Why Can't I Be An Anonymous Member Of A Crowd?

Yesterday morning (well before I had any caffeine and was therefore not alert enough to avoid eye contact with "the outsiders") I was sitting on the subway across from a woman, mid-twenties and white. I say she was "white" not because I mean to abandon a facade of "colorblindness" all white people propose to have, but because it plays into my story in a tragically awkward way later.

She was sitting in the seat with her legs outstretched and crossed when an older woman carrying groceries (she was [whisper] black [end whisper]) tried to get past her to sit. After having a bit of trouble, the older woman said rather sharply, "You shouldn't stretch your legs out like that. People are trying to get past you and you're on a train, not at home." She sat down in a huff and the younger woman looked at me with a confused look. I gave her a bemused grin and the customary "Ain't The World A Crazy Place" shrug.

She then proceeded turned to the old woman and said, "I'll sit any damn way I want to. Who are you to tell me what to do," before looking back at me again. I stupidly made eye contact again, even though at this point (if I would have been in a Hollywood big-budget action film) I should have noticed the ominous ripples in the Awkward Social Situation Glass Of Water.

The two of them started really getting into it, and when the younger woman got off at the next stop, she paused in the doorway to yell, "Yeah? Well you're just a stupid black bitch." Then she looked at me.

It was then that I realized that she had made a critical misinterpretation of my wordless gesture. I was giving her the "Ain't The World A Crazy Place" shrug, which she mistakenly took to be the "Anything You Say From Here On Out I Am Cool With" knowing nod. It's a subtle, but very important distinction. I sympathize with you right up until the point where you take the fork in the road to ScreamingBigotsville.

I spent the next ten minutes spent on the train with the now reasonably infuriated older woman while she glared at who she assumed to be the covergirl for Pointlessly Racist Monthly's accomplice. It was a particularly poignant moment that I was forced to experience at 9:30 in the morning.

Office Work

I think I will stay in office work for a while, if only for the fact that whenever you gather large amounts of people in one area, one of them is bound to have a birthday that calls for cupcake eating.

Oh Those Colorful And Threatening New Yorkers!

Yesterday, while riding the subway (I gave my driver the day off) I noticed the man standing next to me had a tattoo of what I believe was a stylized anarchy sign with the following words surrounding it:

Execution. Mass Pollution. My Solution. Kill The Humans.

At first, I was a little put off by this delightful gentleman's mantra. Then I was a little nauseated. But after a while I came around and realized he had chosen the perfect tattoo. A tattoo that answers the question, "Why would you get that idiotic phrase permanently etched into your skin?" with a resounding, "Because I'm bat-shit insane."

You can't get mad at someone for being crazier than a shithouse rat. It's in their nature to be so. And being fucked six ways to the weekend is a pretty good excuse for getting a tattoo of what appears to be either some unreleased Nine Inch Nails lyrics or the last thing the voices told him before he started wearing his tin foil hat.

At least it makes more since than the dolphin and stars I have over my lower back.

The Children Are Our Future; Brainwash Them Early

Yesterday I was walking to the Italian fair happening in my neighborhood (Italians have these things called Zeppoles which are just fried balls of dough. I feel they lack the pompous complexity of funnel cakes.) and I heard a man speaking to what I am guessing was his four, maybe five-year-old daughter. He said, "No, sweetie. There hasn't been a Democrat president in a long time. The last president was named Clinton, and he wasn't the best president, but he was a lot better than the guy we have now."

I felt some sort of "Halleluiah" type response was in order.

He kept going--talking in a sing-songy voice that parents use when telling their kids about what the moon is or why we don't put glue in our brother's hair--saying, "The president we have now isn't a Democrat, honey. He's just a jackass."

You gotta admire this father's determination to give his kid the straight talk while she's still sleeping with the night light on. Here are what I assume will be the conversations she has with her father at various points in the future.

Six Years-Old: "Honey, your mother and I got married too early in life and then got bogged down by having children, which made it impossible for us to lead happy and fulfilled lives, despite the facade of matrimonial bliss we put on for your benefit. Now my only happiness comes from fantasizing about my secretary and awaiting the day I become impotent."

Seven Years-Old: "Your mother and I will most likely die before you will, and Nana and Papa might as well have a foot in the grave already."

Nine Years-Old: "Capitalism will steal your soul and make you wish ill will upon your fellow man."

Sixteen Years-Old: "God is dead."

And Now For A Brief Interruption

I ran three miles yesterday afternoon. I don't have a funny joke here, I just thought you should all know and be awe-struck.

Romance or Something Like It

Two things my boyfriend has said to me (really) that he considers to be truly romantic:

"If I were God, and had to make you over again, I would have made you exactly the same. Except maybe with x-ray vision."

"You are the anti-oxidant to loneliness."

Declarations

1.

Mentos in diet coke is the new pop rocks and pepsi.

2.

Hippies should not be considered "off-the-grid" if they are covered by wireless internet zones (accidentally or otherwise).

3.

Soy does not taste good no matter what you say.

4.

It's pointsetta.

5.

When I die, I don't care if I'm cremated or buried--just as long as I'm allowed a few weeks to walk the Earth as the undead first.

Love and Other Contagious Diseases

Things My Boyfriend Hasn't Given Me This Week

Anything shiny and wearable.
A reason to believe his love for Steven Segal isn't unhealthy.
The complete works of Poe (unabridged).
A three-year-and-one-month anniversary present (I think he forgot!).
A moment's peace.



You'll notice "the flu" is not on that list.