Blog: The Sequel

Who will read this? Anyone? What difference does it make? I began a sporadic blog on My Space to the same effect, and ever so often, though I would receive no "kudos" or "comments" I would insert little tittles along the same lines and within minutes receive flurries of e-mails and messages saying "Oh my god, Christian! Your blog makes me feel so normal!" or "Dude, I love your thoughts, keep writing!" or "I miss Gloria."

The point is not at all that I care in the least who reads it, I mean, the point of writing it is to make sure that the pressure on my menegies does not become overwhelming resulting in some rabid strain of madness brought on by obsessive thought that has not been regulated by a mature and stable safety valve.

Let's talk about the weather. It is raining. What I fail to understand is how New York City is so ill equipped to deal with such natural disasters as an inch of snow, a light coating of ice, or, God forbid, rain. These Biblical plagues have naturally been consistent throughout the history of the mighty island of Manhattan, in the greater area of New Amsterdam surrounded by the sleepy sentry of Bronx and further along the majestic and occasionally frozen Hudson River, Westchester and Rockland. Of course, having lived in Los Angeles for two years taught me a new level of fear of falling water from the heavens when I saw a great big ugly mansion fall off a cliff as a result of "inclement weather" (rain and mud [for real, LA is so dumb]), the best part of the story being that they simply left the house in a heap just north of Mulholland Drive and went ahead and built another one a few feet further from the edge. I suppose overzealous tenacity in construction will eventually yield a house that stays put, and if you can afford it, why not keep trying?

Back to the East, on account of rain my train was delayed 20 minutes (once we had already departed on time, I feel like a delay is much more fun when you're still waiting for the train to get there, rather than feeling like you're on time and then having the train stop with no way to escape somewhere on the tracks). I arrive at the luxurious Grand Central Terminal (late [20 minutes]) only to discover an army of police guarding the entrance to the typically efficient and unflappable New York City Subway. Of course, normally I would walk, but as my hair has reached that length when product is necessary to maintain some semblance of sanity in my appearance, and I have fully embraced solidifying my hair into a Clarkentian homage to the 1950's, I decided walking in the rain would be inadvisable as my self induced Lego hair would undoubtedly melt into some sticky soup of hair and styling gel resulting in a combination of acne outbreaks on my forehead and people running in terror as I approach. I walk around to the other entrance and find to my delight (I was unsure as to whether I had refilled my Metro Card, as I rarely use it) that the Subway workers are letting people in for free through the emergency door. Hoping to see some nasty carnage or a murder scene at the foot of the closed escalator I was brutally disappointed to find great tarps of plastic merely covering large puddles of water apparently deemed unsafe for pedestrian traffic in the madness of rush-hour. I fantasized for a moment, imagining that they had left it open and some lady in a fur coat and high heels slipped and rode her mink down the moving metal stairs before getting stuck in the bottom and pulled apart as a bowling-ball-pin cascade of people toppled down into a heap piling up like some Dante inspired stack of helpless souls on their way to work (of course all of them are secretly relieved that they have a further excuse to be late). Well... that didn't happen, so I headed to the platform only to hear the announcement "Ladies and Gentlemen..." I pause, and see a homeless woman well dressed and sitting on an egg crate doing a crossword puzzle, a sign at her feet that reads "Homeless and Hungry, Please Help", the voice comes out again "Ladies and Gentlemen, due to a signal malfunction at 14th Street all trians between 125th Street and Union Square may be delayed,"

Wonderful. Eyeing my watch, I am now one half hour late. The train comes, I get to work thankful that my boss has not called in yet only to discover no one else is even there (yes we are open, my associate called in "sick" and the other one was late as per usual). All on account of rain.

Moral: Don't build your house on a cliff.