Tag Archives: train thoughts

real adventure

When I was growing up, the first thing I ever imagined myself becoming when I was an adult was Indiana Jones. I figured, like any young boy would, that getting women, punching the shit out of Bad Dudes and saving enslaved children by grabbing some weird rock was a pretty good life.

Of course now that I’m an Adult, I’ve been sucker punched by this thing called Real Life, and to my dismay – I don’t think I’m ever going to be Indiana Jones.

In fact, the closest I ever get to it is the mad dash to a train that is about to leave the station. There really isn’t anything more exciting than seeing the subway doors start to close and jumping into the car right at the last possible second.

I actually take quite a bit of pride in my ability, too. It’s not for the faint-hearted. Sky diving? Please. Try weaving through a crowd of angry commuters (knocking the weak aside if that’s what is necessary) and leaping through the air to catch a train – all to save yourself ten minutes. Now that is what I call Extreme.

The best part about it is seeing the faces of doubt when I make my move toward the train. When I pick up my pace to a steady jog, I always see the people who have exited the subway and I know what they’re thinking:

“He’ll never make it.”

“What a fool! He’s going to be ten minutes later than he thought!”

“I think his fly is down and I’m feeling intrigued.”

But I keep going! Why? Because this is my Temple of Doom! This is my Lost Ark! And damn you to hell if you think it will be my Last Crusade!

When the doors begin to close, that’s when I make my jump, straightening myself out so as to give myself the most room possible to squeeze through.

Then, when I make it on the train, I always take a look around at the people on there already. I nod at the few who have just witnessed this miracle, this Feat Of Amazingness, and feel bad for those who missed it.

Jumping onto trains at the last minute may not be fulfilling my dream to one day become Indiana Jones, but it certainly comes close.

Let’s see an archaeologist do that.

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sorted out

I’d like to have a word with the guy who made this poster for the upcoming (sure to be a hit) movie The Haunting in Connecticut.

When I take pictures of posters in the subway, people don't think I'm crazy, they just think I'm a loser.

The only scary things in Connecticut are the vast amounts of white people who think wearing sweaters over their shoulders is okay.

If you can’t read my fine subway photography, the tagline for the film is “Some things cannot be explained.”  But here’s the thing: I think I can explain what’s happening here pretty well.

It’s called vomiting.

a.k.a. ralphing, spewing, losing your lunch, blowing chunks, puking and my personal favorite: buying the buick.

The kid is fucking puking.  And… I’m done!  I explained it. Little Sammy probably didn’t listen to his dad when he told him that he better eat his broccoli and when Sammy copped an attitude dad had to shove the veggie down poor Sammy’s throat causing him to ralph which never would have happened if he had just listened to dad in the first place.

Or maybe the kid just found out that Flo Rida has the number one song in America right now.

Either way, it’s pretty easy to explain what’s happening here.

I don’t know much about designing movie posters, but hopefully we can try a little harder next time. You know, put some thought into it dammit.  Like this blog post, I thought about this for like 17 minutes straight.

It’s called Leading By Example.

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pure insanity

Last night on my way home from work, I somehow found a seat on the train without having to shove anyone to the ground, which made me happy.

Then, as I took my seat, ready to think about how I only have to make it through one more day before the weekend and the weekend is good even though when you wake up on Saturday morning it’s basically over, I noticed a woman standing in front of me, directly in front of the door.

Which made me unhappy.

It wasn’t anything she was wearing, and it wasn’t like she was singing loudly or anything like that, she was just… standing there.

I thought to myself, “Oh, well, clearly she’s just waiting for the next stop and that’s why she’s standing directly in front of the door and not off to the side.”

But then we arrived at a stop, and she just stood there.

So then I thought, “Oh, well, she’ll get off at the next stop.  This is fine.  You’re okay with this.  Let’s think about your dog’s ears.  Yes.  That makes you happy.”

But then another stop went by, and she was still… just… standing there.

And this is when I lost my mind.

I started fidgeting and looking around, thinking that someone had to be seeing this and what the hell is wrong with this woman???

I went over in my mind if I would ever just stand in front of the door for stops and stops and stops like some kind of mad man instead of just stepping aside and being more comfortable and I decided no!

No!

Then I started cursing the woman’s very existence with thoughts like, “What, does she think she’s better than me??? What, she doesn’t need to sit like everyone else??? Because I could stand too!  I’m not, but I could, dammit!”

Then we arrived at another stop, and she got off the train.

I settled down a little after that, but c’mon, it was still pretty weird.

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the truth will set you free

With the economy in the crapper, it seems like the subway platforms here in the city are getting more and more crowded with people singing and playing instruments for money.

This strategy is a flawed one of course, because 1) No one who sings in the subway is good and 2) Because they sound like cats dying, no one feels compelled to give them any money.

There are the few people that are so mad they actually give them money in hopes that this will make them stop singing, but this never works.

I don’t understand why the subway panhandlers don’t just change their overall strategy altogether.

What they need to do is offer people that pass by random tips about life – that taken separately will be entirely vague, but in the end make sense in some way to each person that hears them.

Here are some phrases that the beggars could offer up which would inevitably strike a chord with someone:

“That guy just didn’t get the joke.  It wasn’t that it wasn’t funny – it was just too smart.”

“It’s okay – I like Keith Urban too.”

“Her sister is annoying.”

I thought that shirt looked great.”

“Maybe next time you’ll drink even more – that’ll show them.”

“What were you supposed to do?  Not touch her boob?”

The list of things they could say is practically never ending.  They just need to utter some sparadoc thought, wait for someone to identify with it, and reap the rewards.

I’m holding out though, because until I hear someone say, “Your blog is going to make you rich and famous and Michael Jackson is writing a comeback album all about it that in no way could be interpreted as him liking to touch little boys,” no one is getting my 37 cents.

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nothing but time

In New York you spend a lot of time waiting for the train.  Even though they come every couple minutes you will inevitably lose a sizable chunk of your life just sitting and waiting.

There are several things that you can do to pass the time while you wait, if you’re by yourself that is.  If you’re not, I suppose you should talk to the people you’re with, though depending on your company, that’s debatable.

Your first option, and my personal favorite, is to people watch and make fun of them in your head.  For example, this morning I saw a woman walk past me with really short pants, so in my head I said “Hahaha – look at short pants!”  I’m witty and mature.

Another option is to play games on your cell phone. This is always good if you want to fool people into thinking that you’re checking emails and doing things like Someone Of Importance.

A solid third time waster is to check out all the ads that line the walls.  I do this because I work in advertising and I like to act like I care about my job, but also because I sometimes come across quality items like this:

I know it’s crappy, but I didn’t exactly want everyone around me thinking that I needed to remember this number so badly that I had to take a picture.

If you can’t make it out, the ad is for a podiatrist who has some kind of revolutionary bunion removal technique.  It says “As Seen On TV” but I haven’t seen it.  Though I will be staying up all night tonight in hopes of catching the infomercial.

My favorite part of this ad though is clearly the copy reading “Free Consultation.”

I love how they think that’s an enticing move on their part.  Listen, no one goes to the podiatrist and ends up leaving thinking, “Huh, must’ve just been some lint!”  

You simply do not go if nothing is already wrong.  I don’t know about you, but I never look down at my foot and think, “Everything looks great! I better get to the doctor.”  If you’re going to a foot specialist, there is something wrong with your foot.  Giving people a free first look is not exactly spicing up the deal.  

But at least it’s entertaining, right?  

There’s only so many things you can do while waiting for the train before you get bored out of your skull.

I guess you could be productive and start a to do list and so forth, but I think insulting people, playing PapiJump and looking at stupid ads is much more fun.  I like to think it adds character.  Or something like that.

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teenage wasteland

On my way home from work last night, I noticed something on the train that made me sad.  There was sprawling graffiti written on one of panels above the seats.  But that in itself is not why I was upset.

What really bothered me was what it said.

Torture.

That’s what was written.

Is this all the guy who wrote that could come up with?  If so, it really has me concerned with the young delinquents of our society.

Back when I was a budding little terror, vandalism had an edge to it, dammit!

Martin Craig and I used to stroll the late night streets of Pittsburgh peeing on store windows and lighting our G.I. Joes on fire and throwing them at houses.

I know.  You’re thinking, “How did you light your G.I. Joes on fire?” Well, we discovered a way to make a sticky substance that burned by mixing gasoline and styrofoam together.  We were good kids.

But now, there I was, looking at some kid’s version of Being Bad, and it just made me shake my head.

How did this even happen?

Tommy: [Spraying the final “e” in “torture” and turning to his friend] “Awww yeah…  Check that out!”

Ray: [Noticing the work] “Does that say ‘Torture?'”

Tommy: [Smiling proudly] “Hells yeah!”

Ray: [Scrunching his face in an attempt to look exactly like Tony Montana from Scarface, a look that he has worked on for countless hours in the bathroom mirror] “Yeah!  That shit is awesome!”

Tommy: [Excitedly now] “For sure man, I thought, you know, torture is hard!  It’s hard to get tortured man!  Or, or, ‘you better watch out, or we’ll torture you!'”

Ray: [Picking up his backpack] “Definitely feeling that man.  That whole torture vibe is rough, people are gonna be shocked!  We’re gonna shake their whole world up with this one!”

There’s no way those kids are ever going to have a future in being The Bad Boys to entice, and then years later repulse, all the women, and that just makes me sad.

The youth is a lost cause, and there’s only one thing to do about it.

It’s time to call Martin Craig.

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discovered

I’m sorry.

I have something to tell you and you’re not going to be happy about it.  But I hope when this is all over, we can still be friends.  Or at the very least I can still drunk text you at three in the morning telling you how I just won three dollars by winning an arm wrestling match.

The thing is, I know how hard you’ve been looking for The Coolest Man In The World, but I found him.

I found him this morning, while on the train to the gym.

He is cooler than Montell Jordan.

He is cooler than ALF.

He is even cooler than that time you did a keg stand longer than everyone else at the party and didn’t even puke or sleep with anyone ugly.

Yes.

He is that fucking cool.  I wouldn’t lie to you about something like this.

You can keep looking if you want, but I found him.  Behold.

He is better than you.

He is better than you.

Notice the all white outfit.  From the “New York” tank top to the shoes – all white.

Notice the sunglasses.  Sure, it was 6:50 AM and he was underground, but The Coolest Man In The World must shield his eyes from the paparazzi, who lurk around every corner.

Notice the body language.  Not a care in the world.  No rent to think about because he simply tells landlords, “I will live here.  That is my payment to you.”  

The search is over friends.

You tried your best, but I think we can all agree, there simply is no beating this man.  

Victory is his.

(I’m guest posting over at A View From 5280Ft (a great blog) today so please go check it out.  I’m writing about feet, which I think is enough of a reason to get you to read it.  Go!  Please!)

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