Photo by rumblemumbles / Elisha, via FlickrI know, I know. It’s been several weeks since my prolific meanderings about annoying people have graced the screen. I’d like to say that my lack of witty bloggage was due to some extravagant vacation in Dubai. But, alas, the cause of my absence was pure laziness. As in, when I get home from work and my two hour commute, my new leather reclining couch beckons my bum, and it’s all over. I guess what I needed to jumpstart the creative flow was a little crack.
Noooo, not that crack. Buttcracks. And plenty of them. All one need do is go to the closest park, in my case, Madison Park on 26th and Broadway, to see the abundance of behinds escaping the confines of people’s pants, skirts, shorts, etc, while they lounge on the grass eating their lunch, taking a nap or sunbathing. I guess the heat is bringing everyone—including the tops of their tushes—out of the woodwork. And while I suppose a little ‘plumber’ is innocent enough (although, can’t they feel the draft?) and having lived in a country where topless on the beach was not only acceptable, but the norm–and while I hate to be the typical nude-a-phobe American–I’m growing a little weary of seeing certain body parts around town.
Take said park for example. While some amount of muffin top and ass spillage is expected, why do some guys insist on stripping down to their Speedos (complete with not so discreet chub) while napping in the park? And since rampant obesity has leveled the playing field, men can now flaunt their sagging (bigger than mine!) breasts in the sun. But why is that OK when there’s all the hoopla about women exposing theirs a la Ms. Jackson?
That said, I suppose a park is somewhat like the beach where everything goes. But the train is not. I had to laugh the other day at a flier left on the train seats by MTA, which had an amusing “Courtesy Corner” section listing some tips from Mr. Manners, George Washington. (Primp not yourself in the sight of others nor gnaw your nails, for example). As I glanced across at the woman next to me, my mouth dropped in horror as I saw her remove a shoe and unleash her naked, mangled, bunioned foot, which she wriggled around in ecstasy before planting it on the seat in front of her. I thought she was just rude, but the following day, as I crossed four cars in search of a seat, I saw several other people with their bare, nasty feet stretched out across the seats, where I could have been sitting. This included a guy (bald with one single Rasta braid hanging down his back [wtf?]) in a business suit, who actually took off a pair of black dress socks before depositing his feet (and toe jam) onto the opposite seat.
If only George could see us now! He’d have to update his tips to include spread not your smelly, dirty feet where others may choose to sit, air not the crack of your butt in the presence of others, and flaunt not your manboobs in public parks.
Take said park for example. While some amount of muffin top and ass spillage is expected, why do some guys insist on stripping down to their Speedos (complete with not so discreet chub) while napping in the park? And since rampant obesity has leveled the playing field, men can now flaunt their sagging (bigger than mine!) breasts in the sun. But why is that OK when there’s all the hoopla about women exposing theirs a la Ms. Jackson?
That said, I suppose a park is somewhat like the beach where everything goes. But the train is not. I had to laugh the other day at a flier left on the train seats by MTA, which had an amusing “Courtesy Corner” section listing some tips from Mr. Manners, George Washington. (Primp not yourself in the sight of others nor gnaw your nails, for example). As I glanced across at the woman next to me, my mouth dropped in horror as I saw her remove a shoe and unleash her naked, mangled, bunioned foot, which she wriggled around in ecstasy before planting it on the seat in front of her. I thought she was just rude, but the following day, as I crossed four cars in search of a seat, I saw several other people with their bare, nasty feet stretched out across the seats, where I could have been sitting. This included a guy (bald with one single Rasta braid hanging down his back [wtf?]) in a business suit, who actually took off a pair of black dress socks before depositing his feet (and toe jam) onto the opposite seat.
If only George could see us now! He’d have to update his tips to include spread not your smelly, dirty feet where others may choose to sit, air not the crack of your butt in the presence of others, and flaunt not your manboobs in public parks.
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