New York is obsessed today with the explosion near 41st and Lex last night. Blocks away from my little shoe-box sized corner of the world, a "frozen zone" has been established, much like the Wonka Factory where no one goes in and no one goes out with the exception of scientists and firemen in appropriate gas masks; and life's little ironies are being curiously pointed at me. If I hadn't elected to stay on the 6 through to 33rd St., and walk down to NYU's support group meeting for the fat (and often irritating) I would have been strolling right past that corner, now a 40 foot crater in midtown. No need for a lap-band when your delicate bits are being blown sky high. Strangely though, only one fatality as a result of the steam pressure blow (NOT terrorism, people!), and that poor bastard went as a result of an MI. I suppose if I had been there, the shock alone of the street blowing up around you could have been a smidge traumatic.
It's funny to me, because I had tossed the idea back and forth for the better part of the day. I could have gotten off at 42nd St. I nearly did. I just wanted to be home, and go to bed, killing what remained of my cold. I stayed on the train though, and because of that tragedy was averted.
So I suppose I should thank the curly red-haired girl from the meeting (who reminds me a bit of orphan Annie, that everyone loves and adores, and is charming and sickeningly sweet, who in secret makes me feel like puking my entire lunch out), who kept us there by droning on about the 89lb woman who formerly policed her eating habits. I should also thank the stereotypic LI jewish lady, who really needs to start looking at the plastics section of the sites, and has a comment for everyone in the room.
Now, I don't wish to be cruel. I can find humor and idiocy in everyone, including me, and I am strangely comforted and fond of these people, those who have gone before me who impart their wisdom, their stories of frustration and anger and sadness and hurt, and most importantly HUNGER. But I am also intensely irritated by a good majority of them. It's like being back at law school, and wanting to lunge across the room and slit the throat of the guy who doesn't ever shut up; the guy who has an answer for everything and lives for the sound of his own voice. Deep down you need this man, because it means that you never have the expectation of talking, but you loathe and despise him as well, because his moronic mentality, and always irritating voice grates against your nerves like nails to a chalkboard.
It's funny to me, because I had tossed the idea back and forth for the better part of the day. I could have gotten off at 42nd St. I nearly did. I just wanted to be home, and go to bed, killing what remained of my cold. I stayed on the train though, and because of that tragedy was averted.
So I suppose I should thank the curly red-haired girl from the meeting (who reminds me a bit of orphan Annie, that everyone loves and adores, and is charming and sickeningly sweet, who in secret makes me feel like puking my entire lunch out), who kept us there by droning on about the 89lb woman who formerly policed her eating habits. I should also thank the stereotypic LI jewish lady, who really needs to start looking at the plastics section of the sites, and has a comment for everyone in the room.
Now, I don't wish to be cruel. I can find humor and idiocy in everyone, including me, and I am strangely comforted and fond of these people, those who have gone before me who impart their wisdom, their stories of frustration and anger and sadness and hurt, and most importantly HUNGER. But I am also intensely irritated by a good majority of them. It's like being back at law school, and wanting to lunge across the room and slit the throat of the guy who doesn't ever shut up; the guy who has an answer for everything and lives for the sound of his own voice. Deep down you need this man, because it means that you never have the expectation of talking, but you loathe and despise him as well, because his moronic mentality, and always irritating voice grates against your nerves like nails to a chalkboard.
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