Hybrids Approach Parity

John Gartner reports in today's "Autopia" blog on Wired that hybrids could become a good buy for consumers in the next two years, thanks to innovations in lithium ion batteries. These batteries are 35 percent lighter and 55 percent smaller than nickel metal hydride batteries, and enable vehicle manufacturers to cut the price delta by half. Granted, this post was prompted by a bit of shilling on the part of Charles Gassenheimer, the Vice Chairman of Ener1 Inc., which develops lithium ion batteries.

Even still, this topic has been of immense interest to me and anyone else who'd like to see consumers, the economy and the environment all get out from under the thumb of Big Oil. In business school, we spent a lot of time on cases involving alternative energy startups and the product roadmap for hybrid and other low-consumption vehicles. While many of us argued the point that we'd rather pay a premium to Toyota or Honda than to Exxon, ultimately, we came back to the sad conclusion that consumers will always vote with their wallets.

After grinding a few of the data points in Gartner's post, I've found there's reason to be more optimistic. Currently, car buyers pay a $4,000 premium for a hybrid car over the equivalent gas car. Assuming the average motorist drives 12,000 miles a year and pays the current average fuel cost of $2.581 a gallon, it would take nearly six and a half years for the fuel savings to catch up with the premium one pays for a hybrid car. Given that most people sell their cars after five years, there's not a strong financial value proposition for hybrid cars currently. These are my calcs:

	Hybrid	Regular
Mileage	50	25
Premium	$4,000.00	$0.00
Miles/Year	12,000	12,000
Gallons purchased	240	480
Fuel cost	$2.58	$2.58
Annual fuel cost	$619.44	$1,238.88
Years to break even	6.46	6.46
Total Fuel Cost + Premium	$8,000.00	$8,000.00

But, if Gassenheimer's prediction holds true, hybrid car buyers would need less than three years and three months to break even. That's well within the five-year window in which most people keep new cars and thus shows a very reasonable financial value prop. Of course, true finance geeks will haggle about time value of money, but since you'd have to apply that to both the up-front cost of a hybrid and the added fuel costs of a gas car, I think it comes close to being a wash.

	Hybrid	Regular
Mileage	50	25
Premium	$2,000.00	$0.00
Miles/Year	12,000	12,000
Gallons purchased	240	480
Fuel cost	$2.58	$2.58
Annual fuel cost	$619.44	$1,238.88
Years to break even	3.23	3.23
Total Fuel Cost + Premium	$4,000.00	$4,000.00

Friday Breakfast Taco

Today's breakfast taco is brought to you by Juanita's, the little red caboose on 5^th. The egg and chorizo is solid and the salsa verde is among my favorites in Austin.

Soundtrack: I Do Not Play No Rock 'N' Roll, by Mississippi Fred McDowell. North Mississippi Hill Country Blues earliest exponent plugs in electric for the first time and features a rhythm section comprising more than his foot and right hand (it's some dude with brushes barely audible in the background). As the title indicates, this ain't no sell-out. Aside from a little amplification, it's the same straight, rhythmic, droning deep blues McDowell had been playing since the '20s (although that's a matter of faith, as it wasn't until 1959 when folklorist Alan Lomax became the first to capture McDowell on tape). The Stones turned in very faithful cover of "You Got to Move" on Sticky Fingers. The album also features a rollicking "Jesus is on the Mainline" and a jagged, slashing "61 Highway." McDowell died two years after this album's release (1969) of cancer.

Vote Different: Several versions of the mash-up of Apple's 1984 Super Bowl ad attacking Hilary Clinton are circulating on YouTube. Per Wired, the original is the product of Phillip de Vellis, an employee of Blue State Digital, a political technology consulting firm whose clients include Democrats Barack Obama, Bill Richardson and Tom Vilsack. De Vellis revealed himself in the Huffington Post, noting that he supports Obama's presidential candidacy, but that he made the video independent of his employer, "on a Sunday afternoon in my apartment using my personal equipment (a Mac and some software)" and then uploaded it to YouTube and e-mailed links to blogs. Accounts differ whether de Vellis was fired or resigned, but, either way, he's no longer with Blue State Digital.

The message was brilliantly executed: Clinton gives her candidacy speech from a giant telescreen from George Orwell's novel 1984, promising to "let the conversation begin," a conversation that de Vellis apparently believes is really a monologue.

At issue is whether the Federal Election Commission should be monitoring this kind of activity, to see whether large corporations, unions and other groups are unfairly influencing elections by bankrolling viral Internet campaigns – basically, creating an online wave of Swiftboat-esque campaigns. When you think ahead to what well-funded ad agencies, cashing checks from the RNC or DNC, could do with this medium, I suppose regulation of the public airwaves could resemble deck chair arrangement on the Titanic. That said, the Internet is not a public commons, like the airways, so you have to factor in free speech considerations.

Still, I think the other takeaway here is how easy this apparently was and what a landmark moment this may well have been for social media and user generated content. I'm guessing de Vellis didn't get any clearances from Apple to use the original 1984-themed Super Bowl ad. He just grabbed some content that was freely available on YouTube and spliced it up to suit his own purposes. Clearly, he didn't need a Madison Avenue budget and Big Oil dollars to pull this off; all it cost him was a few hours of his weekend. Contrast that with Swiftboat, which was a massively coordinated campaign that entailed a lot of pricey media buying.

Granted, this wasn't a true populist uprising, as de Vellis is – or was – a part of the political machine when he produced "Vote Different." But this could have just as easily been done by someone outside of the political machine. De Vellis made an eloquent statement about how, using a few free online tools (and with a cavalier attitude about copyright), anyone – not just a Karl Rove-esque Svengali – can reshape the "conversation" Ms. Clinton, like everyone else in our two-party charade of a democracy, had expected to control.

Oh, yeah: I'm way, way, waaaay overdue on this, but I want to share my appreciation for some recent hat tips from T. Kyle King at Dawgsports and Senator Blutarsky at Get the Picture. Both of these guys do phenomenal jobs covering college sports from a Dawg's-eye view, delivering thoughtful analysis wrapped in clever, incisive writing that invariably rewards a visit several times over. And, particularly with the addition of MaconDawg over at Dawgsports, they're prolific enough to keep your RSS reader busy all day. Gents, if you want to use that as testimonial, have at it -- it applies equally and fully to all parties. Thanks again for directing a portion of your well-deserved traffic to my dark corner.

Texas Barbecue Trail, Dispatch #1: Elgin

As part of Apropos de Nada's continuing efforts to defy categorization, to mess with and, ultimately, re-embrace Texas, to stave off the imminent post-March Madness and pre-kickoff doldrums and, lastly, to undo whatever good is being done with the new gym membership, the crack staff at AdN has endeavored to canvass the Texas Barbecue Trail. Slow-cooked meat is one of the few subjects about which we're qualified to comment at length, having resided in barbecue Meccas such as Memphis, Georgia and both Carolinas and having competed in the Memphis in May World Championship Barbecue Cooking Contest.

It's only fair at this, the outset, to warn our readership across the Mississippi River: this will involve beef. The Southeastern visitor will note with a mixture of derision, befuddlement and sadness that Texans include beef in their otherwise delicious barbecue cornucopia, which also features chicken and turkey. In the South, inviting someone to barbecue that includes any kind of meet besides pork is akin to inviting them to a satanic orgy. As for Texas' take, well, beef comes from cows, which are, um, plentiful in Texas. Dance with them what brung ya.

Having previewed Lockhart rather aggressively before our departure to barbecue oblivion, aka California, AdN pre-loosened its belt and picked as its first stop Elgin, home to the Southside Market & BBQ Inc. and to Meyer's Elgin Smokehouse. Famous for its hot sausage, Elgin is a tiny hamlet roughly 30 miles northeast of Austin on Highway 290.

The first stop was the Southside Market, which was founded in 1882 and has been in the same hands since Ernest Bracewell took over in 1968 after moving from San Antonio. As with most Texas barbecue establishments, you can buy your meal buy the pound and eat it off of butcher paper. For the dandies among us, you can also order a plate for lunch.

Oscar Wilde, clearly with barbecue on the brain, famously averred that "Nothing exceeds like excess." Thus, we ordered up the four-meat combo, which featured sausage, brisket and ribs of the pork and beef variety.

As a native Georgian, I share my home region's wariness of brisket, a lower-quality cut of beef. And bad brisket is about as appealing as shoe leather. Fortunately, Southside shares the conviction held by the sorely missed John Mueller, who smoked his brisket until it was of near-liquid consistency. The same could be said of Southside's cuts, which, as tired as I am of this cliché, melted in my mouth. The all-beef sausage, too, was superb. While it lacked the almost explosive juiciness of Smitty's in Lockhart, the hallmark piquancy more than compensated.

I am always frustrated by the beef rib. Sure, it's huge. It's also a lot of work and it rewards that work with poor-quality meet and relatively little of it. I dunno, maybe I'm getting bad cuts, but my Southside experience was no different. You spend a lot of time gnawing off small chunks of meat off this Flintstones-sized bone and get very little out of it, besides a lot of grease on your face. Contrast that with the Memphis-style baby back pork rib, which is of manageable size and the sheath of meat slides off the bone like silk. Southside's pork rib was a better experience, primarily because it's pork and pork ribs are proof that our God is a loving one. The fat seems to be marbled better on pork ribs than on beef ribs and the meat is much more tender, so you get a much more buttery experience.

Sauce, in my experience, seems to be something of an afterthought in Texas. Primarily, this is because the effort is directed towards the rub and the smoking. If you've done that part right, the logic goes, why cover it up with sauce? Fair enough. Also, unlike the Southeast, there's not a real regional bias toward vinegar, tomato or mustard. At the Salt Lick and at County Line, you get a viscous, sweet syrup that I recommend avoiding. Southside serves a peppery vinegar sauce that aficionados of South Georgia and Eastern North Carolina barbecue would feel right at home with.

Southside's sides – cole slaw and beans – were serviceable. Sides aren't what I come for, but these didn't detract and that's the most verbose you can expect me to be on this matter.

The next stop was Meyer's, founded in 1949 by R.G. Meyer and, before you consider me inhuman, this was a "to go" purchase. I finished this meal today for lunch at my desk and, due to having had to re-heat the meal in an oven, I'm can't claim to having been equitable to Meyer's, where I ordered a three-meat combo. That said, perhaps due to the extra baking, I found their pork ribs to be exceptionally tender, whereas the sausage, a pork and beef combo, was perhaps toughened by the baking. The brisket was a little tougher, too. Some of that can be blamed on re-heating, but I just didn't see the balanced fat distribution in their brisket that Southside's well-marbled cuts had. The sauce seemed a little sweeter, but featured the same vinegar base as Southside.

At first blush, I have to give the edge to Southside over Meyer's, but I say that with the caveat that I owe Meyer's a fresh shot at a later date.

Iraq War, Year Four

So this morning I got up to watch Secretary of Defense Robert Gates on CBS' Face the Nation with Bob Schieffer. Not having seen Gates discuss the war before, I found him to be a refreshing about-face from Donald Rumsfeld. In place of Rumsfeld's confrontational tone and Clintonian parsing, Gates offered a thoughtful, quiet directness in discussing the fourth anniversary of the Iraq invasion and the addition of nearly 30,000 new US troops in Iraq.

Schieffer asked Gates about President Bush's observation that withdrawing from Iraq would only motivate Al Qaeda to follow the troops elsewhere, i.e., advance on a retreating enemy. Schieffer's point was that Iraq is a civil war and why would a civil war leave the country in which it is being waged? Gates response (and I'm paraphrasing) was that "this isn't a bunch of Sunnis and Shi'a falling in on one another," but rather a bunch of organized hit squads hitting targeted spots. In other words, there is still a method to this madness, a centralized source orchestrating this chaos for its own purposes. For once, the debate of whether what's going on in Iraq is a civil war seemed like something other than a semantic debate to me.

It's a fair question: Would withdrawal be construed by Al Qaeda and its affiliated militias as retreat and, more importantly, would they follow us to another theatre, such as Iran, Indonesia, Afghanistan or the US? If I recall Sun Tzu's The Art of War correctly, it seems that you'd want to direct your attacks where your enemy's troops are the least concentrated, as Al Qaeda did on 9/11. It doesn't seem likely that Al Qaeda would allow US, through its troop movements, dictate where and when the war will be fought.

As this war has rolled on, I admit to having rationalized it a number of ways. Not because I'm any kind of Bush apologist, but merely because it's happening regardless and to counter a few of my countless criticisms of it. When it was first launched, I didn't have high hopes that we would find WMDs and wasn't particularly concerned about that issue, since 250,000 dead Kurds sure sounded like mass destruction to me. Mostly, I looked at it as unfinished business from the first Persian Gulf War, which I believed should have been concluded with a US push to Baghdad and the removal of Saddam then. I realize that, given Bush 41's affinity for international consensus, why he eschewed that option and I also know now that such a move would have put us in the same situation then that we're in now.

Since then, I've thought that, if we must be at war with Al Qaeda, and, given Al Qaeda's unambiguous insistence that we must, I'd rather stage that war anywhere – Iraq, Iran … hell, Antarctica – than on US soil.

The flipside of that perspective has to do with the nature of this war, specifically, measuring success. For the moment, forget "winning" in the traditional sense. It's not as if Al Qaeda and its affiliated militias in Iraq are nation-states with civilians who have an exhaustible appetite for war. Al Qaeda is a relatively decentralized terrorist network of disaffected Muslim extremists who became sufficiently disgusted with US hegemony in their homeland to be willing to complete kamikaze missions at Al Qaeda's behest. By its very constitution, all of Al Qaeda's members can bear the cost of war. So the question becomes: Is our work in Iraq blunting Al Qaeda's ability and willingness to wage war? If anything, it seems clear that our actions in Iraq are having a multiplier effect on those sympathetic to Al Qaeda and its affiliated militias.

What's also troubling is the possibility that we've created a welfare state in Iraq. The US has spent countless man-hours training hundreds of thousands of Iraqi security personnel and yet we're doubling down on our presence in Iraq. In business terms, this resembles chasing good money with bad. It's hard not to conclude that we're playing into our enemy's hands by being a full-time nanny (and inadvertent Al Qaeda recruiter) in Iraq while Al Qaeda regroups in Afghanistan and Pakistan, and while it opens up a new theatre of war in Southeast Asia.

Friday Breakfast Taco

Today's breakfast taco is brought to you by Maria's Taco X-Press, where the migas chorizo taco ought to come with a lifetime supply of Metamucil and a coupon for a colonoscopy, but doesn't.

So it is a sunny Friday in March and anyone in Austin not playing hooky is presumably already unemployed. During Lent season, March Madness, SXSW and St. Patty's Day preparation are the March trinity of slackerdom in a city that, having been where the original Slacker was filmed, is a qualified expert on the matter.

So, with my apologies for being so late in posting, here is today's guide on where to get your slack on in the ATX. Those chained to their cubicles probably already know about this, but if not, CBS is streaming March Madness live here. I found out about this late and am currently #8,753 in waiting to get admission. Yay, streaming video!

Regardless, your SXSW plat du jour:

For my money, which is couch change, the parties are the way to rock econo. Pretty much any band you'd want to see in the evening is playing for free during the day and, as often as not, you don't need a pass, RSVP or anything else to get in on some free beer and music. This tidbit was not lost on a few homeless types, who made it into the IODA showcase and helped themselves to some free tamales, quesadillas and Tecate.

Of the parties, my recommendations are:

The Jane Magazine party on 401 Guadalupe, which will feature Sloan, who are great, have been around forever and yet never get their due, which may or may not have something to do with the fact that they're from someplace like Labrador or Newfoundland. Edit: Dang! Just noticed that this is invite only.

Sinister Records, The TXRD Lonestar Rollergirls and OmniRox Entertainment are throwing down at Momo's on 6^th. On tap are several bands I've never heard of and, more importantly, the chance to "meet and hang out with your favorite TXRD Lonestar Rollergirl." Sold!

Texas Roller Derby: Feel the love.

Four blocks west on 6^th, at Friends, the Berklee College of Music presents Heavy Rotation Records release party for Dorm Sessions IV with Kid:Nap:Kin and Madi Diaz (as seen in the film Rock School) and the Pete Townshend Rewind, which features "rock, rap, folk, and jazz alumni re-arranging and windmilling through Townsend and Who album cuts and classics." Performers include Melissa Ferrick, the Scot Amendola Band, Amanda Mosher, Cassavettes, Death Ships, Steve Dawson, When Girls Collide, Stephanie Delk, Sarah Sharp, Audible Mainframe, and more.

The Aussies usually thrown a quality SXSW and this year's edition sounds promising: at Brush Square Park, the Australian Music Collective ("the engine driving Australian music to the world") will feature I Heart Hiroshima, Panda Band, Dallas Crane, Children Collide, Expatriate, Hoodoo Gurus, You Am I, Airbourne, Wolf & Cub, Spod, and Beasts Of Bourbon. Dallas Crane cameo'd Wednesday at a party at the Scoot Inn on the east side and, in spite of it being an impromptu performance with someone else's instruments, they killed. Hoodoo Gurus are a sentimental favorite from my days as a junior-high alt-rock geek in the late '80s. Show me some emotion, bitches!

A Clueless Outsider’s Guide to SXSW, pt. duh

Zounds! Two days, two posts. I'm bordering on the prolific here, although that border is still an ocean. Anyway, rock 'n' roll and a ravenous – albeit minute – readership demand more guidance on where to its wrists stamped at South By Southwest. With Wednesday's SXSW installment in the can, onward to Thursday's meager-by-comparison South By shenanigans.

The Austin Music Hall brings a triple dose of Alejandro Escovedo – quadruple when you count Buick MacKane, which you should. The AE String Quartet starts things off at 7 p.m., followed by Jon Langford and Sally Timms "recalling the Mekons" (no indication of whether that means a live dose of Fear and Whiskey or just some fond remembrances). Al retakes the stage at 8:15 for what looks like a 15-minute solo set, followed by Future Clouds & Radar (again, no description given). At 9:30 Al takes the stage again, this time with his acoustic band, for 30 minutes. Poi Dog Pondering plays an hour set at 10 p.m. And then we get our rock on, as Buick MacKane, Al's erstwhile glam-punk project, gets on at 11 p.m. I missed Escovedo's set with Ian Hunter at SXSW '05 or '06, which I'm sure was epic. But this might be the next best thing for those of us who love Al's Stooges-Velvets-Mott side.

The Blender Bar at the Ritz features The Sights, Robbers on High Street and Strokes guitarist Albert Hammond Jr. I've heard good things about VietNam, who are playing as part of the Kemado showcase at Bourbon Rocks on 6^th.

Buffalo Billiards is noteworthy for featuring '80s indie vet and '90s alt-rock casualty Bob Mould, who will go on at 9 p.m. Following him is a showcase for Barsuk Records, who gave the world Death Cab for Cutie. I don't know any of the bands playing this time around, but that's nothing new. Chances are, if they're on Barsuk, they'll be a good name to be dropping six months from now, or sooner.

Yep Roc will bring their customary dose of Americana thunder to the Continental Club, with Jim Lauderdale, John Doe and Los Straitjackets closing things up in that order, starting at 11 p.m.

Thomas Dolby, of "She Blinded Me With Science" fame, will be at the Elysium on Red River at 9 p.m. Sheesh … did I mention that the new season of The Office starts on Thursday night? I'm not sayin', I'm just sayin' …

There are signs of life at La Zona Rosa, where Architecture in Helsinki and What Made Milwaukee Famous are playing. Also, someone who took a sensational name from right under my nose – Elvis Perkins – is playing as well.

The Secretly Canadian, Jagjaguwar and Dead Oceans labels are hosting an interesting showcase at Mohawk Patio on Red River at 9^th, featuring I Love You But I've Chosen Darkness and Okkervil River.

Ah, here's something worth coming out for: The Norton Records showcase at Red 7 on East 7^th. I want to give special mention to the Reigning Sound, gods of the Memphis garage rock scene who apparently relocated to Asheville, NC, in 2004. Given Asheville's hippie leanings, I'm a little mystified by the move, but, judging from the band's MySpace page, the granola doesn't seemed to have dulled the band's edge. Frontman Greg Cartwright also founded Memphis legends the Oblivians and the Compulsive Gamblers. Fans of Mitch Ryder-style blue-eyed soul and Nuggets-style garage-psych will anoint the Reigning Sound the best thing that's ever happened to them. Also on the bill is the Dexter Romweber Duo, which I would expect doesn't venture too far from the footprint of Romweber's old band, Athens stalwarts the Flat Duo Jets. And then there's Sam the Sham of "Woolly Bully" fame and The Alarm Clocks, who you've probably never heard of but who gave us "No Reason to Complain" in 1966. Seems like a can't-miss show all around.

Bloc Party are at Stubb's. I'm kinda over these guys, not that I'd be able to get in there anyway.

Iggy lurks, Champeen roars and Charlie Louvin is among us. Are You? A Clueless Outsider’s Guide to SXSW ’07, pt. 1

It's March in the 512, which means Austin is fully in the throes of the glorious schmoozing orgy of indie rock-film-interactive goodness that are the South By Southwest Festivals. I haven't been since 2004, when, under the pretense of being a "consultant" (I use that word loosely, but, then again, doesn't everyone?), I had a platinum pass and thus carte blanche to pretty much everything, unless Modest Mouse was playing at La Zona Rosa and the other thousand people in line also had the same carte blanche.

Regardless, I'm rolling proletariat-style for this year's SXSW, mostly trying to scam my way into a few parties, hitting a few free events and generally looking from the outside in. Which is fine, because, when you're in your 30s and employed full-time in something besides the music industry, most of what goes down at SXSW will fly right over your head.

Take the lineup for Wednesday, when things really get going: The Merge showcase at Antone's will get its share of the hipoisie and I've heard of Ladybug Transistor and Imperial Teen. I'm guessing the "Special Guests from Austin TX" playing at 1 a.m. are Spoon. It's probably worth gambling on a day pass to find out, but, then again, if I'm right, no one with a day pass is getting in there.

The Austin Music Awards is solid and old-school. I only know Bobby Whitlock from Derek and the Dominoes, but the Tex Mex Experience with the Texas Tornadoes and Sam the Sham sounds too cool to miss. That's at 10:05 p.m. at the Austin Music Hall. Also noteworthy are Ian McLagan and the Bump Band. As a big Faces fan, I'm ashamed to admit I haven't seen McLagan yet during my time in Austin.

As per usual, the Emo's will be cooler than Lou Reed stranded on Pluto. I might skip the Victory Records showcase Wednesday evening at the Annex (but that's a personal preference), but the Annex will be rocking in the afternoon thanks to IODA's opening day bash. Yes, I'm shilling for a client, IODA, but the event is also a great cross-section of IODA's considerable roster and is not limited to a single label. Do it. Also within the Emo's footprint is the Sub Pop showcase at Emo's IV Lounge, the Beggar's Banquet showcase at Emo's Jr., and the 4AD showcase at Emo's Main Room, which will feature the only band I've heard of at Emo's: The Mountain Goats. As this will be the Goats' only set at SXSW (although they might play some satellite parties that I'm not cool enough to know about), I doubt many day pass holders will bear witness to their spectral majesty. Or see their set.

Hollywood Indie Dim Mak, which broke Bloc Party, will be kickin' it at Flamingo Cantina. I've never heard of any of their acts, but label honcho Steve Aoki will be spinning between sets as DJ Steve Aoki Kid Millionare, so there's that.

The White Ghost Shivers are playing Molotov Lounge and I can recommend them pretty heartily, especially to anyone who's a fan of any combination of Depression-era jazz, honky-tonk and burlesque.

And then there's Charlie Louvin, who's playing the Parish at 8 p.m. If you haven't heard of him, you've probably heard his songs performed by Gram Parsons, Emmylou Harris, Uncle Tupelo and all of their alt-country progeny. I don't have the space to do justice to the Louvin Brothers' legacy and their impact on country music, but I'll note what a colossal blessing it is that Charlie, who pre-dates Johnny Cash and who will turn 80 in July, will be with us in Austin this year. Definitely a must-see. Also on tap at the Parish is the Wylie Lama himself and author of the immortal "Redneck Mother," Ray Wylie Hubbard, who takes the stage at midnight.

Tearing it up at Room 710 on Red River will be the In Music We Trust showcase, which I recommend principally for Grand Champeen, former high school classmates of mine who carry the flag high for Bob Stinson-era Replacements, cheap beer, dive bars and sweaty riff-rock. Battle Cry for Help and The One That Brought You are the kinds of offhand classics you wish Paul Westerberg remembered how to make. Check out their performance from last year's SXSW at the Red Eyed Fly in my VodPod section along the left of this blog.

“The tar baby, he don’t say nothin’.”

Since selling my car to fund an excursion in Southeast Asia two years ago, I've been a public transportation denizen in California and Austin. I'd intended to have a car by now, but several things have stopped me (in no particular order):

• First, the expense. One month's worth of commuting can cost you either a $10 bus pass or $600 in car payments, fuel costs, maintenance and car insurance. I like having that extra $590 in my pocket every month, particularly as I gear up for home ownership.
  
• Second, the productivity. I read more now as a rider than I ever did as a driver. And if I need to bust out the laptop, sure it's a little awkward, but it's not impossible.
  
• Third, the traffic and its attendant aggravation. I remember riding the train out to Intel's campus, whizzing past all those cars that were practically parked on I-80 during rush hour and thanking God I wasn't one of those saps about to blow a vein in his forehead.
  
• Fourth, safety. There are no Type A riders. There are millions of Type A drivers. Again on I-80, I've seen several such drivers (or their victims) carted off in body bags.
  
• Fifth, the environment. Nitpick all you want about the mounting evidence of global warming. But you're not going to point to those millions of cars on the freeways chugging fossil fuel from Global Jihad's ground zero and flooding the air with carbon monoxide and then tell me that nothing bad is happening there.
  

Still, I get a little burned out on public transportation. It's public. Meaning, you have to share it with obese people, smelly people, crazy people and lots of people. You sacrifice some autonomy, in that you go when and where the bus goes, as opposed to precisely whenever and wherever you feel like going.

But the egalitarian element of riding has its rewards as well, because you do get to see those snatches of people's humanity against which, for the most part, we desperately try to insulate ourselves. Today was a perfect example. A homeless-looking fellow got on the bus and, while I can't verify that he stunk, I wouldn't be surprised by it. He was missing his left arm below the elbow and the scars are there for the entire world to see. He had docile eyes, the eyes of someone who's been tossed around long enough by life's vicissitudes that he wasn't about to put up a fight about anything now. He was just trying to get where he's going.

As I said, I couldn't attest to his odor. But a middle-aged man sitting across the aisle from him certainly could. And did. First, it started off moderately:

"Whew! You need a bath, brother!"

The homeless man, wearing a New Orleans Saints cap, stared ahead, vaguely apologetic, but mostly vacant. About a minute later:

"Look, if you want to be in Austin, fine," the offended man said, possibly interpreting the Saints cap as a sign that this man was a Katrina refugee. "But you stink. You owe it to yourself and everyone here to take a bath. You ride this line every day. If you don't take a bath, we're going to get the authorities to keep you from getting on the bus."

It should be noted that the bus was completely full of riders and equally full of awkward silence. Like the homeless man, we're all just trying to get where we're going without any conflicts. But some opinions likely were beginning to form. At this point, a superficial reading of the situation would have been that, of the two, the offended man, while hostile, was still in no danger of being presumed a social miscreant … yet. The homeless guy – well, he was homeless, right? Sitting there in silence, he could be just waiting to go off. Tick, tick, tick …

Yet, like so many of us, the offended man couldn't leave well enough alone and began to squander the last of his goodwill. He'd tilt his head away from the offender, cover his face and let out a deliberately audible "whew!" Then, becoming increasingly obsessed, he'd look back at the blankly staring rider, curve his mouth to form another insult, briefly suspend the next round of hostilities, and then come out with it anyway, as though he had no choice:

"You need to get a job," he said. "You smell awful. We're going to put you to work."

Perhaps in response, a female commuter in her 30s – white, professional – got up, stood between the two men and grabbed the ceiling rails as though bracing to get off at the next stop. But she never got off while I was on the bus.

Undeterred, the vocal man craned around behind the commuter to say something, caught himself and then muttered something inaudible. It was something about dying and the drag queen seated to the quiet man cocked his eyebrow, looked at me and smirked. Sitting there like Gandhi, the homeless man gave no evidence of having heard anything. At this point, a black woman missing her top front teeth and her preschool-aged son or grandson got on the bus and the vocal man got up to offer his seat. The mother thanked him and sat down with her son and the man backed up several feet.

That should've been the end of it, but by then the bullying became compulsive. He muttered one insult I couldn't make out and then this:

"Hey man, you're gonna die."

And that was it. Instantly, collective awkwardness gave way to collective outrage. The mother lit into him first:

"Nobody needs to be talking to anybody that way," she said matter-of-factly while rifling through her pocket book. "That ain't right."

The drag queen was next:

"Just because he's different doesn't give you the right to talk to him that way. He's better off than you, anyway."

"Shut up, you faggot," the angry man said.

A woman standing in the front of the bus chimed in:

"You don't talk to people that way," she said. "I've got family members who are different from me, but I still have to love them."

"That ain't no way to treat another human being," the mother added.

"Ma'am, I respect you," the now attacked man said. "I love you."

"You don't know me!" she shot back, prompting laughter from the queen.

"Shut up, faggot!"

"You don't know me, either," the queen replied, laughing.

And so on. All the while, the homeless man kept his blank expression, occasionally lolling his eyes toward the sources of the attacks that rained down on his accuser. If his non-aggression was a deliberate tactic – something out of MLK Jr.'s and Gandhi's playbook – he'd executed it brilliantly. It was a singular moment in public transportation history: a bus full of commuters had been motivated to do something besides avoid eye contact. And yet, by doing and saying absolutely nothing, the homeless man had the mob right where he needed them. Whatever goodwill his accuser had squandered had flowed to him, and then some.

Of course, he gave no evidence of anything premeditated or even of being aware of the situation. The tar baby, he don't say nothin'.

At this point, we arrived at my stop, although, for once, I would have liked to have ridden further. Getting up, I smiled at the queen.

"Never a dull moment on the bus," I said. He nodded, grinning.