HEY NAPOLEON! PLEASE MIND THE CROSSWALK.

9/9/14

Drivers,

From time to time you encounter a trail of white stripes across the street... You most likely have seen these stripes accompanied by geometric yellow signs depicting circle-headed, awkwardly stiff and mid-stride shadow people. It is well known that conscious avoidance can develop into repression, particularly when faced with disorienting and eerie circumstances and/or representations… I mean… have you ever seen such a perfectly rounded ghost noodle? And, also... what? No neck? What is supporting that skull-sphere? A 7^th grade science fair project using the negative side of two magnets? What about those footless stumps?… Isn’t that uncomfortable? Does Scholl’s even make a custom-fit insert for that? Maybe cut off the toe and heel ends of the flat foot model? Beyond comfort… is a quick, yet steady, gait even achievable? Maybe that’s why the shadow folk’s stride appears so forced?

Wait… could it be maybe that the sign means to alert drivers to disfigured Canadians in the neighborhood?  No? Oh...

Anyway… usually some sort of light or reflector accompanies the ‘beware of freak Canadian’ signs and white-stripped pavement- be it on the street, signs, or both... This trifecta may sound familiar… Light, sign, stripes?... Stripes, sign, light? Sign, stripes, light? Stripes, light, sign? Almost...

Almost…. warmer…. Use that noggin!!! You’re almost there!!!.... Warmer… hot… hotter.... Oh… Oh!... DING! DING! DING! DING! SCOLDING! KUDDOS FOR PULLING THAT OH SO “UNRELATED-TO-ME-BECAUSE: SURBURBAN-BITCH!” FACT-NUGGET OUDDA THAT STONED DRIVER’S ED 16 YEAR OLD MEMORY! What is a... CROSSWALK! 

Yes, in your defense, a lot of road signs are superfluous... i.e ‘Watch for falling rock.’ OK... What good is watching for this alleged singular rock-of-doom going to do when the founding father and first legislative author of physical ed, Albert Newton, clearly defined lots of equations with letters/symbols in them proving that you are, in this very circumstance, undoubtedly SCREWED! You know... because of motion, and mass, and speed, and energy, vectors, gravity, and perception, and what not and the like. BUT…

PEDESTRIANS ARE NOT COMPERABLE TO THE ELLUSIVE AND OMNIMOUS ROCK-OF-DOOM…

1 OUT OF EVERY 4 AMERICANS IS A PEDESTRIAN… CUZ… Think about it... think about it… UNDER 16! Then add the elderly, the poor, the urbanites and other lifestyle populations, the disabled, the driving phobic, the person who locked their keys in the car or dropped them down the elevator shaft that morning… PEDESTRIANISM IS NOT RARE OR ELLUSIVE. There is a 1 in 5,000+ chance of dying by “being struck by or striking an object,” under which “falling rock” is categorized, compared to a 1 in 749 chance of being hit by a car. CONSEQUENTLY, I URGE YOU TO PLEASE WATCH FOR FALLING ROCK STANDING CROSSWOCK.

Here, let me tug at your heartstrings with tired rhetoric: THE PEDESTRIAN is your MOTHER (maybe), your SISTER (every 4^th or you), your GRANDMA (depends, 50% chance one of them, at least, I think), your NEICE (eventually, probably, if you have one), your AUNT (same as niece)… THE PEDESTRIAN IS ONE OF THOSE FOUR TUMMY-QUADRUPLET-BABY-FETUSES IN YOUR BELLY DUE ANY DAY NOW!

SO (long short/the takeaway): When you see yellow circle-head signs, lights, and white stripes (and it is not on or near the annual geometry Christmas party with Jack and Meg), or lights, signs and stripes, or stripes, lights, or signs, or just lights and signs or signs and stripes or stripes and lights or just lights, just signs, or just stripes… THINK ABOUT YOUR PEDESTRIAN-DESTINED TUMMY-QUADRUPLET-BABY-FETUS!

That is… don’t speed up and then honk at me to walk faster (I already am not a lollygagger). Don’t flick me off and/or throw up your hands in dismay. Don’t curse at me for costing you the 10 seconds by which you miss Vanna White’s frozen-smile statue-wave outtake preceding the evening headlines. Generally, don’t attempt to intimidate me because you are in a vehicle. I have the right-away, and you… you have the right to a feeble attempt to mask (feed) that Napoleon complex by way of Suburban or Hummer, which comes with the privilege of incarceration if that military vehicle of yours doesn't barrier the cray cray enough.

You also have the privilege of me being so damned NICED OUT/UNCONDITIONAL POSITIVE REGARD-ED OUT at the end of the day, that, if you act a-fool when I am crossing the crosswalk, I WILL:

- Slow down to a Sunday stroll pace

- Slow down to slower than a Sunday stroll pace so I can find/check my phone/Facebook/write an email/read Moby Dick

- ‘Accidently’ drop my phone, and then ‘accidentally’ drop my sunglasses as I pick up my phone

-  Continue this series of unfortunate events by getting my bracelet 'caught' on the pocket liner when shoving the dropped phone into said pocket, turning it inside out, thus throwing my phone to the ground again AND scattering my day’s change, WOOPSY DAISY!

- Feign a difficult time picking up each dime because I just cut my fingernails

- Turn slowly to face you, no side-eye about it, directly in front of your car, in the middle of the crosswalk, and dish the coldest look of disapproval ever known- an expression of disapproval so soul-piercing, so guilt-inducing and gut-wrenching, so belittling, so full of pity and disgust, that even a Jewish mother would shrink, regress, and need 15 years on Freud's couch

- Flash a huge grin and saunter away

PLEASE DON’T REPORT ME TO THE BOARD FOR BEING UNSOCIAL WORKY DUE TO POSSESSING QUESTIONABLE INTEGRITY

-Verna

God, Do Your Elves Have Access to Google?: How Humor Keeps You Sane on the Train

8/14/14

TEXTING GOD ON THE TRAIN

ME: God? Are you there, God? I have a small request... Could you stop time for a few hours tomorrow so I can finish my work? I know I haven't acknowledged you in years, and, honestly, I cannot believe there is not, nor has ever been, a God Protection Services case filed against me for neglect. Anyway, I might consider going back to church if you grant my request... Please and thank you. Regards, Verna

FRIEND: Verna, this is God. The cost of your request will be 4,578,497 cupcakes. Sincerely, your BFF4Evar, Zeus.

ME: God, I appreciate your timely response. I'm not sure why, but I always envisioned you to be a health nut. Maybe the cupcakes are for your elves? Would you like white, yellow, or red velvet cake? What kind of icing? Do you prefer confetti, sugar sanding, or nonpareils sprinkles? Sincerely your biggest cynic, Verna.

FRIEND: Verna, I am God and can make my physique into anything I want at any time. I sustain myself solely off of sugar. All kinds please. Also, your sprinkle knowledge is impressive. Respectfully, God.

ME: God, I really know nothing about sprinkles. Since I am not omniscient like you, I rely on the most accessible omniscient source: Google. Do your elves have access to Google at the North Heaven? I'd imagine they'd need to look up rocking horse blueprints from time to time as trends come and go. I'd imagine that the toy celebration in honor of Jesus' birth is a major "make it work" moment up there. (Do you like Tim Gunn?) Or, maybe there is a program that allows the elves to google your brain? Do you even have a brain? It's hotly contested down here if you have a physical body or not. Anyway, since I have an open line of communication, I have one more question: Team Edward or Team Jacob? Cheers, Verna.

GOD: Verna, I respectfully decline to answer your question inquiring if I am Team Edward or Team Jacob- it asks me to comment on homosexuality, and I avoid contentious topics like my locust plague. I avoid these conversations because my mother, Mary, will criticize me regarding it daily until I express another opinion. Also, I really don't want to talk to Ted Cruz and something inside of me says he will reach out either way if I go public with my thoughts on the topic. Anyway, it's approaching my bedtime. I am going to decompress by watching The Real Housewives of New Jersey. Let me know when the cupcakes are ready and I will provide you with my address here at the North Heaven. Take care, God.

ME: Goodnight, God. It's been a real pleasure. Elfgelic dreams, Verna.

From the Mouths

The young woman in front of me, after being harassed herself, said:

"I used to sleep on the train, but it didn't take long to realize I couldn't do that. Safety..."

Think about it,

V.B.

TRAIN CARS FOR WOMEN!

8/12/2014

There are situations in which gendered segregation is ideal. One of those is public transportation because, let's face it, men, you don't add anything to my daily commute. In fact, you make it almost unbearable. You make it unbearable when I have to vocalize, loudly and emphatically, "Don't touch me!" And when the woman sitting in front of me has to say it, and then the woman in front of her, and in front of even her- you make it unbearable when you refuse to acknowledge what's happening, refuse to acknowledge a drunk man, Steal Reserve in hand, sagging with no boxers thus exposing his penis, harassing every woman on the train, one after the next. So, today, the women banded together to get the police on the train and the engineer involved, and you played only one of two roles here: drunk, naked and assaultive or cowardly and silent. As this is a reoccurring situation, and my wish is to promote mental health in all people (women in this case), please consider this my official endorsement of gender segregated train cars. 

Men: when you got your shit under control, we will consider sharing a car with you.

Warm regards,
V.B.


UPDATE 10/6/18: SORRY 'JUSTICE' KAVANUAGH!!! DIDN'T REALIZE IT WAS YOU!!! PLEASE TAKE THE WHEEL!

Neither Your Feet, Nor Your Penis Own The Train, Or: HOW TO BE A DECENT FUCKING PERSON IN PUBLIC

8/11/2014

Dear public transportation cohort,

I wish to illustrate inappropriate behavior by recounting two specific cases just from today. I hope that these instances will adequately demonstrate the ultimate takeaway: BE A RESPECTFUL HUMAN FUCKING BEING.

These are not isolated events; each case epitomizes daily observable behavior.

• (1) A young man on the rush hour Red Line takes both seats on his row, one seat for himself and one for his feet. There is no cast, and no ankle swollen, thus ruling out medical necessity. Instead, it appears that this young man believes himself to be the most important of the importants. So important that, even when every seat is full and people are standing, he does not move his feet to open up his foot-seat. So important that, when an elderly nun gets on the train, he does not move his feet. OK, maybe he isn't religious? 
• However, he also does not move his feet when a VERY pregnant woman boards the train. While one can rest easy tonight regarding fundamental feet rights (specifically relaxing those tired old dogs), the relief of being witness to such a magnificent civil rights win for feet is likely to be overshadowed by being witness to SHITTY FUCKING HUMAN BEHAVIOR. Please, dear nun, take my seat. Oh, and dear sir sitting just in front of me? GIVE YOUR FUCKING SEAT TO THE PREGNANT LADY. (I wish the nun was the pregnant lady. Such. Literature.)
• (2) A middle aged man turns his head, followed by his whole torso, to stare at women passing by on the street or entering/exiting the train. Over and over and over. During one of his "society has deemed me, as a man, the owner of and ultimate authority on women's bodies, and as such, women must be exceedingly honored by the attention that I, as man, bestow them, so there is no reason to hide my behavior" turns, his eyes land on yours truly. For the next 30 minutes, until my stop was reached, the middle aged man stared at me. He stared, and stared, and stared, and when it seemed like this man might need to take an eye drop break, he stared some more. Well, I had to look out the direction without a view this half hour, because every time my head would turn as little as a degree in this man's direction, this man would try to catch eyes by winking and smiling and nodding. Of course, it is nowhere on this man's radar that, as the train passes the West End, I may be looking at the Holocaust Museum, the 6^th Floor Museum, or at the spot Kennedy was assassinated, and not him (plot twist!!). It is inconceivable to this man that I am contemplating anything more than his flaccid (my assumption) penis. THIS MAN BELIEVES HE IS SO MUCH MORE IMPORTANT THAN GENOCIDE OR ASSASINATION. Thus, I was forced to stare at nothing- out the nothing side of the train- pretending I did not notice this man, in hopes that, by some miracle, he will not talk to me; I was forced to feel this man's dirty man-child eyes burn through my skin like a laser. This man is a duplicate of most DART men, and the "maybe he will leave me alone" miracle was unachievable on the rush hour Red Line, per usual. 
• The woman next to me gets off two stops before mine... so, naturally, this man comes and sits next to me. I have headphones in. He says something, I ignore it. He says something again, I ignore it. I thought, "Surely he will either decide I can't hear him and leave me alone, OR (most obvious but, unfortunately, most unlikely) he will understand I do not wish to speak with him." Nope. This man pokes my shoulder and says something and I take out one ear bud:
• Man: Hey, just wonderin' how you doin'?
• Me: Fine, thanks. Listening to music and do not feel like talking. Thanks. (Put ear bud back in).
• Man: (Pokes) Awww, you had a rough day mama?
• Me: (Smiles and turns head away)
• Man: What you got against me, girl?
• Me: (Ignores, pretending not to hear due to music, crossing fingers)
• Man: (Pokes me) MAMA, WHAT'S WRONG?
• Me: (Takes ear bud out) Please, like I said, I am just listening to music and decompressing, so leave me alone please.
• Man: WHY YOU GOTTA BE SUCH A BITCH?! I'M JUST TRYING TO BE NICE! I COULD MAKE ALL THOSE WORRIES GO AWAY IF YOU JUST GIVE ME A CHANCE! BUT YOU GOTTA BE A BITCH!
• Train arrives at my stop, thank god. I gather my things to make it clear I am getting off so this man will get up and let me out.
• Man: You getting off here, girl?
• Me: Yes, please.
• Man slllooooowwwlllllyyyy gets out of seat to let me out and begins to FOLLOW ME.
• Me: DO NOT FUCKING FOLLOW ME OFF OF THIS FUCKING TRAIN OR I WILL CALL THE COPS, BUT ONLY AFTER I HAVE CUT YOUR FUCKING DICK OFF!
• No one on train looks or acknowledges anything is going on.
• Man: DAMN BITCH, I just wanted to make you feeeelll goooooooooddddd.
• At my stop and the train door finally opens.
• Me: You know what makes me feel good? THE LIKELIHOOD THAT I WILL NEVER HAVE TO ENCOUNTER YOUR FUCKING DUMB AND BASIC "I THINK WITH MY PENIS" UGLY MUG AGAIN. Flips the bird.
• Man: (speaking to rest of train) Mannn…. Can you men even believe what we have to put up with the ladies?!?!

I am hoping that these two cases require no elaboration as to what point is being made. I am hoping that we (male or female) can agree that it is a good thing to not bogart the train's seats, that it is a good thing not to make a woman so uncomfortable she has to threaten 911. I think we can say these are good things. As a general rule, it is a good thing when no other part of your body than the brain makes decisions- it is a good thing when your feet and your penis don't win out.

Thank you for reading, and remember: BE A DECENT AND RESPECTFUL HUMAN FUCKING BEING,

V.B.

UPDATE 10/6/18:

(1) A young KAVANAUGH on the rush hour Red Line takes both seats on his row, one seat for himself and one for his KEG. There is no PARTY, and no RENATE ALUMUS, thus ruling out KEG CITY CLUB necessity. Instead, it appears that this young KAVANAUGH believes himself to be the most important of the importants. So important that, even when every seat is full and people are standing, he does not move his KEG to open up his KEG-seat. So important that, when an elderly nun gets on the train, he does not move his KEG. OK, maybe he isn't religious? 

However, he also does not move his KEG when a VERY pregnant woman boards the train. While one can rest easy tonight regarding fundamental DRUNK rights (specifically EASY TAPPING those SHOOK UP KEGS), the relief of being witness to such a magnificent civil rights win for KEGS is likely to be overshadowed by being witness to SHITTY FUCKING HUMAN BEHAVIOR. Please, dear nun, take my seat. Oh, and dear KAVANAUGH sitting just in front of me? GIVE YOUR FUCKING SEAT TO THE PREGNANT LADY. (I wish the nun was the pregnant lady. Such. Literature.)


(2) A middle aged KAVANAUGH turns his head, followed by his whole torso, to stare at women passing by on the street or entering/exiting the train. Over and over and over. During one of his "society has deemed me, as a man, the owner of and ultimate authority on women's bodies (LOLZ PEACE ROE V), and as such, women must be exceedingly honored by the attention that I, as man, bestow them, so there is no reason to hide my behavior" turns, his eyes land on yours truly. For the next FORE FUCKING EVER minutes, until THE SENATE TESTIMONY was CONCLUDED, the middle aged KAVANAUGH stared at me. He stared, and stared, and stared, and when it seemed like this man might need to take an eye drop break, HIS DICK, FLASHED, stared some more. Well, I had to look out the direction without a view this half hour, because every time my head would turn as little as a degree in this KAVANAUGH'S direction, this man would try to catch eyes by winking and smiling and nodding. Of course, it is nowhere on this KAVANAUGH'S radar that, as the train passes the West End, I may be looking at the Holocaust Museum, the 6th Floor Museum, or READING ABOUT THE PURPOSE OF THE JUDICIAL BRANCH, and not him (plot twist!!). It is inconceivable to this KAVANAUGH that I am contemplating anything more than his flaccid (my assumption) KEG PENIS. THIS MAN BELIEVES HE IS SO MUCH MORE IMPORTANT THAN CIVIL RIGHTS OR CHECKS AND BALANCES. Thus, I was forced to stare at nothing- out the nothing side of the train- pretending I did not notice this KAVANAUGH, in hopes that, by some miracle, he will not END UP AGITATING CIVIC DUTY IN me; I was forced to feel this KAVANAUGH'S dirty man-child eyes burn through my skin like a laser. This man is a duplicate of most REPUBLICAN men, and the "maybe he will leave me alone" miracle was unachievable on the rush hour RONAN FARROW LINE, per MCCONNELL, RYAN, GRAHAM, PENCE, YADDA YADDA YADDA. 

The woman next to me gets off two stops before mine... so, naturally, this KAVANAUGH comes and sits next to me. I have headphones in. KAVANAUGH says something, I ignore it. KAVANAUGH says something again, I ignore it. I thought, "Surely KAVANAUGH will either decide I can't hear him and leave me alone, OR (most obvious but, unfortunately, most unlikely) he will understand I do not wish to speak with him." Nope. This KAVANAUGH pokes my shoulder and says I'VE BEEN WAITING TEN WHOLE DAYS FOR YOUR EAR and I take out one ear bud:

KAVANAUGH: Hey, just wonderin' DO YOU WANNA BEACH WEEK'?

Me: NO thanks. Listening to music and do not feel like talking (Put ear bud back in).

KAVANAUGH: (Pokes) Awww, you had a rough day BLASSY WASSY?

Me: (Smiles and turns head away)

KAVANAUGH: What you got against me, girl? YOU LIL WIL LIL CLINTON/SOROS GAL?

Me: (Ignores, pretending not to hear due to music, crossing fingers)

KAVANAUGH: (Pokes me) RAMIREZ, WHAT'S WRONG?

Me: (Takes ear bud out) Please, like I said, I am just listening to music and decompressing, so leave me alone please.

KAVANAUGH: WHY YOU GOTTA BE SUCH WUDDERFACE BLASEY FORD?! I'M JUST TRYING TO BE JUDICIAL! I COULD MAKE ALL THOSE ABORTIONS GO AWAY IF YOU JUST GIVE ME A CHANCE! BUT YOU GOTTA BE A #METOO BITCH!

Train arrives at my stop, thank god. I gather my things to make it clear I am getting off so this KAVANAUGH will get up and let me out.

KAVNAUGH: You getting off here, PERSON W/ VAGINA?

Me: Yes, please.

KAVANAUGH slllooooowwwlllllyyyy STAGGERS out of seat to let me out and begins to FOLLOW ME.

Me: DO NOT FUCKING FOLLOW ME OFF OF THIS FUCKING TRAIN OR I WILL CALL THE COPS, BUT ONLY AFTER I HAVE CUT YOUR FUCKING DICK OFF!
51 REPUBLICAN SENATORS on train DO NOT look or acknowledges anything is going on.

KAVANAUGH: DAMN BITCH, I just wanted to make you feeeelll goooooooooddddd.

At my stop and the train door finally opens.

Me: You know what makes me feel good? THE LIKELIHOOD THAT I WILL NEVER HAVE TO ENCOUNTER YOUR FUCKING DUMB AND BASIC "I THINK WITH MY PENIS" UGLY MUG AGAIN. Flips the bird.


KAVANAUGH: (speaking to rest of train) Mannn…. Can you men even believe what we have to put up with the ladies?!?! LOLZ GOOD THING I GOT THE LAST 'IMMA FUCK YOU OVER- NOT CUZ IM PETTY- LAST HIGHEST COURT LAUGH'!