Category Archives: crazy world

return of the san-jose-sharks-guy


Not sure if you heard (how could you have not?), but the aforementioned San-Jose-Sharks-Jacket-Guy, who has been MIA for a good 6-7 months, today miraculously reappeared along my morning-commute-route, only now he’s wearing a NY Rangers jacket!rangers.jpg

He looks about the same he did months and months ago, with a thick, long-white beard, perhaps he’s a bit thinner and more ragged, but it’s hard to tell. The NY Rangers jacket is much lighter than its San Jose counterpart, some might call it a “Fall Jacket,” so here’s hoping when the temperature drops he starts once-again donning everyone’s favorite turquoise extravaganza.

On a side note, there’s this other guy who’s consistently along my morning-route, he’s part of that 34th Street community revitalization project, responsible for those flower-arrangements along 8th and 9th avenues. He’s usually cleaning the sidewalk as I walk to work, sweeping, gathering or whatnot, and one day about 2 weeks ago he stopped me: “Excuse me, do you have the time?” “Oh sure,” I gladly obliged, squeezing my cell phone out of my dumbly-tight work-pants (gosh I hate work clothes).

But just a couple of days ago, the same worker-guy asked someone else the time, just as I was passing. “9:37,” the passerby said (give or take) and the worker was very thankful. Made me start thinking: perhaps someone (maybe me?) should buy this guy a watch? Would he even take it? Maybe he doesn’t wear watches for cosmetic reasons like me (they make my arm look too short).

Anywoo, I’ll keep you posted whether NY-Rangers-Jacket-Guy becomes a butterfly, so to speak, and metamorphoses back into his much-beloved San-Jose-Sharks-Jacket self.


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what’s your favorite subway euphemism?

Now don’t get me wrong. The NYC subway system is a pretty miraculous thing. But like any public, subway_web.jpgcrowded, aging great-work, it can be irksome, particularly when it stops mid-tunnel and the engineer comes on the loudspeaker to give us (if you can hear him/her) just enough information so as to slow our collective descents into primitive man (yeah, that’s right, if we’re desperate enough, umbrellas can also be used as clubs).

But what’s your favorite subway euphemism?

Mine is “earlier incident.” You know when the train stops and the engineer apologetically explains, “Due to an earlier incident, trains are running at reduced speeds,” etc. Anything could be an earlier incident, provided it happened and it happened before right now. Yargh, really keeps you guessing, but maybe that’s the point.

What’s yours?


Filed under crazy world, subway, throwing it out there


Gee, Golly. What a week. First locksmith-blackmail now this. Ok. So I’m entering the C-train at Lafayette this morning, sort of in a hurry since it’s around 9:02 AM and the train has been wont to arrive between 9:04 and 9:08 most days (who’s counting?), and there’stunrstile.jpg this crowd of three boys (probably around 16, but larger than me, big surprise) surrounding the single turnstile headed toward Manhattan. As I scurry closer, it appears, through their gesturing and words I can half make out, that one of the boys mistakenly swiped on the Manhattan side instead of the other side, which goes deeper into Brooklyn. So as I try to swipe myself, which is difficult since they’re blocking the way, one of them asks me, “Hey can you swipe on the other side – we already swiped on this side by mistake.” Sounded like a reasonable thing to ask. But just then I hear the train coming – granted it could be an A, but who’s willing to take that chance? It must be 9:05 by now, dear God! I get flustered.

I reach toward the turnstile to enter, but before I get there: “HEY, that’s our swipe!” the kids yell. “Sorry I sort of want to make this train,” I fumble fogey-like, again reaching for the revolving metal bars. “That’s illegal!” one cries, but when I finally try to move through the turnstile, wouldn’t you know – it doesn’t budge. The kids never swiped at all!

So I get out my Metrocard, hear the train-breaks sqeaking (Shite, it is a C!) while one of the boys screams, “But we already swiped here!” “I JUST TRIED IT AND IT DIDN’T MOVE, MAN!” I yell out of nowhere, swipe my card on the 2nd try (after one flub) as the kids wryly giggle, and I stumble down the stairs just as the train starts leaving. Shite. At least I now have ample time to be pretty-darn embarrassed about yelling at some youths, calling them “man” for some reason (what was that about?), and just plain feeling-all-square and blah and stuff. Fudge, I hate work-clothes.


Filed under anecdotes, crazy world, office, subway


So at my new apartment, we get a lot of solicitor-type materials strewn across our front-gate, stuffed into our mail-slot, slunk over our doorknob, you know, friendly neighborhood circulars, colorful menus advertising the latest fusion place that just opened down the street, and the like, yet, this morning, one such solicitor just might have stepped over the line.lock.jpg

Ok. A locksmith (Morty’s Lock Services or something) scotch-taped his card directly onto our door – so what, not a huge deal, in itself – yet he taped it onto our inside door! In other words, he somehow got past our first, locked door, which admittedly is aging rapidly, and by taping his card onto our front door (the only thing separating us from the brutal, down-on-its-luck world), this locksmith is basically telling us, “Look, the lock on your front door doesn’t work that well, why don’t you pay me to install a better one, and no one’ll get hurt.”

Yep, I think I’ve been a victim of locksmith-blackmail. Morty’s proven what he can do, and next time, maybe he won’t stop at the outer door! Heck, if I don’t give him business, perhaps he’ll put me on some knock-list (God forbid!), inviting who knows what kind of riff-raff to try their luck with our obviously faulty front-door-lock. Then again, perhaps Morty has simply done us a favor? Maybe he goes around the neighborhood pro-bono style, hunting for break-in-susceptible rusty doors a la the movie Sneakers (circa 1992)? Maybe we should be glad Morty found us before Slippery Jim, Not-Right Larry, or other theft-mongers, who probably don’t even have business cards, let alone scotch tape, and they certainly don’t eat at eclectic fusion places! In any case, watch out for a locksmith who answers to Morty, he’s about “yeah-high” I imagine, and remember, it’s a crazy world, for serious…

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So my good buds Andrew, Matteo and I get off at some unnamed subway-station that felt like a hub for a lot of different trains, but also sort of in the middle of nowhere (Broadway Junction?).

And we were on the third floor but had to get down to ground level so we easily jumped onto the back of a moving train to get down (i remember that rush feeling of falling but also being in control), but we didn’t get inside this train since it was an “O” train (bright orange insignia) and we needed the 4-5-6 I think. As we jumped down, some MTA lady (that looked like a man) yelled at us, and I remember thinking, “Wow, this is the first time I’ve ever gotten in trouble for doing this.”

So while we’re waiting for the train, (and this is the part of the dream that really stuck out) some older lady in a motorized cart comes zipping by on the tracks (which weren’t sunken underground but were on our level). Yeah she was just whizzing along as if in her own personal subway car. I look confused at the MTA woman (who looked like a man) and she gives me one of those hand gestures like she’s saying, “Hey don’t ask me, this world has gone crazy.”

All of a sudden, two more people in carts pass by like nobody’s business. And one of them, as she’s zipping along, drops her slipper, which gives me a chance to get a better look at her.

Yeah, she’s pretty old, not wearing too much but you can’t see anything since she’s sitting in her motorized cart. On her hands and feet were these gloves/slippers that looked like skin, and there was a bunch of hair on them, so it was sort of like she was wearing men’s slip-on hands and feet (almost like Frodo-feet but much less hair). Also she was chanting: “Oh demonos monene” etc, some kind of latin gibberish thing- monk-like chanting, you know.

Just then, the train starts to come and I get all nervous because I think it might hit the chanting lady – but it misses her- and the dream ended…


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stuck behind the defeated’s

So we’ve already established that I’m a two-stepper, which makes it even worse when I’m stuck behind “a defeated,” or one who walks super slowly up the stairs because he/she has given up on life (for one reason or another), but nonetheless blocks the way for the rest of us. I feel like I always encounter defeated’s transferring from the L train to the A-C-E during my morning commute.

Yeah we all know it’s early, it’s clammy and humid, life sort of stinks in a certain way sometimes, but to take out on the rest of us (is plain wrong) – us, who just want to get to the subway platform, to get to work, to waste away our own lives, in our own way, and at our own speeds. I’ve told a few people this (with limited response but nonetheless), that there should totally be “a defeated’s-lane” for all stairwells, so that these people who seem to think they have nowhere to go, who are in no rush to get anywhere fast, have a safe, controlled place to wallow, while we in-a-rush-for-no-reason-ers can get on with our days, two, maybe even three steps at a time. Yikes. Is that insensitive?


Filed under crazy world, etiquette, ideas, throwing it out there

Constantly Amazed Dpt.

This may be “old hat” but I’m still constantly amazed at the lengths that certain men go in public to let women (they think are attractive) know that they in fact think they’re attractive.truck.jpg

For example, I was getting in at the Lorimer stop subway crossing the street next to a nice-looking-gal in a green sun-dress, right in front of a guy in a really large semi-truck. Granted, he was stopped at a red light, but this did not deter him from honking his loud horn a few times (step 1), then taking off his seatbelt (step 2) and actually opening the passenger door to his truck (step 3), inviting the female to join him on his journey to the depot, the quarry, or wherever he was headed.

And all of these whistles, these anguished male-cries of “Damn!” and “Baby you kill me” in the direction of sassy women, make me think these come-ons are more about courtesy, the acknowledgment of a woman’s got-it-going-on-ness rather than real attempts at courtship (or even good old fashioned intercourse). Yeah, ovbiously I’ve never been a victim of a hoot or a holler (and probably never will be), but isn’t there something refreshing and almost expected about this primitive form of appreciation? I, for one, want to see what these heteros will do next! Or is this business just completely debasing and offensive? Nonetheless, for me, it constantly amazes.


Filed under crazy world, etiquette, throwing it out there