Why do I always sit on the train next to a person who's obviously allergic to showers?
This and many other questions arise in my morning commute. I take the train to center city which takes about 45 minutes. I have been doing it for over a year and I've tried every legal form of killing time there is. Reading books, newspapers, listening to my ipod, giving strangers misleading and curiously charming winks... But somehow there is always one thing, albeit small sometimes, that seems to double its irritability with every station stop we leave.
Like now for example, there is a lady who has a giant white bag that partially obstructs the already menacingly narrow walkway in between the benches. She seems more worried about having quick access to her enormously obnoxious "sack" than to convenience her fellow commuters by simply placing it on the rack about ten inches above her head. The size of the bag I must bring attention to. It's like there's a stop after mine that I haven't seen yet where you're left alone in the complete wilderness and the only things you have to keep yourself alive must be carried in a giant bag. A bag big enough to steal small children and medium sized dogs. It could possibly be used as a pillowcase for someone who uses entire loveseats for pillows. Normally I wouldn't complain about this kind of stuff, but when you're on a crowded train and the only noise is electric motors, and abnormally loud cell phone conversation you seem to pick up and dwell on things.
For example, midway through the preceding paragraph a fellow commuter of mine sneezed. Naturally as I thought any civil-minded well-wisher would do I said God bless you (or how I lazily say it - "g'bleshye"). Well supposedly I was absent to the SEPTA train ethics board meeting where they decided the only thing more annoying than sneezing was someone saying God bless you. I know that people around me could hear the sneeze because my "g'bleshye" was at equal volume yet seemed to turn more heads than her sneeze. Not a thank you from our sneezer either. It was as if I'd committed a capital crime and she did not want to run the risk of being an accomplice. It's not the last time I say God bless you though. I don't give a shit what the ethics board says.
Okay, my stop is next. Time to stop hating everything I see.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Crazy
Here's my account, my advice, or my depiction.
Of when it's time to trade your pet paper clip for a psychiatrist's prescription.
Now don't think I'm being nosy, or anything like that.
Your best friends could offer their advice, but they can't because they're cats.
You don't need me to tell you that it seems kind of crazy when you cut off your toenails and mail them to Patrick Swayzee.
I can't say what's up there, creeping in your head. As your left hand tries to kill you while you're sleeping in your bed.
When the grocery store's a source of food, but also good debate. With bacon, peanuts, laundry soap, and bags of purple grapes.
When your favorite sound is screaming and your automatic guns, you should trade your postered walls, for some extra padded ones.
Puppies, kittens, and hamsters are things you should admire. Not sacrifice, throw at cars, and occasionally set on fire.
You should quickly know the difference between doing wrong and doing right. Like going to a funeral and trying to pick a fight.
I hope this has convinced you even though it probably won't. Because you're not crazy if you think you are, you're crazy if you don't.
Of when it's time to trade your pet paper clip for a psychiatrist's prescription.
Now don't think I'm being nosy, or anything like that.
Your best friends could offer their advice, but they can't because they're cats.
You don't need me to tell you that it seems kind of crazy when you cut off your toenails and mail them to Patrick Swayzee.
I can't say what's up there, creeping in your head. As your left hand tries to kill you while you're sleeping in your bed.
When the grocery store's a source of food, but also good debate. With bacon, peanuts, laundry soap, and bags of purple grapes.
When your favorite sound is screaming and your automatic guns, you should trade your postered walls, for some extra padded ones.
Puppies, kittens, and hamsters are things you should admire. Not sacrifice, throw at cars, and occasionally set on fire.
You should quickly know the difference between doing wrong and doing right. Like going to a funeral and trying to pick a fight.
I hope this has convinced you even though it probably won't. Because you're not crazy if you think you are, you're crazy if you don't.
Friday, March 7, 2008
Super Powers
If I was a super hero I'd have many abilities.
I'd be able to see through walls. Even walls covered by other walls.
I'd have the power to be invisible. So I can protect women while they're in the shower. When they're most vulnerable.
I would be able to see through people. Not literally. I'd just be very observant and socially aware.
I could fly anywhere I would like without (unwillingly) getting a cavity search.
I could brew the tastiest coffee ever. But I wouldn't drink any. I would be powered by solar energy, so every morning I'd pour me a nice hot cup of sunshine.
I could have laser vision. And my laser vision could have laser vision.
I could smell from 5 miles away. Unless I use my super hero deodorant.
I could have the ability to make people realize they talk too much without hurting their feelings.
I could dance at weddings and not get sweaty.
Instead of daylight savings I could just stop the earth's rotation for an hour.
I could think of funny things to write.
I'd be able to see through walls. Even walls covered by other walls.
I'd have the power to be invisible. So I can protect women while they're in the shower. When they're most vulnerable.
I would be able to see through people. Not literally. I'd just be very observant and socially aware.
I could fly anywhere I would like without (unwillingly) getting a cavity search.
I could brew the tastiest coffee ever. But I wouldn't drink any. I would be powered by solar energy, so every morning I'd pour me a nice hot cup of sunshine.
I could have laser vision. And my laser vision could have laser vision.
I could smell from 5 miles away. Unless I use my super hero deodorant.
I could have the ability to make people realize they talk too much without hurting their feelings.
I could dance at weddings and not get sweaty.
Instead of daylight savings I could just stop the earth's rotation for an hour.
I could think of funny things to write.
Monday, March 3, 2008
Investment Into Chance
He pulled up to the gas station that morning at 6:17am. It was Thursday and he was making a stop before going to work at the nearby mill. He had 3 minutes to spend 5 dollars before a 10 minute drive to work. The support attached to his truck, to step on before reaching the ground had been wearing away ever since his black S.U.V. turned five years old, ten years ago. Avoiding the support, he shifted his body and made a tiny leap. He landed, knees bent and hunched forward like a gymnast would have done on a jump ten times more difficult.
The pain in his knees caused from years of abuse caused him to hold his breath in a brief, but passing moment of agony. It was at that moment bent over that he felt his right foot getting cold and wet. The rain from the night before seeped in with the realization that his boots, now, were about as useful as the sidebar on his truck.
He straightened his back and examined a hole in his Levi's that seemed to be growing in diameter with every wear. Head hunched forward in the universal sign of "I'm not happy right now." he approached the entrance. He thought about a coffee, but didn't know if he had enough cash for that as well as cigarettes. He could have, he just didn't want to face the embarrassment of not having enough.
He thought of how the night before his 7 year old daughter offerred her piggy-bank she'd been collecting change in since she was 5, a year before her parents divorced. He thought of how pathetic it was that a 7 year old could sense his desperation. He thought of how much could be in there, and then he regretted thinking it.
While in line holding a five dollar bill he thought about the coffee he could be sipping if he gave into the last resort of "piggy-bank" desperation. He got over this thought with a quick shake of the head and a small hum to himself in a tune he created on the spot.
It was his turn in line and he approached the attendant, a 50-55 year old white woman wearing thick-framed glasses which must've been thrown through a time machine 30 years into the future. She looked as excited as he felt that morning with one hand on the counter and another hovering below the overhead cigarette case. This told him he was familiar enough to her to remember his habits, but not his preference. He told her the cigarettes he'd like to purchase without eye contact. She rang them up and they came to $3.75.
With quick math, he saw he had $1.25 left. With quick sensibility he knew there was nothing this day could offer that cost less than a dollar. And with a moment to spare before causing the female time-traveling gas attendant to ask if he needed anything else, he told her to pull off a $1.00 scratch-off ticket.
He had never really gambled. His motto was always "you need money to do that" and now with a quarter left of what used to be five dollars he couldn't have been more right. He justified his purchase on the way out by saying that it's a risky move, but it can be considered an investment into chance.
He got into his car, avoiding the support with a tiny hop, took a cigarette from the pack, and put the box on the passenger seat. He took the quarter change he was given and held it in his right hand. His cigarette, unlit, dangled from his lips, bouncing up and down as he quietly mouthed the directions on the lottery ticket in his left hand.
He had to reveal a secret number which for him was 10. Now he'd have 5 chances to see his number appear in three spots marked "pots-o-gold". He scratched the first one to see a 10. He was a bit pleased, but instead of the prize for that one he scratched the next pot-o-gold. It was a 10. So was the next one. And the next one. Then the next one. And so was the last one. Five 10's meaning he won 5 times. This brightened his day. Maybe he could get some lunch or buy his daughter a toy. He scratched off the first prize. Stopped. Scratched the second. Stopped. The cigarette came loose from his lips and soaked up the muddy water brought into the vehicle from his boots. He paid no attention and furiously scratched the rest of the card.
He saw zeros. Lots of 0's.
He sat in his car quiet for a while. The morning rush was now beginning and his parking space made others envious. If they only knew they had a lot more to be jealous about.
He made a phone call and spoke through a smile. He leaped out of his car and hunched forward bending his knees, but shooting right back up in a quickened gait towards the gas station entrance. As he opened the door he thought about what he'd have for lunch that day.
The pain in his knees caused from years of abuse caused him to hold his breath in a brief, but passing moment of agony. It was at that moment bent over that he felt his right foot getting cold and wet. The rain from the night before seeped in with the realization that his boots, now, were about as useful as the sidebar on his truck.
He straightened his back and examined a hole in his Levi's that seemed to be growing in diameter with every wear. Head hunched forward in the universal sign of "I'm not happy right now." he approached the entrance. He thought about a coffee, but didn't know if he had enough cash for that as well as cigarettes. He could have, he just didn't want to face the embarrassment of not having enough.
He thought of how the night before his 7 year old daughter offerred her piggy-bank she'd been collecting change in since she was 5, a year before her parents divorced. He thought of how pathetic it was that a 7 year old could sense his desperation. He thought of how much could be in there, and then he regretted thinking it.
While in line holding a five dollar bill he thought about the coffee he could be sipping if he gave into the last resort of "piggy-bank" desperation. He got over this thought with a quick shake of the head and a small hum to himself in a tune he created on the spot.
It was his turn in line and he approached the attendant, a 50-55 year old white woman wearing thick-framed glasses which must've been thrown through a time machine 30 years into the future. She looked as excited as he felt that morning with one hand on the counter and another hovering below the overhead cigarette case. This told him he was familiar enough to her to remember his habits, but not his preference. He told her the cigarettes he'd like to purchase without eye contact. She rang them up and they came to $3.75.
With quick math, he saw he had $1.25 left. With quick sensibility he knew there was nothing this day could offer that cost less than a dollar. And with a moment to spare before causing the female time-traveling gas attendant to ask if he needed anything else, he told her to pull off a $1.00 scratch-off ticket.
He had never really gambled. His motto was always "you need money to do that" and now with a quarter left of what used to be five dollars he couldn't have been more right. He justified his purchase on the way out by saying that it's a risky move, but it can be considered an investment into chance.
He got into his car, avoiding the support with a tiny hop, took a cigarette from the pack, and put the box on the passenger seat. He took the quarter change he was given and held it in his right hand. His cigarette, unlit, dangled from his lips, bouncing up and down as he quietly mouthed the directions on the lottery ticket in his left hand.
He had to reveal a secret number which for him was 10. Now he'd have 5 chances to see his number appear in three spots marked "pots-o-gold". He scratched the first one to see a 10. He was a bit pleased, but instead of the prize for that one he scratched the next pot-o-gold. It was a 10. So was the next one. And the next one. Then the next one. And so was the last one. Five 10's meaning he won 5 times. This brightened his day. Maybe he could get some lunch or buy his daughter a toy. He scratched off the first prize. Stopped. Scratched the second. Stopped. The cigarette came loose from his lips and soaked up the muddy water brought into the vehicle from his boots. He paid no attention and furiously scratched the rest of the card.
He saw zeros. Lots of 0's.
He sat in his car quiet for a while. The morning rush was now beginning and his parking space made others envious. If they only knew they had a lot more to be jealous about.
He made a phone call and spoke through a smile. He leaped out of his car and hunched forward bending his knees, but shooting right back up in a quickened gait towards the gas station entrance. As he opened the door he thought about what he'd have for lunch that day.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
The Great Gatsby + Library
Hi.
So today I finished the Great Gatsby.
It's actually the 2nd time I've read it, the first time being in high school in 12th grade. But being as though I can't even remember what my teacher's name was it would be asking too much for me to remember what the book was about.
I remember it being a movie based on "some book". I remember finding out what the eyes on the cover of the book were, but then I remember forgetting.
After being told about it from a good friend I picked it up at the library (which has now become one of my favorite spots to be) and read it within four days. I have to say it lived up the the hype it was given by the first chapter. The detail F. Scott Fitzgerald uses is not your typical detail as he not only explains the environment, but makes you see it the way Nick, the main character, would see it. He had a very sensual way of describing things and it really gave a lot of power to the book. He makes it easy to reference a given emotion by describing it so well you could contrast it to your own personal experience.
I'm not one for spoiling books, even though it's got no M. Night Shyamalama twist, but it makes you think. I've never been a fan of symbolism either, but I have to give it to F. Scott. He can really write a book.
Now I'm reading A Farewell to Arms (look for another dumb review!) which was also recommended by the same friend, as well as my girlfriend. And also another book I didn't read in high school because I was too busy with avoiding teachers and not wanting to read books.
I read a lot more than I did in high school. Infact you've probably read more in this blog than I did in my whole four years, but now I can't keep my face out of a book. Whether it's just a classic fiction novel, or a how-to book, I've recently found joy in "un-downloadable" activities. I guess it's kind of ironic that I'm writing about it in a blog.
Right then. Goodbye, old sport.
P.S. - Get a library card.
So today I finished the Great Gatsby.
It's actually the 2nd time I've read it, the first time being in high school in 12th grade. But being as though I can't even remember what my teacher's name was it would be asking too much for me to remember what the book was about.
I remember it being a movie based on "some book". I remember finding out what the eyes on the cover of the book were, but then I remember forgetting.
After being told about it from a good friend I picked it up at the library (which has now become one of my favorite spots to be) and read it within four days. I have to say it lived up the the hype it was given by the first chapter. The detail F. Scott Fitzgerald uses is not your typical detail as he not only explains the environment, but makes you see it the way Nick, the main character, would see it. He had a very sensual way of describing things and it really gave a lot of power to the book. He makes it easy to reference a given emotion by describing it so well you could contrast it to your own personal experience.
I'm not one for spoiling books, even though it's got no M. Night Shyamalama twist, but it makes you think. I've never been a fan of symbolism either, but I have to give it to F. Scott. He can really write a book.
Now I'm reading A Farewell to Arms (look for another dumb review!) which was also recommended by the same friend, as well as my girlfriend. And also another book I didn't read in high school because I was too busy with avoiding teachers and not wanting to read books.
I read a lot more than I did in high school. Infact you've probably read more in this blog than I did in my whole four years, but now I can't keep my face out of a book. Whether it's just a classic fiction novel, or a how-to book, I've recently found joy in "un-downloadable" activities. I guess it's kind of ironic that I'm writing about it in a blog.
Right then. Goodbye, old sport.
P.S. - Get a library card.
I've started a blog.
Hi.
Say that eventually this blog gets pretty famous, or say I'd want to reference it when I'm like 60 years old and can't get an erection (irrelevant). The very first blog post I do would be incredibly important. With this in mind I'm forced to think of a fitting topic of which to "blog" about.
I've never blogged before so I'm not sure what kind of theme it deserves (if it needs one). Maybe I should reference scary global issues such as global warming, terrorism, or why they let that Tila girl from MySpace have a TV Show. (side note: she's about as attractive to me as an empty bottle of mustard)
I mean, if I become a huge writer one day people will see this blog and want to know what I was thinking when I first started it. If they catalogue and publish my work, this entry would be the first thing people would have to form an impression of me. How am I supposed to cope with that kind of pressure?!
Oh wait... I know.
Say that eventually this blog gets pretty famous, or say I'd want to reference it when I'm like 60 years old and can't get an erection (irrelevant). The very first blog post I do would be incredibly important. With this in mind I'm forced to think of a fitting topic of which to "blog" about.
I've never blogged before so I'm not sure what kind of theme it deserves (if it needs one). Maybe I should reference scary global issues such as global warming, terrorism, or why they let that Tila girl from MySpace have a TV Show. (side note: she's about as attractive to me as an empty bottle of mustard)
I mean, if I become a huge writer one day people will see this blog and want to know what I was thinking when I first started it. If they catalogue and publish my work, this entry would be the first thing people would have to form an impression of me. How am I supposed to cope with that kind of pressure?!
Oh wait... I know.
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