Rags & Bones Vol. 3

For the uninitiated, Rags and Bones was once called The Ramblings. It is basically random topics that don’t warrant a full entry so I lump them in together in a big bowl of omnibus stew. Mmmm, stew.

On the 1 train a few weeks ago, a dapper looking gent boarded at 86th Street. He had some tweedy looking trousers on with a sharp crease in them and a pair of brown wingtips. A very expensive looking camel hair overcoat on his back. Covering his pate was a grey Borsalino fedora with a small feather in the hat band. (I thought it was a Borsalino, which is the brand that was favored by Al Capone and countless other wise guys, along with former Japanese Emperor Hirohito, a quick peek at the pin on the band confirmed my suspicion.) A silk scarf with a paisley pattern was loosely draped around his neck. A pretty impressive ensemble already. But here’s the topper; the chap was also sporting a monocle. It was amazing. I have never seen one that wasn’t in a photograph, a cartoon, or a Mr. Peanut advertisement. Oh, and Colonel Mustard in the board game Clue. It was memorizing. He – I am betting his name was Roman, Clive or Nigel – sat down and began to read the New Yorker. With the aid of a monocle! I still can’t get over this. Famous monocle wearers in history have included Fritz Lang, Anton Chekohov, Karl Marx, Sir Alfred Lord Tennyson and famed British astronomer Sir Patrick Moore. A monocle on the subway, man do I love New York City.

Speaking of the subway…

The red line (1,2,3 on the west side) on weekends is a circus. There is always construction, express lines go local and vice versa and service is sporadic at best. Anyhoo, last weekend I was heading downtown and the muffled voice comes over the intercom to announce that instead of stopping at 72nd Street, the next stop will be Times Square 42nd Street. For crying out loud. The lady across from me says, “never fails on the weekends does it?” We exchanged a little Manhattan small talk/whining. Then out of nowhere, the bloke with seven teeth total that seemed to be sleeping in the corner pipes up loudly “What the %#$&! I told them when I got on the train in needed to go to 86th Street! I showed them my insane card! I’m insane. What do you want me do to?!?” Uh, I don’t know Mr. Insane Straphanger. I really don’t know. He then went back to sleep until Times Square.

Seriously, I love New York City.

(Sidenote: a google search for “insane card” only produced links to card tricks.)

I’d like to date a girl named Bobbi. Extra points would be awarded if her last name was McGee.

The NBA season is wrapping up. The playoffs should be nuts. My MVP votes – how do I not actually have a vote? – would be:

1st - Chris Paul – New Orleans Hornets - The guy took a team that many didn’t even know existed to second place in the monstrous Western Conference.

2nd - Kevin Garnett – Boston Celtics - KG has the Celtics playing tenacious defense. (Yep, I did wrote that on purpose.) He makes a difference on nearly every play on both sides of the floor.

3rd - Kobe Bryant – Los Angeles Lakers - I cannot stand him, I hate his whining, and I think he is a bad teammate, but he did lead the Lakers to the best record in the West. That’s as much of a compliment I could ever give to Kobe Bryant.

I am sticking to my pre-season prediction from the Finals. Phoenix vs. Boston. Phoenix in six games.

There is a film (that’s a loose definition) coming out called “What Happens In Vegas.” Not only does it have a preposterous rom-com premise, it stars Ashton Kutcher and Cameron Diaz. Two of the most irritating, overacting and overrated performers of all time. I cannot imagine two people I would rather not see in a movie. It might as well be starring Rosie O’Donnell and Sean Hayes. My theory is that the flick is an elaborate proposition bet between two bored studio execs. The bet being “I can take two unlikable stars, a moronic premise but stick to the romantic comedy formula and still turn a small profit. Hundred grand says I can.” It’s the only explanation.

I find Activia Yogurt, the one that helps ladies poop, more funny than I should. I love how the commercials subtly say that the product helps you make a deuce. I wish they would just come out and say it. “Problems with number two ladies? Have a mango yogurt.” There was a lawsuit earlier this year claiming that the product did not do what it is supposed to do. I do not want to know how they tested the data. I don’t know why there isn’t a male version of the yogurt. Of course, we have Taco Bell. Maybe that’s good enough.

And finally, my favorite news story this week was the man in Bosnia whose home has been hit five times by meteorites. FIVE TIMES! What makes the story art is the man’s explanation. “I am obviously being targeted by extraterrestrials. I don’t know what I have done to annoy them but there is no other explanation that makes sense.” That is amazing. I can just see little grey aliens taking bets as they launch meteorites out of a flying saucer aiming for the same house in a Bosnian village. “I hit it again! Pay up Glorp!”

What did we do before the internet?

Good night and good luck.