IF YOU BLOG IT THEY WILL COME

Oh well - maybe not literally.

So folks are reading and they’re responding! Folks I know and even folks I don’t know.

I will post some of the “Comments” I’ve received as soon as I can figure out how.

Here’s the thing about starting up one of these “BLOGS” (I absolutely hate that word) - it’s not hard to “work it” once you set it up - it’s just takes time to set it up.

WHY??

Because – YOU HAVE TO READ THE DIRECTIONS!

And I absolutely loathe reading directions!

Usually I need to read them over and over and over again because I never understand what they’re directing me to do. And by the time I vaguely understand what the directions are directing me to do - I’ve lost all interest in trying to do it. This is a condition known as S.I.B.S. (Stays In The Box Syndrome) and it applies to all those things that you have to read directions for that you never get done.

Google’s Blogger makes it fairly easy but -

YOU HAVE TO READ THE DIRECTIONS!

And you have to understand a tiny bit about HTML which is computer language for “Holy Toledo Maybe Later” so you can make your Blog actually show up on the Internet and look the way you want it to.

THIS BOY I LIKE

NOTE: This is either a poem or a song. I haven't decided which yet.


This boy I like
Likes all those girls -
Who write and sing and play guitar
And touch the keys
With him in mind
And gaze at him like he’s a star.

In their youth with long straight hair
They’re slim, petite and they appear
To be unthreatening and
Not like me at all although
I can sing and I can write -
I played guitar when I was young -
But I have thick and wavy hair -
And I am tall
And weigh much more than them.

Out of my youth by many years
And I suppose I come across
As threatening sometimes because
I have definite thoughts
That I say out loud instead of singing softly.

And I’m not
Like all those girls -
Who gaze at him with bedroom eyes
And write their songs with him in mind.
And make up lies they know he wants to hear about himself.

This boy I like
Likes all those waifs -
That seem to float as they pass by -
And he sees wings in place of arms
And pools of sunshine in their eyes.

They give him trinkets and I don’t
And pose for pictures which I won’t.
They dress in clothes he’d like to see
But doesn’t care to see on me.

This boy I like
Likes all those girls -
Who back away when he says, “No”
And kiss him when he writes their name
And hug him when he says, “Hello”.

This boy I like
Likes all those girls
You know the type
They’re here and now –
And I keep wishing that he’d see
The girl I am
Someday - somehow.

This boy I like
Likes all those girls -
In their youth with long straight hair
Petite and slim and not like me
So unthreatening they appear.

This boy I like
Likes all those girls -
Who gaze at him with bedroom eyes
And sing their songs so he can hear
And they make sure they tell him lies.

Oh no, they’re not like me at all
Out of my youth by many years -
I played guitar when I was young
And I have thick and wavy hair.
And I am tall and weigh much more
And I say things they’d never dare -
A girl who’s never at a loss
But threatening because she cares.

DUANE READE HAIKU

It’s not hard to find a DUANE READE to shop in –
What’s hard is shopping in DUANE READE.

They basically stock what you want –
But what you want is never in stock.

Every store is just the same.

Long lines of people
In front of long counters
Behind which stand
Long lines of registers
And one person working.

To make a quick purchase
Give yourself an hour or so.
Everything is mis-marked including gum –
Which requires that one person to
Come out from behind the counter –
To make sure you read the sign correctly,
Which of course you did.

But the scanner scanned the old price.

MIKE NICHOLS

I met Mike Nichols in the elevator of my office building this morning and I didn't have my makeup on. AND, he started talking to me!!

All I could think of is my mother telling me to always wear your lipstick because you never know who you might run into!

I was so crazed to see him; I actually invited him to come visit me in my office after his meeting one floor above me.

And as if he was actually going to stop in, I ran off the elevator in the middle of him telling me something, ran into my office - and started throwing on all my make-up!

John, the accountant, who works in the same suite of offices as I do, has a big mirror outside his office door so I took my mascara and ran over there. He wondered what I was doing and I said I was putting on my makeup because I just ran into Mike Nichols in the elevator and he might come down to see me!

John's response was "Don't worry, you're a natural beauty." And I asked him why he wasn't single.

Then I said, "If he actually does come down to visit, I'll probably drop dead from shock anyway."

We both decided there would be less work for the guy in the funeral parlor if I already had my makeup on!

VIAGRA FALLS

Is there somebody out there who really wants or needs a LARGER PENIS?

If so, I've been getting your email.

I'm very content with the penis I have. I never complain about it. It does its job. And the fellow attached to it is pretty damn cute!

Obviously there must be alot of folks out there that aren't happy with the penis they have. So unhappy in fact, that they are willing to buy something from a stranger who contacts them via email.

And speaking of which, what did everybody do before VIAGRA? Several times a day someone is trying to sell me Viagra. There simply aren't enough hours in a day to necessitate as much Viagra as they're pushing on me.

Why isn't someone trying to sell me something I need? Like what? Oh I don't know, I'll have to think long and hard about that...

I take offense that people who don't know me have the nerve to assume my sex life sucks.

Oh before I forget, to all you "spammers" out there - I don't need a mortgage either! I don't even own my apartment. I can barely pay the rent!

And yes, I think it's appropriately called "Spam". In the good old days I didn't want it in my ice box and now I don't want it in my Inbox.

However, to whomever is sending me the information about debt management - well, you've got it right. I have no idea where you got your information from, but yes indeed - I'm in need of some debt management. Or debt consolidation.

Because as you now know - a good penis I have, but a good job I don't.

WORKING IT OUT

There's an old and innocently cruel joke that goes something like, "How did Helen Keller's parents punish her when she was naughty?" Answer - "They moved around the furniture".

As a teenager this joke elicited a few harmless chuckles from me, but now as an adult "working out" at the gym, I suddenly have a great deal of compassion for "olde Helen" especially when they decide to move the Nautilus weight training machines around.

I'm a creature of habit - and I have my work-out routine down to a science. From time to time the sports club management decides to upgrade, rearrange and move machines around, sometimes to another floor - and this drives me absolutely crazy! Working out is tough enough without having to worry about where your machine disappeared to.

And I know I'm not the only one who feels this way, although I must admit I find it especially amusing on a crowded morning to see other club members trying to look casual as they run back and forth like "Keystone Cops" looking for their machine of choice before anyone else finds it first.

I've spent more time looking for a particular machine than I have actually working out on it!

If you're curious as to why I don't ask a member of the fitness staff where the machine has moved to - I have my reasons;

First of all these Nautilus contraptions all look alike. Something like Rube Goldberg would have invented. They all have weights. They all have handles. They all have levers and black plastic upholstered seats that move up and down if you're lucky. They all have things for your arms to rest on and things for your legs to rest on. They all have names that refer to the part of the body they're supposed to benefit like "Lats" or "Quads" or "Pecks" or whatever, but quite frankly, I can't tell those things apart either.

Once, just once, when I was feeling particularly brave, I walked up to the line of "Fitness Professionals" schmoozing in front of their "Fitness Professionals" office and I said, "I'm looking for the machine with the arms and that silver plate thing to rest your feet on..." - and they all looked at me like I was nuts which by that point I was, since I'd already spent most of my adult life looking for the damn thing! If the truth be told, those "Fitness Professionals" can't tell one machine from the other either.

I'll say one thing about Helen Keller, when all that water was pumped into her hands and her entire whole world opened up, I bet she had no idea she should be drinking at least eight glasses a day!

And while I'm on the subject - why is that woman over there wearing cultured pearls to the gym? I can understand if you forgot to take out your diamond studs from the night before, but pearls as an exercise accessory? I just don't get it.

THE LO-DOWN ON THE BLACKOUT

Note: This was written after the big Blackout of 2003

I was in "Barnes and Nobles Cafe" yesterday reading the paper and drinking my "Starbucks" overpriced ice tea when the lights went out in the entire store. "Typical", I said to the folks at the next table and it wasn't until the Manager came and told us we had to evacuate the store that everyone realized something was up.

This blackout has so far been an adventure for me. Last night when the lights were out everywhere, I walked around outside with my "K-Mart" flashlight. It has an orange beam that flashes on and off and I got it for free when K-Mart opened their flagship store on 34th Street. It has several other types of beam settings, but I received alot of compliments on the flashing orange beam from folks sitting outside their apartment buildings in the dark, so I kept it on that setting. I knew that flashlight would come in handy sometime...People were partying and picnicking on the sidewalks. Pizza and bottled water were the big sellers. From the time the lights went out at 4:10 in the afternoon it was like my entire neighborhood was having one huge block party!

Day 2 of the "Big Blackout" of '03.

Most of New York City still has no power.

I'm wandering around the Upper Westside eating my diet ice cream. Thank God, "Smoochies" was able to open and so was "Circuit City" so I could use their Ladies Room.

There are other Ladies Rooms to use on Broadway, but I love the one in Circuit City because they have those very lovely paper toilet seat covers. Even though it's an escalator ride up to the second floor, those toilet seat covers make for a much more pleasant bathroom experience.

On my way back down to the main floor, I noticed a huge crowd gathered around the three enormous flat screen TVs standing side by side. People were climbing over each other to get a good view. "Uh, Oh" I thought. It must be another press conference with the Mayor or the Governor saying they just discovered the blackout was indeed the work of the terrorists, just as my mother had said, in retaliation for the USA's recent capture of that guy who was going to shoot down our commercial airliners with a missile on his shoulder.

Ever since 9/11 when something goes a bit haywire in New York City, some of us are conditioned to think it could be the end of the world. I hurried off the escalator and joined the crowd which was getting bigger every second and craned my neck around the crowd to try and get a good view of one of the big screens. People were pushing and "shushing" and to my surprise there as big as life on television was none other than "J Lo" in concert singing her biggest hit, "My Love Don't Cost A Thing" complete with the sweat pouring down and lots of back-up dancers. I stayed for the entire number and I don't think she was really singing.

New Yorkers are very resourceful - especially during a crisis, and today when some of us got our power back and realized it was not the end of the world, just the end of AOL Time Warner cable service for awhile, we started to really enjoy ourselves.

LENNY WOLFENSON

When Lenny Wolfenson and I were in the 3rd Grade, he wanted nothing more than for me to be his girlfriend.

I didn't want to be tied down.

He pursued me relentlessly and even tried to sweep me off my feet by telling me he had an invention at home that could make people fly. I believed him. I kept asking him to bring it to school and he kept promising me he would. But he never did.

(This could explain my current proclivity towards Richard Branson.)

I was very tempted to be his girlfriend because I really wanted to be able to fly and Lenny also had a Beatles haircut, but my best friend Robin advised me not to get involved. I know she was jealous but she was my best friend so I listened to her.

I said, "No" to Lenny, and in celebration of my decision not to commit, Robin and I danced gleefully around a big oak tree in Riverside Park during recess singing the musical number "Free" from A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum. We knew all the lyrics - well Robin did, because her stepfather was in the Broadway production and she had seen the show so many times. I had the record.

Then for 4th Grade I went to another school and I never saw Lenny Wolfenson again, but I've thought alot about him over the past 40 years. I even tried to find him on the Internet but I have absolutely no idea where he went after the 3rd Grade.

I wanted to tell him that I made a mistake. I should have agreed to be his girlfriend. Up until the 3rd Grade no boy had ever pursued me so fervently - and none has since then. I would have been able to fly all around New York City high above my classmates and spit on them if I wanted to.

Several years ago I had a boyfriend with a pilot's license and his own plane. It was fun to fly with him, but it wasn't the same as I imagined it would be to fly on my own - without the plane...without him...

Anyway, that's all I have to say...except maybe one more thing...

Hey Lenny - if you're out there somewhere...and you happen to be reading this...I want you to know...

I'm still available.

I HATE THAT LOOK

I want to make a fashion statement - I hate that look!

Call me old fashioned, call me a prude, call me out of touch with today's fashion trends - if I have to see one more navel - pierced or un-pierced coming towards me down the block, I think I'm gonna throw up!

I HATE THAT LOOK! Absolutely hate it! It provokes a visceral reaction in me. I want to slap these girls when I see them sashaying down the street and say, What were you thinking? "Aren't you embarrassed to leave the house like that? Don't you realize you paid more money for less fabric?"

I don't give a damn if you have Brittany's belly or Beyonce's butt, I hate that look! And speaking of butts - I don't want to see the crack in your butt, the thong up the crack in your butt, or any part of your butt if I can possibly help it. Save it for the beach and preferably not the one I'm sitting on!

And I read recently that the look is going lower. LOWER!! How low can you go? I mean come on - Get down girls and pull you pants up!

WAR, A COUPLE OF WARTIME QUESTIONS & BOOM TOWN

Note: These were written just after 9/11 and the start of the war in Iraq.

WAR

Well, if there are "bomb sniffing dogs" in the 86th Street Subway Station, they must be invisible. I didn't see any this morning. I didn't see any police either. Or National Guard. Or even those guys with the orange vests from the MTA. However, I did see Governor Pataki on the news this morning before I went to the subway telling the public that we are all being well protected.

Times Square has a huge police presence. Maybe that's because there's a police station right in the center, and we have GOOD MORNING AMERICA and the NASDAQ building and TOYS R US and the new HERSHEY'S CHOCOLATE STORE

Yesterday, my mother asked me if I had a flashlight.

I asked her why, and she said that she was watching Channel 5 News and they said, "Everyone should bring a flashlight to work".

And I said, "What do I need a flashlight for?"

And she said,”In case the lights go out in your building."

And I said, "Why would the lights go out in my building?"

And she said, "If the terrorists hit your building and the lights go out, and the elevators go out, and you have to walk down 15 flights of stairs because you can't take the elevator, Channel 5 says you should take a flashlight to work."

And I said,”Well the deadline for War isn't until 8 PM, and I don't think the terrorists are going to take out my building before 8 PM".

And she said,”Take the flashlight anyway."

So I did.

And I must admit it's a terrific flashlight. I got it for free from K-Mart when they opened their flagship store in Manhattan. It's a long, heavy plastic thing. It has a regular flashlight and then you have the ability to adjust the settings so you can get an orange light and then you can adjust the settings again and get a white light that's excellent if your car gets stuck in the stairwell and you need to attract someone for help.

I would also like to mention that on the outside casing of the flashlight is the K-Mart slogan that says, "Everything we do is built around you", which I find very interesting since they're going out of business. They did however make a lovely flashlight.

Did I mention it's a bit heavy? I can use it to do arm curls if don't get to the gym or I can hit a terrorist over the head with it.

A COUPLE OF WARTIME QUESTIONS

Again, another day at WAR and no "bomb sniffing dogs" to be found. I want to know where they are! I saw a couple of bomb sniffing policemen in the Times Square Station chatting, but not a bomb sniffing dog to be seen anywhere! What's that animal that sniffs for truffles?

Why does DUANE READE never have what I want? Why? No matter when I go into any DUANE READE (and there's lots of them), they never have what I want! They're taking over the world, like STARBUCKS. At least when you go into STARBUCKS they have coffee. Now that would be interesting wouldn't it - to go into a STARBUCKS and they'd be out of coffee? "We can sell you our coffee truffles, but sorry, no actual coffee.

And someone please tell me, who the hell are these people who decide to have their "lover's quarrel" in the subway car at rush hour while blocking the doors! I want to know who they are! They just stand there arguing, blocking the doors, ignoring everyone trying to get on and off the train. They must be the same people who bring piping hot STARBUCKS into the car during rush hour and insist on drinking it with the top off while the train's moving.

Today is another "Morons of the World" day!

And while I'm thinking about it, "Who really thinks James Woods is RUDY?

BOOM TOWN

Only an hour for lunch.

I decide to spend it browsing the Rita Aid in Grand Central Station in search of marvelous bargains.

I know they have a King Size pack of Peanut M & M’s on sale and I must have it. I will purchase them on my way out and eat them instead of lunch.

I enter Rite Aid, the store is packed – long lines at all 8 registers.

I start a slow stroll up Aisle 1 – Cosmetics and Perfumes. Suddenly my deep concentration on “Perfume Imposters” is interrupted -

“SHOULD I CALL SECURITY? SHOULD I CALL SECURITY?”

I turn and walk very quickly back to the front of the store.

“SHOULD I CALL SECURITY”

A saleswoman is staring and pointing at an unattended black bag sitting in the middle of the red, white and blue Rite Aid emblem embedded in the floor tile.

“SHOULD I CALL SECURITY?”

Nobody moves…except for me. I’m calmly but quickly making my way towards the Exit.

“SHOULD I CALL SECURITY? Is that anyone’s bag?” No response.

“Call security you stupid moron”, I say under my breath as I walk out the door - the only customer, I might add, to leave Rite Aid rite away.

I don’t run for my life. I looked around for a cop with a bomb sniffing dog. I don’t see one.

I’m nervous, but not nervous enough to leave Grand Central. I’m on my lunch hour and I’m completely lost without my Peanut M & M’s.

I stroll across the corridor to Posman Books.

Time is passing and lunch is almost over.

I decide to risk it and go back to Rite Aid - and back I go across the corridor through the glass doors into the store.

It is still packed. There are still long lines at all 8 registers.

Nothing had changed – except the unattended black bag was gone.

“Did someone finally claim that black bag?” I asked feeling very relieved...

“No, said the previously hysterical saleswoman, I put it behind the counter?”

“Ahhh.” I said and once again decided to forego my Peanut M & M’s and head for the Exit.

We live in interesting times.

SUBTERRANEAN SUBWAY STORIES VI

I am compelled once again to write about the New York City Subway.

Not because of the terror attacks in London, but because they can send a man to the moon but they can’t fix the escalators in the Times Square Station. I just don’t get it. Old women (myself included) are forced to hike up and down 50 metal steps in 90-degree heat like an Olympic Tri-athlete!

And speaking of the Olympics – didn’t we desperately want to host them here in 2012? Does this mean we’ll have to wait until 2020 for the possibility of getting the escalators fixed??? Hello? This could mean a Barbara Walter’s Special.

While I’m on the subject of modern technology – How is it possible they can fit 1000 songs on a credit card that you can hear perfectly with tiny earphones - but they can’t fix the sound system in the stations so passengers are not forced to play a continual game of “Telephone” - “Huh – what’d she say?”

I’ve been riding the New York City Subway for practically my entire life. It’s gotten so I can put my mascara on in a moving train without poking my eye out. For my basic $4.00 fare ($76.00 monthly) I expect things to work - and on consecutive days. Like the escalators at Grand Central. Like the computerized MetroCard turnstiles so you don’t miss your train because you’re standing like a moron swiping your card for the hundredth time. Like the sound system so you’re not waiting for that train that never comes.

Soon there’ll be no attendants in the token booths which will be my cue to start jumping the turnstiles just like I did in High School. Hey, why not? I will have built up my stamina from those climbs up the escalator. I’ll save money and I won’t miss my train.

Oh, for anyone still interested…I’ve yet to see a bomb-sniffing dog on the Upper Westside. Obviously Mayor Bloomberg doesn’t travel my route. And in case you couldn’t make out what she said – “The # 9 doesn’t stop here anymore.”

SUBTERRANEAN SUBWAY STORIES V

"We have to stop meeting like this", I said to the man as I put my arm around him to grab the pole to pull myself into the Express at 72nd Street.

Not another word.

But I got on!

Every morning during these times of War, I feel like I'm playing Russian Roulette. From 86th Street and Broadway to 42nd and Times Square. I wonder how many stops we'll make before somebody blows up the train!

Contrary to popular belief, the subways may be getting better, but the passengers are getting worse.

What happened to that post 9/11 "love your fellow man" etiquette? Remember when good manners and good behavior were back in style for 5 minutes? Guys were practically throwing down their handkerchiefs so you could cross the street!

And speaking of crossing the street, a brief word to those idiot drivers - "If you run me over - you're not going anywhere either. Get your car, cab, truck, motorcycle, bike and/or scooter out of the crosswalk!" Those white lines are there for a reason; not so you can see how close you can bring your vehicle up to my thigh!
I hate to drive! My friends and a few close acquaintances know that I'm famous for running over the "WELCOME VISITORS" sign in the Universal Studios parking lot out in Los Angeles.

I learned to drive in New York City - which in itself is an oxymoron. You learn how to survive behind the wheel in New York City - learning to drive is a whole other story. You learn to park as if there are going to be actual parking spaces. You learn to signal as if anyone else is paying the slightest bit of attention. You learn how to dodge in and out of traffic like Mario Andretti and talk on your cell phone at the same time.

And please - lean on that horn people! Lean on it as hard as you possibly can!

SUBTERRANEAN SUBWAY STORIES IV

WHAT'S THE POINT OF WEARING THE HEADPHONES IF THE WHOLE CAR CAN HEAR IT ANYWAY!

Maybe the MTA should start piping music into the trains...

This morning, in a quick change from the "Express" to the "Local" at 72nd, one fellow clawing his way into the car shouted above his fellow passengers, "COULD YOU MOVE IN THERE'S AN ENTIRE DANCE FLOOR BEHIND YOU!

You have to keep your sense of humor in these troubled times.

Suddenly a light bulb went on - If we have a dance floor, we could have a DJ. He could stand right in the middle of the damn car spinning those dual turntables with the woofers and sub woofers blaring at full capacity.

It could be a”Dance Car” - and there could be one on every single subway train for all those folks that felt like a little disco on their way to the office!

There could be a "Library Car" for the folks who need all that extra space so they can have their "New York Times" fully extended, and a "Dining Car" for all those geniuses with their piping hot Starbucks and their "Egg McMuffins". Ah, the smell of cooked eggs in a crowded car at 8:30 in the morning.

Having these designated cars suited to passenger's needs would cut down on all the pushing and shoving. People could decide ahead of time which car they wanted to ride in on that particular morning and that's where they'd get on. You would no longer be instructed to "use all the available doors".

The new subway motto would be -

You can now -
Be free to choose -
The available doors -
That you want to use.

There could even be a "Singles Car". A terrific way to meet new people - especially if you enjoy a total stranger sweating profusely onto your freshly dry-cleaned outfit or breathing in your face without brushing.

I love New York! I love new shoes. Kindly get off my foot!

SUBTERRANEAN SUBWAY STORIES III

Today's announcement upon arriving in the Times Square subway station - "The 1,2,3,7, 9 and Shuttle trains are all running - but slower." How much slower can they go? I've always thought that the very idea the 2 and 3 are "Express" in the first place is totally ridiculous! So what if the train skips a few stations, it still takes you most of your adult life to get home.

"Reuters", a new tenant in the Times Square district, has recently put 6 huge ugly concrete containers filled with dirt in front of their newly completed office building. Did that building go up fast enough, or what? You couldn't get me to ride an elevator in there. Anyway, these containers take up a tremendous amount of sidewalk space and for a minute I thought they might be putting trees in them. I can see now they are actually huge ashtrays for all the employees that come all the way downstairs to smoke outside in front of their building. And nobody ever brings a coat! They all stand outside freezing to death, but they're going to smoke that cigarette! I will say that these huge ugly concrete containers are being used on a regular basis, so at least the sidewalk stays clean. Eventually they may get around to planting something, but trust me; nothing is ever going to survive in that soil - except maybe tobacco plants.

I heard last night on the news that some restaurants are starting to place "Nicorette" gum on the tables just in case their patrons get a craving for a little tar and nicotine with dinner.

Watch for ashtrays to become the next big seller on eBay.

SUBTERRANEAN SUBWAY STORIES II

I find it absolutely amazing that more people aren't murdered on the subway during rush hour. People are late for work, tempers are flaring - or nostrils and you're packed in tight like those sardines in that old Warner Bros. cartoon. You could easily slip a knife out of your pocket, casually stab the person standing next to you and nobody would know anything until the train pulled into Times Square and everyone suddenly rushed out leaving the body to fall over. Then, the people getting on the train would just assume the person lying on the floor or the car was drunk, and they would carefully step over them. You'd never get caught because I just assume if there are no bomb sniffing dogs to be found in the subway, there are no metal detecting dogs either. “Use all doors” conjures up this image of people scrambling in and out of every single door on the entire train as fast as they possibly can before all the doors fully close and the train starts to pull out.. Sometimes you hear, “Use all available doors”, but there never are any available doors because people choose to stand in them and “block the doors”. I am convinced they do it on purpose. People love the power it gives them when you're forced to climb over them. There's enough room behind these idiots for a grand piano and a dance band, and they could move “all the way into the car”, but “fuck you”, they're just not going to. Most people never learned how to “step lively”, because nobody ever taught them. When you're growing up you learn how to crawl and then walk. You might even learn to dance. But nobody ever teaches you how to "step lively". It's a lost art. And the truth is you don't hear it much anymore except from the matron in the Ladies Room at the St. James Theatre at intermission. “Everybody rides!” I love that one too! One subway conductor actually announces,"Everybody Rides". Absolute crap! Because if you can't get on - you can't ride - And if you can't ride, you ain't goin' nowhere.

SUBTERRANEAN SUBWAY STORIES I

Friday evening. The Times Square subway station at rush hour. Oh boy, am I looking forward to this. I'm trying to make my way all the way down the stairs to the platform, resisting the urge to push the woman in front of me. I gaze out at the masses swarming the platform... It's like "Exodus" - only nobody's leaving. Everyone is moving in slow motion like they're on a tour? They move along from girder to girder and they all gaze off into space like they're thinking, "Where am I? How did I get down here"? What ever happened to "step lively"? I finally reach the end of the platform and I wait for the train noticing a man to my left standing several feet away from me, his back up against a girder, wearing a blue baseball cap with little white palm trees painted on it and a large piece of thick black electrician's gaffer's tape plastered across his mouth. I could ask him why - but he couldn't answer me, so I decided to just step lively when the train pulled in. Some things you're just not meant to know.