You've Been Soft Served!

You drive your Hummer into the city from Jersey or "The Island" for a night of NYC fun. When you get out of that Broadway jukebox show you spent your life savings on, or after that fancy meal you spent hundreds of dollars on, you go to your car only to find out it's been towed because you parked next to a fire hydrant. Silly you! 

You call the police and they tell you that the car is at The Violation Tow Service building on West Side Highway. How convenient. You wait on line for a few hours. You shell out over $200 to get your gas guzzler back. 

And what do you do then?

You get yourself some nice, comforting ice cream.

Thanks, Mr. Softee! I hope you don't get towed!

On the Lamb

While driving upstate during the 4th of July weekend, I passed an 18-wheeler with huge letters on side which read:

American Lamb. 

American Land.

All this time I thought we were getting our lamb from New Zealamb.

Go America!

A Matter of Taste

Yesterday, while riding my trusty bike around the Union Square area, I stopped at a light. Next to me was a young guy on his bike, chatting with someone on his cell phone. I assume it was his live-in girlfriend, as he said this to her:

"Yeah, thanks for picking that up, babe. But, why did you get the Pabst Blue Ribbon? It tastes like ass. Seriously."

Wondering how that guy knows what "ass" tastes like? And does all "ass" taste the same?

Period

Don't. Like. This. Trend.

Short Leash

Today I saw this woman and her adorable, harnessed 10-year old daughter on 7th Ave.

It made me wonder if the girl was too old to be on a leash. Or if the girl was too human to be on a leash.

I'm sure her overprotective mom still cleans up her daughters' poop. It's the law.

Kindle Klub

While riding the subway yesterday, I saw two people sitting right next to each other reading their newfangled Kindles. 

I must say, they looked ridiculous. I wondered if they would look any less ridiculous if they were sitting right next to each other reading the same actual book - like, the same paperback. 

Yes, that would also look ridiculous.

Then I wondered if they were indeed reading the same book on their separate Kindles! Now, that would indeed be ridiculous.

I really need to walk more.

Tube Time 3

On my last day in London, I was riding a very crowded Tube train on the Victoria Line. I noticed my fellow passengers ducking and swaying ever so slightly. Then, I realized that a buzzing bee of some sort was flying around the car, desperately seeking escape.

I thought of the film "Snakes on a Plane" and had the idea that "Wasps on a Train" would be a great horror/disaster film.

I then realized that everyone on the train was blonde-haired and blue-eyed. Suddenly, the "wasps on a train" idea took on a whole new meaning.

And was just as disturbing.

Tube Time 2

While riding the Tube in London last week, I often carried a full backpack - so I could look even more like a tourist. During one particular rush hour journey, I had to make use one of the folding handicap seats, as all of the other seats were taken, and there were no handicapped people on board who were in need of the special spring-loaded seats.

My backpack was weighing heavily on my gentle frame, so I decided to briefly stand up and take it off my back. When I plopped myself back down on the seat, I hit the floor of the car with a thud, as the seat had sprung back into it's "unfolded" position.

It literally knocked the wind out of me, but I sort of laughed it off. I looked around at the passengers on the train, who had clearly witnessed my graceless folly. And in true British fashion, my fellow commuters darted their eyes in my pathetic direction, and then back to their newspapers. 

I wouldn't have minded if someone had asked if I was all right, but I would have settled for someone at least snickering at the site of this foolish American on the floor, gasping for air.

How the hell do the handicapped riders handle it?

Tube Time

I haven't written any blogs the past week because I had the pleasure of being in London for a short, cleansing holiday.

Naturally, I observed some mad wankers during my stay, but this one observation felt right for my blog.

I rode the Tube nearly every day and it's always an interesting experience. No air-conditioning, newspapers strewn about, bottles of lager, etc. Brits (God love 'em) have little sense or care about personal space. If you are sitting on an empty Tube train, and folks get onto your empty car, they will inevitably sit right next to you. Even though there are dozens of comfy, spacious, empty seats on the car!

On one of my journeys through the bowels of London, a mum and her daughter plopped down next to me. The 10-year old daughter took her copy of "The Adventures of Pinocchio" out of her backpack, and then took her Mum's copy of some trashy romance novel out and gave it to her. They sat in silence reading their books. Nary a word spoken between them.

At first I thought it was so lovely to see a child not playing with a handheld gaming device, and actually reading a book. But as the journey continued for 20 minutes, and the little family continued to press their noses to the books, I thought that it was probably just as bad for a mum and her daughter to be reading on the train and not actually having a good parent/child discussion.

But, what do I know? I'm not a mum or a kid or a Brit. Or, a reader.

Guilty Pleasure

I'm constantly avoiding those cheery young people on the street who carry around clipboards, stopping folks to take a minute to "save the children", "save the trees", or "save the gays." 

Sometimes I walk in the street when I see them ahead of me; often I pretend I'm on a cell phone call.

Yesterday, a young woman caught me off-guard on Astor Place. She reached out her hand as if to shake mine and said, "I'd like to talk to you."

I responded, "Not now, sorry."

She followed me, asking, "Why not now?"

Without missing a beat, I said, "Because someone in my family just died."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she sheepishly replied, recoiling her hand and clipboard.

"Thanks for asking," I shot back weakly, continuing on my merry way to nowhere.

Yes, I felt guilty about projecting death onto an unsuspecting family member, but I didn't feel guilty about not saving something that day.