Archive for the 'Terrorists ruin all my fun' Category

Oh, mercy! It gets better!

Published at September 13, 2010 in I will die alone eaten by my pets, Terrorists ruin all my fun, New York Fugging City, Anxious masculinity and Dipshittery. 3 Comments

Continuing the saga from OK Cupid:  I responded.  Yeah, probably shouldn’t have, but the Wingnut Christmas thing really pushes my buttons.  So here’s what I wrote to him:

Well, now I’ve seen it all. 9/11 as a pickup line. Though you’re not the first member of the Giuliani administration to be macking on the bodies of the dead.

Even if I didn’t find that offensive, your spam approach, not to mention your association with that authoritarian asshat Giuliani, would have killed any chance you and your blank profile would have with me.

I see some grammar issues.  Probably should be “macking over” instead of “macking on” (as “macking on” implies necrophilia) and “would have had.”  Nonetheless.  His response [misspellings his own]:

You know, I often wonder if framing my relationship with a political figure would be a mixed blessing, or for that matter, wise. The land in which I come from, obviously not liberal-land as do you, character means a great deal. I’m proud of my association with Mayor Giuliani and proud of my character and the way I have conducted myself thoughout my life and with others. Obviously, these virtues are meaningless to you. So be it.

I dont know what rock you have crawed out from under in answering my reply to your profile the way you have, but most assuredly it is to my benefit. A good dinner and better glass of wine would have been otherwise wasted during a dreadful encounter that potentially we would have had.

Oh, and one more thing, when you have engrained in your mind the experience of having pulled parts of people out from under debris and rubble, yeah, you have a right to talk about it all you like…

Because shut up, that’s why!

Yikes.

Published at July 19, 2007 in Terrorists ruin all my fun and New York Fugging City. 3 Comments

Cripes.

19explode01.jpg
When I got back from Long Island Wednesday evening (client meeting, sprung on me at the last minute, on a day when it took me two hours to get into work due to track flooding, and the branch of the LIRR we needed to take was shut down, so we took a car), I got dropped off in Manhattan. When I got into the 4/5/6 Union Square station, there was a train in the station with a “not in service” message, and another message telling me that due to a police investigation at Grand Central, various trains on the 4/5/6 were not running. And when I say “various,” I mean “all.” Reason? In MTA-speak, “an investigation.”
I found another way home, grateful that at least at Union Square (versus my stop) they actually let you know the frickin’ train won’t be coming (did I mention it was TWO HOURS Wednesday morning before I got a train? Might have been less had they announced that the uptown trains were running express and, oh, NOT STOPPING at my stop, because Jeez, I could have, like, you know, fucking walked the 10 blocks or so to get there rather than wait TWO HOURS for a train. Only to find out they were stopping at my local stop by then. Bastids.

But I didn’t know about this steam pipe explosion. Crap! that’s literally a block and a half from where I worked until January, and that spiky building in the photo is the Chrysler Building, which is currently the second-tallest building in New York.

Shit blows up here from time to time. I remember a New Year’s Day in 1999 or so, when both a water main and a gas main burst at around the same time, so that not only did the street eat some cars, but it did it with a whole lake of fire effect. Apex Tech blew up one year. And so did some building on Madison (in the 50s — it housed the Vermont Teddy Bear Company, or maybe the building just slid down, it’s been a while) and a theater on 42nd collapsed. And a construction site in the 100s, not too far from where STAB BABY played out.

In fact, I wrote last year about the explosion of the E. 62d Street townhouse of one Dr. Bartha, who was determined to die in his beloved house before he allowed it to be sold to satisfy the divorce decree obtained by his long-suffering wife. And I commented at the time that freakin’ Al Qaeda was just ruining the intermittent explosions that happen in this town for various reasons — bad gas lines, arson, divorce, aged buildings, stupid pilots, what have you. I mean, it’s not frequent — I’ve been here 10 years and I think I’ve witnessed, oh, fewer than 10 weird-ass explosions. Time was when they’d have been written off as Life in the City — now, everyone freaks out about terrorism.

As if fiction could be stranger than truth in this town.