New York City Observations

About a week ago I was riding on the M Train into Lower Manhattan and observed a fellow passenger sitting diagonally from where I was sitting. A rather large, burly fellow, this passenger seemed like a blue-collar sort, but he had his head buried in a somewhat serious, hardcover tome with a stylish jacket cover. Since this fellow appeared to be an anamoly of sorts, that being a blue-collar guy reading a serious book, I peered with a bit more focus to see what it was that he was reading. It turned out to be "The Best of Lebian Erotica". Go figure.

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About five years ago I was walking with a friend of mine named Danny, who bore an uncanny resemblance to the cartoon Beavis, of "Beavis and Butthead" fame. Danny was a quirky fellow, which is why I liked hanging out with him. He had strange theories about things, and while he was an intelligent guy, he was also semi-demented....which was why, again, I liked him. Anyway, I was walking down 3rd Ave with Danny to go eat at a Mexican fast-food restaurant named Fresco Tortilla (sadly no longer there) and we came across this homeless guy that Danny had made an acquaintance with. Danny was and is Jewish, and so was this homeless fellow, as evidenced by the yarmulke that he wore. Evidently, this homeless fellow had a previously in-depth discussion with Danny about Judaism, Kabbalah, and overall Jewish philosphy. But...I digress. So as we walk up on this homeless guy, who was sitting on the street, Danny enthusiastically says to the homeless guy, "Hey guy! How's it goin'?!?" The homeless guy takes a second, looks up at Danny with an incredulous look, and says, "Uh....terrible!", as if there could be any other answer a homeless guy could give. This story might lose something in translation, but the scene still makes me chuckle.

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This story was conveyed to me by someone I used to know:

On the 6 Train, a guy dressed like Bootsy Collins (in other words, dressed like some kind of a funky space guy) came into the subway car, explained that his spaceship needed repairs to that he could get back to his home planet, and that he needed money to get it fixed so that he could get home. He then proceeded to play his saxophone in the most excrutiating, screaching manner possible, exclaiming that donations for his spaceship repair fund would make him cease playing saxophone. So bad was he that he elicited a fair amount of change from the tortured passengers.