winks at winkler

So. The train this morning was such a pleasant experience. I had to stand between the legs of a sleeping tall guy who had backheads in his ears. The train driver was a maniac who had apparently had to get to the loop faster than the purple line.

I had somebody's lovely kenneth cole brief case up my ass and two girls smelling of the lastest bath and body works fruit imitation with the token blond highlights and two black purses (of varying size making 2 each --that's 4 bags for 2 girls) talking in their latest lincoln park lingo, who were fresh as a daisy as sweat was rolling down my back and I was trying not to touch anybody. It didn't work.

Neither did Jill Sobule, telling me she's about to get back on her medication, oi. My rainy day parade faded the moment I realized there were other people in the world. I used to love riding the train. I need to go back to a time when it was a treat. Like trying to figure out the NY trains or which was is out bound and in bound in boston when you are going east/west.

Where did all these people come from and why are they riding the trains today? I wonder if anyone else is annoyed with the crowded trains. How come we are all so silent when we have to touch each other?

The newsroom is dead. But today I did a brillent thing. I asked the SVP of the Tribune who he was. Brillent. But they never gave me a manual with headshots. And to me there is never a separation between the guy on the 26th floor with matching walls and furniture and me, who has a panda with wings springing off my monitor and all the anti-bush photos I could cut out.

But Henry Winkler came in today. Who knows why. He was smaller than I expected. I think his suit was too big. One of my co-workers asked to take a picture with the fonz. this is the woman who uses a little too much eyeliner in such an unusual way. White pencil on her black skin around her eyes and eyebrows. And she wears large out-of-the-80's earrings which touch her shoulders in fake gold geometrics (she's fond of the puffy zig-zag). She's so unusual. But cranky.

I am glad to be going to the woods this weekend. Tourists are flocking today and pointing up at the sky like children. Maybe I'm uncomfortable here because I no longer feel like a tourist.

My biggest vanity today is wishing a lot of people read my diary. It makes me feel less mediocre. I need to read "Serenading Louis". I saw it last night. One of the husbands says "I woke up and I realized that I am not going to change the world, I'm not going to be president, I'm not even going to....(something)" I think big. I dream huge. I'd like to tread on divine without having to endure stardom. I need his realization.

I'm like one of those popping heads games you play at Chucky Cheese's where you try to hit all the heads down. I need to be hit down to reality for just a moment and enjoy my life without worrying about grand accomplishment.