Come Look at the Freaks, Part 3

Welcome back, suckers. It has recently come to my attention that I am rapidly running out of things to talk about. So, like a tourist in a NYC souvenir shop, I am grabbing at anything that seems vaguely interesting. Well, there's only one more thing to mention right now: In two weeks, I'll be making a return visit to Gypsy to see Patti LuPone snarl at her stage daughters and then have a nervous breakdown when they decided they hate her. Lenora was just tickled pink that I invited her to come along! Okay, she wasn't really THAT excited, but I'm morally obligated to use the phrase "tickled pink" at least once a day. She'll also be just pleased as punch (another random, stupid, old-person expression that I'm rather fond of) to find out that I mentioned her on the blog again. Once again, her name's not really Lenora. Just thought I should mention that. But anyway...

I have decided that this here post will be a testament to the many, many qualms I have with today's society. Heh heh. Don'tcha just love it when I'm all proper and everything? No? Really? Anybody? Nobody... Anyway, it has recently occured to me that absolutely everything that is wrong with the American population can be witnessed on my morning bus. There's the creepy fifty-year-old guy who scowls at everyone, the crackheads who discuss politics and economics and the Vietnam War, the twittering idiots who will remain nameless for now, the lady in the poncho who looks for reasons to yell at people, and our haggered, loyal bus driver. This zany (did I really just use the word 'zany?') cast of characters makes for a very interesting morning commute. They are all as dear to me as the Pakistani guy who sold me my Low-Fat Blueberry Muffin at Dunkin' Donuts yesterday.

Still, I can only deal with them in moderation. I think my personal favorites are the crackheads. There is nothing more entertaining than listening to them debate the state of our economy. It's a damn shame that Crackhead # 1 is gonna lose his illegal apartment due to a lack of funds and have to move back in with his "pill-happy-pain-in-the-ass wife." According to him, she's a crazy freak who has "some crazy-ass crap to deal with." Don't we all, my friend? Don't we all? The best is when they talk politics. Everything political fact I know comes from them. Thanks for that, guys.

Up next on my list of favorites, and giving the crackheads a run for their money, are the twittering idiots. They vary in age, race, and gender, but most of them are white females between the ages of twelve and eighteen. They are more fun to watch than the protestors outside an abortion clinic and more annoying than the four-year-old Midwestern kids at Broadway shows who keep asking, "When is Mary Poppins gonna fly?" When you shut your freaking trap, that's when! I'm digressing, as usual. Let's see if I can drag myself back on topic. Ah, yes. The twittering idiots. Just this morning, as I sat pretending to listen to my iPod, I overheard this conversation between two vapid little darlings: "So I said to him, 'You know what? I don't hafta deal with this.' I'm not texting him back." Don't text him back. That'll show him. What a truly mature response to your problems. No, really. I bow before your superior level of mental maturity. What are you, like eleven? Whatever happened to actual human interaction? The kind where neither party is hiding behind the screen of a laptop/Blackberry/iPhone?

Let's see if I can wrap this up with a general statement toward the sorry state of our national society. Hmmm....Okay. Hold your hats, people. Stephenie Meyer is not the best writer ever. The Jonas Brothers are not going to be legends. Troy and Gabriella are not the most perfect couple in the history of everything. Neither are Edward and Bella. (Rhett and Scarlett, anyone? Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy? ROMEO AND JULIET?!) We are not ALL hateful bigots just because Prop 8 passed. Not all of our nation's problems are the fault of George Bush.

And that's all I have to say about that.