The Tampon-Seeker

At a crowded NYC movie theatre, a woman paced back and forth next to the line of ticket-holders. "Does anyone have a tampon?" she asked, frantically. She stopped next to a woman with platinum hair, who quipped, "You're asking the wrong woman. I'm on Medicare."

Finally, the tampon-seeker found what she was looking for. After she exited the bathroom, she once again found the platinum-haired woman and apologized for having bothered her. "Not at all," replied the woman. "If you think I'm young enough to wear a tampon, you've made my day."

A Creepy Cab Ride

I had a crazy Sicilian cab driver today. In between recommendations for the best calamari (Valdiano's in Greenpoint) and homemade ravioli (Pastosa in Howard Beach), the driver opined that the Sicilian mob would soon adopt terrorist tactics in order to silence turncoats.

Creepily enough, we were driving past a cemetery. I was starting to get uncomfortable. "You'll see, just like the Colombians and the Russian. Soon they'll be raping nuns."

"Uh, have a nice day, and thanks for the restaurant recommendations," I said, exiting the cab.

I've Become A Garden-Variety Lunatic

Almost no New Yorker in his right mind stays in the city during the hot, smelly month of August. What this means is that those in their wrong minds make up a much greater percentage of the city's population at this moment. Every other person is a vacant-eyed, sweaty lunatic. And I've become one of them.

Tonight, I was sitting in a two-seater on the R train, calmly reading Page Six. When the subway doors opened at 42nd Street, a group of extremely noisy people got on. Of course one sat next to me, and the others proceeded to yell at each other from both sides of the car. They were speaking, or shouting, in a language I couldn't understand, so I couldn't even eavesdrop. The girl next to me, while yelling, also started to fan herself (and me, unfortunately) with her newspaper.

I could no longer concentrate on even the frivolous, mindless gossip page. But of course, it wasn't like I could ask people in a public place to be quiet. So, I hit upon a devious, maniacal, and misanthropic plan.

Since I could no longer read the newspaper, I began strategically ripping it. I knew the sound was akin to someone raking their nails across a blackboard. Rip, r--i--p, rrrrrrip. Soon, the loud girl next to me moved to the other side of the car. Then the girl in front of me followed suit. I could still hear their yelling, but at least they weren't sitting adjacent to me.

I think I've hit upon a solution to antagonize people without directly confronting them. I also think I've become a garden-variety lunatic.

Seen On The Subway

A teenager wearing a T-shirt with a disturbing logo: "YOUR MOM THINKS I'M HOT."

Private Karaoke

A source of much stress on the subway is that people often indulge in activities usually considered to be private. I've seen people clipping their nails, masturbating, etc. Tonight, a couple participated in a bizarre private karaoke ritual. Except it could only be so private, as it was in a public place. The man listened to an iPod and sang along loudly. His companion held up a notebook on which she'd scribbled lyrics to the song he was listening to. Helpfully, she turned each page after he'd finished the lyrics. I glared at the couple.

The Native Birds Of Queens

I haven't updated The Bittersweet Apple for a while, and I wanted to mourn the passing of its biggest fan: George H. Colligan III. (He was responsible for the witty (and sole) comments to these postings.) A native of Bay Ridge, he would often wax nostalgic about NYC after having moved away many years ago. But no matter how many years he spent in upstate New York or Baltimore, he always kept his New York soul. I think he might get a chuckle out of my latest observation.)

A Poem
Flimsy black wings fluttering in the wind
Plump bodies impaled on bare tree limbs
The native birds of Queens:
Trash bags.