apologies to the entire cow i ate tonight

i don't ordinarily glorify my carnivorous tendencies, but tonight i went out to peter luger steakhouse with work friends and it was a tribute to bovine. the steak was cooked to perfection; you could literally make it as medium medium rare as you wanted it by turning it over and flipping it onto the sizzling side of the platters the steak is brought out on. a-ma-zing.

the mta brings people together ...

... in their mutual mta-directed ire.

so rare is it for an organization to take such a leading role in bringing new yorkers of all stripes together daily to share their mutual hatred of said organization. the mta goes the distance in creating frustration, anxiety, disapproval, approbation, scorn, etc. to unite new yorkers.

this morning, i was waiting at franklin ave for the 4/5. a 4/5 arrives and people file on. there's no way i can fit on the train, so i wait for the next one. i can see that there's one behind the full train, so i'm anticipating a sweet 20 minute ride into the city in my air-conditioned chariot. but the 4 on the platform won't move. people are crammed in like sardines. and probably smell just as bad.

of course there is no explanation of the hold-up. of course the conducter doesn't tell people when (or IF) the train will ever move again. the doors remain open and people remain crammed. on the other side of the platform a manhattan-bound 2 train comes into the station. a bunch of people get out and wait for the next 4/5. the 2 train speeds off - giving anyone who wanted to get on a nano-second to do so. last time i checked no one on the platform was carl lewis, so no one makes it onto the train.

we're still waiting for this 4 train to shove off. no messages, nothing. no one wants to be the fool who squeezes his or her way out of the train, only to see the doors close and the train speed off. so everyone remains on the train waiting. note: in the meantime i have lost 25 pounds of water weight sweating on the platform. humidity 1; deodorant 0.

another train comes by - a 3 train - on the other side of the platform. finally, people get out of the 4 train and run over to the 3. i'm one of the people who squeezes onto the 3. just as the 3 is leaving (doors closed, it's moving down the track), the conductor of the 4 makes the announcement that the 4 train is out of service. oh goody. people shuffle off the 4 train and watch the 3 (that i'm on, thankfully) rumble out of the station.

the mta sucks ass.

the 3 train is abuzz with complaints about the mta. soon, it's an mta-complain-a-thon. i'm heartily participating. soon, i've got a gang of ladies around me in my circle of complaint. it's awesome. never have i let off so much mta steam in such a fun way! hooray. when wall street arrives, i get up to leave. all my new friends wish me a great day. what a nice start to the day. ordinarily, i'd have had my nose in a book and no consciousness.

thank you mta.

my rub'n'snug idea on meth

07.16.08

After a long hiatus, I had to post about something that caught my eye this afternoon on salon.com (broadsheet). As several of you know (I am going to indulge myself and believe that several of you continue to check in here), I have had the idea of a "rub'n'tug" like service for women -- a "rub'n'snug" - the "rub'n'snug" (patent pending) is essentially a massage for women + some. The plus some I had originally envisioned was some cuddling, making-out. I was not thinking of genital-contact at the "happy ending". I was thinking more warm & fuzzy thoughts. If men get their release through the tug post-rub, why not women enjoying some post-rub friskiness / comfort. Receiving a massage is an intimate experience already; why not make it something more?

Someone took my "rub'n'snug" and ramped it up. Alas.

Read below:

So much for my happy ending

Tango magazine has a story this week about "happy ending" massages for women -- just in case you thought men (and "Sex and the City" characters) were the only ones having all the icky, anonymous sex along with their Enya and incense.

Says one veteran: "Initially [the masseur] kept it very clean, but I was really turned on, and I let him know it by moaning and saying how good it felt. He started slowly touching my thigh, then going higher, and it turned into a game of how far each of us would take it. One thing led to another and he ended up finishing me off, which was great."

Did it just get really Penthouse forum in here or what? Tango even sends one eager beaver (Haha, -ed.) into the field to report on the trend. She shoots, and she scores: "I considered giving him a blow job, but then I was like, 'I'm paying for this!'" Yah! And massages aren't cheap! (Sheesh, last time I checked, a pocket rocket cost $13. Seems like the more affordable option, no?)

Normally I really don't care where people get their zipless fucks, as long as they're not impinging on anyone else, but something about this skeevs me out. I guess it's because I've had friends over the years return from massages semi-traumatized that their massage therapist was getting a little too intimate. So I hate to be a buzzkill, but listening to women say things like, "My nipples got erect, so that must have sent him a signal," is kind of horrifying. I mean, sheesh, it can get drafty in there!