Monday, December 27, 2010

Put Your Camera Away

Some people think it's all about them. Kelley and I went for a walk today and were amazed at the number of cars stuck - and even abandoned - in the middle of the streets in our neighborhood. It was such an unusual sight that I decided to take a picture.

Now there were at least a dozen disabled cars within 50 years, so the idea that one guy thought I was taking HIS picture was pretty ridiculous - except for the fact that I actually WAS taking a picture of him. I mean, he was trying to drive into a snowbank that was higher than his bumper.


Guy in the car: Hey, put your camera away!
Me: I'm not taking your picture.
Guy in the car: What are you taking pictures of, then?
Me: The snow.
Random guy 1: You're not in Hollywood!
Random guy 2: You're not a rap star, nobody wants your picture!
Kelley: Ha ha ha! (pointing at the guy in the car)
Random guy 3: That girl's pointing at you and laughing at you! Ha ha!


Thursday, December 2, 2010

What Not To Do If You Forget Your Combination

This is one of the lockers at the gym I go to. And this isn't in some ghetto gym. It's a decent gym in a nice neighborhood. The New York Stock Exchange is across the street.


When the banking system was falling off a cliff a couple years ago, I would watch Maria Bartiromo report from the steps of Federal Hall while I did sit-ups and silently prayed that some desperate banker might jump out a window before my eyes. All three endeavors were disappointing in their own way. Maria Bartiromo appeared to be kind of plump in person and not what I'd expect from someone nicknamed the "Money Honey". My sit-ups did little good. No bankers were even crying, let alone jumping.

Anyway, the locker room... It looked like someone went at the lock using a wrench, got 50% of the job done, and then just gave up. I wonder how the other people in the locker room at the time responded. I think they all pretended like nothing in the least bit unusual was occurring. The same way they do when some dude bends over, dries his butt crack with exaggeratedly dramatic sweeps of his towel, and then douses himself with perfume in a disgusting ritual of personal hygiene.

The question that lingers in my mind is why did I decide to use the adjacent locker to store my belongings?