Summer brings new friends

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Summer is here. I have the AC on occasionally, except for the zoom room, which the AC is on all the time I am in there. Since we had so much rain awhile back, the mosquitos are unbearable. I called for air support from a pest killer company. June brings new fawns in this area. We have two new ones in the back yard, learning about the world. There was a nice Pitts Special that showed up at the EAA 690 breakfast this past week. I picked up another traffic control device. I will add an appropriate relay and sell to someone with a man-cave or bar. Wisdomino is certainly keeping me busy. I am a professional networker now. A lot to juggle.
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Marta Marta Marta

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MARTA is the mass transit train system in Atlanta.

They just upgraded the ticketing system. It was totally free for about 6 weeks, no ticket kiosks, or need for tickets, just walk through the turnstiles ... crazy stupid.

I have sworn off using Marta several times and I still find myself back on it... We have been ridiculed, and been made very uncomfortable and worried about our safety a number of times. But it continues to be the best option getting to and from the ATL airport. I take the train from Doraville to the Airport. The entire length of the Gold Line.

The city (I guess) is trying to get MARTA a bit more orderly before the FIFA events in Atlanta this year. They have a lot of work to do. Although I saw a few more security/MARTA Police and quasi security foilks, the same crazy bullshit is still happening. It is home to people who want to stay cool or get warm during the operaing hours. It's not a place to be... its a place to travel. The unmedicated mentally ill folks seem to have an affinity for MARTA. That and the people who are mentally ill and self-medicated or withdrawing from their self-medication.

I am very on guard. I am ready to punch one of these fuckers if they touch me. Just like when I was pick pocketed in Paris. I was ready. I leaped on the fucker and pinned him up to the side of the train. These folks are not athletes. They are not preppers. They are very lost. They need help and they can't seem to seek it out themselves...

The pic of the guy on the floor in front of the door was yelling and writhing about all tucked up in his hoodie. There are always lost souls on the train-- end of line to end of line. Always. These pics were taken about noon on a weekday. It is noticably worse in the fringe hours.

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