Much like the awkward pictures my mother took of me in peak chunkdom in my Speedo in the foyer on the first day of swim practice, there are two interesting links this morning to give you a sense of perspective.  “Now, Honey, we’re going to take another picture in six months and you’re going to see the difference.”  Perspective is everything.  You need to know where you’re coming from and where you’re going.  Such a sentiment couldn’t be more applicable to the schizophrenic history of Los Angeles, whose piecemeal growth was often preceded by a barrage of bulldozers and followed by a haphazard memory implant of our affinity for the automobile.

The first link is a charming photomontage that surfaced in the UK’s Daily Mail, revisiting the grandeur of our city, now mostly demolished.  In it, our self-image is challenged, as we see not only that people used to avidly bike and take cable cars around, but also the shocking reality becomes clear that palm trees were never native and that Mexicans were always here!

The second link is a clip from KQED’s “Train Wars”, which focuses on the ongoing battle over the proposed high-speed train, now successfully under the knife thanks to airline and oil lobbyists.   Despite the fact that there is insurmountable evidence for the demand and success of such a line, as well as the fact that it is still cheaper than increasing freeway and airport capacities, as well as the fact that the United States easily ponied up more dough in one year for the Iraq War alone, the masses are still left to squabble over the train’s merit.

For the train’s naysayers, of for those ruthlessly adamant that Los Angeles will never have a sufficient mass transit system, I bid you compare the two links above: a glimpse of the past and the future.  It is simply unbelievable how much change is possible in just 100 years and what we’re capable of tearing down and convincing ourselves of.  What might seem like a political boondoggle today is purely the tumultuous precipice to a necessary tomorrow.  We have no right to assume the future, no matter how tight and uncomfortable that Speedo might be digging into our thighs for the time being.

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