I didn’t have a chance to write yesterday and today I’m pressed for time. I have no time to plan this, it might be interesting.
On Friday I went to therapy and eschewed other plans to stay home and relax. I wasn’t staying home to mope, this was not a depression reaction, but just the opposite. I was feeling very good and didn’t need distractions from that. I felt it better to stay home and watch Agents of SHIELD and the Mets. I made myself a relatively healthy, at least for me, dinner, of a chicken cutlet and roasted potatoes. That made it a pure mental health day. Too bad I can’t remember the brilliant blog ideas I had.
Yesterday I was working on a secret project with friends. The key word is secret so I can’t talk about it. That leaves me with the neuro events that happened before and after. As I got ready to leave, I noticed that it was pouring outside. Our plans were outdoors. I checked my weather app and it said it was ending within an hour so I headed out. The rain was so hard that there was a puddle that went over my ankles at my front door. I had to cross two more puddles just as deep on the short walk to the subway. I got to Manhattan, a short trip, and it was sunny. It hadn’t rained at all. When I got home I met some MTA workers clearing the water from the train station and I asked them when it stopped. I mentioned that it hadn’t rained in Manhattan and they told me it hadn’t even rained at Yankee Stadium, 161st street. I’m on 205.
On the subway ride home I had an experience that many New Yorkers have feared but few have experienced. I had a load of things with me for the project. I had my usual backpack hanging from the railing next to me and something fragile on the ground between my legs. The train was crowded. Then the “It’s Showtime” people got on the train. Where did they set up? Right next to the guy with a load of stuff. They tried to dance and immediately tripped over some of my stuff. Not my bag or anything fragile. They walked about. Whew.
Then they came back and set up in exactly the same spot. They are always annoying, if for nothing else the blasting bad music. And then disaster struck. One of the dancers kicked my bag. This was not on the floor but hanging several feet about it. He kicked it hard. He didn’t realize it. He probably thought it was the railing. He had his back to me and I tapped him to get his attention to ask him to move. When I did his partner went ballistic. He turned off the music and started screaming at me. I told him that I just didn’t want my bag with fragile things in it kicked. He said it wasn’t kicked and that I was Klan. He wouldn’t let it go. The guy that kicked it, was a total gentleman and apologized, but his friend wouldn’t stop. I should have just kept quiet but I tried to explain that I was just trying to protect my things. That got him angrier. I was very happy when they got off at the next stop. I took out my stainless-steel travel mug. It’s very high quality. It now has a big dent in it. I was shocked he could kick it that hard. I guess it was because it was pinned against the railing and not free to move.
A quick change to politics before I go. An Asian-American friend of mine posted, “Last night some guy on the street told his friend to deport me.” When President Trump told the four non-white congresswomen, three of whom were born in the US, to go back where they came from, his defenders acted like they were shocked that anybody could find that racist. “I don’t see any mention of race.” How many white Americans without an accent are told to go back where they came from? Here’s a hint, none. I understand that it’s difficult to accept that the president you support says something racist, but denying that it’s racist just distorts your perceptions. We all have to fight our confirmation bias. I often point it out when people do it for things that I agree with. But people I disagree with do it even more often.
OK, now to get ready for today’s adventures with the secret project. Today it’s sunny in the Bronx. It better not be raining in Manhattan and Brooklyn.
Wise Madness 