Leaky Faucets

Attention subway loud talkers: if you’re going to have a conversation, couldn’t you at least sit next to each other?  Why do people have to sit on opposite sides of the car from each other on an empty train and shout to have a conversation?

My all-time favorite segment aired in a repeat of This American Life this past weekend. But, now I’ve got it on my iPod somewhat permanently thanks to the free podcasts they started recently. I used to listen to TAL every Saturday religiously when I used to work out at the gym in Astoria. It really got me through some otherwise boring weightlifting. Anyway, I gave up weightlifting a while ago and I haven’t been listening to TAL much lately since I’m not always able to give it my full attention at 11:00 am on Saturdays even though I consider it by far the best show on the radio and better than anything on TV as well. When the started the podcasts a few months ago, I signed up and started listening every week-only now I can listen when I want, which is usually on my walks to and from work It’s something to look forward to.

The particular segment that I’m referring to is called “Tell it to the Void.” The story consists of a series of open letters from a woman who calls herself X to the absent father of her 13 year old son. It’s a very touching story, beautifully written and brilliantly read. It leaves you wanting more. Which you can find on the website Open Letters. This is probably the third time I’ve heard it and it’s just as good every time.  Check it out and check out TAL if you haven’t already.

I actually got a thumbs-up from a passing motorist while running yesterday.  Apparently this guy approved of my choice of recreational activity.  Maybe a fellow runner himself.  Who knows.  This is highly unusual and quite a switch from the usual incoherent heckling I often get when running in the streets of Queens.  Some obnoxious teenagers or pre-pubescents decide that its funny to yell something at me in derision.  I always feel the urge to respond by telling them how fat they’ll be in a few years if they keep stuffing their faces with Pringles and Pepsi while playing Play Station for hours on end, but I just pretend that I can’t hear them underneath my headphones

Maybe I do have a little patriotism in me.  I found myself rooting for American runner Deena Kastor to win the Boston Marathon today.  She lost, of course.  Distance running is one of the only sports where Americans are not expected to win, which makes it more compelling to root for them.  I like rooting for the underdogs so it’s hard for me to cheer for the NBA-filled Olympic basketball squad.  But American marathoners are never expected to win against the Kenyan studs.

Enough about Don Imus already.  I want to hear more about the father of Anna Nicole Smith’s baby.  That story has received hardly any coverage.  What gives?

And, what has Michael Jackson been up to lately?  There haven’t been any recent accusations. 

Why should we be subjected to a barrage of stories about a boring, washed-up radio host when there are much more important things that the media should be covering.

Since I started working at the library five years ago, I’ve gotten most of my music by borrowing it.  I haven’t bought many CDs during that time.  Actually, I can’t remember the last CD I bought; it’s probably been over a year.  The ones I do buy are things that I can’t get at the library-indie acts and rare shit.  I’m not really into downloading mp3s-especially when I have to pay for it.  The central library, which is down the street from my office, has over 20,000 CDs so the selection is pretty good.  But the other day, I finally bought a CD-one that the library doesn’t have in any of its 63 Queens locations.  And it was basically free since I had store credit from Best Buy.

So what special CD did I buy?  Aimee Mann-”Live at St. Ann’s Warehouse.”  Six months ago-before I saw the movie “Magnolia”-I didn’t know anything about Aimee Mann.  But the music in the movie captivated me so I borrowed the soundtrack.  I soon found myself listening to it over and over again, especially to the songs “Deathly” and “Save Me.”  But that wasn’t enough so I borrowed every other album of hers that the library had, partly so I wouldn’t get sick of the songs I was playing incessantly: “The Forgotten Arm,” “Whatever” and “Bachelor No. 2,” the latter being my favorite of the three, featuring several of the songs from “Magnolia.”  I went from completely ignorant of Ms. Mann’s music to an obsessive collector who owns most of her discography in a matter of months.  The live CD also includes a live DVD from the same series of Brooklyn concerts.  All for $15-a great deal.  Besides loving her music and lyrics, I highly respect her ideals as an independent musician who has her own label, shunning the major labels and employing a DIY approach.  Now, I’m just waiting for her to go on tour again.

My musical tastes have certainly changed over the last few years.  I seem to be getting into more mellow stuff (for me anyway) like Velvet Underground, Neil Young, Stereolab.  Maybe that comes with aging.  Nah.  I’m just expanding my interests.  I’ll still listen to punk forever, even when I’m an old man.  But it’s great to mix it up depending on your mood and I’m proud of my eclectic music collection.

San Francisco is a real progressive city, a city that has the courage to do things that make sense.  What I’m talking about is the city by the Bay’s decision to ban plastic shopping bags.  While some European countries imposed similar laws years ago, San Francisco is the first U.S. municipality to do it.

In comparison, New York City is quite reactionary, despite its liberal reputation.  I use plastic bags when I have to, but I always try to bring my canvas NRDC bag with me to the grocery store, drug store, etc.  The cashiers at Met Food and Trade Fair and Duane Reade in Jackson Heights usually greet me with puzzled looks when I gather my purchases into my bag and tell them I don’t need their plastic.  I don’t think they can fathom the reason why I do it.  If I would explain it, these clueless teenage girls would probably laugh.  I suspect that even if the city council somehow had the inclination to try to pass something like this, and if it somehow passed despite the grocery lobby’s attempts to bribe the many centrist council people, enforcement would be pathetically lax, particularly in the outer boroughs.  What a pity.

People in the rest of the county may think that San Francisco is a city of rainbow-flag waiving queers and Haight-Ashbury burned-out hippies, but there in fact people there with really progressive ideas and the clout to enshrine them into law.

The first time since 2002, I will not be training for the NYC Marathon this summer.  I received my official invite from NYRRC President Mary Wittenberg yesterday, but I will have to respectfully decline this year.  I’d love to do it but it’s just not going to happen.  I don’t even know if I’ll still be in New York on that day.  Regardless, I just don’t have time to train this year with Ana here.  I’m actually kind of relieved that I won’t have to wake up at 5:30 am on a Saturday in August to run 20 miles.

I wonder what Ana thinks when she hears us talking.  Does it all sound the same to her like the adult characters in the “Peanuts” cartoon sound to Charlie Brown and his crew?  Does she hear wamp, wamp, wamp, wamp wamp wamp?

Question: How long does an advertising poster need to be up in a subway station before it is defaced?  Answer: a few days.  Tops. 

This is based on an unscientific survey.  There was a poster for Spiderman 3 in the 169^th Street station today.  It wasn’t there last week.  The poster was already tagged with some obnoxious, Sharpie graffiti, at least some of which was written by a couple of middle-schoolers.  I know because they signed their work with their names and school-IS (Intermediate School) 238.  Highlights included a crudely drawn penis hanging out of Kirsten Dunst’s mouth with the accompanying words: “I’ll suck your dick Peter Parker Sorry Alrigh (sic)!”  I know I shouldn’t find this kind of thing funny anymore at my age, but I do.  There was also a more subtle comment on the trilogy plot in the upper right corner of the poster.  It read “Never Getting Married” with an arrow pointing to Spidey’s head.

For some twisted reason, I think the defaced poster is a more powerful sales piece than the original, clean version.