Wish You What?

The other day I was on the 2 Train going into Manhattan when we pulled in Borough Hall station and waited. We waited. And waited. As we waited a woman approaching a certain age barged onto the train with all the might of a discus thrower and toting several large canvas bags. She stood over the man sitting next to me and not so much asked as demanded “May I please have your seat.” He shot up and she sat down. She rummaged through her bags, pulling something out of one and replacing it in the other. I noticed a lot of newspapers, and might have seen a banana, but I’m not sure.

We finally hear “There is a delay at 14th Street we will moving shortly.” Shortly being a euphemism for “Could be two minutes, could be twenty in any case, you’re screwed.” After about five more minutes the woman turned to me and said “How long are we going to sit here for.” And it wasn’t polite conversation, it was a genuine question. “I don’t know.” “Well what do you think?” I think you’re a few ham sandwiches short of a picnic but I’m not going to say that.

A few minutes pass and she taps me on the shoulder, “Wish me a good day.” “Pardon me?” I replied.

“Wish me a good day.”
“Okay, have a good day.”
“And now you ask me to wish you a good day.”

That was it. I was done. I got up to move to a different car. As I step away she yells “I hope you have a terrible day. A terrible day!”

I didn’t have a terrible day. It wasn’t necessarily a “good” day, but it wasn’t bad either. The train eventually left the station and the rest of my ride was spent it peace. It was just one more day in New York City where use of the term “sanity” is all relative.

Naomi

I Feel Safer Already

Thanks to a 50% increase in a Homeland Security Grant the New York City subway system will be getting five or six teams of super cops carrying: Mp5 submachine guns, rifles, body armor and bomb-sniffing dogs. I say hurray!

Just the word submachine gun got me digging through my closet looking for some appropriate 1930s gangster girlfriend outfit to wear.

These super cops will be trolling the major hub stations looking for terror under every seat; holding the trains for surprise sweeps, and best of all making sure all those terrorists know that we’re on to them. The curious thing is there are over 400 subway stations in the system and six teams to cover them. That’s a lot of subway riding. It could get dicey during rush hour. I for one have felt the jab of a briefcase in my abdomen, and don’t really want to know what a submachine gun feels like in comparison.

It’s a nice plan and all, big guns are scary, but I’m not sure that’s the most effective method to nab those freedom-haters. If the government really wants to get ‘em, I say just hire a slew of preachers. It would be a religious smackdown on the subway. You know as soon as the Christian Zealot starts touting that Jesus saves, the extreme Muslim would have to stand up for Allah. And suddenly it’s the Koran vs. The Bible on the 4 train. That’s when the cops could jump in and bag their extremist. Plus the whole thing could have a nice educational side effect. Children of all ages could learn about world religions while the train is stalled on The Manhattan Bridge. Jews For Jesus vs. The Lubavitchers. The Hare Krishnas take on Zen Buddhism.

In fact if the government really wants to eradicate terrorism on the subway they could turn the whole thing into a reality show conversion program. Teams of religious sects get points for how many Muslims can “turn.” The subways fill with TV cameras, and we the riders vote for the best preach of the ride. Certainly a few Muslims could see the benefits of becoming Christian. Easter for one. Who doesn’t like chocolate eggs? And if a Muslim gets the better preach, they get a virgin for the night. Why wait until death for twenty seven when you can have a live one right now! Then of course after the one night they get shipped to Guantanemo, but they would have done their people proud in the process. A perfect plan, and no one gets gunned down on their way Coney Island.

The ironic part of all of this is in my thirteen years of New York some of the most terrifying things I’ve seen in the subway system are the rats, the bridge and tunnel crowd coming in for a Saturday night and the pimply, eager, members of the National Guard. When riding the subway, terror is in the eye of the beholder.

Menu Selection Has Meaning Too

I was listening to NPR this week and Cokie Roberts brought up a really interesting theory. She thought perhaps, consciously or not, Bill was sabotaging Hillary’s campaign. He brings up issues after they passed (sniper bullets in Bosnia was usurped by Barack’s comments about working class people being bitter and clinging to guns and religion as a result, but Billy brought it up again). He seems to be making off the cuff comments that are damaging to Hillary and generally become a bit of a liability.

Makes sense to me. Bill has never been a second chair kind of guy. If Hillary wins, what’s he gonna do?

Bill: Hey hun, what are you up to?

Hillary: Gotta get to the situation room.

Bill: I know where that is, I can take you there.

Hillary: I got it. Thanks.

Bill: Wanna grab a bite tonight

Hillary: Sorry, no can do. Have to fix the budget.

Bill: I can balance a budget.

Hillary: Yes dear. We all know you can. But it’s my job now.

Bill: I’m bored.

Hillary: Why don’t you work on your foundation?

Bill: It’s so small. I like running the country better.

Hillary: You could go to Darfur with George Clooney and Brad Pitt.

Bill: Could I take Airforce One?

Hillary; No, that’s my plane. You can have Airforce Two.

Bill: Maybe I could take that Carla Bruni, Nikolas Sarkozy’s wife. She’s seems, you know, active.

Hillary: Why don’t you just throw a cream pie in my face the next time I’m giving a speech. Save on the carbon footprint.

Bill: I’m going out for a burger.

Hillary: That’s your third today.

Bill: Weight Watchers called. They want me to bulk up so I can lose it for their spring advertising campaign.

Hillary: See, you’re still wanted.

Bill: I guess.

Hillary: Love you mean it. I gotta go fix the mess W left.

Bill: There were a lot of pork rinds left in the bedroom.

Hillary: I meant Iraq.

Bill: Right. Sorry.

Hillary: Have a good day. Don’t forget to pick out the menu for next week’s state dinner.

Bill stomps the floor and pouts. Hillary heads to the Sit Room.

And the FOX TV network breaks Headline news
BILL CLINTON TO PITCH WEIGHT WATCHERS oh and President Hillary Clinton brings peace to the middle east… BUT BACK TO BILL!

Do The Math

There is one thing that has failed be mentioned during this whole Eliot Spitzer scandal and that is the consideration he took in spending these thousands of dollars. Like the good Governor he was, he kept it all in within New York State by using an escort service within in his home state. Nobody is talking about the great personal risk he took by having his Friend transported across State lines. Eliot could have easily picked up a local girl, but no, he was always thinking of the Empire State, even when committing a felony.

Everyone is asking why he did it? Did he think he was going to get caught? Did he want to get caught? I, for one, believe he didn’t think he was going to get caught, and I’ve actually developed a mathematical theory for such actions. M+FP+D+P = JA

If:
M=Man; FP=Functioning Penis; D=Delusions of Grandeur; P=Power

Then:
Man+Functioning Penis+Delusions of Grandeur + Power = Jackass

Months & Years

Yesterday I was sitting on the 2 train going into work when a voice called out “Twenty four hours a day, seven days a week.” I looked up to see if it was the regular 2 train preacher but saw no one. “I haven’t had a day off in four years.” I spotted the speaker. He was just a guy, a big guy mind you, sitting down and shouting.

“Everyday I get up, go to work, come home, go to sleep and do it all over again. Twenty four hours a day, seven days a week.I haven’t had a day off in four years. I get it out now or I get it out at my probation office.” umm. did he just say probation, uh oh, this isn’t actually that funny anymore.

” I’m on probabtion for a crime I did not commit. “ oh okay, he’s just trapped in the justice system, poor guy.

“Three years of probation. I’ve lost three years of my life, but I’ve got lives. I’ve got lives.” oh, he’s a cat, just going through his nine…

“I haven’t had sex in 31 months.”

There was about half a second on the train where it got so quiet you could have heard a pin drop, until the guy across from me started laughing so hard I thought he might bust a rib. “Oh damn!” He added.

I was busy doing the math in my head, thirty one months, that’s two years and seven months. Wow. I don’t feel so bad about myself anymore. I wonder if he’s single.

We pull into a station, the orator rises, goes to the door and looks back at us and announces:

“I happen to be the government of the government of the United States.”

And then he was gone.

Curious to note he was counting his sex life in months and his probation life in years. Guess using months takes the sting out of the dry spell. If nothing else I feel better knowing that the government is not, in fact, full of mindless, faceless drones but just a guy on the subway, who really should call my therapist.