BAI

Hello readers, what's left of you. Apologies for lack of posting. The truth is that the Subway isn't interesting anymore. It's late, it's packed and often, it's canceled. Plus, Blogger is tired. Everything about it bugs me. So naturally, I've started a new blog. It's going to be awesome, here's a sneak peak: Back of House. I'll be updating this a lot more because it's so. freaking. easy. Why don't you join me.

I'm also doing some illustration on the side. It's HERE.

Bon voyage!

Live Blogging: BlizzardStyle- The next day: 8:30AM

Live Blogging: BlizzardStyle- 5PM

Live Blogging: BlizzardStyle- 8:30AM

Here we are at the beginning of the first Blizzard of 2010. The F train commute was its normal, slow self with the only annoying part being a thug playing his rapz out loud right next to my ear. I'm going to be doing a lot of commuting today, so updates to come.

Just in time for Valentine's Day

This morning on the train I was blessed to witness a conversation between a girlfriend/boyfriend about going home to visit her parents over the Valentine's Day weekend. It went a little something like this:

Boy (ed note: NOT attractive in the least, which makes this story even more unbelievable): I'd really like to spend some alone time with your parents this weekend, it sucks your sister's got to be there.
Girl: Well, she's going to be, and I'd like you to be nice. It's Valentine's Day, where else is she supposed to go?
Boy: I don't know, it's not my problem. How about on a DATE?
Girl: You know she's not dating anyone.
Boy: Yeah, exactly, because she's a psycho. She needs to be in therapy.
Girl: She's not a psycho, she's just single.
Boy: Right, exactly my point. Anyone who's hasn't been on more than 5 consecutive dates in FIVE years obviously has a problem.
Girl: It hasn't been five years. And plus, before I met you, I hadn't dated in a while.
Boy: Yeah but you were right out of school. You were 24. She's TWENTY-NINE.
Girl: It's different in New York, she just hasn't found anyone she likes.
Boy: Yeah because she's a P-S-Y-C-H-O. Anyway, I'm going to make a reservation for the four of us for Sunday dinner. Us and your parents.
Girl: You have to include her, that's rude.
Boy: I don't have to do anything. She's not my problem.

This is real life people. As I'm standing there trying to decide how to respond to this A-Hole's sweeping generalization of late-twenty single women on Valentine's day, I kept being knocked down by his blatant disrespect for his own girlfriend. First I looked at him, hoping to communicate disgust, pity and anger. Then I looked at her hoping to say: Your boyfriend is the king of D-Bags and I hope you flee this excuse for a relationship as soon as humanly possible. And lastly, to all my suitors out there, please take note of this undeniably romantic (and fun!) vacation said D-Bag boyfriend is planning. If all you singles could be so lucky.

Werk un-related post

If y'all are looking for something really fun to do on a boring Friday afternoon, you should go over to Lucky Magazine's Style Spotter website, sign up (super easy!), and then comment on my freshman post here. The perks to being a style spotter are really endless, and you will be contributing to my well-being 360degrees of separation-style. (PS- do this before Sunday)

Next up: a subway photo of a thug with really really saggy sweatpants.

Rant Rave

Subway-related post:
Overheard on this morning's F:
Boy: So how's work?
Girl: It sucks. I hate it.
Boy: But you got a new position, right?
Girl: Yes. It's awful.

UnSubway-related post:
I just realized ANOTHER one of my favorite bloggers is back (um, maybe has been back for some time, which is even awesomer because there's that many more posts to read)

Friday afternoon tweet: the perfect bun

Those gloves ain't bad, either.

A crowded subway is no excuse for unprofessional conduct

So this happened the other night. Actually, I think it was Friday night, which makes this story so much richer since we were on the cusp of a 3-Day weekend and it rush-hour. The time of night where g-d willing you're not next to a creep or a mother of three. So there I am on the F Train with 300 of my closest commuters, reading a post I had printed out from one of my favorite resurfaced blogs Miss Doxie. I'm crammed in the back corner of the train, leaning up against the door that goes between the cars, minding my own business when all of a sudden GAH we're at Bergen Street! (I love when this happens, it's like time travel. But not really). I elbow my way through the passengers until I hit a road block. Literally. Some twink had decided Friday rush hour would be the perfect time to jam her wooden screen-printing door gate contraption diagonal into the last car. I am talking, there was no going around this thing. Caos ensued as I imagined being trapped on the F Train until the next stop.

Me: What the what is this
Random Man: Yeah, I know, seriously
D-bag Artist: (blank stare, most likely thinking about some theory on paying her bills with overexposed canvas and definitely not about people who actually sell their artistic souls for a living just to buy 2 buck chuck and candied pecans)

My options were to climb through the middle of this thing, risking splinters and basic stuck-ness, let the A-hole artist win and surrender to Carroll Street where I would have the same problem in addition to humiliation, or get Olympical on her ass. Luckily for everyone, I was wearing pants (I know, take a moment), so like muthafuckin lightning I hurdled the wooden torture device, propelling myself toward the closing doors. I made it out alive.

Guest-ish post: CCC

Yesterday while I was enjoying cleaning out my fridge, our friend CCC was commuting to work and snapped this shot along with this caption: the 4 train, completely empty except for me and this fat guy who also obviously hates his job that makes him come in instead of honoring civil rights.

I would write more, but I am too exhausted from seeing these babies perform:


You might want to listen to their new album here.
Happy belated MLK. Let love rule.

Oh snap