City Linguistics

Two new words created on the way home last night with two friends:

trainge (trayn-j) v.
1. To transfer or switch trains. I thought my friend said, "trainge" when she really just said "change" (referring to subway trains), but I thought "trainge" sounded cooler and decided to adopt it.

Urban Ringworm (er-bun reeng-wurm) n.
1. A fungal disease caught from the floor of Times Square subway station. Probably worse than regular ringworm.
We walked through the open lobby of Times Square station last night and no one was performing, but there was a man cleaning the floors.

"That's nice to know someone cleans these floors sometimes. I bet all the breakdancers here appreciate it, since they're spinning around on their bellies," Susan said. "It's so dirty."
"I bet those guys get ringworm," I said.
10 second pause.
"Urban ringworm," said Susan.

I Did It For Tupac

My friend Josh sent me this picture last week. I think it is HILARIOUS.








In the email he wrote, "Just in case you forgot which side you were from.", and the picture was called "Westside". Other than the picture looking like a Donald Rumsfeld cartoon character drawn for King of the Hill staring you down and throwning a gang symbol at you, it relates to an incident that happened to me up here that I recounted to Josh one afternoon......(begin wavy blur effect into flashback sequence)

I had just finished a long day at the office I was temping at and was ready for my favorite part of the day...the part where I loosened my tie, rolled up my sleeves, and picked out some music to listen to whlie walking through Grand Central in a homeward bound trance. This particular day I was especially tired, so much that I think I laid my head in my lap on the subway. After transferring to my third train I stood on the uptown #1 staring forward. I don't remember what I was listening to, but I think it was something slow and somber, which caused me to have the mobility of molasses at that point. Just then the train doors from the back of the car - right near me - open up and two high school aged guys enter. They're rowdy and laughing and then reveal that they're holding the door closed, keeping their other friend stuck outside between the moving subway cars (a great safe prank to pull on friends). They let their friend in, and one starts dancing wildly. Now sometimes, people just dance. Especially on the subway, I don't know why. I saw a guy today singing and dancing on a subway platform and doing a wonderful Michael Jackson. So this one kid could have been dancing normally, but he wasn't. He was being really obnoxious and not monitoring the funk in his trunk so much that he started bumping this lady beside me, to which she looked annoyed and embarassed and he just laughed and continued. My fatigue made me resent these youths and for some reason i felt bonded to my other subway riders - we just all wanna get home kids. Let us be. So, as Dance Machine continued on, another one of the guys, who looked a little like Snoop Dogg, he had that hair that looked like little girls' crazy pigtails that Snoop wears, this guy starts "G"-ing out, rapping to himself and making weird hand motions. I watched with intense, fixed eyes. Then, Young Snoop looked up and his eyes met mine. Bobbing his head back and forth to the thug anthem playing in his mind, he starts staring me down and posing the rhetorical question of the ages, the one every young lost soul asks themselves when it's time to take a stand: "Are you east side, or west side?" Now for some reason unbeknownst to me, I decided, "I'm not going to buckle. I'm gonna stare this guy right back in his face and I'm not even gonna blink." I don't make this a usual habit with young thug types that travel in packs, but what the heck. Snoop Jr. continued his bobbing and interviewing me about which coast I preferred. "East Side, or West Side?" Finally, with a look on my face tougher than Ralph Macchio, I held my gaze with his eyes and slowly raised my left hand. I turned the back of my hand to him and crossed my middle finger over my ring finger whlie tucking my thumb into my palm and spreading out my pointer and pinky fingers thus making the declaration: I was West Side. I displayed my sign like a determined player in a Rock, Paper, Scissors game and held my gaze firm. Just then, the train stopped. Dance Pants stopped and saw my claim and exclaimed, "Oh! He's West Side!" and then the three of them exited the train.
I stood for a second calmly and was proud of myself. I stood my ground. Those kids were being obnoxious, rebel rousing, and I showed them what's what. I've had a long day at the office, and I, or any other of my laboring brothers or sisters, don't deserve to be patronized by Bone Thugs N' Harmony on our way home. I couldn't believe I just stared at the guy and did that - I even thought about how I know how to spell the word "BLOOD" out of my fingers, and I should've thrown that little gang sign at them. Yeah, that would've been tight. Then I started to come back to reality a bit.
THANK GOD I DIDN'T GIVE THEM THE "BLOOD" SIGN! THAT WOULD'VE BEEN TOTALLY STUPID!!! I don't care if those kids were just kids and it was only 5:45pm in the afternoon, that's not smart to throw those symbols at random guys who challenge you in the subway! Plus, I'm not even on the West Side! I mean, I do live on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, but that's not the same as rap terms! Rap terms are East Coast, West Coast. I was really throwing it out there being on East Coast turf and claiming West Side allegiance.
As I exited the subway, I thanked God for allowing me to not be the next victim of a gang hit. As a young white man in a tie probably listening to Radiohead or some other thugless sounds, I felt I had just escaped a brush with something possibly way tougher than I. And I walked away clean. Score another one for my West Side gangstas....


peace out,


Thug Angel

The Rizzle Hizzle

My friend RH was in NYC the other day and I told him I'd put this picture of him up if he'd check my blog. So the bait's been set. It looks like he's punching an eskimo in the face in the top left of this picture.

Revenge of the Nerd Date

Well I sure showed that quiz I posted about last week. Saturday I wondered about what I would dress up as for Halloween parties and Monday night, but I knew I wasn't gonna dress up as no stinkin' candy corn cocktail watiress. A couple hours, some tin foil, a few flowers, and Bryan Norton's father-in-law's old tux shirt combined to make - a "Nerd Date". Sounds pretty lame, right? Oh, not so.

I stole the heart of the prom queen at Saturday's party:
















And at the Halloween parade on Monday, a random crowdsperson wanted to get a picture with me (while someone in the background was raptured apparently):
















All in all, the old "Nerd Date" costume proved a faithful standby. So next year, when you don't wanna be Darth Vader, Nick or Jessica, Harry Potter, or a "Sexy (insert anything here) or "Dead (insert anything here also)" return to the ol' standby and go with Nerd Date. People love the headgear.

New Blog News....New New New

Check out this blog dedicated to a modern theologian of our time, my old roommate, Samuel L. Boyd. Truly funny, and all Sam Boyd, all the time. There's even a link back to here on a recent post, so you go there, link back to here, link to there, and back to here. Go nuts.