The MBTA: Push becomes shove becomes brawl

I waited for the T at South Station like I always do when waiting to get on the metal chariot toward my personal Mt. Olympus. That time of day, 5 p.m., is a tough time in Boston: The usually pushy idiots waiting to get on the T become even pushier.

The grand throne at Mt. Olympus,
where pirate pants are always in fashion

I count myself among the idiots, unfortunately: Some of my worse moments are when I try to follow my wife on to the train so we can sit next to one another, only to shove an older lady inadvertently as I fit through the doorway. I then spend the 20-minute ride obsessing over it: "Did my shoulder catch her too hard?" "Should I go over and apologize?" "What if I offer my seat to the next MBTA victim? Will my karma then be restored?"

No matter what social faux pas I've committed on Boston's underground system, I ain't never been this bad:

The train pulls up and I'm standing on the same orange paint strip I do every day: It ensures the right positioning to be the first up the escalators at my destination, Alewife Station, sparing not a moment as I race up to the surface world to catch the bus at 5:28.

As I prepare to board I take my customary step to the left to let the train's existing passengers get off. To my right is a woman with a two-kid carriage: A newborn (8-12 months) sits in the front while a toddler takes the rear seat. The carriage is slightly longer and wider than a shopping cart, making it the ideal choice should you wish to annoy every rider on a packed train.

Behind her is a blind man, and though they don't know each other he somehow knows to wait behind her so he can follow her aboard. He is standing in one place but lazily searching his surroundings with the taps of his cane.

The last of the train's riders scoots by, between the mother and myself. I am slightly left of the doorway, she stands directly in center. To her right, a woman seems to float above the ground - her legs flit so fast they cast a weird, pasty white blur as she rushes onboard. Another Masshole, this time a businessman, cuts off the mother as she struggles to build momentum with her giant kid-filled cart. A third commuter tries to board with the woman, but as her cart takes up most of the entryway he clucks away in disgust because he has to wait two seconds. She finally gets onboard, and the rejected commuter is now forced to cut off the blind man as he cautiously steps forward.

He does so without so much as a glance back, and another commuter follows him, TWICE CUTTING OFF THE BLIND MAN TRYING TO BOARD THE TRAIN. I have, at this point, watched six people (eight if you count the kids) enter the train, and now it's my turn. The blind man is asking someone if he can sit; thankfully a woman offers him her seat and helps him down. But no one offers a seat to the mother, who is forced to stand with her oversized cart and agitated offspring as we rumble out of South Station and away from the heart of Boston.

Yes, Boston: City of History, City of Intelligence, City of Slack-Asses who would cut off a young mother and a blind man just so they can read the next chapter of their Twilight books or answer an e-mail to no one of importance before they lose a signal on their Smartphones.

Starting tomorrow I'm going to offer my seat more.

Wal-Mart takes us a little farther into Hell

Wal-Mart's latest television spot ends like this (paraphrased):

Wal-Mart. Official sponsor of office supplies and Father's Day.

Wal-Mart, you can claim all the inanimate objects you want. Heck, you can even sponsor the Pyramid of the Moon and Teotihuican for all I care. But you're taking Father's Day away from us?
For shame.

High fashion and the hobo

Recently I scanned Amazon.com for a new watch. Found this one. If one was given a choice between buying this watch and buying my car, one could buy my car four times over for the same price as this watch.
I don't find this watch attractive. It's visually confusing, I'm pretty sure it doesn't tell time, and its band is made from baby seals. Oh, and it's the most expensive watch offered on Amazon - $139,900 on sale for $96,755.
What's interesting is what the watch DOES display: Wealth. A watch without numbers should be good for something, and in this case the timepiece shows the high price of glamor. Designers have to out-ugly each other in order to be noticed, and by having their products noticed the consumer knows that he/she too will get noticed.

Consider this bag from Angela Di Verbeno:

What I love about this bag is that it proves my point perfectly: This is a hobo bag. I didn't name it; the fashion industry did. And while the word "hobo" brings of imagery of the fly-ridden wino that used to sleep on the bench behind my apartment in New York, I don't think he would have been caught dead with this thing. My wife says it looks like someone wiped with a snake.
Remember the grunge movement, when sleeping in the same clothes for a week was beautiful? Weren't hippies required to live in apartments without showers? The thing about the disgusting/beautiful movement is that it was also cheap. What's Angela Di Verbeno's excuse?

A letter to the stereotype blonde in the SUV parked in the handicap spot

Dear Blonde:

You probably don't think anyone noticed you, but we did. You thought the crimson Escalade would hide you; that its oversized cab and gleaming rims and tinted windows would give you the right to do anything you please. And maybe it does. Maybe in your world, the dyed hair and the face like Heidi gets you free stuff from star-struck wannabes who put as much value on materials as you do.

But here's the problem: You actually look like Heidi Fleiss. That, and not everybody lives in your world. Not the lady who had to walk around your car to get to hers, or the mother and daughter who couldn't stop staring while you yakked on your cell phone the whole time while you were parked. My wife and I certainly don't; it's the reason why we drove around your car just so we could document it:



Now, I might be able to forgive your parking faux pas. After all, you never could bother to actually leave the car. Maybe your lip gloss reflected the sun in your eyes and you missed the lines.

But to park diagonally across two handicap spaces? Really?

Please take notice of the handicap parking sign in front of your car in this photo. Your meathead boyfriend didn't notice, but everyone in the Walgreens parking lot sure did.

Truth in advertising? My butt!

My future sister-in-law Kelly's washing machine went kaput. She has to call the Maytag repairman, but he can't come until next Tuesday.
What?!?! I thought all those repairmen did was sit around all day waiting for a service call. And Kelly has to wait until TUESDAY.

Maybe they only work on Tuesdays.

Then I found no less than 20 questions on the FAQs on their Web site. Maybe they expect you to do all the work yourself?

Bunch of hokey if ya asked me.

Good morning!

Dear construction people,

Let's have a little talk, you and me.
I know it's your time of year to get everything done, and those of us making a commute each day appreciate smooth roads and whatnot.

But enough with the digging the hole, then filling the hole, then digging the hole. Seriously. If you need to get back down there, just don't fill the hole yet. Wait until you're done down there, then fill the hole.

To sum up, that's dig, fill. Not digfilldigfilldig ... hold up traffic ... digfilldigfill.

Thank you.

Words of wisdom

If you're deaf, don't walk backwards into a parking lot, as the guy did last night when I was leaving the movies.

Truer words were never said.

"The most important part of travel is when you come home, because that's when you see your country with new eyes. I was amazed to realize that we are the only country, that tells the rest of the world, on a nearly constant basis, that we are the greatest country on Earth. And that is a little fuckin' obnoxious. And I know it's obnoxious, because if you were in an office, and there was someone there who came in everyday and said, 'I'M THE GREATEST FUCKER HERE! AND YOU SNIVELING SHITS WOULD DIE WITHOUT ME!!' I can guarantee you by the end of the week you'd have killed him, and eaten him, just to try to possess his power. The amazing thing is that there are people who have never left this country, who talk about the fact that we are the greatest country on Earth. How fuckin' dumb is that? 'Cause you don't know. If you haven't left here you don't know. There are countries that may be giving shit away everyday! Canada's one of those countries. You know what they give away? HEALTH INSURANCE!"
-Lewis Black

Mutants from the Home Office!

I've often wondered what I would look like as a graphic illustration.

Now we know.

Where The Photos Live