Meals on Rails

One could do a blog based solely on experiences on the New York City subways. I'll leave that to others but wanted to make a mention about few recent experiences. With all the insanity going on during any given train ride through any borough of New York, there's one thing I can never understand that a few people do on their trip. And that would be eating. Let's face it: the subway is filthy and it's filled with total strangers coming from heaven knows where. It's a confined space, which means your food stinks up the train car. In just the past week, I've had a man eating a hot dog practically in my face, a woman and her small toddler digging into a trashcan-sized helping of greasy french fries doused with ketchup and hot sauce, and a guy tearing into his take-out container of rice and beans. I'll admit I love all the food items (and was a tad jealous) that these people were chowing down on, but when the train begins taking on the stench of a Nathan's Famous on a hot and humid day, it's kind of ruins it for me. There's no escape until the odor goes away because something (or someone) stinkier has overrode it. While I'm at it, nail polish is a big no-no. That acetate or whatever causes nail polish to reek is very unappealing. I also have no idea how women do their nails while the train or bus is in gear. I do have alot of respect though for women who can "put on their face" while they are riding the subway or bus. If I tried that, well, let's just say it would definitely not be pretty. That's why my favorite makeup accessory is Sephora's Makeup Eraser Pen. It's kind of like a Tide to Go tool for my face.

The Restaurant That Ran Out Of "S's"

I recently had lunch at a restaurant on University Place. The eatery is a place I've been to several times and the Thai/Pan-Asian chain has several locations in New York City. I would like to share this with everyone now: When I go out for a meal I do not always visit the restaurant's ladies room. I prefer the confines of my own bathroom, thank you very much. The exception would be if I've imbibed in some adult beverage or beverages, or if I have a long trip home. The point of this is that I did check out Spice's powder room which was quite alright for a New York City restaurant. As I headed for the sink to wash my hands I noticed black stuck-on letters adorning the tank holding the handsoap. "Employee Must Wash Hand," reminded the no doubt management-mandated sign. My question is, was my meal prepared and served by the clean or the dirty hand?

My Cat Threw Up on Eliot Spitzer

Those of you who have cats will know what I'm speaking of here. How many times, either in the middle of the night or early morning, hear that throaty "glug, glug, glug," otherwise known as "My cat is throwing up somewhere in my house/apartment. Do I get up and clean it or can it wait until the morning?" I have two cats, Mercury (pictured, left) and Samantha. Mercury is the furrier of the two and as such she tends to vomit a bit more than Samantha. Sometimes it's because they are staging a competitive eating competition or it could be that there's a hairball involved. As I was enjoying my last half hour before I had to drag my ass out of bed for work today, I hear the dreaded "glug." As always, I'm thinking is the cat puking on the wood floor again or will it be the tiles in the kitchen. Do I get up now or can it wait? I opt to wait until I actually have to get up. The alarm goes off and it's time to check out the damage. Here's the routine: put on the glasses because I'm blind without them and could step in the vomit, search around until I find the offensive projectile output, then clean it up and carry on after that. I'm looking around the apartment and cannot find the throw up. Ok, maybe I dreamt that I heard the cat vomiting? Can't be. Finally I notice my most recent New York magazine on the coffee table. On the cover is our disgraced former Governor Eliot Spitzer. And he's covered in cat vomit. The first thing I thought of was that I hadn't even read the issue yet. The next was, yeah, that's what I thought too. If anyone deserved to be puked on it was Spitzer. I guess even animals are tired of our stupid politicians' dalliances. I hope that our new Governor Paterson isn't on the next cover. I'll have to make sure that issue is out of harm's way.

Johnny's Got a Gut

I took time out for lunch today despite my crazy workload. Sometimes ya just gotta get out. The past few weeks I've been meeting my friend Ellie for a bite to eat; she works up on Broadway and 9th Street while I work in Tribeca so we wind up meeting midway. That middle happens to be in the middle of nowhere as far as finding a reasonably priced lunch. For those who don't know the area, Prince Street and the blocks between Broadway and Bowery are strewn with either overpriced eateries or affordable tiny dining places that are usually already packed because lucky hungry people who beat you to it. On cue, the two rocket scientists pick Prince as the place to find a lunch spot. While we cluelessly search for a place to chow down (as if several have popped up over the past three days), we notice a couple of movie trailers parked on Prince near Mulberry. While walking past the trailers, Ellie says something which I don't quite catch but as we keep walking she tells me that I missed seeing John Goodman who was making a cell phone call (he's in town filming the indie film, "Gigantic." Very appropriate.) I look back and all I see is Goodman's gut, clad in a grey sweatshirt, hanging out from the doorway of the trailer. I guess he was either having a difficult time getting a signal from the inside of the trailer or was desperate for attention (probably the former). Regardless, I didn't bother to go back until after I had my Ray's pizza. Ellie and I passed by again but the trailer door was shut and John was nowhere to be found. But at least I saw part of him.

DUI: Drying Under the Influence

I decided to be productive this afternoon and get my laundry done. I was watching one of the shop's television sets which were blaring news about the horrible building collapse on 51st Street and 2nd Avenue when a man asked me how the dryer works. As I was showing him the fine art of inserting quarters and pushing buttons, I smell liquor on his breath. He seemed though to have himself together and was nice enough so I assumed he must have had just one or two brewskies. I was trying to figure out why this guy was doing his laundry when he was skunked--then I remembered it's a St. Patrick's Day drinking day and there's a small neighborhood old man bar two doors down from the laundromat. I think he went in there after he put his clothes in the washer, got hammered and then the dryer fun began. Going back to my TV viewing I turn in time to see Mr. Drunky with his hands in MY dryer pushing around MY clothes. Realizing this guy doesn't know what the hell he's doing, I patiently say, "Oh that's my stuff, yours is over here," as I walk him back to his dryers. I retrieve my bounced-away dryer ball but now I realize I have to pay attention to Drunky because he's still looking around for his dryers and he's attempting to be cool and hid that fact that he's stinking loaded by leaning on the folding tables. Except he's always too far away to lean and every time he attempts that move, he loses his balance and thinks he's going to fall only to be caught by the table. It would be funny to me but I'm just not into dealing with a drunkard today and would prefer to get my now cootie-ridden clothes and vamoose. Perhaps time seems faster when you're drunk but Drunky was now taking his clothing out of the dryer after only about four minutes. Mercifully my dryer stopped and I quickly folded my stuff and headed home. As I left I wondered if the clothes he took were actually his. I hope so or someone has a nasty surprise waiting for them.

My sister-in-law Christine came up with the idea for this post's headline. It was too good not to use. Thanks, Christine!

A Grocery Shopping Miracle

After my 14th Street bus debacle, I decided to further torture myself: I'd go to Trader Joe's to pick up a few items for the week. As Trader Joe's shoppers know, it's not a wise decision to enter the store on weekends. Usually the lines snake to the front of the store and oftentimes they're visible from outside. The other thing I've never understood is how people can use shopping carts in TJ's. The store is miniscule and the aisles are ridiculously small. It's like trying to ride your bicycle in traffic; there's nowhere to go. Regardless of all this, I trek to the store and I can barely believe what I see: the TJ's employees are holding their "end of line" signs AT THE FRONT OF THE STORE and there's barely anyone standing in line. I grab my basket and begin running around the store like I'm on a game show and I've just won a contest where I get to shop for 10 minutes for free. I can see the cheeses and Luna bars and yogurt. I actually went back to a few aisle to BROWSE and I wasn't in anyone's way. I took my time and didn't have the "I really should get on line or I'll be here forever and get hit in the rear by the person behind me's basket and/or cart." It was a true pleasure to shop at one of my favorite market's in Manhattan. Of course this meant that I spent three times as much as I usually do when I can't maneuver around TJ's, but I didn't care. I almost feel like I should go back and do it again but that would be crazy, wouldn't it?

Assy Drove My Bus

I had a long week. I hadn't slept in my own bed since Monday (no, I'm afraid it's not that exciting) as I was taking care of a friend's cat while she was away on business. All I wanted to do was get home and relax. It shouldn't be a huge deal, after all I was just going from West 23rd Street and Ninth Avenue to 14th Street and Avenue A My biggest decision this morning was, do I take the C or E train to the L, or walk down Ninth Avenue to 17th Street and hop on the 14D bus. I've had to make this decision before and each time I choose a route, there's a problem. The fact that's it's Saturday morning tosses in the monkey wrench of "is the L train running today?" I'm guessing no so I head to the 14D bus. Great, I think as I didn't have to wait long and it's empty. Only me and a family of four, a woman, her teenage son and two youngsters who are inexplicably being forced to eat gummy candies by their mom. Maybe there's a reason but I can't think of one. The bus makes the turn onto 14th as I quickly look back at the immense and newest Apple store near Chelsea Market. We pick up a few more passengers at 14th and Ninth and head to the next stop. Then all hell breaks loose. At 14th and 8th, there is a line of people waiting to climb aboard the bus that seems endless. Not a big deal to me but as the bus gets more and more crowded, the bus driver begins to get irritated because people aren't moving to the back of the bus. Now, I don't know if this is the first time this driver has steered a bus through New York City but much like the passengers who hover by the doors of the subways, people don't move to the back of the bus. Then he uses the speaker system. "These buses were designed to carry extra weight. Ya gotta move to the back of the bus," and I'm thinking, his voice sounds so familiar. It sounded like Marlon Brando's "Don Corleone" with emphysema. "I don't know about you but I got nowhere to go," Don continues, as people are now getting agitated and about seven people give up and leave via the back doors. Then it hits me: this bus driver sounds exactly like Assy McGee, the crime fighting, take no prisoners, walking and talking butt from the Adult Swim cartoon show (Google "Assy McGee" if you're not familiar. This bus driver's voice and personality fit the character). "People, is there room in the back?" an exasperated Assy yells, as now everyone is getting super-irritated; the driver because he's being ignored, and the passengers who just want to get home or the hell out of the bus. By this point, Assy's locked the back doors of the bus. Finally a passenger yells for Assy to open the doors so he can get the [expletive deleted] out of the bus. The genius that he is bus driver does so, and in letting one person out, allows three people to sneak on the bus. Pure brilliance. Finally after about five minutes we are on our way. It took me an entire half hour to get across 14th Street. I did find out though that I would have been screwed either way: the L train isn't running today.