Read the newspaper today? Michael Jackson has food poisoning.
He ate 10-year old weiner.
Without a doubt, the one train has the best on-train entertainment in the city. Times square and union station definitely take the prize for platform performers. I’ve seen break dancers; a family of five, mom, dad, and kids ranging from about four to twelve; a killer band with a trumpet, drums, upright bass and other random instruments; and a big black lady whose voice blew Whitney Houston’s out of the water—but nothing compares to the likes of Cody the Subway poet (who has reportedly been spotted numerous times on the one) and the other characters I’ve seen.
Heading uptown to 110st Friday night, a short, homely old man with a hunched back and short, wiry gray beard got on the train holding a small paper McDonalds cup full of change. He introduced himself in a garble of words, the only one of which I could make out was “I consider myself a performer” and proceeded to hunch down to eyelevel with a girl seated kitty-corner from me, look her dead in the eye and start in, in a scratchy voice that perfectly matched his character: “Oh woman oh woman don’t treat me so mean you’re the meanest old woman I ever seen.” He had everyone’s attention in an instant. He switched generations, grabbed a pole, and lowered himself to the ground chanting “a lean back. Lean back,. Lean back. Lean back” He worked in some Nelly, some Temptations, and some raunchy jokes about Michael Jackson, the pope and per-puberty boys (chooses any combination of the three) that I’d never before heard before making it down to me. Again, exactly at eye level, he points to me and sang: “did I ever cross youre mind? Anytime?” then to the girl my age next to me “did you ever wake up reaching out for me” and after a little Bryan Adams and r kelly’s seventh grade ballad “I believe I can fly,” I had to get off the train. By then I’d given him all the change that’d collected at the bottom of my bag. Considering the clasp on my coin purse sucks, it sounded like a good amount of money hitting his cup.
I’ve also heard tell of break-dancers that do it in the train isles. Now there’s a bumper sticker for you.
Without a doubt, the one train has the best on-train entertainment in the city. Times square and union station definitely take the prize for platform performers. I’ve seen break dancers; a family of five, mom, dad, and kids ranging from about four to twelve; a killer band with a trumpet, drums, upright bass and other random instruments; and a big black lady whose voice blew Whitney Houston’s out of the water—but nothing compares to the likes of Cody the Subway poet (who has reportedly been spotted numerous times on the one) and the other characters I’ve seen.
Heading uptown to 110st Friday night, a short, homely old man with a hunched back and short, wiry gray beard got on the train holding a small paper McDonalds cup full of change. He introduced himself in a garble of words, the only one of which I could make out was “I consider myself a performer” and proceeded to hunch down to eyelevel with a girl seated kitty-corner from me, look her dead in the eye and start in, in a scratchy voice that perfectly matched his character: “Oh woman oh woman don’t treat me so mean you’re the meanest old woman I ever seen.” He had everyone’s attention in an instant. He switched generations, grabbed a pole, and lowered himself to the ground chanting “a lean back. Lean back,. Lean back. Lean back” He worked in some Nelly, some Temptations, and some raunchy jokes about Michael Jackson, the pope and per-puberty boys (chooses any combination of the three) that I’d never before heard before making it down to me. Again, exactly at eye level, he points to me and sang: “did I ever cross youre mind? Anytime?” then to the girl my age next to me “did you ever wake up reaching out for me” and after a little Bryan Adams and r kelly’s seventh grade ballad “I believe I can fly,” I had to get off the train. By then I’d given him all the change that’d collected at the bottom of my bag. Considering the clasp on my coin purse sucks, it sounded like a good amount of money hitting his cup.
I’ve also heard tell of break-dancers that do it in the train isles. Now there’s a bumper sticker for you.
posted by Erin at 12:55 AM
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