This tying your pants to your shoes thing has been going on a while. And I've thought a lot about it. It bothers me. It bothers me the same way that little tag so many of the Timberland wearers leave attached to their laces bothers me. Or that fucking size sticker on baseball caps. Seriously. What is that? Though,
I'm learning not to care so much, even if it doesn't make any sense at all.

Now. This pants-to-your-shoes thing, I get. One. You keep your pants from being stepped on in the back. Two. You let everyone see your super cool shoes. It isn't the most aesthetically pleasing fashion trend, in my opinion, but whatever.

So, sitting across from this guy with his jeans strapped to his Timbo's, I started thinking about how one would get one's pants tied to one's shoes. You know, I remember the eighties when we were into the skinny jean thing and I would have to step on my pants in order to pull my feet free from them at night. Or when my Gloria Vanderbilts were so tight that I would lie on my bed and pull the zipper up with a pair of pliers. So, I am well acquainted with the private humiliations we suffer for fashion.

But now, all I can think of is that guy sitting on his bedroom floor in his underwear and sneakers with those jeans around his ankles while he tied them to his boots this morning.

Is he alive?

Shit.

I'm sitting on the train this morning and I'm next to the guy who's nodding out. (That's my shoulder in the black sweater.) There is always a seat next to that guy. And he's the test of whether you are a true New Yorker or not. I've been in the city for 10 years this year and I'm that person. I have no problem sitting next to the nodder -- a seat during rush hour is that important to me. As long as they don't smell and they don't appear to have urine stains or copious amounts of drool, I'm fine. The woman who sat on this guy's right side didn't have issues either. As we both made our way to the seats, we had that conversation that can only be held between two NYC rush hour commuters. No words -- just shoulders, eyebrows and the occasional point using the lips and the chin.

Her: Arching of one eyebrow, lip point/chin gesture in the guy's direction. (Drunk?)

Me: Shoulder shrug, twist of mouth. (No. I think, heroin.)

Her: Double eyebrow arch. (Oh. Good.)

A nodding-out heroin addict is preferable to a passed-out drunk ... less chance of spontaneous vomit.

Anyway, I sit down and as I do I'm thinking about how sad the heroin problem is and how this is so New York -- sitting next to someone completely passed out from drugs while you're just on your way to work. Then I thought ...

Blog! So I took a picture. Ok. More than one picture. (This is another sign I'm a true New Yorker ... no shame.)

Then, as I was grabbing my Sharpie and notebook, I remembered this story about a guy who died on the train and his corpse rode the Q line for six fucking hours before anyone realized he was dead. And I thought, "Oh my God. How awful would that be?"

And I also thought, "But, if he is, what a fantastic story."*


*The guy was not dead. He moved before I got to my stop.

I have another book for McSweeney's/The Believer. It was in the hallway when I came in today and I didn't even hesitate. I got my mail out of the box and scooped the package right up with it.

This one is from Amazon. I feel a little more at ease about opening this one because it's from a corporation who is probably mistreating their employees and eating fresh monkey brain on their fifth trip around the world because they saw that gross guy on TV do it. Right? Fuck Amazon.

Yet. It is mail fraud. So, I'm not going to do it. However, I do want to draw on it again. And I intend to include the blog address. But, I need a new design for the blog first. Something custom and snazzy. And still kind of literarily dorky -- you know. You have to consider your audience.

The audience I'm trying to attract is the same audience who enjoys buying (or selling) cans of Justice (No Pulp) after saying the Superhero Oath to a person in a booth eight feet above their heads. ("I [state your name] also known as [state your superhero name] ...")

So, I want the design to be cool and fun, but at the same time I want it to say, "This shit is brilliant. You should totally read it." (And you should totally talk about it on your show.)

I've got to get this done quickly because my new mission in life is these envelopes. I plan to snatch, decorate, and forward every single one I see come in the building. I will write my blog name on them so many times that the McSweeney's staff will have to check it out -- if only to ask me to stop defacing their mail.

They Did It!

Patrick and Dan won! Thanks so much to everyone who voted.

Check out BrettCajun's concession of the title of the Jiggiest Whore Alive and the soon-to-be True Hollywood Story confession of his dirty campaign tactics.

Patsy and Dan Need You

My dear friends Patrick and Dan are in a video contest and need your votes. The contest only lasts until 8AM on Tuesday, April 8, and this guy Brett Cajun is right on their tails. Of course, the contest is on Brett Cajun's blog, so he does have home field advantage.

I promised to contact everyone I know and ask them to vote.

You don't even have to watch the video ... though it's a good time.

Just vote for "Patrick of Patsy's Words. Please.

Thanks!