I'm getting out of this game. Pedestrianism. If that is indeed a word. Fuck it. I can't take any more. Some lessons only need to be learned once, and some thoughts--no matter if they are in the interest of self-preservation--are not healthy ones. There's something a bit off in thinking, "I better stay between those crosswalk lines, because in the off case where I survive the collision, maybe I can get enough settlement money to buy a car."
As both soberingly disappointing and educational as the first nude model on the first day of a life drawing class, pedestrianism and public transportation are quickly blurring the lines between realism and pessimism. One (especially me) should never seek refuge and fresh air in his own armpit on a hot, HOT day. But that's all the bus and train leave you with.
It's hotter than Satan's asscrack, the few working windows are opened as if a hair dryer and air conditioning are interchangeable, and the multitudinous, hermaphoditic, flapjack-breasted, sleeveless, open-toed sandal-wearing, hairy armpitted (and upper lipped), mulletted, murmuring masses are working up a stink that would render Mr. Clean impotent and wailing like a vet in a Vietnam flashback.
And the BEST option is to breathe the "fresh" air of your own armpit.
You contemplate social rules that shouldn't have to be conceived, such as: What is a reasonable distance at which you should be able to smell someone's breath, body, or, on those rare occasions, whatever may be soaking or weighing down their trousers?
Other, sometimes directly related, things to consider are: How close should someone be allowed to stand near you while you are seated? And how much body contact and overlap is permissable when someone is sitting next to you and a roll or two or layer or fleshy armwing or overflowing-to-his-side man-boob are hanging on you? Someone tell me.
And now a digression into body weight, because believe me--it's that, bad hygiene, and old people who ruin public transportation. Oh, and stupid people... but they ruin everything. (Back to the fat. As if it could get away quickly or couldn't be tracked down sniffing out a Krispy Kreme washed up on an all too distant shore. How sad. A lonely soaking donut castaway.)
Don't get me wrong, there is a gray area to being overweight. I, medically speaking, am 30 to 40 pounds overweight, though I say that realistically should be more like 15 to 20. The point is, I am not an orangey, leather- and weathered-looking beefcake taking a verbal long-and-lumpy-one on people who are fat.
I am talking about all the undisputed Crisco kings and queens at large. You know, those people who can't fit behind the wheel without reclining the seat. If they lower the bus or wheelchair ramp for you--tag, you're it. If the shocks of the bus are relieved and raise several inches when you get off by yourself, consider yourself the chunky monkey in the middle. If the one to three steps of the bus leave you winded and wheezing for the duration of the bus ride, seriously--take better care of yourself. Angioplasty isn't some fun new kind of taffy they invented.
So this kind of fat, this is where fat flows over into another area: hygiene. Those who lean toward the morbidly obese tend to sweat more. More sweat gets trapped in more folds, nooks, and crannies. We are talking human crannies. Add to that some heavy mouth-breathing (trying to catch their breath from, well, you know, moving), which not only becomes noise pollution, but also possibly unleashes an atomic halitosis cloud.
All in all, the heavyweights of heavy weight could give two-day-old garbage in high humidity a run for its money in a stinkathon. But please, no real running involved.
As both soberingly disappointing and educational as the first nude model on the first day of a life drawing class, pedestrianism and public transportation are quickly blurring the lines between realism and pessimism. One (especially me) should never seek refuge and fresh air in his own armpit on a hot, HOT day. But that's all the bus and train leave you with.
It's hotter than Satan's asscrack, the few working windows are opened as if a hair dryer and air conditioning are interchangeable, and the multitudinous, hermaphoditic, flapjack-breasted, sleeveless, open-toed sandal-wearing, hairy armpitted (and upper lipped), mulletted, murmuring masses are working up a stink that would render Mr. Clean impotent and wailing like a vet in a Vietnam flashback.
And the BEST option is to breathe the "fresh" air of your own armpit.
You contemplate social rules that shouldn't have to be conceived, such as: What is a reasonable distance at which you should be able to smell someone's breath, body, or, on those rare occasions, whatever may be soaking or weighing down their trousers?
Other, sometimes directly related, things to consider are: How close should someone be allowed to stand near you while you are seated? And how much body contact and overlap is permissable when someone is sitting next to you and a roll or two or layer or fleshy armwing or overflowing-to-his-side man-boob are hanging on you? Someone tell me.
And now a digression into body weight, because believe me--it's that, bad hygiene, and old people who ruin public transportation. Oh, and stupid people... but they ruin everything. (Back to the fat. As if it could get away quickly or couldn't be tracked down sniffing out a Krispy Kreme washed up on an all too distant shore. How sad. A lonely soaking donut castaway.)
Don't get me wrong, there is a gray area to being overweight. I, medically speaking, am 30 to 40 pounds overweight, though I say that realistically should be more like 15 to 20. The point is, I am not an orangey, leather- and weathered-looking beefcake taking a verbal long-and-lumpy-one on people who are fat.
I am talking about all the undisputed Crisco kings and queens at large. You know, those people who can't fit behind the wheel without reclining the seat. If they lower the bus or wheelchair ramp for you--tag, you're it. If the shocks of the bus are relieved and raise several inches when you get off by yourself, consider yourself the chunky monkey in the middle. If the one to three steps of the bus leave you winded and wheezing for the duration of the bus ride, seriously--take better care of yourself. Angioplasty isn't some fun new kind of taffy they invented.
So this kind of fat, this is where fat flows over into another area: hygiene. Those who lean toward the morbidly obese tend to sweat more. More sweat gets trapped in more folds, nooks, and crannies. We are talking human crannies. Add to that some heavy mouth-breathing (trying to catch their breath from, well, you know, moving), which not only becomes noise pollution, but also possibly unleashes an atomic halitosis cloud.
All in all, the heavyweights of heavy weight could give two-day-old garbage in high humidity a run for its money in a stinkathon. But please, no real running involved.