Hobos, hohos and ding-dongs (and elephants)

I realized two things after the last real post. One is that I didn’t link to Ben's page. The second thing is that my story was supposed to serve as an introduction to me, and I think it was more about Ben!

Here’s the thing: I think the majority of people who would read this are well aware of Ben. They’re well aware of me. However, I’m treating this blog as if it’s speaking to an amorphous being. Let’s call this being Mr. Internet. Hullo, Mr. Internet.

One quick thing to say: on the 6 train on the way out last night, a young man of 20 came into my car. He said he was from Washington, and he was trying to get to Florida for work. He looked grungy, and, by grungy, I mean dirty, not Nirvana-esque. He had a yellow, short, squat pit bull with basically a canine backpack around his (the dog’s) waist. He looked healthy and well-fed. His coat was actually shiny and petting him didn’t make my hand feel greasy. Essentially, this young man took care of his wonderful, loving, well-trained dog. My heart broke, and, as he walked by, I saw other people search for change. I pulled out my wallet and gave him a dollar. I’ve done this before, especially for very good buskers, since I feel like they gave me something (aural pleasure). When he walked away, I went back to my copy of Rumi, but it felt useless. I just wanted to sit and think. I wanted to be alone with my thoughts and memories. It was the first time I ever gave money to a homeless person and didn’t feel any sort of pity in doing it. That is to say, every homeless person I gave money to previous to him was out of pity for that person. In his and the dog’s case, I didn’t feel bad for them necessarily. I just wanted to share what I had with someone who seemed like he needed it. Do I know if he spent it on booze? No. Do I know if he goes home to a really nice studio on Montague Street? No. All I know is that it felt right to help these two, the consummate boy and his pup going on an adventure. As he walked away, I stared at myself in the subway window, which, especially when in tunnels, doubles as a mirror. I looked back at a well-fed face with my trimmed hair and beard, and wanted to cry.

That was depressing! Let's be happy and laugh at my expense; with that, I'm going to steal a post from Ben. It's a good one- Five key things I didn't experience until after the age of 23, or: The most revealing post you will EVER read on this blog

1. Very public displays of affection (not to be confused with public displays of too much affection)


2. Finally getting British humor (and finding it funny)


3. The joys of sexting
(Uhh...how do I show this without revealing my sex life?)

4. Growing a moustache!


















5. Being Zen, if only for a moment

(Seriously, can this guy be our mascot?)