Today at the Columbus Circle stop waiting for the 1 train I witnessed for perhaps the 6th time in 2 months a phenomena that makes me want to vomit uncontrollably and biblically rip my clothes off of my body in utter frustration and rage. I witnessed another late twenty-early thirtysomething or maybe even fortywhogivesacrap plug his little fingers into his little ears because the big, loud, mean subway train was crossing the platform two tracks away.
You’ve got to be ****ing kidding me.
At least when you (and by "you," I mean this yupster mass blob of douchebaggery and co. that walk around the city going to tapas bars [I’m Latin, and I hate going to those] and doing other unbelievably pretentious nonsense) took away my right to smoke cigarettes at bars, at the very least, I understood that my behavior may have negatively affected the health of the brave men and women who get me drunk. This, however, this is just too precious. Not only were you afraid that adverse air might somehow invade your lungs in a city that causes some of the most pollution in the country, but now you’re afraid that one subway train running by you for about 15 seconds will damage your widdle eardrums irreparably.
If you’re visibly worried about nonsense like that and not the constant threat of a suicide bomber simply walking onto the train and killing you, me and a bunch of other people until we die from it*, then you’ve got your priorities bass-ackwards. We’re all gonna go someday, and that day, for a variety of reasons, is not up to us to decide. Genuflecting before all 30 different paintings of Jesus Christ in my Abuelita’s apartment in Elmhurst, Queens won’t help you out on that one [Side Note: At the Super Bowl Halftime Show, Prince wore the same head-wrap she wears while cleaning her apartment]. We might as well let it hang loose sometimes.
When did New Yorkers hand in their sacks? When were the sticks implanted up into everybody’s asses? Remember when it was okay to eat street meat without invoking social indignation because you were in a rush and didn’t have time to "pop into Whole Foods"? Remember when people didn’t talk about "IPod etiquette" at parties? Remember when you could say something remotely negative about Rudy Giuliani? What happened to New Yorkers being outspoken, pleasantly borderline-sociopaths who were tough as nails? I don’t know about you, but encounters with good-natured, freestyling crackheads are like sprinkles on the cupcakes that are my days. I’m not nostalgic for the days where Times Square was an area filled with peep-shows and criminal activity that a family couldn’t walk through at night (when you might actually have had to be tough for real), but that doesn’t mean you get to become a Care Bear.
Sure, there are many horrible things to worry about when you live in this city, and this world in general. Just realize that a lot of people have things much worse than you do. Some people have to take a dump in front of the Morton-Williams on 57th Street because they are homeless. Others are forced to go on dates to the opera. With the pain and fleeting nature of life in mind, you might as well let some stupid crap like your ears potentially hurting slide. Live
dangerously. Follow your crotch instead of your head every now and then. Buy a hot
dog. Go crazy and buy coffee that’s 66 cents instead of 5 dollars. Go absolutely bonkers and befriend a minority. At least stop wiping the grease off of pizza slices with napkins.
*Props to "Hot Shots! Part Deux" for that gem