Cranky toddler? Take 1 IPod with Wiggles and one rainy day random drive, mix well and enjoy hybrid gas mileage without guilt.

Vroom vroom!

I completely empathize with your problem. The guy who sat down next to you sat next to me last week. And, well, he stinks. Either he doesn’t bathe often enough or consumes cubic feet of curry on a daily basis, but, well, you have your hand under your nose like I did.

I hate to be alarmist but you might want to keep your eye on him. He tends to rest his hands on his groin and likes to move his manjunk about in a compulsive fashion. It’s disturtbing to say the least. But that would explain my name for him: smelly wanker guy.

I am sorry you are next to him. I keep telling myself that I am wrong but there’s something about him that I don’t trust.

Keep your hand under your nose, anyway. The smell is undisputably bad.

Since my dream of a portable cellphone scrambler is both inefficient and illegal, I question what would be the appropriate measure for the blowhard two rows behind me, who is so loud I can hear him despite my IPod volume set to the highest level:

A. Rolled up ball of paper in his general direction
B. Wet rolled up ball of paper in his general direction.
C. Crank up the IPod.
D. Moblog about him to express my annoyance in passive aggressive ways.

NYC is a downright mess. Few subway lines are running, and the ones that are don’t all have a/c in every car. So cars that do have a/c are packed to the gills and are hot anyway.

Add to that it’s 95F today, and humid, and you have 9 million people in the metro area who are angry, sticky, smelly and just want to go home.

Plus, it’s a freaking rainstorm. The transportation of a major metropolis comes to a halt because of rain? We can do better than that for heaven’s sake.

However, a very very kind cabbie took me to the bus station despite it being past his off-duty time, and his kindness more than made up for the horrors of this morning. Now to go home, drink and rest. Be careful out there.
Sent via BlackBerry. Pardon the typos!

Am I the only one who was taught by several teachers to always always always let a pregnant lady go ahead in the line for the ladies’ room?

Of course, I have trouble getting a seat on the subway. Why should anyone care if I have to go and a fetus is dancing on my bladder?
Sent via BlackBerry. Pardon the typos!

I’m testing the wild, wooly moblog. It’s not like I have a camera phone anymore BUT I do have a Blackberry. And I know you’re dying to know
what typos my thumbs can come up with while I go to Texas.

Land of my favorite beer.

That I can’t really drink too much of.