Thanks Buddy

9-11 didn’t seem like a good day to continue grousing about commuting, even though NJ Transit diverted NY Penn Station passengers to Hoboken, probably due to something they blamed on Amtrack, as usual. When you commemorate the horrific incineration of 3000 innocent people by Islamo-Facists who hate us because were , rich, we’re American, we’re Jews and our women wear bikinis instead of burkas, it seems petty to complain about mundane stuff like late trains and rude commuters. In fact, if it were not for a cup of coffee I got at Moran’s at about 8:40 AM, September 11, 2001, I might not be alive to commute and grouse about it. NJ Transit made , September 11, 2006 just another day by screwing up as usual.
I refused to stay home and mourn. By getting my ass out of bed and going to work and working and earning money and helping to nudge the US economy along by my contribution to GDP however small it may be, I feel I effectively said, “Fuck you!” to Osama bin Laden and his ilk.
Of course I’m no longer downtown, and I can’t bare to take the PATH train through the pit that used to have the towers towering over it. I can’t watch anything on TV about 9-11 for very long. I caught maybe 5 minutes of the controversial ABC special, but I couldn’t stomach it. I have not seen any of the movies, nor will I, its much too soon for me. I refuse to forget, but remembering is a little too painful and inconvenient right now. I’m glad for the ABC special and the controversy it created. I think Clinton and the Dems need to be exposed for what they are. And I think the country needs to be reminded. Those in the bread basket of America who weren’t on the walkway between the towers or on the sidewalk across the street when the attack occurred, need TV shows to keep the memory of the horror alive. I don’t need that, just the small corner of my brain where it all resides.

Now that I’ve gotten that off my chest, let me tell you about the asshole commuters I faced this morning. First after transferring at Secaucus, there was this nice lady that saved me a seat with her pocketbook. I know she saved it for me, because most people won’t ask someone to, “Move your fucking pocketbook, bitch!” This is good, because I will, so I get the seat. All I have to do is ask, and endure the dirty look that says, “My ticket expressly includes a seat for my pocketbook.”

While I was seated and reading, Important-White-Guy-With-Expensive-Watch was yakking into his Blackberry. He dropped his glasses on the floor and struggled to find them while blind and trying not to stop yakking into his expensive Blackberry. Boy was I impressed (actually I a was smirking inside). When we reached Penn Station, everyone jumped up and rushed for the exits. Important-White-Guy-With-Expensive-Watch’s briefcase fell into the aisle and I stepped over on my way out. Like my 8-year-old son and all my tenants he chose to blame someone else: Me. “Hey, thanks buddy.” I wish I could come up with a good come back, like, “Why don’t you call your mommy on your Blackberry and have her help you pick your stuff up.” Even a good “Fuck you!” would have sufficed. I just muttered under my breath. Any suggestions?

1st National Bank of Dad

My brother gave me a T-shirt for Chanukah last year that said "1st National Bank of Dad," and I thought it was stupid. But it has grown to become one of my favorites, right after the Harley T-shirts. I saw a big, burly, black guy swaggering down 7th Avenue this morning with a slightly different design, it had a little sign hanging off of Dad that said, “Sorry Closed.”

Yakkity-Yak

In the on-going belly-aching of commuter hell, I suffered yesterday through what I thought was a young woman on the cell phone, yakking to her friend. When I turned around to look, I noticed the fat, unattractive, zit-faced, yakking beast’s friend was actually sitting next to her. It was a live conversation. Which in theory makes it a little better. But, so loud, so inconsiderate. Well I bought ear plugs at Home Depot for when you’re using gas powered yard tools, and put them in my briefcase for just such an occasion. Not a perfect solution, but does cut down noise considerably.

Well just my luck, but Yakking Beast & Co. boarded again today, sat two rows in front of, and gave an encore performance. I want to move to the woods.

Jamba Juice!

Yesterday morning I got a coupon for a free smoothie at Jamba Juice wrapped in a free New York Post. A food I don’t consume, wrapped around a paper I don’t read…But it was FREE, everyone’s favorite word. But the line was out the door, so forget it. Well I was running a little early this morning, which gave me time to use my coupon. I have been intrigued and amused with Jamba Juice ever since I saw this silly Saturday Night Live skit spoofing on it. By the way it’s, first floor retail in the building I’m currently gigging in, so here’s my chance. I went in, but I didn’t have any idea what to order.
“What kind of fruits do you like?”
‘I don’t like fruit,’ I thought. “Uh, I don’t know.” There’s at least 25 menu items.
“Do you like Mango?”
“Mango? Yeah.”
“How about a Mango-A-Go-Go? It’s got mango and blah blah blah blah blah.”
“Yeah Ok.”
“Do you want a boost? Its got blah blah blah blah blah.”
“No boost.” I figured it’s not free.
Then they ask your name, so they can tell you when your smoooothie is done.
“Bob?”
“Kelly?”
Ooooh Kelly. Great way to pick up girls, “Hi Kelly. Which smoothie did you get, Mango?”
“Fuck off.”
Nevernmind.
“Rosey?”
Just as I’m out the door with my smoothie, some shit-for-brains lights up and my first sip is sulfur-charcoal-mango-a-gross-out. I should have waited until I got inside the office building where pollution is prohibited. Three sips later I’ve got brain freeze.

Oh by the way, the Mango-A-Go-Go retails for $5.85 with tax! Not habit forming.

Commuting is a study in human nature.

Yesterday when I was heading out to a Labor Day BBQ with my family, I had meant to swing by the train station to buy a monthly commuter train ticket. I forgot and turned the wrong way. I asked my wife if I should go back, or do it later. I couldn’t decide and went back and forth few times in my mind and out loud. Exasperated, my wife said,
“Just go!”
“To the barbeque or the station?”
“Whatever you want to do.”
Wives are so helpful. I went to the station and bought the ticket. I didn’t want to put it off until later and then forget. I knew if I waited until Tuesday AM, there would be a line for the persnickety, slow-moving ticket machines, and there is no longer a human selling tickets at this station. Also, you should know, that New Jersey Transit charges a $5.00 penalty if you buy your ticket on the train when a ticket window or vending machine is available at the station you boarded at.

Predictably, those who did not have this discussion with their wives beforehand were lined up at the ticket machine minutes before the train was scheduled to arrive, and clearly not everyone was going to get a ticket. I had mine and I boarded. I didn’t see who it ended badly for. Hopefully they had just enough common sense to get hosed on the train rather than wait for the next one to save $5.00. Live and learn.