It's fitting that while my blog partner Jslow is the freak on the subway, I'm also the freak on the subway: Bright green (or pink, or pumpkin, depending on my mood and/or outfit) headphones, giant Gareth Pugh fur bag, brass knuckled iPhone, spiked Dr. Martens, all in full effect. You really do not want to fuck with me. And please, for the love of god, don't give me your seat. Nothing is more depressing than that, even though my senior years are far closer than I care to acknowledge. I will take you out with my phone, so just don't.
I haven't driven in almost four years, so I spend a considerable amount of my life in public on public transit. It took awhile to get used to, this living so publicly, since I'd spent most of my life isolated in a car. But thanks to the perfect intersection of technology and transportation, Google Maps helps me plan the best routes, and Pocket Muni helps me plot where and when those routes depart and arrive.
So instead of being isolated in my car, I'm isolated in my self-contained bad-ass style and tech bubble. Beyond the aforementioned beats, bag and brass, I also carry my 11-inch Mac Air outfitted in a bright pink Speck case, a wi-fi card so I can respond to emails and deal with work, and skinny magazines that don't add still more weight to my already considerably fat haul, which either means The New Yorker or Time, as I am determined to enrich my ride with real content.
The irony is that I could forgo all of the above, because if you were to offer me your seat on the K, 6 or 28, I'd most likely be transfixed by my phone and stupid obsession with Candy Crush.
Before Candy Crush, it was Bejeweled, which I've played for years and gotten fairly good at. But I started spending too much money on Cat's Eye, Blazing Steed or my favorite, Phoenix Prism (sorry, Ruby Kanga, you blow) to help increase my scores. My Facebook update became clogged with "playing Bejeweled" on "recent activity", which is even more depressing than being offered someone's seat on Muni. I finally shut it off to save face.
I was hoping my Bejeweled skills would translate to Candy Crush, which unfortunately hasn't happened since speed doesn't factor in here. And since I refuse to pay for boosters, or ask friends for a life, I stubbornly play like this will be the time I get to level 30. I've been stuck on 29 for two months. You failed. You did not clear all the jelly.
Playing Candy Crush is fun at first, like eating actual candy, but after awhile can make you a bit sick and feel bad you've eaten all of that candy. I feel the same way here. I could have read "Shouts and Murmurs" or "Goings on About Town" which always leaves me wiser. Instead, my tattered mag from August, pocked with bottom-of-the-bag debris, goes into recycling, unread.
And then there is the issue of me just being crappy at Candy Crush and not of "the age" to excel at any sort of video game. I can feel the mocking eyes of Millennials roll as I fail to reach another level. To further avert attention, I play with the sound off (my headphones play actual music) which is too bad as the sound effects and ethereal "sweet"s are the best part.
Ask friends for a life? Yes, friends, tell me to delete Candy Crush from my apps like my single friends delete men from their contacts they no longer want to be tempted to text. They all need to go.
For more style musings where we give father time the finger, please visit us at Blank Stare, Blink.
Follow Paula Mangin on Twitter: www.twitter.com/ballah