There’s a homeless man who sits on the sidewalk outside of Benevolent Dictators, Inc. He’s there every evening when I leave work. He’s on the west side of 5th Avenue just north of 43rd Street and has a sign that reads, “I’m hungry, homeless,” etc. He has a dog with him. It’s a medium sized dog. Maybe a pit bull or a mutt. Do you know what I think when I walk past them every evening? “That poor dog.” How shitty is that? It’s not as though I lack compassion for the man. I just seem to have more for the dog. I’m a jerk.

When I moved to New York twenty years ago, I use to keep a lot of quarters in my pocket and dole them out to homeless people on the streets and subways. The city was in terrible shape when I first got here and homelessness was rampant. But it got to be too much for me and I did what a lot of urban dwellers did; I hardened my heart and the homeless became invisible to me. You had to. It was a defense mechanism. Otherwise, you became overwhelmed with melancholy. So I don’t think I’ve broken that bad habit yet. I should. I’ll try.

Last night on the train I was über annoyed because a woman a few rows behind me was talking talking talking talking talking without pausing to take a breath and I thought my cell phone jammer was failing because I couldn’t shut her up. (It doesn’t always work. If someone’s cell phone is using a frequency outside the range of my jammer, they’re unaffected.) Finally, I turned around so see who was running her pie hole and she wasn’t on the phone. She was with someone but was hogging the entire conversation and wouldn’t allow her friend get a word in. It was all about her! They need to invent a jammer that freezes vocal chords.

Look, I know everyone is sick to death of hearing about my cell phone jammer escapades. I’ve been told, so you don’t have to deny it. But just this one more and then I’ll shut up.

Last evening a gentleman sitting in front of me on the train home met with some erratic cell phone service (as so many do, who sit in my proximity). He cursed Verizon, his carrier. His seat was the type that could accommodate three people and he had the whole seat to himself. Every time his call was dropped, he would slide to a different part of the seat—first the bulkhead, then the aisle, then the middle—thinking the service was better just a foot or two away and place his call again.

As you can imagine, his service never improved. In a last desperate attempt to carry on his meaningless conversation, he laid down across the seat on his stomach and held his head over the edge of the seat, certain that the strongest signal was to be found near the floor of the train. It was so funny!

I’m know mean. Please forgive me.

How far out of touch with reality can one Hollywood starlet be?

Swiss watchmaker Raymond Weil paid Ms. Theron a reported $20 million to shill be their spokeswoman and wear their watches exclusively.

Here on planet earth, that’s an extraordinary amount of money to do nothing. And by “nothing,” I’m not speaking in metaphor or allegory. All she had to do was pose for some pictures and wear a stupid wristwatch when she went out at night. What could be easier? Well, guess what? She couldn’t do it. She was photographed at a film festival wearing a Dior wristwatch, was sued, and a judge ordered her to give all that money back. A contract is a contract!

What happened? Did she forget? Not care? How arrogant. How dreary.

* * *

I hit a triple on my train home last night. I knocked out three—count ‘em—three cell phone calls at one time when I activated my cell phone jammer. I’ve hit hundreds of singles, a handful of doubles, but this was my first triple.

It never gets old.

* * *

The U.S. Presidents from 1776 to present.

Are you following the mess out in Georgia? Russia might annex part of the country and the whole thing is Georgia’s fault. They provoked Russia by trying to seize control of secessionist South Ossetia, which has a Russian majority. I think everyone agrees that Russia’s response has been a little over the top, but my father-in-law summed the whole thing up very succinctly:

What’d they expect?

* * *

Overheard on the 10:42 p.m. train from a loud, boisterous female cell phone-user. (My jammer was dead. Curses!) All dialog is guaranteed verbatim:

By the South Amboy station? Them mutherfuckers got the best chicken salad in the worl (sic). I lie not. I’m constipated. I can’t take a shit. Gimmie my damn soda (to her young daughter). What’s the name of that place again? The Honeymoon Motel? I’ll punch you right in you gotdamn head. Hey! How you? You alright? Be safe, you mutherfucker!

No cell phone for you, you yappy Barbie Doll.

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The title of this post is a line from a movie/play. Can you name it?

Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?