Something/Nothing

"Why does the dog hate me drying her off so much?" I ask, semi-rhetorically, as the dog leaps and squirms out from underneath the Shamwow™.

"She hates anything that wasn't her idea," Katie says casually from the couch in the family room where she's watching the Olympics, "which means she basically hates everything."

"Like something divided by zero," I say, while the dog staggers off down the hall, leaving uneven wet paw prints scattered across the carpet.

"The doge is the something," Katie agrees.

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One year ago: We've Thought This Through

Two years ago: What's Good For Me

Three years ago: Another Perspective on a Night at the Museum

Four years ago: Everyone Should Be So Lucky

Five years ago: Maybe That's It

Ten years ago: A Disturbing New Trend In Women's Shoes

That Explains That

Through my headphones, over the music, I hear a heavy thud like the sound of someone pounding on a door, and I quickly look down the train, to find a woman at the other end of the car picking up her large old fashioned umbrella which she's just dropped.

That explains that; I go back to my music and staring out the subway window as we pass over Manhattan Bridge into Brooklyn.

Suddenly, a floral, medicinal scent, definite but difficult to identify, faintly reaches my nose, and I again scan the car to try to locate its source, only to find the same woman who dropped her umbrella now vigorously rubbing hand sanitizer into her palms.

From behind her head and back pops a chubby little set of arms and legs, and I see that she's toting around a little one in a baby carrier, so I guess that explains the hand sanitizer, too.

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One year ago: Little Brothers Never Change

Two years ago: Willful

Three years ago: Another Dog Post

Four years ago: The Kid Ran Into Something, And It Wasn't Just The Cold

Five years ago: Sufficiently Advanced Technology is Indistinguishable

Seven years ago: Bathroom Humor

Ten years ago: A Cry For Attention

Small World

She pushes onto the train, though no one is in her way, and right up beside me where I'm holding on to the pole, utterly indifferent to my personal space. The train has plenty of room where she might stand, but she's already put down her grocery bags and is intently perusing her magazine practically up against me in the shadow of my arm.

My annoyance subsides, though, when I really look at her: she's under five feet tall, super tiny, really. It must be incredibly hard to be short in a big city, and she probably thinks she's just doing whatever she needs to do to survive, pushing her way through an indifferent world.
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One year ago: That Old Chestnut
Two years ago: The Ravages of Time
Three years ago: Dog Pee
Four years ago: The Vagaries of Time
Five years ago: Screaming Goats and The Wheel of Karma

Much Worse

"Armor class five!" I exclaim, after describing a scenario between the dog and the cat to Katie (the doge walked by the cat's perch on the chair, and the cat reached down and slammed her claws into the doge's thick fur, eliciting exactly no response whatsoever).

"Is that some kind of nerdy card game reference?" she asks skeptically as she leans up against the door frame to the kitchen.

"D and D," I say, smiling.

"So, worse," she says.
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One year ago: I Am Known
Two years ago: Contrast
Three years ago: The Scientist Considers His Divorce
Five years ago: Drink The Undrinkable Drink
Seven years ago: No Good Reason
Ten years ago: There Is Nowhere That Does Not See You

(Sun) Salutations From the Coming Spring

I practice my breathing exercises and yoga early in the morning in front of a SAD lamp, not because I'm particularly depressed, but more as a preventative measure, so my already pretty good mood gets a boost.

As I'm doing it this morning with my eyes closed, though, I notice the light seeping through my eyelids has a distinctly different quality.

When I open my eyes, the lamp is still on, but for the first time in months, out the window behind it, between the buildings across the street, the sun is coming up. I look down at my chest and, instead of the pale bluish glow of LEDs, all I see is the shadow of the lamp, surrounded by a corona of fiery sunlight.
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One year ago: Expectation of Privacy
Two years ago: Prescient
Four years ago: Time Travel Weather
Five years ago: Revolving Door
Ten years ago: February in a Nutshell

Not So Anonymous

The dog sniffs her usual tree (after sniffing her usual rocks), so I stand around with a not terribly bright look on my face until she finishes, and two guys walk by, with a third coming the other way.

"Patrick!" one of the first two says. "We're just going to get a bite to eat beforehand."

"Yeah, I was gonna," his voice drops a little, "work with my sponsor before the meeting."
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One year ago: Morning Session
Two years ago: Do You Like Piña Coladas?
Three years ago: After a Fashion
Four years ago: We Are Conspicuous At The Comedy Show
Five years ago: The Solution
Teny years ago: My Lungs Are A Swamp

We Can Only Hope

Everyone, including me, seems "off" today, so I am unsurprised when this guy comes on the train, his energy all spikey, and sprawls his long, lanky frame over the bench opposite me.

I keep my headphones on as he tries to engage the couple next to me in conversation, but apparently it's not all that successful, as he ends up shaking his head in disgust at them and lapsing into silence.

But he's not able to stay still for long, and he reaches into the plastic bag he's carrying, pulls out a beer and a lighter, which he uses to pop the top (this despite the medallion from which glowers a disapproving Haile Selassie dangling around his neck), and takes a deep swig.

He makes eye contact with me like he's got something to say, and when I slip one headphone off my ear, he nods darkly and says, "You call on God for the wrong reasons enough, he will come."
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One year ago: Not Interested
Two years ago: Overexplaining
Three years ago: The REAL 50 Shades
Four years ago: Meeting, The Other
Five years ago: In New York City, We Are Not Overly Solicitous of One Another's Pain
Ten years ago: Never Complain, Never Explain