Voyeuristic Tendencies

Eight hours of my Sunday were spent traveling. Tampa Airport to Newark Airport, airtrain to NJ transit station, NJ transit station to New York Penn Station, A train from Penn Station to West 4th, F train from West 4th to Delancey. Ahhh, Delancey. Anyway, it's West 4th that I'm concerned with at this particular moment. It's the only subway station I've been in that has cameras trained on the tracks and the people at the edge. Why West 4th? Why not, I guess. At 10 on a Sunday night, waiting sort of impatiently for the F, they certainly provided some entertaining visual stimulus. People get so anxious and fidgety waiting for the train. It's hilarious to watch them! Especially when they don't realize they're being watched. But hey, the cameras are hardly hidden so no guilt here.

My favorite was a man standing about twenty feet away from me. He had on a baseball hat that either had the intertwined letters "LA" or "UK"; I really couldn't distinguish and he really didn't look like either an LA or UK type guy. He was a normal/geeky looking man, wearing a white t-shirt and khakis. He REALLY wanted that train to come. There were a bajillion people craning their necks every five seconds to see if it was coming yet, but UK/LA guy seemed to be the only one talking to himself about it. It reminded me of an episode of Seinfeld where Elaine is stuck on a subway en route to a wedding. You see the anguish in her face as her voice over speaks her pissed off thoughts. That's what this guy was doing. And he just kept doing it; I couldn't really make out the words he was mouthing, but imagine the dialogue went something like this: "Fucking bullshit. Where the fuck is this fucking goddamn train. Shit! Where the fuck is it?!? How long have we been here???? It's been two HOURS!! Goddammit! Fuckkkk!"

He walked out of the shot, and then got on the D train when it arrived before the F. I was thinking about posting in Missed Connections to find him. Angry Subway Guy.

How Do You Spell Moist? T A M P A

As soon as I walked out of the terminal, it felt like I was stepping into a swamp. That's what Florida is, really, a swamp, but I didn't quite expect to be slapped in the face with Tampa's sweaty palm. At 8:30 pm, when it should be breezy and delightful out, it was miserably muggy. I haven't been here in the spring or summer since I moved to New York in 2004. January in Florida is gorgeous. May is...wet. Not refreshingly, rainy wet. More like moist wet. Like, you walk out and are instantly moist all over, in an unpleasant way.

I do admit, though, that there are things I miss about living here. I miss having a car. I would never want to have one in New York, but I miss driving it around in Tampa. It's like your own private, traveling karaoke room. My car was the only place I could really belt out the tunes, and doing that makes me really feel the song, like the way it's meant to be felt. I've been listening to Arcade Fire and TV on the Radio. Playing them in the car and singing along, it's almost like they're completely new! I also miss being close to water. Rather, CLEAN water. Beautiful, clean water that the sun shines on and nearly blinds you as you drive over the low bridge.

Today when I was walking on Central Ave in downtown St. Pete, I saw an old woman riding side saddle on her scooter. She was carrying a fan on it, so she had to hold her legs to the side. It was amusing to watch. Downtown is pretty quiet. Not dead quiet, just quiet quiet. It's not like the financial district type of downtown, it's like shopping, dining, strolling downtown. But there wasn't a whole lot of that going on.

Babbling Brook

The season of some blossoming tree seems to have come to an abrupt end; when I was standing outside a second hand store on Delancey this afternoon, thumbing through their used books (I got a bedazzled dress there), I heard a sound that made me half expect to find a little stream or waterfall behind me when I turned to look for the source. But it was millions of dried petals brushing against each other and the sidewalk.

In other news, and on a completely unrelated note, May is a month of national celebrations! Not only is it Bike Month (go bikers!), but it's also Masturbation Month! I would be remiss if I let a May go by without sharing the good news, and you'd be foolish to think I might forget (though the last couple of years have been near misses!). So if the fun of it wasn't reason enough, now you have an official endorsement.

Welcome to Your Day!

I haven't met Tank Top Tom's replacement in apartment 1, but I did notice the "Welcome" mat when my new neighbor moved in a couple of months ago. What I didn't notice until this morning, though, was the orientation of said mat, which I'm certain I would have noticed had it been oriented in such a manner before, as that's just the kind of thing I tend to pick up on. See, the mat is facing toward the apartment door, rather than away. Instead of welcoming guests, it welcomes whoever emerges from the apartment. Welcome to the world! What a great way to start the day. Like being born every day; emerging to a welcoming audience, or at least a welcoming apartment building. All I have at my door is a super faded welcome mat that I got at the Gemstore three years ago. It used to have a Mallard duck on it. But now that the Gemstore closed down, I can't part with it.

The Itch You Just Can't Scratch

When I think "the itch you just can't scratch", I tend to think of that unreachable part in the middle of your back, or, y'know, in the metaphorical sense of satisfaction being juuuust out of reach, like maybe not quite getting to orgasm. But Vagisil has commandeered the phrase for a delightful television commercial. "You know that itch you just can't scratch?" the voice over says, as we see a shame faced woman looking at herself in the mirror. Poor, itchy woman. Men scratch and adjust themselves all day long, and will look you right in the eye while doing so, completely shame free. But itchy lady, no, she must suffer in itchiful silence, until she can get her hands on some relief in the form of Vagisil. By the by, this commercial was shown during a break in the movie "Must Love Dogs". A more appropriate commercial/movie pairing there could not be.

Foolish Mortal

I wonder if there's a full moon. I could just look outside, but it's too cold by the window. I would have noticed just now when I was outside; a full moon is so bright, and hard to miss. It was an odd day, slightly, or at least one full of odd things. Things that deserved to be photographed, had I been carrying my camera.

It began this morning when I stopped into Duane Reade on the way to brunch. There was a sloppily hand written sign taped to one of the pharmacy cash registers that read "Sorry ladies we are out of Plan B". I guess those ladies that are getting busy will have to move on to plan C. Seriously, was there really such a run on Plan B? WTF?

The second thing was on my way to the laundromat. There was a sign on the ground, the kind a cheesy store might have to advertise a sale. It was small, the size of an index card, and it was neon orange outlined in a zig zaggy black border. Pre-printed at the top, it said "Special". Written into the orange part was "Need man". I'll say!

Tonight I went to meet my friend Jerm for a drink on the UWS at a place called the Dublin House. They have a neon sign with a big ol' harp. There was no music playing when I walked in, just the sound of the few patrons inside, so I loaded up the jukebox with Rolling Stones and some other assorted tunes. When Jerm arrived we went to sit in the back, which looked like it serves as the dining area in busier hours. It was cleared out though, save for a couple who left almost as soon as we walked in. They left a mess at their table. And at the table next to theirs was a brown bag, of the lunch variety. Jerm called my attention to it so I went to check it out, thinking it was just more garbage. But no! There was food contained within. A banana, for starters. What I assume was a sandwich wrapped in aluminum foil. A little container with, perhaps, some kind of dressing or other condiment; being white I would say ranch dressing or mayo. And a fork. I was scared that it was the barkeep's lunch, so I quickly and stealthily put it back.

Finally, as I was walking up the first flight of stairs in my building, I noticed a vitamin bottle on the fourth or fifth step up. I picked it up, naturally, I mean who could resist? It was called "PC Extends". There's only one thing I can think of that people want to extend, but PC? I can't figure it out. I put it back on the stairs. It was unopened, so someone will make good use of it, I hope.

Leave neon where it belongs - in the grave!

I hate nu-rave style; the word style, in this context, is to be taken in the sense of "type" or "mode", rather than fashionable style. That's my basic problem with it, is that it's not fashionable whatsoever. It's pretty hideous, and not in an interesting, complex, and/or ironic way. Now I don't mean to brag, but I could probably wear nu rave style clothes and look damn hot doing it, but my point remains, and that is: nu rave is retarded. But what's worse is (oh yes, there is a worse!) when people ATTEMPT to pull off the look and FAIL MISERABLY! They are failures at a failed attempt at style. It's very disturbing to see people throwing these mid thigh length black cut off shorts with shiny purple leggings and crazy colored kicks and animal print (?!?) jackets together, and think they look cool. They wouldn't even look cool to nu ravers! I'd rather see lame attempts at punk, or goth, or ANYTHING BUT NU RAVE. Please god, make the pain go away from my eyes.