A NY Subway Thursday

He rides this route five days a week. And often seven. From Lex at 57th downtown to the Bowling Green stop. He pats the bull on the head every morning. And on a bad market day or when he's sliding home late and half in the bag, he'll sneak up on the bull from behind and kick that bovine in the balls. It hurts, but he does it time and again.

There's this girl, or woman I should say, that takes up the ride a few stops later. Not every day, but most. He thinks she is beautiful. He is correct. And that body. Oh, that body.

Her style of dress tells him she doesn't work in a "traditional" job. Provocative in many ways, her style matches her natural physical gifts, he believes. He wonders what fills up her day. He is afraid to ask.

As possible he tries to stand near her, slowly moving around the standing room subway mob. Working through the mob so he can get a glimpse of her, focus on her angel face before he slides down her body, admiring her moderate breasts, often sheathed tightly and other times covered loosely in silk. On to her midriff, in summer often exposed and showing a navel piercing. Why do people do that, he wonders. In full-on winter he only gets to appreciate her seemingly endless supply of eclectic coats. And that beautiful face. She's partial to a tight pea coat. Purple. Worn with a bright green scarf tied wildly.

He prides himself in not being an ass man or a tit man or some other body part man. He fancies himself as a total package man; he appreciates the whole of a woman, her symmetry, her full aesthetic. But oh, her buttocks--her wonderfully formed ass. When she adorns herself in tight jeans or skirt. Or better yet, something stretchy like spandex.

He remembers a certain day painfully. And ruefully. This day he wore his best blue chalk stripe suit and sported a fresh haircut. Manicured nails but no top coat. A beautiful woven tie. Crisp white English spread shirt. Cap toes. It was the day he decided to approach her. He would jump out when she did, a few stops before his. He'd never felt this nervous or exhilarated.

As they departed the subway car he almost lost her. When he caught up, somewhat breathless, he approached her from behind. "Excuse me...Miss..." She turned her head, startled and continued walking, her gate widening.

"Beat it, Ass Hole!"

He stopped in his tracks as she strode quickly onward. She did not hear his apology. "I'm sorry I startled you, I just wanted to introduce..."

It was a long, painful walk to the Bowling Green Bull. He thought of how the encounter might have gone if he was back in his small South Carolina home town and they were getting off the bus to downtown. He believed she would have stopped, he could introduce himself and they could have a conversation. Maybe make plans for coffee. 

As he arrived at Bowling Green Park he patted the bull's head as always, knowing that tonight, fully in the bag, he would kick the hell out of those huge bronze balls.

Giants In Six & Rooting For Josh

I love me some baseball! And so tonight at 7:30 (just 30 minutes from now!) I will be tuned in to the Fall Classic, America's greatest sports spectacle, the World Season. I'll have my score card, my Buds and a big honkin' bag of Jimbo's Peanuts.

Super Bowl? Nah; been to one and it was boring (well, every time I went for a beer or to give one back somebody scored and I didn't see any of it). NBA? Please... Tennis? Hasn't been worth a damn since Jimmy and Mac. Horse racing? It's three minutes for goodness sakes. Soccer? I mean football. And you think baseball is boring!

My call is Giants in six. Willie Mays, Will Clark, former SF manager Roger Craig (born and raised in My Town), Alvin Dark, Bremley, that skinny kid pitcher with the long hair, The Panda and so many more that makes SF easy to pull for.
But I absolutely will be hoping that Josh Hamilton, from Raleigh, NC and picked by Tampa Bay when her entered the draft (and thus would come up possibly through the Durham Bulls...but then there was that drug problem and meltdown) has a fantastic series and wins the hearts of viewers. His story is a compelling morality tale.

It's 7:35. Gotta go!


Steely Dan, Backup Singers In Red Leather & A New Jazz Find

Did I mention that Steely Dan is a favorite? Or that I have a thing for red leather? And that I always seem to focus on the female backup singers as much as the star of the show when attending a concert ? I'm working on that with my shrink.

Well, check out the middle backup singer in the Kid Charlemagne video below. Red leather pants and a rock babe attitude. Oh my. You get to enjoy a great song, too.

And then, listen to one of my favorite songs--My Old School, and you get to see Carolyn Leonhart (aka Lyn Leon) again, this time bustin' a midriff belly button thing and a bubble top. What man doesn't like a bubble top? Ya' never know...

Finally, get acquainted with a singer who paddles effortlessly between rock, standards and jazz. Whatever she's wearing, you'll like the music. I think I'm in luv. Check the iPod on the right for some great music.