Chapter 11: Potpourri

I can't say Jeopardy was ever one of my favorite game shows. It seemed destined to give most of us low self-esteem, unless you were one of those freakishly smart people who wears black knee socks with shorts and probably hasn't kissed a girl who is breathing on her own. Or maybe not. I was more of a Press Your Luck fan-no whammies! But I love the idea of a category called "Potpourri".  I always interpreted it to mean, "a bunch of crazy useless shit that doesn't fit anywhere else".  It seems meant to be that it becomes the next chapter in this blog.

Item #1: The other day on the subway I found myself with nothing to do. I checked my bag and discovered I had forgotten my headphones at home. It was an uncomfortable position for me to be in. I like to people watch to a soundtrack. But it's at those moments when fate decides to smile upon me...and gives me some delicious substitute entertainment. Picture it: A man gets onto the crowded train at 81st Street. He is a tall man with a lanky, slender, but delicate build. His clothes are fairly non-descript; the usual button down shirt and trousers. But his hair...the overhead lighting in the train is less than flattering usually. But in this case, it was like a heavenly spotlight on this man. I can only weakly attempt to recreate this phenomenon. I've never seen a page boy haircut on a grown man. His perfectly straight bangs were cropped short above his eyebrows and slightly curled under. The sides of his thick mane were completely symmetrical and chin-length, again with a slight under-curling to frame his face.  And you guessed it, he had a long face that accentuated the look.  He could've been the lost 4th Musketeer. But what really surprised me was the luster of his hair. It looked like he dipped his head in varnish. As I was watching, he pulled out an iPad and began reading. More than curious, I had to know what this man was reading. Watching his long fingers glide over the surface of the iPad, it was almost as if he was caressing it. Creepy, I know. So I gave up my coveted spot to take a look. It turns out he was reading Twilight. Yep, this forty-something Little Lord Fauntleroy was reading paranormal romance.

Item #2: When I first moved to Manhattan in the 90's, we used to joke that every time you come out of a subway exit, you'd get caught up in a parade. Everything warrants a parade here. Recently I was returning home and exited the subway into what else, a spontaneous Mexican parade. Apparently the Mariachi band didn't see me (due to their giant guitars and my small stature) so I ended up becoming a Jenny sandwich in between two large Mexican men and their guitars. Amazingly, they kept playing. I finally managed to escape. I think the smell of Churros gave me super-human strength. Totally worth it.

Item #3: People love to ask me for directions. They also like to tell me their life stories or report a minor crime to me while asking for directions. "That man just stole my pantyhose! Where can I get the E train?" Or, "Where is the subway? I just moved out of my mom's house and I want to go to Central Park." That was asked by a man about 80. Most recently, a man offered to trade me a cigar for directions to The Met. I was tempted to say yes, but when he attempted to give it to me, it was in less than new condition, if you know what I mean. But my favorite was the lost bride of Anton LaVey looking for directions to Church Street. She looked like Amy Winehouse in a black burqa. Priceless.

Now back to grilling hot dogs in my you'll-never-get-a-date-and-remain-a-bitter-virgin-because-you-look-like-a-bloated-corpse boat-neck sweater. My sister and I both have painful childhood memories of being forced to wear similar homemade atrocities. Thanks a lot mom.