So there’s something else up here

In lieu of a very slightly more thought-out post I wanted to finish, let me just get this list of three annoying things off my chest:

• Dumb slow people up or down the stairs to the subway platform: You guys disgust me.  You’re not pregnant, you’re not sick or injured, you’re just lazy.  You can’t bring yourself to toss in the effort to jog ten steps, so I’m stuck behind you, seething while watching you stupidly watching the train doors close and the subway pull away.  Gee, I never thought that would happen! You better walk to the other goddam end of the platform, or I’m going to scowl at you and sigh loudly in irritation.
• Dumb people who decide to its their god-given right to sit down on the subway even though there’s not enough space on the bench:  You guys piss me off.  You’re not pregnant, you’re not sick or injured, and while there’s nothing inherently wrong with wanting to sit down, you have wildly underestimated the size of your own ass.  I was perfectly content just moments before you came over here, but now my arms are smushed in for the duration of the ride, and you either have this happy look of relief on your face, or worse, are now frowning that there’s not more room.  Yeah, lady, I’m sorry that five inches of space between me and the person next to me didn’t miraculously expand for you.  What’s wrong with you?
• Delis that now are starting to think it’s ok to charge more than $1 for bottled water: What’s going on here?  All I want is water; I’ve got a dollar bill, I don’t have 20 cents.  Now I’ve got to break a bigger bill and get a bunch of change.  A dollar is the perfect price for something like that–why do you have to do that?  Can’t you deal with inflation by charging more for Red Bulls or Vitamin Water or Snickers bars or something?

Good grief

When he was about four and I was about nine, my brother and I watched Short Circuit –which our parents had taped from HBO for us – over and over.  When the inevitable sequel came out soon after, our Dad said he would order it on pay-per-view and watch it with us.   I noticed that the content advisory trapped in parentheses for Short Circuit 2’s listing said it had “adult themes” in it.  Making my best guess at what this could mean, I became concerned for my brother for about half an hour before the movie started, worried that Short Circuit 2 would contain some kind of traumatic declaration that there is no Santa Claus.  I tried to plan what I would say to him to console him — hoping that our Dad would supplement my efforts – and convince him that the movie’s disbelief was part of a larger dramatic ruse, e.g., perhaps it would be an evil or at least foolish character who would have said as much but would later be proven wrong. 

There was nothing in Short Circuit 2 about Santa Claus not existing.  I was relieved. 

Gawker already linked to this today, so I’m not sure what I’m adding by putting it here, but . . .

Here’s a blog of men who look like old lesbians.

Boo-hoo

I did a class improv show where I made a bunch of lazy moves and was too nervous and hesitant.  I hate 85% of what I do when I’m performing, and this 25 minutes fell squarely into that category, unfortunately.  

I am coping in a very healthy way, though — drinking beer and being surly. 

30 Rock was doing a live performance at the theater in connection with the Writers Guild Strike right after our class show, though, so I saw, amongst others, Alec Baldwin a few times and Tina Fey with her back turned to me standing in the UCB green room as I walked by.

The previous sentence counts as part of being surly, by the way. 

Irresponsible thoughts

I want more than anything to build on 2006 (I was worried at the time, even despite the assured Congressional victories, that this would just give us the chance to fuck things up — a fear which, unfortunately, I’m not entirely sure has gone unvindicated) and WIN in ‘08.  So I’m on board with Hillary and everything, even though I’ve totally talked to Obama on the phone, and am ready to do what it takes amongst my (highly influential) friends when we go out to dinner and I get all drinky and opinioniated to snuff out the remaining embers of enthusiasm for Edwards and Richardson with the hot breath of my dreadful terror at the prospect of a President Giuliani. 

And yet . . . if we’re gonna do this, I still want it to be her presidency, i.e., I don’t want Bill hanging around the White House and showing up to Cabinet meetings (which I can’t see him resist doing).  Rather, I’d prefer if he just stay in New York and hang out with Bono at the Spotted Pig or something.  Is this weird?

Meat munch

I was riding the uptown 3 after work today to go meet C and some friends at Lincoln Center to see the Magic Flute (which is just bizarre and Scientology-esque), and sitting across from me was this fiftyish dude in a windbreaker over his business casual.  It looked like he was going to get off at Penn Station and go home to his family on Long Island.   So far, so good, except he was eating a Whopper.  And not just eating it, but he was really into it, bringing the thin crinkly wrapper right up to his mouth so he could bury his face in it.  Once the burger was mostly gone, he swiped his mouth back and forth thoroughly and vigorously on the wrapper; it was obvious, however, that he did this not to clean off any crumbs from his face but to make sure he didn’t miss a single piece of Whopper, whether it was still part of the original burger mass or had broken off and was stuck to the paper.  I’m not going to mince words — it looked like he was performing cunnilingus on the Whopper.  It’s a testimony to the weirdness of this visage that even after three hours of mind-warping opera I’m still unable to shake it from my memory.       

Champions

I love cringe-inducing moments.  Last week I was at a Starbucks in Times Square paying for my coffee, and right behind me was this middle-agish, dumpy, tall dude.  He seemed like an awkward tourist-type, or perhaps the kind of guy who drops his daugher off for soccer practice in Bloomfield, NJ before coming in to the city for a few rounds at the OTB.

He decided to engage the cashier, who happened to be black and of Caribbean origin, in conversation, saying,  

Prelate style

Pope Benedict goes to Saudi Arabia and decides this historic occasion is the perfect excuse to start dressing like Cedric the Entertainer. [The picture is actually from last month, but whatever.]

The Godson

This is my godson.  The picture is a bit dated, relative to his age, but he’s still a badasse.