Obits: Anna Nicole Smith

Whew! What an unusual week...and it's not quite over yet. We started off strong with the mentally unstable NASA astronaut, and today, as if the news cycle is trying to top itself, Anna Nicole Smith drops dead. It's not all that surprising, but still...for all her flaws, that lady had some brass ones. She set precedent when her inheritance case was heard before the Supreme Court (the issue was the probate exception to federal jurisdiction for all you legal types...), which earned her a unanimous judgment in her favor. I'm sure it was the first time a former chicken joint waitress/day-shift stripper/Playmate of the Year/model/prescription drug aficionado/yo-yo dieting trophy wife ever went before the nation's highest court. I love this country. I'll let Fox News handle the rest.

Holla! (yeah, I'll still say it)

What's up, China? Just checked my site traffic before going to bed. Ya'll must be playing around on your lunch breaks, because I got a spike just now from all over Eastern China. Considering this blog is purely for my entertainment and vanity (and I wasn't expecting any actual readers), it's way too easy and satisfying to get feedback from all over the place. Perhaps I should join a Google Analytics addiction support group.

Public Service Announcement: Empty Subway Cars

If you've recently moved to New York or are preparing to visit, there are a number of helpful things you should know. Subway routes. North, South, East and West. Landmarks. How to tip (if anyone feeds you or moves you from one place to another, give them money). Burgers cost a minimum of $9, even at the divey dives, so don't act all shocked. Beers cost $5 and cocktails are at least $10, and you gotta tip the bar staff extra nice. This isn't the Midwest. You gotta pay to play. But, in your defense, eager tourist or bright-eyed new resident, you can't be expected to know the finer points of taking on the city and keeping your sanity on your first day. To improve the quality of your time here in the Big Apple, The Karma Cycle is henceforth issuing Public Service Announcements to cue you in on the hard-won knowledge that you won't find in guide books or Zagat's.

Today's PSA: If, during peak commuting times, the train is completely stuffed except for one car, DO NOT, under any circumstances, enter the empty car. There is one and only one reason for the lack of passengers. A homeless person has set up residence in said car and is compromising the air quality with his or her body odor and/or stench created from bodily functions.

I made this mistake once as a NYC neophyte and just today saw some unfortunate soul make the same error during the evening rush hour and run gasping for the doors between the cars. The stink had invaded my car too, which was behind the empty one, no doubt due to people escaping the offending vapors. Occasionally, in summer, the air conditioning in a car will break and the car will carry fewer passengers than usual. Even in this situation, there will still be people in the car if the train is crowded. But, to maintain your commuting comfort, choose a different, normally-populated car if possible.

EMPTY SUBWAY CAR = STINKY SUBWAY CAR

Crazed astronaut stalkers make my workday go faster

So this is a perfect example of truth being sooo much stranger than fiction. Today, Lisa Marie Nowak, a ten-year veteran of NASA who took a space flight last July, was charged with attempted murder. So much for heros. Captain Nowak drove 900 miles from Texas to Florida to confront her perceived rival, an Air Force Captain, for the affections of a fellow male astronaut (Nowak was married with kids, he was divorced with kids). This in itself is weird enough, but to show her true level of craziness, Nowak made the trip wearing Depends adult diapers. You know, because not having to stop to hit the bathroom would make the trip waaay shorter.

Nowak also had a choice selection of poorly thought through intimidation weapons, including a compressed air pistol and a steel mallet neatly packed in her trunk. This is what happens when geeks attempt murder. According to Nowak, she and the male astronaut had, “more than a working relationship but less than a romantic relationship.” NB to the ladies: perhaps the relationship in your head isn't the same as the relationship in reality. And, uh, stalking seems just a tad desperate, so think that 900-mile drive through reeeal hard. Anyhow, Nowak posted $25,000 bail on kidnapping, battery and attempted murder charges and is currently under house arrest in Houston.

The moral of this story: I'm really fucking glad I didn't go to Space Camp.

Image poached from Gridskipper. They're better with Photoshop.

Squeezing out a little optimism

The top five good things about this freezing cold winter weather:

5. Soup tastes better when it's cold outside. So do grilled cheese sandwiches.

4. At least it's still sunny.

3. Everyone's hair looks like crap, so you don't have to worry about yours.

2. You feel tough for even venturing to the subway. Extra tough if you have to walk more than two blocks to get there.

1. Sitting around watching crap TV all evening in your pajamas without feeling like a slob.

Honorable mention: blogging about absolute rubbish to alleviate boredom and in hopes of raising your Google Analytics profile hits. So: Fashion Week, Super Bowl, Britney Spears, Iraq. That oughta help.

Weekend Wrap-up

It's late and I'm tired, but I'll post a bunch of "a day in the life" drivel in my sleep-deprived state anyhow. Let the rambling commence. This weekend, I braved the unfriendly weather both days to take my camera over to Central Park. Even though it was colder than a snake's belly on a frozen pond/colder than a witch's tit/colder than a polar bear's butt, it was bright, sunny and perfect for photos. Saturday, it was just me, today I had a couple friends with me for a walk. That's how I know they like me...if they'll walk 6 miles in freezing weather with me on Super Bowl Sunday. I swear, no bribery was involved and they're also not crazy (at least not in the clinical sense). Here is a random selection from the photo haul.







































This evening, I went to see Cat Power for the first time at the Hiro Ballroom instead of watching the Super Bowl. The venue was great, one of the best I've been to in NYC. Cat Power, I learned, is rather exhausting to watch live...she's odd, disjointed, difficult to understand at times and is a bit of a spazz on stage. Probably has something to do with the new-found sobriety. But she has an amazing voice. I was grumpy from standing in line for half an hour in the blistering cold and then sitting on the floor for another hour and a half until she took the stage, so it would have taken a freakin' three-ring circus to entertain me out of the mood I was in...though somehow my friends and I got onto the topic of puke stories, and pretty soon I was laughing 'til I cried. I'm all class - low class. But a decent show at a great venue, so two out of four stars, accounting for grumpiness.

Other than that, I ate stuff, drank stuff and slept as much as possible. Amen for weekends.

You never know what's around the corner

Today was an average day. Average work, average food. I was walking after work, as per usual, for the project (I'm just shy of 100 miles now). I went from my office through Soho and the West Village to Chelsea. I happened to pass by Loehmann's and figured I'd check it out since I'd never been there. I've shed a some pounds recently, I'm in the market for new pants. The ones I wear to work are starting to look like I picked 'em up at MC Hammer's bankruptcy yard sale. After making my way quickly through three floors of disorganized racks stuffed with designer overstocks and standard department store fare, I found the petites section on the top floor. My legs are short, so I need short pants. This seems like a reasonable request, but it's pretty much impossible to buy something that fits without alteration. Their selection was small, but I found a few things to try on.

And that's when it happened. I was not warned. I was not prepared.

I took my things over to the fitting room, expecting to be shown to a stall. Instead, I'm waved around the corner into a harshly-lit communal dressing area with wall-to-wall mirrors where I was greeted by a huge white ass in a hot pink thong. I then noticed three other women in various stages of disrobing, checking themselves out and trying on their items. The room wasn't that big, so it was pretty close quarters. I briefly considered bolting, but instead set my backpack on the floor, dumped my items on the bench and took off my coat. I've been pantsless before, and I'll be pantsless again, dammit. I don't care who sees it.

But then I remembered. The underpants.

Not panties, undies or lingerie. Underpants. That's the only way to describe them. Big white brief-cut Jockeys. Can also be used as a replacement sail for a 30-foot catamaran in a pinch. I have no excuses. It's laundry time and I don't like to wear my cute panties when I'm on a walk because they crawl up big time. Have you ever tried to discreetly fix a wedgie on the street after work in Midtown in the winter? Not easy.

So there I am, frozen in position with my hand on my zipper, deciding whether to bare the least attractive underpants ever to a room full of strangers (who were, thankfully, not going to win any beauty contests). Finally, I sheepishly drop trou, hide behind the ones I'm trying on and get the job done. They fit, but just aren't that great. Same thing for the other pair. I left, having flashed Jockey for nothing, but glad I wasn't the owner of the big ol' badonkadonk in the hot pink thong.