I can't sleep…
Notes:
Source: Mark Rothko‘s “Number 14, 1960” & Cafe Rothko (via San Francisco Museum of Modern Art) via mennyfox55
Friday, November, 13th.
Morning Paper.
“Confiscated glitter spray at airport security…Mouldy bread…No caffeinated coffee…Cannot find simple persian rugs with cherub imagery…Lack of free time…Horrors of luxury travel…Mediocre meals…Rude customer service…The obnoxious guy at the next table…The Talkative taxi cab driver…A hostile airline ticket clerk…The interminable security line…The malodorous seatmate and crying baby.” Teddy Wayne, the author, continues in The Microcomplaint: Nothing Too Small to Whine About. “It was once considered unbecoming, or annoying itself, to moan publicly about trifling personal ordeals. Now, in a seismic shift for the moral culture, abetted by technology, we tolerate and even encourage the “microcomplaint”: the petty, petulant kvetch about the quotidian.”
I finish the article and mumble my POV: Micro b*tches and then tweet or blog the h*ll out of them. Can you believe these people? Grab a six-pack of perspective people!
Wednesday, November 18th.
5:40 a.m. Metro North to Grand Central.
Train whistle blows as it approaches.
I’m assessing the passenger load as the train cars pass. 5:40 and jammed.
There’s a single aisle seat open in a two seater.
My seat mate doesn’t raise his head from his magazine.
His oversized backpack sits on the floor between his legs.
His legs, spread wide, encroach. A Manspreader! In My Space. Continue reading “Riding Metro-North. With Kvetch.”
