i hate it when the critics are right

remember when all the sports writers said that Michael Jordan shouldn’t come back? well, the regular season’s nearly over and it looks like the same could be said for the greatest basketball player ever. this is the conversation that i would have struck up with Tall Skinny Girl at the Vermont / Sunset station this morning, if i would ever take the time to talk to her, but instead i was reading “Notes of a Dirty Old Man.”

i guess she was running late.

she got on the third car from the front, i took the second car from the front and if you ask me, i won. i got a guy in sandals and dockers and a plaid short sleeve shirt and glasses who liked to talk to himself and chuckle as he read the paper. since most people dont talk to themselves in public, some of the less-aware passengers would answer him.

crazy man: “oh hahhahaa, hey what time is it?”

little old lady boarding the car: “about 8:30, dear”

crazy man: “oh hahahaha, where are we?”

befuddled Philipino man leaving the car, “Santa Monica station.”

crazy man: “hehehehehe what year is it?”

me leaving the car: “1998, buy eToys, quick.”

i like crazy people. i dont believe they’re crazy. betty tells me differently, but shes crazy, she gives any guy at any bar her phone number, which she now denies, but i vividly remember a dude who was singing to her outside a hollywood nite spot after last call who punched in her digits into his cell phone and called her the next day, naturally. am i supposed to believe that he was the one in a million? perhaps. either way i thought it was cool. it doesnt mean she’ll call them back, but at least they’ll float off into the night with pleasant dreams.

all the regulars were on the Wilshire/Western train including my new favorite guy to hate: Trench Coat Yuppie. It hasnt rained in LA since 1998 but this guy insists on wearing a trench coat, and insultingly holds a hankerchief between his pasty white hand and the evil that is the subway pole. we all know it’s dirty, Melvin, thats why we wash our hands when we get to our hi rise offices. people who pretend to be rich but take public transportation in LA arent fooling a damn soul.

it makes us think that you got busted for drinking and driving.

and it makes some of us think that you killed someone while drinking while driving.

and when i pass him while walking up the 58 steps because the UP escalator is broken at Wilshire/Western (and has been since 5pm yesterday) (and nobody since then has reversed the direction of the one good escalator) (and im in way better shape than our preppy pal) i whisper, “out out damn spot.”

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