Sunday, December 1, 2013

kevin sorbo

You'll be happy to know that my subconscious priorities are exactly where they need to be.  Last night my dream was set in a classroom.  I was a student and the teacher asked what the phrase "up the ante" meant.  In my mind, I gave a surprisingly accurate definition (surprising because I was dreaming and there is only so much control you have in these things) to which the teacher somewhat disagreed.  Another student raised his hand and gave a response that would more closely describe the word "sacrifice".  For some reason, I made no effort to defend my answer or debunk the one that followed mine.  I was content to just sit and wonder why, that as an adult, I felt compelled to answer any teacher's question.  (Old habits die hard?)

The teacher then abruptly changed topics and started talking about Top 5 lists--a topic, as you know, that is near and dear to my heart.  He began his list with Robert Downey, Jr.  I, of course, whole-heartedly agreed.  His number two, however, was a different story.  Kevin Sorbo.  What?  How on earth can you jump from Robert Downey, Jr. to Kevin Sorbo?  Even in my dreams I knew that this was offensive and promptly began to debate his pick.  Lucky for him, my alarm went off and my dreamed ceased to be.  The disbelief I felt at his decision, however, still lingers.  Obviously. 


Disclaimer:  I have nothing against Kevin Sorbo.  I do not find him to be offensive.  I just have my own standards for my Top 5 list and he would never be on it.  Ever. Ever.

Tuesday, October 22, 2013

trauma on the train



Riding the train in New York City creates lots of "What just happened?" moments.   Yesterday, I was traumatized by several:

Morning Commute:  Morning commutes are always tricky.  They are early.  They are crowded.  Add Mondays to those qualities and this particular type of commute turns out to be the worst.  Until you get phlegmmed....and then it is worse than the worst.   I was minding my own business, standing so others can sit and this woman coughs, hacks something up, and it lands on my poor, exposed foot.  I was praying that it was perhaps a bit of bagel that she had recently consumed, but upon further investigation and to my ultimate horror, I discovered it was phlegm.  I tried wiping it from my traumatized foot onto the back of my pant leg (gross, I know, but I was in shock and couldn't figure out a better alternative).   Apparently, it didn't work, because ten minutes later, I dared to look down again and found that it was still there.  I made another attempt, this time with the sock from my other foot and found success.  Needless to say, I sanitized when I got into work but I was still grossed out...as were all of my colleagues with whom I shared my tale.   At least it was better than the vomit from another one of my train rides--although, that is debatable.

Rush Hour Commute:  Now this one was cra-zy.   Rush hour is just as bad as the morning commute except you are tired for different reasons.  Tired of stupidity, tired of people, tired of stupid people.  All we want to do it get on the train and get home.  So when a seemingly intelligent woman boards the train with a huge suitcase, you would think that she would move into the middle of the car (there was a room and she didn't get off for several stops).  But no, she boards, plops her giant-ass suitcase on the ground and stands in the doorway--preventing passengers from getting out and getting in.  Enter the first "What just happened?" moment.  Somehow we all boarded and then a solid round of musicians made their way through the train car.  First a Mariachi duo assaulted the silence and then the drummer that guilts you into looking up/smiling at him, donating, or giving him a round of applause performed his bit.  Unfortunately, the musical show didn't end there.  Some child's toy played the world's creepiest version of "Rock-a-bye Baby" all the way home.  And finally, somewhere in between the Mariachi duo and the "Happy" drummer, a tall, lanky man who clearly didn't have any control over any of his appendages, walked from the door to the middle of the train, all the while holding onto the horizontal pole on the left-hand side, knocking in the head, every single passenger (including me, of course) that he passed.  

In the end, my train riding for the day left me with a little PTSD and the ever-present question of "What just happened?!"