Missed Connection

My actual post on Craigslist this morning:

new york craigslist > queens > personals > missed connections

Brunette with blue bag on N train this morning - m4w - 32 (N train into Manhattan)

Date: 2011-05-27, 8:48AM EDT

You: The brunette on the N train this morning with a blue bag and jeans. You were reading "Getting the Love You Want" and you got on at Astoria Blvd. or 30th Ave. You sat next to me on the "loveseat"-style bench at the end of the car.

Me: The blond guy with sunglasses and a white button down shirt, doing a SuDoKu.

You know those guys who sit in the subway car and spread their knees as far apart as possible to air out their junk? Well, I'm not one of those guys. I was sitting against the rail with my feet on the floor. YOU, on the other hand, apparently ARE one of those guys, or the female equivalent. Why did you have to sit so close to me? There was SIX INCHES on your right, between you and the wall. Why didn't you move over? Why were you on top of me, breathing all heavy through your nose as if you'd just gotten back from an intense workout? I don't need that in the morning. I don't need that at ANY time.

At first, I thought maybe you were into me but didn't know how to "make your move". I figured since you were reading "Getting the Love You Want", you were trying to be more assertive. Then I realized, nope, you're just an idiot. A heavy breathing idiot with no regard for personal space. What made me change my mind was you reaching ACROSS me to grab the pole before the train stopped, and then KEEPING your bony-ass arm in my face after I tried to rise to exit the train.

After all this, however, I've decided to help you. I'm going to save you the trouble of finishing your book. I can tell you "how to get the love you want" right here on the Internet. I don't OWE you this, but it's Friday, and I'm feeling benevolent. You're welcome.

Getting the Love You Want:
Don't sit down too close to someone on the subway and breathe on them at 7 o'clock in the morning. Further, don't reach across them and stick your bony, hairy elbow in their face until you're actually ready to stand and exit the train. Men will notice this, and totally date you and ask you to have little babies with them. And then you can move to Long Island and you'll never have to ride the N train ever again.

  • Location: N train into Manhattan
  • it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
PostingID: 2405430335


Celebrity Sighting

This weekend, on the N train, Fiancé and I saw the man pictured above.  Fiancé did not want me to go up and say hello to him for two reasons: 

1) In New York City, it's is not what's done with celebrities.  In New York City, you IGNORE celebrities so they feel they have a safe haven here in the city - so they don't have to worry about paparazzi or autograph-seekers.  Apparently, in New York City, the level of politeness so great it manifests itself in apathy is the least we can do.  I'm sorry, but I kind of disagree with this.  No one ELSE in New York considers it a safe haven or feels comfortable... why should celebrities?  Just because what makes them uncomfortable differs from what make ME uncomfortable doesn't mean they should have it easy.  But I digress. 

2) If you recognize the picture above, you understand her hesitation.  On his best-known show, nothing good ever happened when he was around.  In fact, you could pretty much bank on BAD shit happening the minute he was on screen.

So, I begged and pleaded to be able to go up to the guy and tell him I admired his work, and she firmly put her foot down and told me that under no circumstance would I be doing any such thing.  She told me it was because that isn't how we New Yorkers treat our famous people, but I think she was actually scared that, if we acknowledged his existance in our little world, the subway would let us off in 1967 and we'd never be able to get back.

Two stops before ours, the actor departed the train with his companion.  Fiancé breathed a sigh of relief... until he turned to walk past us, then she got all tense again.

I managed to catch his eye and smile.  I waved at him and, in this wave, said "Hey Man, you do really good work.  My fiancé and I both really appreciated the scares and tension you gave us on the roller-coaster ride that was your show, and we consider you one of the great TV villains of all time.  I don't want an autograph or anything, and I'm not an actor; I just want you to know that you and your castmates gave us hours of conversation during the last decade, hours of tears, hours of laughter, and I wanted to say thanks."

To my surprise, he smiled back and nodded.  This nod said, to me, "Hey Bro, thanks for the kind words an encouragement!  I did my best on that show and am looking forward to whatever's next for me.  Thank YOU for following my progress and supporting us for so many years, and also for allowing me to ride the subway in peace this afternoon."

To Fiancé, his nod probably came across more like, "I'm going to eat your firstborn after transporting you to a desert in Tunisia and getting you hooked on heroin."

p.s.  To those of you who don't know who he his, I highly recommend you lock yourself away for a week and catch up.


Bitter Friends

Well, it's been almost a month since the epic CYOA post, and the ideas for new things to bitch about ("about which to bitch"?  I know I shouldn't end a sentence with "about", but I'm not exactly comfortable rhyming, either...) are beginning to come back to me.

Last night, I was standing on the sidewalk with two friends, Clutch and Michelle, and they were mentioning funny subway experiences they've had.  Michelle, at one point, used the phrase, "I love crotch-watching on the subway", which is an amazing sentence and a large part of how I knew I'd be posting something today.  The sentence itself stemmed from a story I have since asked her to email me for two reasons; 1. She could tell it better than I ever could, and 2. I feel a little dirty thinking about it.  I promise to post it as soon as she passes it my way.

Before they knew about this blog in the first place, Clutch goes, "You know what?  Someone should write down all the rules of commuting and post them somewhere.  Because, in New York, let me tell you, you can talk slow and you can read slow, but you are NOT allowed to-".

This is where I cut him off, mostly for dramatic effect:  "Walk slow?" I offered.

"Yes!" he replied.

So, like a magician pulling away the curtain during the big reveal, I said to Clutch, "Dude - the name of my blog is 'I Walk Faster Than You'!"  At which point we proceeded to high-five in an effort to appear more Caucasian than we already did.  I'd imagine it worked.

So, at some point soon, I will be posting Rule #6, for which Clutch gave me the idea by going off on a rampage about tourists.  Michelle, for her part, studied her toes until it was time for her to share her crotch-watching story.  She did, however, provide me with an excellent site: "People of Public Transit", which I have linked to on this blog's sidebar.  It is worth checking out for significant amounts of LOLs.

Michelle also sent me this via Facebook:

As you can see from my last post, a blogger on The Huffington Post named Paul LaRosa wrote an article about subway etiquette in NYC that addresses many of the topics on IWFTY.  He even answered my comment telling him I promised to always raise my umbrella over his head as I walk past him should we ever encounter each other on a rainy day.  It's the least I can do for such a kindred spirit... even one from Brooklyn.

Lastly, it should be noted that I did write a post regarding the death of Osama bin Laden, I just didn't publish it.  It had a bitchin' picture of Captain America standing in front of the twin towers that Google Image Search was kind enough to provide for me, and it had fireworks and noisemakers and a waterslide and a pizza party and strippers and cake.  Fiancé listened to this epic description and advised against me publishing it on the grounds that this blog is known (ha!) for being snarky and sarcastic - why would I get all celebratory and patriotic now?  It's is a valid point, so I decided to curb the post and keep it to myself.  Personally, I think she just didn't want to share any of the fireworks/noisemakers/pizza/cake/strippers with any of you

For the record, the last sentence of the bin Laden post was something about his last commute involving being thrown from a helicopter into the ocean.


Subway Etiquette, or, "What's Wrong With Other People?"

It's nice to know others feel the same way. Mr. LaRosa, I vow to always raise my umbrella for you on the sidewalk, Good Sir.
Read the Article at HuffingtonPost