I woke up in a closet.

Rapid Transit, or the next Bubonic Plague: My thoughts on the MTA.

When it comes to New York City Transit, I think it’s appropriate to employ a litmus test. Did you make it to the station a little early to relax and catch up on your book, or did you just miss the train and now you have to wait around for-fucking-ever next to a rat infested dumpster?

There are several pros and cons to NYC transit to explore. Your standpoint depends on how in-depth you like to analyze things that you encounter on a daily basis.

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You don’t know what you got till it’s gone.

It’s been one day since I’ve had to transfer from the M to the G train at Broadway for my morning commute (house-sitting is a wonderful thing, people). And with the absence of this rapid transit staple in my daily life, I cannot say my heart has grown fonder. I can’t believe I just spewed that sentence. For the last two weeks, each time I got on the train, I decided that MTA must be playing a sick, sad joke on me. The G never fails to smell like something unique and equally gross each time I board.

I have compiled a list:

  • Poop. Straight up, fresh from the shoot.
  • Spicy homeless man. This is exactly what you think it is. Someone who hasn’t bathed for 6 months to a year doused in curry or cayenne pepper. Not to be sexist, but only a man could produce this kind of body odor. Most of the time women are a little less offensive.
  • Cat food. I don’t mean fancy feast either. When you walk into the car, it’s like opening up a cupboard under the sink full of dry Purina that became saturated from an unknown leak that had been around for weeks.
  • Dead Cat. For the sake of the cat food metaphor, if the G train was so irresponsible that it did not feed their fat for weeks, allowing the food to get all wet and moldy, then the cat would be dead, neglected, and probably fused to the bottom of a seat.
  • Fried Chicken or Chinese food. Look, we all get hungry. Sometimes we don’t have time to sit down and eat or wait until we get home, but seriously why eat on the subway? The answer must be 1. You really have no time. 2. You have no regard for the amount of recycled air and dead skin cells of your fellow passengers falling all over your food (it’s sad but true. Why do you think there are sneeze guards at Chinese Buffets?). 3. You’re fucked up. I know many a drunken/stoned time I’ve gotten ice cream or a bag of chips and absolutely could not wait another minute to experience all flavors. 4. You’re just hungry.
  • Moldy fruit. ‘Nuff said.
  • Wet, Mangy Rat. Broadway has an underground canal running through it on each side of the tracks. This also has to be the number one station that I spend the most time and that I’ve seen the most rats in. They must have set up a para-sailing rig on the back of the G.

I’ll stop there to put an end to all the disgusting smells that will remind me of the G train until the day I die or my olfactory nerve craps out on me. Also, while I was researching the G, the wikipedia page said that it’s so short because the trains were chopped from 6 to 4 cars in order to make more trains. I don’t understand.

Until Saturday when I must return to Ridgewood, I will bask in the more attractive/appetizing smells that the city has to offer. What are they? I don’t remember at the moment, but I’ll fill you in.



I’ve mostly stopped thinking about the end of the world, but now I’m thinking about prison.  I don’t think it would be that bad to spend a lot of time behind bars.

Pros of prison:

  • No sunlight, No skin cancer.
  • Lots of time to read.
  • Lots of time to write.
  • Lots of time to sleep.
  • Not having to talk to anyone.
  • Sleeping almost whenever.
  • I don’t have to pay taxes.

Cons of Prison

  • No sunlight, broken bones.
  • A shitty job that pays pennies an hour.
  • Terrible prison food.
  • People yelling at me.
  • No one to talk to.
  • No sex.

The more I thought about prison, the more I realized I probably would never be arrested in my lifetime.  Damnit.

There wouldn’t be any responsibilities in prison.

I get stressed out about everyday responsibilities.  But I think I have more of a problem with them than other people do.  Because my worries about responisibilities are just so… odd.  Two weeks ago I had brunch with my sister in Williamsburg.  We walked to an organic food store and she bought me lilacs.  I said goodbye to her in the subway station.  She got on the L, I got on the G at Metroplitan.  I walked far enough down the platform to get where the benches are.  A train must have just come because all of the seats except for one were empty.  I walked to the end of the row and chose the second to last seat.  There was water on this seat, so I had to sit down next to it.  After I sat down, more people with tired legs followed.  The amount of water on the seat wasn’t a lot, but it was enough so that you’d feel it on your pants if you sat on it.  Every time someone had their eye on the seat as they came in my direction, I’d pull my face out of the bouquet of lilacs and say, “That’s wet.”  I said it to three people.  I wanted to get up.  Why didn’t the person next to me say anything?  Why was I the one who had to forewarn people?  After I told them about the wet seat, they probably stood on the platform next to an I-beam thinking, “That bitch doesn’t know that I have arthritis and I should be sitting.  She looks young!”

Just take the responsibility away.

At the end of May, I’ll be finished with my internship at Jezebel.com so I’ll have a little more free time.  Although!  I think I’ve found a replacement internship at A Public Space.