The L Train Circus

So for anyone who is unfamiliar with New York City, the subway system here is vast. The MTA subway map is a web-like explosion of twisted and winding colored lines that someone, somewhere decided made sense a long, long time ago. If ever a group of people were to artfully portray the subway map somewhere, it would likely turn into a giant rainbow orgy.

You get all kinds on the subway and frankly, if I ever need a shot of writing inspiration, I know where to go. The train line where my judgy and voyeuristic eyes are most routinely spanked is the L train that runs east to west along 14th Street in Manhattan and also out to Brooklyn. It's like the circus. Except the circus cheats you out by only giving you three rings to watch stuff from your seat way back in the stands. On the L train, each train car is like its own ring where you see up close, and at times detrimentally, the most mind-boggling displays of some of New York's most interesting clowns.

Did I say clowns? I'm sorry, I meant weirdo hipsters.

What are some of these people thinking? I try not to let myself get annoyed and just enjoy the show, but there are times when the urge to ask someone, "What the fuck are you wearing?" just consumes you. There are times when it can be really fun and unapologetic gawking is completely acceptable. There are also times when, no matter how hard you may try to avert your eyes, like a bad car wreck you can't help but look...and then go into full-on judgypants mode. Plastic, colored glasses, skinny jeans, greasy hair, obnoxious jewelry, and way too much plaid are just the tip of the iceberg of the folks who corral themselves into the Brooklyn village of Williamsburg and the Lower East Side of Manhattan...both conveniently located right near that fabulous L Train.

I get it though. Like animals, we travel in packs, we play with our own kind, and we live in the same areas, and Williamsburg and the LES exemplify all of this quite nicely. Basically, you can't swing a dead cat in either of these places without hitting a least a dozen hipsters. Now, don't misunderstand, they're a perfectly nice cross-section of the New York City population, quiet, exclusive, and pretty passive. They have their coffee places and their dark, moody bars, and they laugh and have fun just like the rest of us. They just have an appalling sense of style that has infected their entire identity.

My love letters to each gender:

Dear hipster girl: Large, colored, plastic horn-rimmed glasses are not cute. They're particularly not cute with any "vintage" onesie/belt/legging combos, and little pink plastic barrettes. Please take care not to bludgeon the general population's eyesight anymore. P.S. Stop playing with black hair dye.

Dear hipster boy: Burn all of your skinny jeans. They're terrible. They look ridiculous and flatter no one. Ever. Eat a hamburger and wash your hair. Get your hair cut first, actually and have them shave off that fucking mustache while they're at it.

The picture at right is a great example of what one might encounter. What you regrettably can't see is the excessive gold jewelry and the plastic hair accessories. It gives credence to my judgments. It absolutely permits nearly every rational thinking individual to ponder, "But why?" Let's be real though, I think that while most of us can agree that her outfit is abysmally bad, who here can't possibly get a giggle at the guy's expression across from her who is no doubt receiving a nauseating, assaulting view of something much worse. Personally, I was caught in a fit of quiet laughter. I think I probably looked like I escaped from a mental institution...whatever, a few cocktails will do that to you.

In continuing with humility, I might add that today, I'm wearing a pair of jeans from 1994 because I have yet to do laundry and I look like Medusa given that I am attempting to grow out my hair. Why the attempt at long, you ask? Like any other yuppy male schmuck, I'm feebly trying to hold onto any remnants of hair and youth before it's all gone...which I'm sure someone on the subway must have been thinking when my mane temporarily blinded them as I passed by to take a seat.

A quick rant and a thought provoking question...

So recently I had the pleasure of working with a real manipulative bitch for 6 months and the project that we worked on finished this past Wednesday. Hallelujah. The project was a huge success and the outcome will last for many, many years. That's awesome.

Working side by side with this first class cunt was the most NOT-awesome thing that has happened to me of late. I know, the 'c' word trips some people up and they hate it, but I assure you, no one has worked quite so hard to earn the title more than this wretched woman has.

She's an early 30 something garbage pail with no sense of self-respect, humility, loyalty, or otherwise. She managed to completely alienate herself from the rest of the planning committee within days of kicking off our prep for the event. But what remains shocking to me is that, to this day, she has absolutely no idea just how unlikeable she is. There is a zero-level self-awareness factor that is just appalling to witness...it knocks discomfort levels off the chart for anyone within earshot of her, which typically means about 2 miles.

But what's the real kick in the ass is that she refuses to hear anything about how her behavior is perceived. One might think you could sit someone down and have a conversation and give some constructive feedback about what's working and what's not working. But this bitch just won't listen. I just don't get how people like her operate...and I guess I'm glad I don't.

So to hell with her.

On a separate topic - I love living in New York City if only because you absolutely cannot make some of the shit up that I see every day here. It's left me to wonder at certain points when some people learned that doing certain things was a good idea.

Let's first understand, before I delve into my daily observations of other people's questionable decisions, that it is a very tall order to be perfect. It is a cross that I carry with me everyday, and burden I would put on no ordinary man. I say this, of course, in jest while also knowing full well I have no room to really judge others given the woeful choices I've made in the past regarding my own appearance...blond streaks in dark brown hair...last summer. Need I say more? So let's resume - When did people learn that it was a good idea to...?

...grow a Mustache? Mustaches on the lips of otherwise very handsome 25 year old men - some of whom happened to be at a table in front of me when I was at lunch the other day with some friends. Why, boys? Mustaches are not okay. They were kind of hot in the 70s, but I think that's where they really just need to stay. More and more and more I see guys who I hope just lost a bet or are growing the 'stache out for a cause or something...but then after my excuses for them have run dry, I'm left fearfully wondering "what if?" What if they actually did it on purpose because somewhere along the line they learned that it was a good idea to grow a mustache at 25.


...paint terrifying eyebrows on their face? I saw this woman, probably in her very early 30s, on the subway a week ago who had no eyebrows. Now, normally when I see no eyebrows or any kind of absence of hair where it might normally be found, I wonder if it's either alopecia or heaven-forbid some kind of chemotherapy treatment that caused the hair loss to happen. However, this particular woman apparently, and very obviously, took care not to have normal eye brows and she decided it would be a better idea to paint on very thin black eyebrows that extended north nearly halfway up her forehead before swooping down around the outer rim of her eye sockets before coming to an abrupt end by the crest of her cheekbone. She was perpetually surprised. Even with a grumpy face, she was surprised. She looked like she just got into a fight with her boyfriend, and yet she was surprised. Shocked and surprised was she as she absentmindedly cleaned the dirt from underneath her fingernails. Where oh where, Eyebrow Lady, did you learn this was a good idea?


And finally for tonight ...store a cell phone next to their boob? Curious about this one, for sure. Chick gets on the subway and is checking herself out in the reflection of the window. Hair, makeup, outfit, ass...checking to make sure all of it was still there. I'm not entirely sure where any of it would sneak off to given that she was probably pushing 275 lbs, but that's beside the point. Her boobs were about equal to nearly 4 of my ass cheeks melded together. As the train approached the next stop, she finished primping in the reflection and stored the phone she'd been holding in her hand directly into the side of her bra on the outside of her boob. The outline of the phone nestled next to her boob's exterior was jarring to my visual sense and left me wondering what her pocket doesn't afford her that her boob does. A gaze in the right direction from an onlooker? Easier access? It was unclear, but absolutely something only to be seen in a place like good ol' NYC.

As for me? When did I learn that putting blond highlights in my dark brown hair was a good idea? I think Ricky Martin told me I could get away with it when I was in college. Then I tried it again thinking it'd be sexier when I was older. It was just so terribly wrong both times.

You're a liar, Ricky Martin.