Screw You, New York, You're Not In Such Great Shape Either
I was walking along 4th Avenue in Brooklyn this morning when a delivery truck drove by in the opposite direction with a guy in a Mets cap sitting on the sideboard singing Survivor’s “Eye of the Tiger.” He pointed at me, and sung out louder when we made eye contact. I didn’t know quite what to do, but he seemed friendly enough, and I like the Mets, if not Survivor, and its a sunny day and all, so I flashed him the devil’s-horns “rock-on” sign. (Like I said, I didn’t know what to do. He was communicating with me, it seemed to call for some response. And I’m a dork.) But then he stopped singing and shouted, “You don’t work out!”
Which, I mean, sure, I could stand to lose a few pounds, sure. Many of us, could, right? But I have actually slimmed down considerably in the last month or so. In fact, I actually just started jogging last week, the first time since autumn, so technically, I do work out.
Fuck You, New York! You don’t always look so great either, you know. 4th Avenue is riddled with potholes, and there’s a vacant lot right near where this happened that is filled with so many little different colored bags of poop that irresponsible dog-walkers have thrown over its chain-link fence that it looks like someone has strewn about a bunch of those “grand-opening” flag lines. The first time I walked past it, I thought it might be some weird public art project.
I was thinking of going jogging again, later today, but now I’m not going to. Out of spite. Then I will cut off my nose. Which will actually help some, because it’s way too hot and you stink like August already and it’s only April.