DVDs and batteries? Okay. Even the Chapstick is okay, because it could come in handy on a dry day when you left yours at home. But, razors and Krazy Glue?! Jesus.

When I start seeing condoms and pharmaceuticals sold on the train, I’m just gonna… I don’t even know… probably…

buy some.

Yesterday, in the 8th Avenue L station, I saw what seemed to be bright, shiny pennies piled underneath those annoying Tom Otterness sculptures. Thinking it was just an extension of Otterness’ didactic metaphor about wealth that I’d never noticed before and, like my fellow passengers, being too hurried, lazy, self-concerned, and/or embarrassed, I went on my way.

But the coins made me think about the sculptures, so today I looked more closely at the bronze figures to try to not be such a hater. As cheesy as they are, on principle I’m for public art, especially subway art. Visiting New York as a teenager, subway mosaics caught my late 90s industrial romantic eye. As the design execs behind Noah

So yeah, I work for The Man. I work in an office building with filled with cubicles. I don

Riding in a subway car with only one other person in it is scary for most people. Me? I don’t know. I’d like to think that this other dude was just as scared of me. Yeah. Because of all my muscles and testosterone, and my I-know-martial-arts body stances. Or, something like that.

One time, my friend Clare and I decided to ride the 6 train after the last stop at Brooklyn Bridge, when the train makes the loop back around to go Uptown — we wanted to see the abandoned City Hall station. And, on some level, we wanted to be rule-breakers, rebels, the edgy young people that have ruined society, as badass as Zack and the gang when they illegally slept overnight inside a mall to be the first ones there to get tickets for a concert. But, you know, this being New York and all, we were already cooler than the Saved by the Bell kids. Just a little bit.

Anyway, on the other end of the car sat an old homeless man, who was completely passed out. Clare was facing me and the I was facin’ the smelly dude. All of a sudden, I look at Clare because the man is coming toward us, and she reaches out and grabs my arm, trembling in horror with mouth hung open and eyes buggin’ out of her head. THEN! I said just kidding. It was a joke.

This should confirm for some of you that I really am an asshole. You were right.

But, even though I aged Clare about 20 years in the process, it was worth it. The reaction was priceless.

Now, every time it’s just me and one other dude in a car, I laugh about the whole thing. And, when there’s no one else? Well, then I sing, sing, sing like no one can hear me. Until someone from the next car actually does, or if I’m in the last car, the engineer pokes his head out and tells me to shut the hell up.

People no longer enjoy Queen songs, I guess.

This afternoon, I was on the phone for work, trying to explain to someone that their deadline had passed and I got told I was being the stereotypical

So, manbags are here to stay.

I really enjoy hearing musicians/singers perform on the train. Most of them are pretty decent.

These two were part of a group of four. They began wailing on their drums when a group of high school kids kept daring each other to start a flow. Overhearing this, the main dude of the group, the one prominently featured in this photo, said that it would never work, that their beat was too fast for the kids, and that the flow would sound like mush. Next thing I know, the main guy started rapping up a storm, and it was INCREDIBLE.

I love shit like that.

I had an anxiety attack on the train today. Such attacks aren’t that uncommon for me, ’cause yeah, I can be a bit neurotic. But dude, this lady? Grading papers. Lookin’ like THAT. This image should send shivers up and down the spines of anyone who ever had that teacher in junior high or high school who meticulously critiqued EVERYTHING about EVERYTHING.

Look at this chick. Schoolmarm hairdo, dressed and accessorized (shut up) in nothing but red and black, everything in place, and really tearin’ into her poor students. Believe me about the last part. I was watching her grade those little essay books, and she was being absolutely cruel. One of her comments to a student was to quit using circles to dot his/her i’s, because it made the whole essay “insufferable” to read. So lame.

HATE. Teachers like this.

Remember this teacher? The one everyone drew in compromising situations, or at least with daggers through her chest. She’s the one you spread rumors about, saying she had a coffin in her closet, or was sleeping with the principal and rearing a brood of demon babies. This is the teacher that laughed at your attempt to analyze color in The Scarlet Letter, the one kids said had tentacles growing out of her vagina.

That last thing was probably just something my friends and I did, and that teacher (the Wentacle, as we called her) has cancer now, so we all feel like shit. Nevertheless, we all had at least one belittling and super callous teacher at some point. Though I must admit, this is the kind of teacher that over prepared me for college and made it so easy. They’re good for that, at least.

Although it will rain for the next few days, the weather’s been really nice here. And, you know what that means. TOURISTS.

Already, I’ve noticed an influx of families from the Southwest and old ladies from all over bouncing about the city, making plans to see Ground Zero (ugh) and a show at the THEATUH. Unless you work as a server at an Applebee’s in Midtown, the only place you’d ever want to find a tourist is on the subway. Why? Well, have you listened to them?

“This train goes to Grand Central. That’s the other Times Square.”

“Local trains are the ones that don’t leave Manhattan.”

And, my personal favorite:
“Gosh, I would LOVE to ride this everyday to work; these people are so lucky!”

Hilarious. I used to make fun of people who’d say shit like that. Now — and, please, put your guns away before reading the following — I find it kind of cute and endearing. The ladies in this photo, all in their little Estelle Getty voices, were all screaming about how excited they were to go to the Brooklyn Bridge and walk across to Brooklyn. That’s it. That’s what did it for them.

I mean, damn! Do those of you who haven’t lived here all your lives remember feeling that thrilled about New York? Hopefully, I will have some free time this summer to discover things in this city again. I definitely miss that.

After having spent three days in Jersey, I realized that a site like this in the subway to me is normal, safe-Jersey just plain scares me.

Zach Braff may have made a movie about the “Garden State,” but lets be real, dude moved as far away as he could from the state as he could get, California. Given the fact the Nets are moving to Brooklyn and even the football teams that play in Jersey are named after New York, perhaps people should take note.

This guy I saw at Penn Station today may have dolls that dance to his awful piano playing, but the stereotypical Red State paraphanalia I saw in Jersey- Pro-Bush, pro-war, pro-NRA flyers, posters, and stickers struck more fear in my heart and was weirder than any situation I’ve experienced here in New York.

Perhaps it’s weird to feel safe around the dancing doll guy, but give me him and the schizophrenic people over the self-proclaimed gun-toting, war promoting, people I was surrounded with in that state down the Turnpike. Call me a statist, call me an elitist, but I’ll take my New York crazies any day!