2001:June:16
This morning as I was heading towards the train I was stuck walking behind this slab of beef who was testing the limits of his red Izod shirt. He was munching away on some sort of breakfast treat and as we approached Steinway St. he tossed his wrapper over this fence into a construction site. Now I'm not about to get all "Crying Indian" on you folks but I see a lot of this crap happening in New York. Not a week goes by where I don't see some kid throw his CD wrapper on the ground or some old guy toss his coffee, cup and all, into the street. Maybe I'm being hypersensitive; maybe I should go back to Rhode Island or Mother Russia. But like the woman I eavesdropped on in the TGI Fridays before that kick ass Beck show at Radio City Music Hall on Valentines Day 2000 (that just sounds like a cool holiday, doesn't it) succinctly put it, "I don't shit where I eat." My point being, I think we all have a little bit of the sad drunk woman at TGI Fridays in us, we just need to get better at channeling her.
