It's Raining When?

"If you like the weather we've been having, we're planning a trip to Ireland for the beginning of May," Chris said. "It'll be just like this, so bring your bathing suits."

I actually hate the weather we've been having, but if I get a new job soonly that pays mad bucks, I'm a-goin' to Ireland. It'll be perfect--and at some point next year I'll work on buying an apartment 'cause I'll hafta renew my lease soon so I'll be out of here by next December but in the meantime with this slamming job, I'll get photo software not to mention film developed. See, I say that I'll go to Ireland in May if I have this great job because knowing my luck, I'll get this job but I'm afraid of flying. And spending rainy days in another country listening to the same band every night just might make me climb the walls but on the other hand I'd have the new job and money, which is what I want and that's why I make such a statement. I'm trying to jinx myself into getting a better job. Get it?

"The information will be posted on our website, which no one can spell. We should've called ourselves The Smiths but whaddaya gonna do?"

Then, during the break: "You know all the words. You must be a real fan."
Me: They're in the liner notes.
Huh?
The booklet for the CD, I tell her.
The woman asks if I'm related to anyone in the band. I should've said yes because I consider them my family but I say no.
"Do they take requests?"
For their own material. But not "Rebel Hip-Hop." Believe me, I've tried.

Then I thought that if I go into Connolly's on a random Saturday, I bet someone would ask me if I'm related to anyone in the band. They used to ask me if I was with anyone in the band and I hated that. Why couldn't people think that I have a discerning taste in music and that's why I'm going to see Black 47, not because I "have" to? Then I'd tell myself that maybe I should be flattered that people think musicians want me. And, like I said, I'm sure no one would think that about me anymore.

Afterward, I had to go up to 59th and back down 'cause the Uptown 6 wasn't stopping @ 51/Lex. On the E, I read the discarded AM NY. The article about gov't officials getting emails about the "terror threat"--the bit about the emails was posted on Snopes and then the Daily News picked up on this and reported it. You've gots to be kidding me. Snopes is the urban legend reference page. Are people freakin retarded? How did anyone miss that? It says so right there on the site. Then Mr. Wannabe Preppy Khakipants across from me takes a break from conversing loudly and drunkenly with his friend and starts singing "Do You Really Want To Hurt Me"--loudly and horribly. The friend gets off the train and Khakipants shouts: WELL! We all saw THAT! Now we know what it's LIKE to be an ASSHOLE on the SUBWAY!

Uh, yes, because you're still here.

He turns to the woman next to him and compliments her on her shoes: The shininess, your foot, everything.

They're actually pretty average black patent-leather flats. Okay, first you belt out a Boy George song, now you're admiring a woman's shoes and feet. She gives him a blank look. He leans back and then lays down on the seat, his head resting in front of her tote bag. Then he sits up and looks at me full-on. I wonder if he's going to put me in his routine. His stop comes first and he gets off, telling everyone in the car that we look healthy and that he loves us.

Hey, like I said. If I get a better job that pays well, I'm going to Ireland.

If the Chinatown bus stops at Dublin or Derry, I'm so there.