well well well. i seem to be under heavy fire, especially by some of the more die-hard readers of peregrination, for not updating The Blog with interesting and relevant stories about life as a New Yorker. instead, i've descended down a path filled with rants, nonsensical and uninteresting rehashings of international news stories, or simply not writing anything of value. for this, i apologize. i have made a promise to myself to double my efforts and make peregrination the saucy, gossip-filled, cutting edge blog that it once was. now, the next two stories that i'll share with you aren't necessarily saucy, gossip-filled, or even cutting edge; they are simply vignettes of how bizarre people truly are. and, if you don't find them enjoyable then you can, as the French say, " sucez-le."
in fact, here's a thought, folks. let's have a weekly posting about New York. much like peregrination's Movie of the Month or the Martini's 80's Song of the Week (or Month.) we can give it a cheesy, uninspired name like, "Manhattan Musings" or "Gotham Gibblets" or even something like "En-why-see Explications."
or how about "Borough Briefs"?
Borough, because maybe i'll give an account of me getting lost in the South Bronx one week or eating at Pastis in Manhattan the next.
Briefs, because at heart everyone loves tighty-whiteys. especially Booker.
and without further ado:
Borough Briefs #1
this isn't so much a brief, really, as much as it made me wonder exactly why people operate the way they do. i walked into the company kitchenette this morning to fix myself a cup of tea, and i found two other ladies making coffee and settling in for the day. all of a sudden, i hear a screech and turn around to find that the bottom of one of the ladies' styrofoam cups had disintegrated, spilling coffee all over the table and the floor. the other lady and i quickly grabbed some paper towels and attempted to help her mop up. then, a curious thing happened; she cleaned herself up, and instead of cleaning the rest of the coffee that she spilled all over the place, she proceeded to make herself another cup of coffee and then casually walked away as if nothing happened. the other lady and i looked at each other, stunned that the woman decided to leave the mess where it was. my fellow witness offered that maybe she was going to find another pair of pants to wear or possibly put her fresh cup of coffee down at her desk before helping to clean up her disaster in the kitchen. however, when i came back to the kitchen 45 minutes later after my meeting to refill my own cup, the mess was still there; untouched by this mystery woman who obviously thought that a cleaning crew would do it for her.
Borough Briefs #2
i witnessed this a few weeks ago on the W train one morning on my way to work. it scarred me so much that i'd like to share it with you. too bad i didn't have my camera.
we just arrived at 42nd street, Times Square and this portly gentleman stumbled into my car. when i say portly i don't mean John Candy portly; what i really mean is Jon Brower Minnochesque morbidly obese. it's possible he was in the process of losing weight, because he was actually holding his pants up with one hand and maneuvering for space with the other. he still looked like he could tip the scales at 450lbs (that's 4-and-a-half BILLS, people.) the train made its stops at 34 th and 28th streets, and as we pulled into the 23rd station, the train lurched at the last minute and came to a sudden, grinding halt. because it came to such a short stop, the corpulent passenger had to grab the bar with both hands, lest he lose control and roll on to the floor. in taking this bold action, the poor, bulging man forgot that while he could prevent himself from falling flat onto the train floor, gravity would not stop to save him from embarrassment as his pants dropped straight to his ankles, exposing the white meatiness of his thighs to many of the passengers on the train that morning. he was surprisingly nimble in his efforts and just as he steadied himself, he circled his arms down, pulled his pants back up to his waist, and waddled off the train. most the train erupted in a chorus of murmurs and snickers. i, personally, felt a little sympathy for the dude; however, i also don't think that was the first – nor will it be the last – time that happened to him. unfortunately, for the stunned, elderly, little Greek man who was sitting next to me on the train all the way from Astoria Boulevard, all he could say to himself over and over until i got off at the next stop was, "Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God."
in fact, here's a thought, folks. let's have a weekly posting about New York. much like peregrination's Movie of the Month or the Martini's 80's Song of the Week (or Month.) we can give it a cheesy, uninspired name like, "Manhattan Musings" or "Gotham Gibblets" or even something like "En-why-see Explications."
or how about "Borough Briefs"?
Borough, because maybe i'll give an account of me getting lost in the South Bronx one week or eating at Pastis in Manhattan the next.
Briefs, because at heart everyone loves tighty-whiteys. especially Booker.
and without further ado:
Borough Briefs #1
this isn't so much a brief, really, as much as it made me wonder exactly why people operate the way they do. i walked into the company kitchenette this morning to fix myself a cup of tea, and i found two other ladies making coffee and settling in for the day. all of a sudden, i hear a screech and turn around to find that the bottom of one of the ladies' styrofoam cups had disintegrated, spilling coffee all over the table and the floor. the other lady and i quickly grabbed some paper towels and attempted to help her mop up. then, a curious thing happened; she cleaned herself up, and instead of cleaning the rest of the coffee that she spilled all over the place, she proceeded to make herself another cup of coffee and then casually walked away as if nothing happened. the other lady and i looked at each other, stunned that the woman decided to leave the mess where it was. my fellow witness offered that maybe she was going to find another pair of pants to wear or possibly put her fresh cup of coffee down at her desk before helping to clean up her disaster in the kitchen. however, when i came back to the kitchen 45 minutes later after my meeting to refill my own cup, the mess was still there; untouched by this mystery woman who obviously thought that a cleaning crew would do it for her.
Borough Briefs #2
i witnessed this a few weeks ago on the W train one morning on my way to work. it scarred me so much that i'd like to share it with you. too bad i didn't have my camera.
we just arrived at 42nd street, Times Square and this portly gentleman stumbled into my car. when i say portly i don't mean John Candy portly; what i really mean is Jon Brower Minnochesque morbidly obese. it's possible he was in the process of losing weight, because he was actually holding his pants up with one hand and maneuvering for space with the other. he still looked like he could tip the scales at 450lbs (that's 4-and-a-half BILLS, people.) the train made its stops at 34 th and 28th streets, and as we pulled into the 23rd station, the train lurched at the last minute and came to a sudden, grinding halt. because it came to such a short stop, the corpulent passenger had to grab the bar with both hands, lest he lose control and roll on to the floor. in taking this bold action, the poor, bulging man forgot that while he could prevent himself from falling flat onto the train floor, gravity would not stop to save him from embarrassment as his pants dropped straight to his ankles, exposing the white meatiness of his thighs to many of the passengers on the train that morning. he was surprisingly nimble in his efforts and just as he steadied himself, he circled his arms down, pulled his pants back up to his waist, and waddled off the train. most the train erupted in a chorus of murmurs and snickers. i, personally, felt a little sympathy for the dude; however, i also don't think that was the first – nor will it be the last – time that happened to him. unfortunately, for the stunned, elderly, little Greek man who was sitting next to me on the train all the way from Astoria Boulevard, all he could say to himself over and over until i got off at the next stop was, "Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God."
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