Leaky Faucets

On my way home from my first class tonight, riding the R train, my least favorite subway musician appeared, a guy I’ve heard at least a half dozen times.  A young black man with long braids and an acoustic guitar strapped around his shoulder, he tries his best to perform his own interpretation of Bob Marley songs.  Tonight it was “Three Little Birds.”  His versions are played at a faster tempo and don’t last very long.  He sings the right words but it sounds nothing like the Marley song.  That would be okay if his version was good, but unfortunately it isn’t.  He’s way too loud-annoying when I’m trying to read-and off key.  His voice isn’t very good.  I’m never surprised when he doesn’t get much money for his efforts.  I feel a bit sorry for him and am almost tempted to give him a buck, but I don’t want to encourage him.  I hope that someday he gets the message that he is not very talented, and moves on to something else, something that doesn’t disturb his fellow passengers.  Preferrably something silent. 

What kind of idiot calls a wrong number at 3:30 am?  My guess is the drunk kind of idiot.  Yesterday morning our phone rang in the middle of the night and I decided to let it ring because it was either Aya’s parents calling not realizing what time it is in New York or it was someone calling with bad news.  I let it ring and they didn’t leave a message.  A minute later the phone rang again and this time a message was left.  A fucking wrong number.  Totally incoherent.  Spoken in accented English with an undistinguishable ethnicity.

I can’t stand that Nokia commercial where the supposedly sexy blond-haired woman frets about a guy she met in a bar asking for her phone number and then immediately entering it into his phone.  When he asks if she wants his number, she says she does but wants him to write it down and won’t enter it into her phone because she doesn’t want someone “jumping right into my phone.”  “I’m a lady,” she says.  Yeah right, Jill, which is her name apparently.   This woman is so annoying that no guy would ask for her phone number unless he was so trashed that he couldn’t possibly put her number into his phone without falling over.  And although she thinks she’s hot stuff, she’s not.  And that voice, that annoying nasal Chicago accent.  Well, maybe there was live music at that bar so he couldn’t really hear her talking.  And maybe it was dark in there. 

By the way, why do they keep playing this commercial during the NBA playoffs?  It’s obviously targeted to women.  I guess they could be trying to reach women who watch basketball.  Certainly men will not find this too amusing.  I was watching the Cavs-Pistons game with Paul and Aaron yesterday, and Paul sneered at the commercial.  He thinks it’s a real story because that’s how the girls at his office talk.  Maybe he’s right about that.

“ER” is one of the few shows on television that I watch semi-regularly, although I haven’t watched consistently this year.  After all these years and character changes, it’s still an excellent show-well written and finally acted.  One of my favorite aspects of “ER” are the not so subtle political jabs delivered through the characters.  Last night, John Leguizamo’s character delivered a tirade against the war in Iraq after it was revealed that the husband of one of the other doctors was killed in Iraq by a roadside bomb.  It wasn’t all one sided as they showed the soldiers in a positive light.  It wasn’t anti-soldier, just anti-war like much of the movement.   On an episode last season, Dr. Carter delivered a diatribe against the deviousness of pharmaceutical companies and how much control they have over the finances of the hospital.

As I was going through a huge pile of mail and shredding it the other day, it struck me how hypocritical some of the environmental organizations are with the gobs of paper they send me.  Sierra Club is the worst.  The envelope contained at least 10 different pieces of literature.  Aren’t they supposed to be saving trees?  Even if its recycled paper, its still a tremendous waste.

Every morning when I pack my lunch it reminds me of the scene in “The Breakfast Club” when Emilio Estevez’ character takes out his lunch from a huge shopping bag-one thing after another.  The rest of the group was astonished as he pulled out sandwiches, a thermos, more than one carton of milk, etc.  My lunch isn’t quite that big but my bag always has a main dish-vegetables with rice, pasta, etc.-an apple, carrots, banana, nuts and raisins and sometimes dessert.

‘Good thing you’re not an “American Idol” fan.’ 

“Why’s that?” 

“Because you’d be upset at what happened last night.  They voted off the wrong person.  Americans are so stupid…”

This was a conversation that greeted me when I arrived at the office this morning.  Our secretary Ray is the Idol fan.  I’m not.  And she’s right about Americans being stupid, but its not because they voted off the wrong Idol wannabe, its because they voted at all, and even more so because more people vote on “American Idol” than vote for President.  Come to think of it, Clay Aiken would have my vote in the next election if he squares off against Jeb Bush.

Despite posted signs all along the reservoir running track in Central Park prohibiting such activities, people continue to use it for photo ops, dog walking and leisurely strolls with the baby carriages.  Many of these people don’t seem to realize that the primary purpose of the reservoir is for running.  Walking four across is not very helpful.  It’s not a lollygagging track.

 My weeklong experiment with veganism ended with a carnivorous bang coming in the form of Aya’s scrumptious spaghetti carbonara.  I must have eaten a half a slab of bacon by myself.  I was willing to try eating only vegetables and grains and some soy products for Aya’s sake because she was really gung ho about it as she is with everything new.  She’s also the cook.  I even agreed to go to Angelica Kitchen last week and Gobo this week.  Gobo was what pushed me over the edge.  I can deal with vegetarian dishes, but this type of restaurant, serving a menu full of dishes masquerading as adequate alternatives to meat, is just not for me.  I quickly peruse the menu and eliminate anything with tofu.  I ended up ordering butternut squash risotto, which sounded innocuous enough.  Wrong!  It was absolutely revolting.  It was creamy, but I had no idea what it was made from.  Soy milk perhaps.  Sick!  I only took a few bites and had it wrapped to go.  I can never be a vegan, though I still want to limit my meat intake as much as possible, only eating seafood for the most part.  I don’t necessarily need a lot of meat, but I do need flavor and less restrictions on what I can eat.

For some reason, the Garden City office of the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services thinks that he is.  This is the same Stanley Cohen who, shortly after September 11, said he would defend Osama bin Laden if asked.  Yeah, that’s my freaking lawyer. 

If I’m ever accused of committing an act of international terrorism, maybe I will retain Mr. Cohen’s services.  But until then, I think I’ll stick with the attorney that I have, who to my knowledge has never gone to court on behalf of any members of Hamas.