness.

Firm, I say! Sometimes you have to forgo restraint. I guess I learned that much tonight. However, I still found myself wondering if he was just a nice guy, a little drunk. Playing a prank. Regardless, sometimes there is just someone along the commute that you have to shut down.

It's not the 30 year old with Cerebral Palsy that, during our three minute walk helping her carry suitcases full of groceries home, mentions every bit she can blurt out about her night blindness, history of abuse, fear of crowds, grandmother dying and seizure-ridden past. "Thirteen years seizure-free!"

It's not the kid that graduated years ahead of me but seemingly made a hobby of memorizing high school yearbooks and, upon seeing me on the bus each morning inevitably yells "MARSH!" and proceeds to ask my thoughts about the construction plans for an elementary school on my middle school's property. I don't give a rat's ass, but I'll humor him.

It is, however the man from this episode of The ART Bus Saga. He cannot come onto my route, departing form Ballston Metro at 6:30pm Monday through Friday.

The bus driver rushes me onto the bus, away from my "friend." Recently he's started passing my stop to bring me closer to where he thinks I live, flashes the lights signalling it's safe to cross. He gets it mostly right.

Best part of the night.

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