At the Tenley Metro station last night there was a rabbit on the tracks. A living, breathing, hopping rabbit. A girl noticed it and brought it to everyone’s attention. The announcement sign said that a train was approaching. We were all horrified, we were about to see a rabbit get run over by a train. And what was a rabbit doing that far underground?
The girl ran to the Metro attendant and told him there was a rabbit on the tracks. His response: “Is it a rabbit or a bunny?”
Seriously. That’s what he said. Does it make a difference?
Meanwhile, the train-approaching lights are blinking and we’re all just standing there, staring at the bunny/rabbit, convinced we’re about to witness bunny/rabbit-gore.
Then the attendant tells her it’s been down there for a week. This was on Saturday. I haven’t checked today, but I saw it on Sunday and again on Monday.
infotainment
I’ve been keeping notes on odd little scraps of paper, waiting for a chance to post. I’ve since abandoned the idea of posting something lucid, let alone fluid, and am instead just going to give you something that at least vaguely resembles little random sketches.
Today has been a pretty good day, if you define pretty good day as “One of those increasingly rare days where no one threatens to arrest you and as a bonus you get to watch a coworker try to convince another coworker that you can easily teach lobsters to juggle.”
Before I forget, we do have another entry in the “there is no God” pageant. Pet Star. We found Pet Star by accident the other night when we were trying to escape the parade o’ propaganda on the “news” stations. The first sign this is a quality show is that the judges panel is a veritable celebrity graveyard. I can’t even remember who the judges were, but they were all so desperately trying to hang onto some form of celebrity that they applauded a man who’s pet lobster could do a headstand.
Pet lobster. Headstand. I am informed by Coworker Who is Not My Boyfriend that it’s easy to get a lobster to do a headstand. You stand them on their claws and rub their back until they go to sleep.
Why he knew this, I do not know. For all I know, he may actually not have been kidding about the whole juggling thing. I choose not to think about it.
Did I mention that the man keeping a lobster as a pet was a commercial fisherman? A commercial lobster fisherman.
I would rather spend another evening at the police station having the police shred my tampons looking for a weapon than watch this show again. (tip: no matter how crazy it makes you to have your possessions shredded, it’s not advisable to wield the remnants of a feminine hygiene product while yelling, “Stop! Or I shall absorb you!”)
Incidentally, I don’t ever wish to sound as though I am whining about my lack of free time. I did this to myself, but it’s what keeps me sane. I can’t sit at home and do nothing but watch CNN and drool, that kind of passive acquiescence to the state of our country is the short road to crazy for me. Yes, it’s exhausting to work what now amounts to 3 jobs, but I feel more energized, not less, and I don’t wish to suggest otherwise.
Nevertheless, I knew I needed a little break Saturday night when Husband and I were in a Metro station and I thought that the announcer on the train that was about to pull away said, “Stay away from Donald Rumsfeld.”
No. What he actually said was, “University of the District of Columbia.”
That wasn’t the weirdest thing at the Tenley Metro station, by far. There was a rabbit on the tracks. A living, breathing, hopping rabbit. A girl noticed it and brought it to everyone’s attention. The announcement sign said that a train was approaching. We were all horrified, we were about to see a rabbit get run over by a train. And what was a rabbit doing that far underground?
The girl ran to the Metro attendant and told him there was a rabbit on the tracks. His response: “Is it a rabbit or a bunny?”
Does it make a difference?
Meanwhile, the train-approaching lights are blinking and we’re all just standing there, staring at the bunny/rabbit, convinced we’re about to witness bunny/rabbit-gore.
Then the attendant tells her it’s been down there for a week. This was on Saturday. I haven’t checked today, but I saw it on Sunday and again on Monday. It’s time to call Metro again. This is ridiculous.
So Saturday night we were out til the wee hours, listening to our friends spin records at Visions. If you’ve been there, you know there are 3 regular TVs set into the wall above the bar. It was so disconcerting to watch people drinking, listening to music, and simultaneously watching an alien invasion movie, CNN (reporting on the grenade assault on the 101st) and Channel 8 (live war coverage interspersed with footage of the worldwide protests).
War as infotainment. If there’s such a place as hell, we’re all going there. Or possibly Macon, Georgia. Whichever is worse.
I love Visions, but my goddess does that ladies room always stink. I just needed to say that. It’s a bad, bad ladies room.
Between the war as infotainment and the creepy mural, I had incredibly strange dreams when I finally did get home and go to sleep.
I really enjoy watching people stand in front of loudspeakers and get annoyed at the DJ because the music is impeding their ability to use their cellphone. That level of self-absorption is really fascinating to me.
The Larouche people are driving me absolutely bonkers. Can you get a restraining order against an entire “political party?”
infotainment
I’ve been keeping notes on odd little scraps of paper, waiting for a chance to post. I’ve since abandoned the idea of posting something lucid, let alone fluid, and am instead just going to give you something that at least vaguely resembles little random sketches.
Today has been a pretty good day, if you define pretty good day as “One of those increasingly rare days where no one threatens to arrest you and as a bonus you get to watch a coworker try to convince another coworker that you can easily teach lobsters to juggle.”
Before I forget, we do have another entry in the “there is no God” pageant. Pet Star. We found Pet Star by accident the other night when we were trying to escape the parade o’ propaganda on the “news” stations. The first sign this is a quality show is that the judges panel is a veritable celebrity graveyard. I can’t even remember who the judges were, but they were all so desperately trying to hang onto some form of celebrity that they applauded a man who’s pet lobster could do a headstand.
Pet lobster. Headstand. I am informed by Coworker Who is Not My Boyfriend that it’s easy to get a lobster to do a headstand. You stand them on their claws and rub their back until they go to sleep.
Why he knew this, I do not know. For all I know, he may actually not have been kidding about the whole juggling thing. I choose not to think about it.
Did I mention that the man keeping a lobster as a pet was a commercial fisherman? A commercial lobster fisherman.
I would rather spend another evening at the police station having the police shred my tampons looking for a weapon than watch this show again. (tip: no matter how crazy it makes you to have your possessions shredded, it’s not advisable to wield the remnants of a feminine hygiene product while yelling, “Stop! Or I shall absorb you!”)
Incidentally, I don’t ever wish to sound as though I am whining about my lack of free time. I did this to myself, but it’s what keeps me sane. I can’t sit at home and do nothing but watch CNN and drool, that kind of passive acquiescence to the state of our country is the short road to crazy for me. Yes, it’s exhausting to work what now amounts to 3 jobs, but I feel more energized, not less, and I don’t wish to suggest otherwise.
Nevertheless, I knew I needed a little break Saturday night when Husband and I were in a Metro station and I thought that the announcer on the train that was about to pull away said, “Stay away from Donald Rumsfeld.”
No. What he actually said was, “University of the District of Columbia.”
That wasn’t the weirdest thing at the Tenley Metro station, by far. There was a rabbit on the tracks. A living, breathing, hopping rabbit. A girl noticed it and brought it to everyone’s attention. The announcement sign said that a train was approaching. We were all horrified, we were about to see a rabbit get run over by a train. And what was a rabbit doing that far underground?
The girl ran to the Metro attendant and told him there was a rabbit on the tracks. His response: “Is it a rabbit or a bunny?”
Does it make a difference?
Meanwhile, the train-approaching lights are blinking and we’re all just standing there, staring at the bunny/rabbit, convinced we’re about to witness bunny/rabbit-gore.
The attendant told her it’s been down there for a week. Very odd.
plucked from the ashes of the punkprincess.com archives, reposted 02-28-07