No music- iPod batteries dead.
Reading: A little bit of bird by bird.
I spend 30 minutes of the ride sitting in an empty car across from a woman who is tapping her leg against the ground at practically a sprinting pace. It is more annoying than the crowds of hundreds I had to fight through to get to the station.
Got nothing but sputtering rage right now. Go read thephilfile.blogspot.com instead.
A bold promise for a bloviating future.
Since the move, my commute's been shaved down to a workable 55 minutes, and also moving me away from the nightmarishly overpacked 4 train (where I could rarely get a seat from 59th to Wall St.)
Normally, i'd be less devastated by leaving my iPod in my apartment (hell my current N/Q route even gives me brief mobile internet access over the Manhattan Bridge) but I'm bitterly hung over this morning, and could use something to block the sharp whirls and high pitched clanks of the subway line, and the minor annoyances of the people around me. On the way to the train, I actually snapped, and let out one of those never quite as clever as I want them to be put downs at 4 people holding an impromptu discussion group right at the top of a busy flight of stairs. I said something like "Yeah, that's a perfect place for you to hold a meeting" and they stared back blankly, possibly because they didn't speak English. Veg will be thrilled to know that I then made my legendary "hurry up" gesture.
I mentioned something about websense before, didn't I? It feels stale now after a couple of months have passed by, but I'll try and get it up this afternoon.
I am done moving into my hip but terribly dusty new digs in the east village, so I should have resumed regular blogging a little while ago, but old habits of procrastination (this is for new visitors, my third attempt at regular blogging) die had. Coming soon should be some posts on the perils of trying to do the right thing as a Websense Administrator and memories of cult leaders in denial.
Courtesy Andrew Sullivan, describing the Michael Jackson trial:
The case leaves me finally with a sense of intense sadness: about how this wreck of a human being, weaned on the poison of fame and money, came to believe that reality was as plastic as his own porcelain skin.
At 14th St. L stop, putting a dollar in the guitar case of a Rastafarian playing "I Want to Hold Your Hand" only to find it liberally festooned with brochures on "The Evils of Race Mixing."
According to the leading blog of the right, this is what it all comes down to:.
Notice how it is now 'put a Koran in a toilet'. No longer is the phrasing 'flush a Koran down the toilet'. A subtle, yet important change.
(Yes, technically it's from a letter to him, but one that he quotes approvingly)
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