They’re not quite as wild as they used to be….
For every moment when I realize, stunned, that the family-style Italian restaurant in Park Slope… currently on the evening news for being a regular mafia haunt for these guys with awesome names… is close enough to my apartment that if I leaned over the edge of my roof I could probably see the lights from the cameras and trucks (WILD) . . .
. . . there’s a moment when I realize I am too old to have Corner Burger fried pickles and waffle fries for dinner and twice-fried cherry pie from Chip Shop for dessert. How do I know? It’s 1 am and I’m awake because of the very old-lady-like “Indisposal” of my immediate vicinity. (UNWILD)
This morning my commute consisted of taking the R to Atlantic, where they decided the R would become a D, so I stood on the platform until a coworker walked up (after I saw a friend on the street and a roommate on the stairs) and convinced me to go wait on the 4-5 platform. 5 minutes of standing with that crowd and the announcer declares that an injured passenger has caused all 4-5 trains to be rerouted on the local track. THERE IS NO LOCAL TRACK for the 4-5. We walk back to the R, catch the train we could have caught by just standing there, and a short 40 minutes later we are at work where we wind up standing in line for the elevators which will be out of service by the time we head home again.
Today was a weird day. Meetings were circular in logic, content, and communication. Office Todd Packers were babbling absolute rubbish – more so than usual… like if I were to map their logic using diner crayons and a placemat, it would look something like this:
Chart <— Click for graphic brought on by insomnia and likely death by overambitious stupid eating of crap food.
I blame the return of Gigantor, the full moon, and the departure of the mob’s stabilizing influence.
BTW please refer to me as Minnie Poutine from now on.