Looking forward to some ¼ Jewish-¼ Indian-½ Chinese babies.

Congratulations to Larina and Byron for getting engaged over the weekend! WOO HOO!!!

(My post title was just for funsies. I'm all in favor of my friends not having children yet. Once the kids start rolling out, I'll definitely feel older than my self-esteem can handle.)

Thumpin' Thursday

I know that there's usually a theme -- or at least some semblance of narrative coherence -- to most of my posts, but I don't have the energy for that at the moment and I have a number of small things I want to discuss. Please indulge me and allow for the following disjointed list:

1) The biggest thing going on right now is that I've decided to return to my roots. After a brief stint as a in-house attorney at a large nonprofit, I chose today to take a new job. The choice to return to direct legal services was a surprisingly easy one, but the choice of how to return was a significantly more difficult endeavor. I had to choose between a familiar and spectacular opportunity and something new, and in the end I felt that, as a young lawyer, I needed to take a risk and expand my fount of experience. I'll be starting at Legal Aid sometime in May and I'm more excited than I've been in a long time.

2) After being able to avoid American Idol for a bunch of seasons, I am now officially hooked. Last night's "Idol Gives Back" episode was an emotional rollercoaster. Still, the thing I appreciated most was that a show that gets more eyeballs than any newspaper in America actually drew attention to: (a) the genocidal effect of AIDS in Africa; (b) the pervasive illiteracy in Appalachia; (c) the unavoidable violence in our inner cities; (d) the mindboggling unecessary deaths to malaria in Africa; and (e) the absolute mess that is New Orleans. On top of that, they raised (by early accounts) SIXTY MILLION DOLLARS for programs to combat the above tragedies. Say what you will about American Idol, but in one two-night event Ryan Seacrest probably raised more awareness of poverty (if not money to fight it) than our government has done in the last six years.

3) Tonight's Dem debate was off the meter. My initial thoughts, in a sub-list:
(a) I think the three candidates that came off best were (and I'm almost a little shocked to say this): Joe Biden, Chris Dodd, and Hillary Clinton.
(b) I was struck at how ill-at-ease Barack Obama appeared to be. He had some decent moments, but the worst was when he allowed himself to get pulled into the nonsense Kucinich was spewing. Kucinich is considered a 6th tier candidate, Barry. What were you thinking? There's a reason the rest of the panel (even nutty, nutty Mike Gravel) ignored him.
(c) Gravel. I mean, I don't really even know what to say. He makes McCain look like the textbook definition of sanity. My favorite quote: "Who are you going to nuke, Barack?! WHO ARE YOU GOING TO NUKE!?!?"
(d) Bill Richardson was trying to do his best impression of a "Conservative Democrat." Somehow, I didn't care. Also, I really don't appreciate when people don't follow the rules of a debate. You were asked about Cuba, douchey, don't talk to me about Iraq.
(e) Speaking of not caring, Edwards? I've never seen someone so hot come off as so freakin' bland. And the chasm of silence that met the "moral leader" question was embarassing.
(f) And, finally, Brian Williams is entirely too much of a lightweight to moderate a debate like this. Shit was completely out of control.

4) There is no number 4. There is no Miss Zarves. (Anyone? Anyone?!?!)

Quote of the Week - 04/16/07

I decided that it might be nice to archive the quotations that I feature -- for the sake of history -- by making them blog posts when their week is up.

"Today is a horrible, horrible day. I have absolutely nothing to add that is insightful or anything. I will just do what I always do when faced with something that is that powerfully damaging to the emotional core: I will begin to repress it and I will swallow it and I imagine that thirty years from now someone will spill juice and I will freak the fuck out." - Jon Stewart, 04/16/07

I need an ice pack.

It was finally spring again in DC this past weekend. I spent most of Saturday sitting on a blanket in Dupont Circle with Larina (who was in town visiting) and Cicie. It was fabulous. What irked me earlier that day was that I couldn't find my shorts. After I returned from my trip back in September, I think I stashed them somewhere (perhaps in the Jerz?) and now I don't know where they might be. Just a moment ago, though, I realized that I should probably avoid shorts for a bit, regardless of the weather. Returning from my bathroom wearing only my underthings (people across the globe are suddenly extremely turned on, I'm sure), I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My legs are wrecked. I look like I was attacked by a gang of little people wielding sticks.

Both knees have nearly-faded bruises (from some crazy dance moves at Chief Ike's over a week ago). My left knee also has a serious scrape scab and another bruise (from taking a dive off the edge of a sidewalk while I was trying to pass some stupid tourists). My left foot is bruised in two places and scraped on the side (from the same incident...I hate tourists SO much that flames...flames on the side of my face...heaving, breathless, heaving breaths...heaving....*). My newest injuries came earlier this evening. I came home to my messy apartment and decided that some laundry might be a good idea. When I pulled down my laundry basket, somehow the two framed pictures I had been storing on my closet shelf decided to come down with it. (If you're wondering why they were in my closet, well, I've been meaning to hang them up for about 2 years now but who's got the time?) One frame (actually not a picture -- it's my TFA "diploma") somehow managed to not break. The other picture -- in a large, metal frame -- did break, but it wasn't the glass that injured me (thankfully). The aforementioned large (did I mention heavy?) metal frame first gashed my right ankle then landed on my toe (not the little toe, the one right next to it).

Needless to say, instead of doing laundry, I immediately retreated to my bed with some pepperoni pizza for a night of DVR. Does anyone know how to tell if a toe is broken?

[*If you can tell me what movie I'm quoting, I'll buy you a popsicle.]

Oh SNAP!

Never in a billion years would I have thought that I'd be posting a quote from Senator Lindsey Graham (R-SC). But here, for all to enjoy, is a question he asked to Alberto "Gonzo" Gonzales yesterday:

"I don't believe that you're involved in a conspiracy to fire somebody because they wouldn't prosecute a particular enemy of a politician or a friend of a politician. But at the end of the day, you said something that struck me: that sometimes it just came down to these were not the right people at the right time. If I applied that standard to you, what would you say?"

Senator Graham, I rarely see eye to eye with you, but today, I salute you.

Swamped.

I've been totally swamped with life lately. Not bad swamped, just really busy with work and interviews (more on that soon). I didn't want to leave you without a post for too long (remember what happened last time?) so I thought I'd take a moment out of my currently busy life to highlight a website that brightens my day even when I'm super-swamped:

www.cuteoverload.com

I dare you to visit this site and not feel better about life or, at the very least, smile a bit to yourself. It's really a bit like Snorg Girl, but with fur.

Oh crap.

As I was walking home from the metro tonight, I got stood up on dinner plans. (Dinner plans, I might add, on account of which I turned down other dinner plans. But I'm not bitter.) So I got home, thought about how unseasonably cold it was outside, and called Pizza Movers. I could have had a wonderful pepperoni-filled evening, perhaps watched a movie or something, but then I made one terrible miscalculation: I turned on my television. I never really watch TV on Tuesdays. None of my mainstays (which, as you probably know by now, are Heroes, Lost, Ugly Betty, Grey's, The Office, Scrubs, 30 Rock, Sopranos, and Amazing Race...damn, I watch a lot of TV) air on Tuesdays, so I figured I'd probably watch something on Comedy Central or HBO. Then I saw it. I, of course, knew what it was. I'd actually watched, way back in the second season, but never again. I had avoided it on purpose, really. I knew what terrible effect it could have on me. But, for some reason, I highlighted it on my program guide and pressed ENTER. Then it was there. On my TV. And I couldn't look away.

Tonight, I watched my first episode of this season's American Idol.

It was already in progress, so I missed the first guy. Instead, I saw a woman named Jordin Sparks perform. I have to admit, she was pretty great. Really nice voice. And I like her look, too. She reminds me of Callie from Grey's. The judges dug her, too, which was nice. While I was pleased, I wasn't quite snared yet so I grabbed my remote and was about to turn it off when Ryan Seacrest announced that Sanjaya would be on next. Now, I think that almost everyone, even people who don't watch this show, have heard of Sanjaya. I was intrigued. Ok, I thought to myself. I'll see just how terrible this kid really is, and then I'll change the channel.

Well, I saw just how terrible he really was. Emphasis on the words "really" and "terrible." I can't claim to be a pop star or even to have perfect pitch, but I did enough singing in my day to know when someone is really off key. Wow. Sanjaya seems like a totally nice kid, but the sweet child is tone deaf. Randy said it sounded like karaoke, but he was only partly correct. That sounded like bad karaoke. The type of bad karaoke that happens after a few too many shots. A few too many shots and a bad childhood accident.

Next up were Lakisha and one of the white guys. Crap. What is his name? Chris! Right. Ok, so those two went. She was fine (but nowhere as good as Jordin) and he was pretty bad (but not as bad as Sanjaya). Then Ryan announced Melinda Doolittle. Even though I don't watch the show, I read enough entertainment blogs and EW to know that this little woman was supposed to be the one to beat (sad for her, really, because the one to beat rarely actually wins). By this point, I was pretty much committed to the broadcast so I was excited that I might get to hear someone really good.

And I was very pleased. This Melinda Doolittle is the real deal. I mean, she really should do something with the hair -- either longer extensions or a really short cut...the current style makes her seem a bit neckless -- but her voice is ridiculous. When it ended, I was confused why she was even palling around with these other jokers (with the exception, perhaps, of Jordin). I grabbed a post-it off my desk and jotted down her number (1-866-436-5706) and then counted back to figure out Jordin's number (-5702...for the uninitiated, the final digit is the order in which they sing). Ok. Idol had me. I wasn't going to fight it, so I eagerly fast-forwarded my DVR (I had paused the show to get my pizza) through the commercial. And then, HE came on. The other white guy. And he was blond and wore an argyle sweater and sang much better than the other two guys. And anyone who knows me knows what happened next.

I've been dialing 1-866-436-5707 on redial for the last 40 minutes. I also have new wallpaper on my computer. And I am only a little ashamed.

Editorials Abound

There are some thoughtful and/or thought-provoking editorials out there today from the New York Times, the Washington Post, and the LA Times.

Ryan Clark

[Edited to add a link to my friend Mike's thoughtful post. I haven't seen Mike in entirely too long. I should do something about that.]

I agree with Jon Stewart (please see the Quote of the Week to the left for his words at the begining of today's Daily Show), but please humor this post and my desire to write out some thoughts. This might seem strange (and admittedly speaks of a bit of self-centeredness), but when the first details about the terrible shootings at Virginia Tech were coming through, I instinctively thought to myself, "I bet one of the victims was the RA." I had that thought when I first read that the initial shootings occurred in a residence hall. In that moment I couldn't help think of Carmichael Hall, my dorm for three years, the latter two as the first floor Resident Assistant. I pictured my room and Carmichael's hallways so vividly. When they released more details and it was confirmed that only two of the many deaths occurred at the residence hall, I was sure one of the two had to be the RA.

I rarely dislike saying this, but it turns out that I was right. The Times has a short article on the first victim confirmed, apparently the second person killed: Ryan Clark. A student resident adviser at the West Ambler Johnston Hall dormitory, he was apparently investigating the commotion in his hall when he chanced upon the gunman. He was a senior majoring in biology and English and was a member of the marching band. His death was not reported to the press by the authorities but, instead, by students and a county coroner after his family had been notified. Of the thirty-three people who lost their lives today, he was the first to be matched with a name.

And it really struck me. Partly because he was, as I feared, a RA, but also because he wasn't just a death. He was a person, and it was the first time in a while that a person had died. That sounds strange, I know. Living in an urban area and with Iraq holding court on page three of most of our newspapers, I do notice a lot death. But the truth is that I rarely, if ever, let myself notice the person. Perhaps I'm desensitized or maybe I'm just tired of being sad, but the death that goes on in our world can be numbing. Most days, I don't read the inevitable, "35 Dead in Iraqi Market Bombing" or "3 U.S. Marines Killed in Roadside Attack" stories. I see those headlines (as I've already mentioned, rarely on page 1 anymore), pause a sec to register them, but then I move on to something else. Anything else.

Tonight, death gained a name. It became personified. Not personal, thankfully, at least not for me, but it came closer than it's come in a long time. I spent most of the day jumping from CNN to the Times to the BBC, feeling sadder and sadder as the day progressed. I was right there with the press conference journalists who reportedly gasped when told the death toll. And yet, while it was tragic that 33 people died to day, there's something almost unbearable about the death of Ryan Clark. I know little more than the facts I mentioned above but, right now, all I can think of is that Ryan Clark -- nicknamed "Stack" -- woke up this morning but won't be waking up tomorrow.

Entirely too many tomorrows have been disappearing in our world lately. And now 33 more over the span of just a few hours at a college campus not too far away -- including Ryan Clark's. It makes me a little sick that it took a tragedy to which I could relate to remind me of the finality and profundity of death. I cannot imagine having to bear this reminder while coping with the loss being felt by the families of the victims and the students of Virginia Tech. It all makes the word "tragedy" seem so quaint.

Jesus & Pals

Paul Krugman wrote a terrific column in today’s NY Times called “For God’s Sake.” According to Krugman, “The infiltration of the federal government by large numbers of people seeking to impose a religious agenda — which is very different from simply being people of faith — is one of the most important stories of the last six years. It’s also a story that tends to go underreported, perhaps because journalists are afraid of sounding like conspiracy theorists.”

He offers quite a few examples of religious nutters in government, but the following is my favorite (probably because I'm a dope-ass attorney): "For example, The Boston Globe reports on one Regent law school graduate who was interviewed by the Justice Department’s civil rights division. Asked what Supreme Court decision of the past 20 years he most disagreed with, he named the decision to strike down a Texas anti-sodomy law. When he was hired, it was his only job offer." How do you like that?

I buy in to the conspiracy and I’m not a big atheist, God-hater like a lot of my liberal friends. True, I wrote my 11th grade research paper on how organized religion is going to end the world (in 1996 people! I’m a friggin’ prophet!) but I’m comfortable with my relationship with God and certainly don’t begrudge anyone else’s. Still, the wacky Bible thumpers out there scare the – well, they scare the living Jesus out of me. Want to feel my fear? See Jesus Camp. It's by far the most frightening movie of 2006.

(Non-TimesSelect people, you no longer have an excuse to not read columns! Well, some of you anyway. Also, people, you know you can always pick up an old skool paper copy of the Times.)

I (heart) Snorg Girl.

As you may know, I’m an avid reader of Wonkette. Wonkette – unlike this dinky affair – is a professional website with advertisers (ooh!). Recently among those advertisers is a website called Snorg Tees that sells novelty t-shirts. Most of their ads feature a young woman wearing one of their novelty t-shirts with her mouth open in an expression of what I’ve decided is best described as surprised glee.

Now here’s the weird part: I just can’t get enough of her! Snorg Girl affects me in a strangely primal way. I don’t know what it is about her, but just seeing her in the Snorg Tee ads completely cracks me up and fills me with a brief but distinct sense of completely unbridled joy. I can be in a terrible mood or extremely tired and just one glimpse of Snorg Girl will make me laugh out loud and fill me with enough energy to get me through another hour of work. It’s inexplicable. I sort of want her to be my best friend.

So here, for all of you to enjoy, is my favorite picture of Snorg Girl in her “I’m Kind of a Big Deal” t-shirt (© 2007 Snorg Tees):

So it goes.

Kurt Vonnegut passed away yesterday. Celebrate his life by buying a book.

Access the Times obit and definitely go read Graham's post.

Rest in peace, Mr. Vonnegut.

(Edited to add a link to Graham's post. In my defense, I titled my post before seeing Graham's. Great minds think alike.)

Quote of the Week

You may not have noticed but, back in the old format, I had a quote at the very bottom of the page that I'd update now and again. I've moved the quote over to the left side of the page in an effort to make it easier to find, but I wonder if people even notice it. I will try to update it weekly. If you missed the first quote last week, well, too bad so sad.

I wanted to feature this week's quote because I enjoy all things critical of the current administration:

"The very fundamental issue is, they don't know where the hell they're going . . . . So rather than go over there, develop an ulcer and eventually leave, I said, 'No, thanks.'" - retired Marine General John J. "Jack" Sheehan, a former top NATO commander who was among those rejecting consideration by the Bush Administration for the job of "War Czar."

You can read more about it in the Washington Post.

Google Search Spotlight!

Once in a while, a very creative Google search leads people to my blog. For a while, it seemed that everyone was researching airplanes. There was also a surprisingly large number of people who searched for Brendan R. from my law school section (to the point where I went back and edited out his whole name from my dream post). But today, I noticed that someone accessed my blog after googling this:

"ahmadinejad hotness"

For the record, and as my readers already know, I never said anything about the Iranian President being hot. (I am SO on a no-fly list.)

My left arm was sliced off and reattached.

So I had a number of really bizarre dreams this morning. The longer I sleep, the weirder my dreams tend to become, so it was no surprise that a lazy trip to Jersey would elicit some wackiness. I wasn't expecting so much terror-related material, though. Most of my dreams involved a terrorist attack or some other apocalyptic situation. One time my dad was there. One time I was with Rose from Lost. None of it was particularly fun. Especially the zombie dog that tried to eat me in my parents' house. Not cool, Zombie Dog. Not cool.

Much more fun was an earlier dream where my left arm was sliced off. I was working somewhere where there was this big machine that resembled a very large paper cutter. Somehow my left arm got sliced off at the shoulder. In my dream, I remember right before the accident and then I remember waking up from surgery and my arm was reattached! For most of the dream, I'm tooling around the hospital in a wheelchair and showing people the scar. I even flirted with some blond woman who asked me if I worked for the State Department. (Not sure the significance of any of that.) The weirdest part is that my arm felt really sore for the entire dream. When I woke up, I had to actually feel my shoulder to see whether or not the reattachment seam was there. It was quite the relief when I figured out it wasn't. But my arm was still sore.

Meh. Maybe some more wacky dreams on the train?

My cell phone leaks jelly.

I wish I were joking. I have no idea what's going on, but something sticky and goo-like is seeping from the side of my cell phone's main screen. Looking at my phone, I can actually see some clear, jelly-like substance along the edge of the picture and, based on touch tests, it seems to be slowly seeping out the side.

The phone seems to be working just fine. I wonder if it has anything to do with the time Charles threw me in the pool with my phone in my pocket, but that was nine months ago. I cannot think of any place my phone has been where it might have collected a gooey filling.

Needless to say, I'm extremely grossed out. Has this ever happened to anyone else?

Figures.

This past Tuesday had the dubious distinction of having Metro's second highest weekday ridership in 31 years, only beaten by Reagan's state funeral ceremony in June 2004. A quick glance at this WMATA News Alert shows that this past Monday had the eleventh highest ridership. The tourists are clearly out in force.

I think DC has not yet seen the last of Furious Commuter....

Sigh of Relief

News just broke that President Ahmadinejad is going to "pardon" the 15 British sailors that were captured after allegedly crossing into Iranian waters almost two weeks ago. I've been seriously thinking that these 15 Brits could be the Archduke Ferdinand of World War III but, thankfully, it seems like cooler heads have prevailed.

I've never been much of a Ahmadinejad fan, but I can't help but feel that he came out looking pretty good in all this. He did, after all, avoid what could have been the beginning of the end of days. Not to mention that he released the hotness that is Royal Navy Sailor Nathan Summers (above right) back into the world. Do you think I'd get put on a no-fly list if I sent Mahmoud Ahmadinejad a short thank-you note?

Happy Passover!

This pleases me every Passover.

Seda' Club - shabot6000.com

Add to My Profile More Videos

Sigh. I wish I were in Swampscott with the Freedmans.

Alanis's Humps

I know this is everywhere, but I thought it was pretty great. Regardless of how you feel about Alanis Morissette, I think she elevates this particular piece of, ahem, "music."

Welcome home!

Welcome to the reborn Colonial Jumbo. In reimagining this blog, I decided to abandon the old name (to make my URL match again) and colors and try something a little different. Along with the new look come some promises that I will do my very best to keep:

1) a biweekly post on politics, which will alternate with...
2) a biweekly post on the arts and entertainment;
3) no more than 48 hours without a post of some kind (sometimes just a link to something interesting); and
4) no more than 5 days between substantive posts.

Fair? I hope so. Enjoy.

The first post of the new era awaits you below....

Furious Commuter

The whole point of life after high school seems to be landing the eventual steady job. I know a lot of people in law school who, for instance, toiled to get to that financial apex of the steady job: the associate position. (I was going to make a joke about it being the spiritual nadir of the steady job as well, but then I decided I didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings -- besides, some consider hit men to have steady jobs, too.) Still, while I like having a job, I wish it weren't so, well, steady. All my days have started to look the same. Sure, some days are better or worse, more productive or less so, but what I can't shake is that, no matter what, it's the same desk, the same computer, and the same view from my window. What's worse, I've noticed that this monotony has had a very peculiar effect on me.

Depression? No. Hardly. I haven't been constantly jumping for joy the last few months, but I'm certainly not depressed. (See Alessandro circa first year of teaching for more on that.) Rather than sad, lately I've been experiencing a bit of a split personality.

Take this morning for example. I was lying in bed hitting snooze whenever my alarm or my phone (I set both) would go off when I noticed some rumbling noises coming from above. It wasn't that loud while I was still in bed, possibly because I was half asleep and not really cognizant of much, but once I got up, the noise became louder. And it started getting annoying. From my desk chair, it sound like a couple of people might have been playing a game of tackle football above me. Or perhaps someone was holding a ballet class and the students were practicing grand jetés across the floor. I started complaining out loud. (When you live alone, you tend to talk to yourself. Or so I've been told.) Once, I stood up as if to go upstairs but then decided against it. More noise. I was now cursing out loud. More noise. I stood up again. A loud crash above me....

I went completely blind with rage. The next time I was aware of my actions, I was holding my swiffer broom and slamming it into my ceiling. Luckily, my upper body strength is akin to that of a 12-year-old girl who doesn't like the outdoors, so I didn't actually put a hole in ceiling. But the blind rage was not new. It has come before, mostly when I commute. Actually, ALWAYS when I commute. The other day after work, I was walking from the Dupont Metro when my friend Jon tapped me on the shoulder. It took a good 3 minutes before I could string together coherent sentences. Why? Because I was so wound up with this peculiar anger that I couldn't think straight. I zone out completely. Like I'm a different person. I become...FURIOUS COMMUTER.

Furious Commuter is a pretty angry guy. He always sighs loudly when someone is standing on the left-hand side of the escalator BEFORE saying, "Excuse me." He finds it necessary to express his disdain with their standing choice and just asking to pass doesn't quite do that enough. Sometimes, when the fury steals his speech, Furious Commuter merely waves his arms in the air behind the unsuspecting idiot. He does this to show other commuters how furious he is (in hopes that they will join him in thinking the left-stander an idiot). Furious Commuter's other patented moves include swatting at departing trains with his Express, sitting sideways along two Metro seats so that no one will sit next to him, glaring at people talking loudly on their cell phones, and (in Furious Commuter's defense, only when no children are present) loudly exclaiming, "Fucking typical!" whenever there is a metro delay.

Furious Commuter has arch enemies. He despises tourists. They are his 2nd least favorite thing about DC (the first being the Bush Administration). He hates that they always seem to travel in family packs. Stupid mother pushing idiot baby in stroller with borderline-vegetable dad hurrying along two youngsters who indubitably ride the shortbus to school from their quaint home in Nebraska. I know that such judgment is elitist and unhelpful, but Furious Commuter doesn't care. He wants them to go back to their crap-ass midwestern town where they can vote Republican and study the Bible far from his morning commute. The thing that brought Furious Commuter out this morning was a glimpse of a clearly-from-out-of-town family of SEVEN where none of the children were over the age of seven. Furious Commuter thinks forced sterilization might not be a terrible idea.

Furious Commuter hates how the whole family stands in front of six farecard machines while dad is using all of his brainpower at just one. He despises how tourist families will rarely sit down (Furious Commuter guesses that minorities scare them) but instead insist on congregating right by the door, the concept of moving into the center of the car completely lost on them. Still, the thing that sends Furious Commuter into that wonderful blind fury within seconds is the clusterfuck at the turnstiles. Ah, yes. He hates people who don't own a SmarTrip card. He hates seeing a big ass in a jumbo skort with a fanny pack perched to the side standing right in front of a turnstile and not going anywhere. Peering over said fanny pack, Furious Commuter sees a hapless tourist attempting to force their paper farecard upside down into the "out" slot. Now, I know that someone who doesn't ride the metro regularly shouldn't be expected to get it on the first try. But Furious Commuter doesn't care. He much prefers the loud grunt of exasperation, sometimes with a bit of frustrated flailing, as he dodges around Fanny Pack's 10 children (all in CIA or FBI sweatshirts...oh, how Furious Commuter loathes those tacky sweatshirts) to another open turnstile. If none are available, the fury rises just a bit, but Furious Commuter deals by exchanging knowing, furious looks with his fellow furious commuters.

This morning, Furious Commuter (after seeing the aforementioned fury-inducing brood of seven), made his way quickly through the turnstile when he saw that a train was waiting on the platform below. He rushed to the escalator only to be stopped by one of his other archenemies: Woman with Rolly Bag. WwRB was with a companion and the two blocked the way (even after Furious Commuter's very angry "Pardon me") just long enough that he did not make the train. He turned around to glare at WwRB and noticed that she had on dark sunglasses. WwRB was a blind woman. Furious Commuter had grunted angrily at a blind woman on an escalator. I looked down embarrassed.

Then Furious Commuter thought, "So? Her blind ass should've gotten out of the way," and shot her another unseen glare.