The F Train

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Last night I did a crazy thing and went to the mystical place, East Williamsburg. Some will tell you it doesn’t exist. Others proclaim its magical existence. I leave the ultimate judgment to my reader(s).

At any rate, this involved taking the L train back from into Manhattan, whereupon I was left with two choice: get off at First Avenue and walk a ways, or ride until 6th Avenue, transfer to the F/V and thus have less walking about in the cold.

Got on the train with Kathleen, la la la, suddenly we’ve gone under the river, my ears hurt and we’re pulling in to First Avenue. I cry out in a panic:”Do I get off here, or try my luck with the F?!”

[Background: the F train and I have a very hot and cold (read: antagonistic) relationship. In past weeks we’ve been doing better but last Wednesday it all took a turn for the worse.]

Kathleen: “Mmmm….”

Me: “The F does tend to hate on me.” I start to lean forward.

Kathleen: “It does kind of hate you, but also just doing its job.” I’m in that weird half-sitting half-standing place.

Me: “Well, it’s gotta do what it’s gotta do, I gotta do what I gotta do.” I dash through the doors with my Droid.

And you know, it’s true, the F train just has to hate sometimes. It cannot help itself. I accept this.

The Olympics… and the Beatles?

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You might be surprised. I certainly was, but yes indeed there is a serious connection at play between the Beatles and the upcoming winter Olympics, which I plan to cover in-depth for your delight (code for, I really need a job, but at least I keep myself busy).

Knowledge that is assumed of you as of this moment: I love the Beatles and I love the Olympics and I fear the day upon which I am forced to choose between the two. Fear.

My latest Netflix selection was Help! It was all that I dreamed and more. I want to live in a row house like that. If I wasn’t terrified of rodents attacking me in the night, I would be thrilled to have a sleeping nook sunk into the floor like John. It would delight me. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, then I think we all know what your next mail order movie should be.

A few posts ago I felt the urge to instantly reflect on Jimmy Fallon’s Ringo Starr interview extravaganza. To recap: part of the interview entailed viewer videos with questions for Ringo, one of which was a little girl stating that she loves Help! and that her favorite part of the film is when they are skiing in the Alps. Ringo went on to answer that was one of his favorite parts as well, but that it had also almost resulted in his early demise: death via inadvertently skiing backwards, as he’d had no prior experience with the sport.

The point IS that Help! involves Olympic winter sports such as curling, skiing, ski jumping and dodging villains… wait, scratch the villains… unless you mean Tanya Harding, which I guess makes that whole previous bit totally true. I stand corrected by this correction to my correction.

Untwist that if you dare.

So I’m just suggesting that everyone preps for the Olympics by watching Help! and pondering how Ringo Starr only owns one outfit, seen most recently at the Grammy Awards. On the plus side, you could just almost see his eyes through his sunglasses, so we know that he still has them.  I know I feel better.

Postscript:

It’s official, Kathleen has loaned me NBC Olympics gear for my pending video shoot. And I have ascertained that I cannot get a trial version of Final Cut Pro or otherwise on the internet. Things are moving along. Moving. Along.