A Novel Approach

Jeff, Dude. Man.  What's going on, Buddy? Um, wow. Yeah. Is everything OK?

Dear Lonely Jeff,

I'll talk about something with you, but I'm not going to call you.  Do you realize how crazy I would have to be to call you?  You could be a pervert.  You could be a lunatic.  You could be a tele-marketer.  If you really are lonely and just want to talk, I'd like to offer you some advice.

First of all, put yourself in the reader's shoes.  Would you ever answer this ad?  You come off pretty desperate throwing in that "lonely" in the end.  People like happy, upbeat people.  And generally speaking, desperation is pathetic.  And when you inspire pity in a stranger, you put them ill-at-ease.  This is no way to have people warm to you.

If you're a member of some cult or religion trying to lure misguided and impressionable people into your influence, then shame on you. You disgust me. 

If you're looking for anonymous sex and this is your kinky way of going about it.  Hey, whatever floats your boat.  But I hope you're upfront with anyone who calls you.

And if you're genuinely looking for a friend, it isn't easy here in this city of strangers.  It can get very lonely surrounded by 8 million people who simply do not have the time.  So much for the glamour of anonymity.  I gotta hand it to you though: in this post-chatroom age of modern social-media-communication, you've certainly taken a novel approach to the situation.

Good luck!

Sincerely,
The Urban Boy Scout

Street Rage

Walking is a major means of transportation here in the concrete jungle.  When I first visited New York one of the images that stuck with me was that of hundreds of people, like a flock of migrant birds, crossing the street in a mass diaspora when the walk signal shone.

Masses of people however do not share a flocking bird's sentiment of collaborative conjunction.  New Yorkers do not flock.  They dart--and not collectively.  It's an outright fight getting up the subway stairs, navigating potholed and pockmarked crosswalks, walking with a purpose. No, walking with a vengeance.  Nobody strolls in New York City (except tourists in Times Square and Macy's).

Sometimes I notice myself lapsing out of my usual pleasant, tolerant temperament into this angry bilious person with laser beam focus and no time for bullshit.   Just the other evening I was walking from the subway station to my apartment, and some poor pretty drunk girl positioned herself perfectly in my way and only noticed after I had to stop dead in my tracks.  She looked up at me and cooed a flirty, high-pitched "Oooops" hoping I'd smile at her folly or look back at her with admiring eyes.  Instead, do you know what I did?  I walked around her and stomped off shaking my head at her outrageous behavior.  Not only did I not play along with her game, I didn't even acknowledge she existed.  She got in my way.  How dare she?  And then she wants me to think it's cute?  Bitch!

Too much?  Well, that's my point.  And believe me, tonight I got my comeuppance when some guy called me a "fucking idiot" because I got in his way as I exited a subway train.  I'm sure he's normally a nice fella too.  But there's something about periods of transition: anxiety levels rise, pressure sets in: there is simply no time for passing pleasantries in a rat race.

So if you see me on the street, wave.  Smile.  But by all means, please keep it moving.