The F Train Follies: Blech!

There was a highly disturbing story in the Brooklyn section of the Daily News today brought to my attention by the good folks at Gothamist. Yesterday afternoon a man and his very preggers wife boarded a Manhattan bound F train enroute to Bellevue Hospital.

By the time the train was under the East River, it was obvious the couple weren't going to make the full commute. As soon as the train entered the East Broadway stop, the man escorted his wife off the train and onto the platform where her water immediately broke...

You guessed it. She had the baby right there on the platform as four additional trains came and went.

BLECH! I need to bleach my brain to sterilize it from the imagery of the incident.

You can read all about it by clicking here.

Once Again, The NY Post Delivers

Although I'm in total agreement with the Daily News headline, the cover of the New York Post wins this cover contest.

Must suck to be a Mets fan...

Broken Wang

Just as things are finally starting to turn around for the Yanks and we can legitimatly eye a post-season run, we go and break our Wang.

Interleague play usually provides me with the opportunity to learn about a team I'd otherwise know nothing about as I don't follow the NL (that other NY team aside). If our series is on the road, it also offers the hiliarious sight of our pitchers at bat. Rarely do they do anything other than strike out, but they always do it in earnest.

Wang actually got a base hit in the sixth inning of yesterday's game. The other team forced the out at third base, allowing him to safely reach first and, to our detrimet, proove his poor base running skills. In an aggressive attempt to run from second to home, Wang noticebly gimped as he rounded third and practically collaseped in his teammates arms after crossing home plate. He had to be basically carried down the dugout stairs and into the locker room.

Fingers crossed it's just a sprain in his foot and not the much more serious (and season ending) Lisfranc ligament injury.

Get well soon, Wang!

As I Wait For The Sweet Relief Of Violent Thunderstorms

Summer came early this year to the city. After four oppressively hot days, a batch of ferocious storms are headed our way. After their passing, the temperature should drop a good twenty degrees and we'll all be able to breathe a little bit easier.

Thankfully, half of the scorcher occurred over the weekend and I could ride it out in the relative comfort of a cranking A/C and the manfriend's brother's backyard pool. (God bless the 'burbs). Yet unlike the school children who got early releases or 'heat' days off, I had to schlep my way to and fro my 9-5 with the rest of the sweaty and suffering masses come Monday morning.

Suffer we did. As most seasoned city residents know, there is hell on earth. Hell can be found on the subway platforms any day the thermometer climbs above ninety. My summer subway survival kit always includes both a wooden/cloth fan I scored years ago in Chinatown and it's more technologically advanced electronic cousin. But these tools only dull the pain until the blessed relief of an air conditioned car's embrace. At least, most of the time this is how it goes.

Then there's the other times. If a train rolls into the station with every car packed but one, you know to avoid the empty one as it's going to be a roasting inferno. At least they're pretty easy to spot. Then there's the accidental fuck-ups. These are when you are either rushing to make the train or have already stepped into a populated car too far to pop back out when you realize why everyone is so miserable looking inside. There's. No. Fucking. A/C. And you're stuck until at least the next stop which, in typical MTA fashion, could be mere minutes or not. It's usually in these moments the MTA gods laugh at you and all types of random tunnel stops and 'switch problems' occur.

Out of the past couple of days, I've had luck on my side. Until six o'clock tonight, that is. In running an errand, I had to forgo my usual ride on the downtown F and instead found myself bounding onto an uptown 1's sauna. As I became a sticky mess, at least I could find humor in my ipod, which immediately random shuffled to Hot In The City by Billy Idol.

To the MTA, thank you. Six out of seven ain't bad.

Will Big Brown Deliver?

Each year, right around the time leading up to the Kentucky Derby, I remember that there's a sport I love: Horse Racing.

This is a magical year. Big Brown, a beautiful, inspiring and kick ass colt, has made history. He easily won the Derby and blew away competition in the Preakness. Today, in a sultry Belmont Park, he'll run for something elusive for all thirty years I've been on this planet - The Triple Crown.

If ever there was a horse that could do it, hoof crack included, it's this horse. Big Brown has magic written all over him. From the trainers' drug abusing past and redemption to his jockey Kent Desormeaux's raising awareness for his son's plight against Usher's Syndrome, the Big Brown team has risen to the occasion.

Come 6:25 EST, he'll make the historic two and a half minute run for glory. Here's one among many who is hoping he succeeds.

PS - UPS's sponsorship of the team is GENIUS. What can Brown do for you, indeed.

SHNOT!

Whenever anyone asks where I work, I'm never confident about what to answer. I'm not quite in SoHo although technically the building in which I'm located is a few feet South of Houston Street. It also has two addresses: one on Houston Street and one on Hudson Street. We're not quite the West Village either, again that pesky Houston Street...So normally I mix it up depending on who I'm responding to and how familiar they are with the city.

Thanks to a post on NYmag.com today, I now have my patent answer: I work in SHNOT! (South of Houston, North of Tribeca). It's genius. And it makes me giggle, in a shnotty way.