waiting to change to the f at jay st after a trip to century 21 (and by default, ground zero...after emerging from the subway at nassau/broadway, my travelling partner inquired "which direction?". not really knowing the area, i responded "this way" pointing toward the enormous whole in the skyline. eerie), over the loudspeakers comes that familiar unintelligble wail of the mta employee. it struck me a bit like miss othmar from the peanuts (wanh wah, wanh wah wah wanh) but with an "only in new york" twist of ghetto (wanh waaaaaaah, wannnh waaaah wah wanh). call her othmareisha.

on a packed out 6 headed downtown after summerstage featuring the rather adorable moldy peaches and the always energetic they might be giants, ful gleefully informed me that this half-naked twink boy had been hardcore cruising me for several stops, bobbing and weaving around passengers to get a better look. i found this delightful, not as a validation of my sexy status, but irrefutable evidence that i once again live in a city where gay men shamelessly objectify one another on public transportation. i'm home.

last week on a trip into manhattan to visit the lovely and talented rfo, i found myself in the midst of an Urban Warrior 101 exercise, wherein one exits the subway one stop away from his/her actual destination, in order to gauge how successfully one can navigate the city. i immediately set off in the wrong direction, but fortunately knew the area well enough to change course right quick. i was so proud. ok, so what really happened was i misjudged which stop we were at. i got up to get off the train and by the time i realized we were at broadway/lafayette and not w 4th, i was already up and too embarassed to admit my mistake and hang back. that's when i decided to make it a game. lemonade from ego-bruised lemons. could i be more of a self-conscious dork?