I was in NYC this weekend. Celebrating my “Fake Birthday” which is like a real birthday, only a week earlier…you know, when its convenient for everyone else to celebrate your special day. I took the Bolt Bus to New York, which is comfortable enough, and super easy. But it got me thinking on how I’ve been living my entire life: really underutilized the Bus-Station-Terminal metaphor. Is there any group of people more hopeless then those who hang on at South Station. It’s gotta be the lowest rung on the social ladder for the crazies and the homeless.
Which is why I’m now committed to telling people who have a general lack of personal hygiene/social etiquette that they belong pan handling by the Greyhounds terminal.
“Oh Hey Cecil? Sweet unhealed wound you’ve got there! Please leave me alone and go tend to your flock at the PeterPan on Gate 12”
I won’t even mention the independent film aficionado who sat next to me on said bus trip, intent on sharing her wealth of knowledge on “non mainstream cinema” with me. I now know more about Film Noir or whatever the hell you call it, than I ever wanted to.
Lastly, I’d like to touch on all the Jets fans that came out of hiding and were filling the streets of NYC. Funny how that “sea of green” was no where to be found oh, I dont know, all season (and the last 25 years for that matter). For shame, fair weather fans. For shame. Not a lot of college football news to touch on. So that’s my rant.
Enjoy your day.