Subway Farts

The New York City subway system is one giant centrifuge.  It strips away all the bull shit and leaves you at your most human.  My most human moments occur in the subway, like when I’m up to my neck in stranger wondering who is touching me and not really caring that it’s happening - a sentiment I’m sure isn’t shared by fellow women riders.  But it is what it is.  We’re all stuck on this metal tube snaking underneath the city; better make the best of it.

Usually I’m totally ok with all of it.  This morning however, I reached a new point.  I followed my usual protocol for mornings; I stood along the back doors, halfway leaning on the hand rails and door.  Everything was going along swimmingly until somewhere between Grand Central and 14^th street my olfactory nerves were suddenly under siege like the French in WW2.  I was under enemy fire from a familiar foe: a fart.

Now I understand the attractiveness in letting one rip on the subway.  I can’t act holier-than-thou since I, in acts of a desperate man, have had to let one rip indiscriminately.  There is something, however, to be said to letting something out of your body that you know will stink.  Some will say “you don’t know that a fart is or isn’t going to smell”, but we know that’s a lie.  Sometimes you feel that pit in your stomach and a familiar grumble.  Sometimes you know when the fart is on the tip of your butthole much like words on the tip of your tongue.  It lingers there, momentarily and you wonder “what have I eaten that led to this?”

Now I don’t know the solution.  Sometimes you just can’t hold it in no matter how hard you try.  Should we institute a warning system despite how embarrassing that might be?  Should people raise their hand and say “I’m sorry but I can no longer hold it in!”  I’m not really sure but for now, I’ll just bury my nose in my scarf and give you the stink eye for giving me the stink nose.

Short Takes

I'm a big proponent of half-thoughts.  I end up writing small little paragraphs that I am then unable to fully flesh out into something more substantial.  Most of the time, I have no idea what to do with these idea fetuses.  So, I've decided to post some up regularly as "short takes."

·       Of the large amounts of things that I’m self-conscious about, nothing is as existentially troublesome as my lack of significant chest hair.  Now I certainly have some chest hair, but it’s akin to an adolescent’s peach fuzz facial hair.  This peach fuzz chest hair makes me question my own Hispanic-ness.  How Hispanic/Latino can you really be if you don’t have an impressive chest rug?  In my case, I fear that I should maybe start checking off a different box on governmental forms when it comes to ethnicity.

·       It shouldn’t, but sometimes drinking stresses me out.  It should be a fun activity – debaucherous even – but it’s hard to enjoy yourself when it becomes an “art.”  What I mean is that I don’t understand this new cocktail culture where you go to a bar, sit down and watch the bartender mix a $12 drink with a hokey name like “The Caribbean Sunset.”  I don’t want to discuss the use of fresh fruit juices and bitters.  I really don’t want your opinion on how the Tequila is barely noticeable and mixes extremely well with mint.  I don’t want the bartender advising me on the “correct way” to drink the cocktail (apparently you are supposed to savor every sip – ponder it, dissect it like some abstract idea).  Well fuck you buddy.  I want to taste the tequila.  I don’t want to think about all the ingredients in my drink.  I want to drink it at my own pace (CHUGGING) and get on with my evening.

·       Without any hint of irony or shame, I’d like to state for the record that I fully endorse “high-fiving.” I realize this aligns me with David Puddy from Seinfeld but that’s ok.  You can have your bro-tastic fist bump.  The stuffy hand shake is all yours kiddo.  Leave the half-handshake-half-hug to those who are smoother and cooler.  Next time, in a social situation, whip out the high-fives.  Maybe even go around the room handing them out like pamphlets of AWESOME.  But be sure to be cognizant of the shorter types and not extend your hand too high.  No one likes a TOO-high fiver.