GWDIS, Xylophone Man

If you live in New York and use the subway, than you're familiar with the subway musicians. Clogging up the platforms with spectators from Ohio, they usually butcher some melody to the point where you and a couple of strangers pool your money and toss it into the guitar case/old hat/coffee cup and ask for them to stop playing. When they refuse, you stand on the platform and pray for the ungodly screech of the downtown 6 to obliterate your hearing and save you from the fifth drummer/guitarist/"Lean on Me" singer you've heard since 8:00am.

Yeah, okay. It's not always terrible. If good for nothing else, you can always bide your time between stepping defiantly over the yellow line (No Mom, no one is going to push me in front of the train. Yes, I read about that guy in the paper. No, I don't think I'm going to slip because A) I do not live in a Jennifer Lopez movie and B) I am not trying to drunkenly leap across the rails to impress a "hot chick.") and casually looking for Guy Who Dances in Subway.

GWDIS is that one guy, usually young, a bit hipster, who is WAY into the MUSIC and thinks that it's SO ANTI-ESTABLISHMENT to be ROCKING OUT on a platform instead of GETTING A JOB. You can recognize an imminent GWDIS by observing from a safe distance as the head begins to move up and down, allegedly to a "beat." The "beat-bopping" will eventually spread like an infection, from the head down through the limbs, and a wrist will activate as a hand starts slapping a pocket. Once the knees shift, it's all over. Clear the area. At least a 10-foot radius must be given to the GWDIS, as he is "comfortable" with "expressing himself" in public. Observe the way his entire body trembles, like a slow-motion siezure with vertical ambitions. Avert your eyes if you must, but you may miss out on a prime mocking opportunity, which may be the only way of salvaging your time spent waiting for a train.

Of course, I've always believed that GWDIS could and would develop a spiritual connection with all subway musicians. And then, on the L platform last night, I discovered Xylophone Man.

Okay. I was going to try to preface this with something, but... just... yeah. It's a xylophone. Who plays the xylophone, dude? What are you doing? The xylophone is something that they put in the kiddie section of the playground. Yes, the kiddie section. The four-and-under section. I mean, if you've been in the presence of a xylophone beyond the age of six, have you ever thought about using it? Really? Like, man, now that's an instrument I've always wished I could play. Does anybody put that on their list of, you know, Things to Do By My Thirtieth Birthday? A xylophone? What?!? Not to mention the sheer aggravation of lugging the thing anywhere, especially two levels down to the Union Square L train. Seriously? The drum guys don't even bother, and all they have to do is turn over four buckets.

Yet... the xylophone was sort of, um, unobtrusive I guess? The soft plinking faded into the background with a soothing quality that gently steered my thoughts from the day's workload to the piece of cake in my refrigerator at home. And, well, I did enjoy the way XM mixed things up by transitioning seamlessly from Joplin's The Entertainer into Bach's Zerreißet, zersprenget. And with no GWDIS in sight...

Well-played, xylophone man. Well-played indeed.

You know, I have to admit that sometimes CNN.com does things right. For example, the QUICKVOTE. You know what I'm talking about. It's that little two or three choice questionnaire on the bottom right of the main page. Today's box o' fun:


Who would you rather have overseeing operations at U.S. ports?

* Arab-based ports company
* U.S.-based mafia


Quirky polls like this lead me to believe that perhaps today's news media is slightly aware of the US government and it's "pick the lesser of two evils" strategy of policy-making.

Of course, the polls are probably composed by some sarcastic jackass like myself who derives pleasure from inserting anvilicious digs at society whenever possible. Not that I'd know anything about that.

Interested in results? Why, you can opt to click the ViewResults link without voting, exactly like the electoral system in REAL LIFE.

*Arab-based ports company: 38%
*US-based mafia: 62%

No wonder The Sopranos is back. Looks like Tony's got a job to do.

In Honor of Blog Against Sexism Day & International Women's Day

Thank you to verbify and bijal for reminding me. This is a companion piece. Your words are far more eloquent. This was originally posted on March 8th, 2006, in my old blog.


I am a woman. I live in a world that grants me fewer rights. I live in a world that tortures my sisters. I live in a world where a woman is less than a man.

I am a woman. My President believes that I do not have the right to decide whether or not life will be brought forth from my own uterus. If I live in South Dakota, my Governor has just taken that right away.

I am a woman. I work as hard as any man, achieve excellence in my career, and am asked why I don't have a boyfriend.

I am a woman. I am paid less than what I deserve. I will not receive that promotion for another five years. I must wear uncomfortable shoes in order to appear professional.

I am a woman. I am oppressed in 90% of the world. I am expected to defer, renounce, and remain silent because I do not have a penis.

I am a woman. I must have the perfect body, whether thin as a stick with voluptuous breasts or large-hipped with a pretty face.

I am a woman. I am told to smile to be more aesthetically pleasing to men on the street. I am expected to paint my face and part my hair. I cannot expose my skin or cover it up without labels and logos defining me.

I am a woman. My worth is still judged by my vagina. If I choose to let someone inside, it is the act of a whore or the embrace of a sacred lover. My entire sexual history equals my value as a human being.

Today, none of that matters.

I am a woman. I am proud to be a woman. I feel honored every morning when I wake up, knowing that I exist in this body, this being. I understand that I am judged, belittled, talked down to, harassed, and second-guessed for being a woman.

I am a woman. I am lucky to have the rare privilege to vote and have my say. I recognize those who fought to give me this right. I continue to fight and rally because I know that I will not be silenced.

I am a woman. I achieve excellence every day. I do not have a boyfriend. And I'm not interested.

I am a woman. I work hard. I will earn my due, and I will persevere because I choose to spit on the obstacles with which the world attempts to imprison me. I see the glass ceiling, and I'm holding a very large rock.

I am a woman in the United States of America. It is my responsibility to scream twice as loud for those who cannot be heard. It is my responsibility to never accept less when others do not have options. I am grateful for the random luck that allowed me to born in a small corner of the world where these words will not get me slaughtered. For now.

I am not ashamed of the size of my breasts. I am not ashamed of the bump on my nose, only that I notice it exists. I am not going to judge the length of my legs or the shape of my ass.

I am a woman. I smile when I am happy. I cry when I am devastated and broken. I do so because I am an evolved, thoughtful, emotionally connected human being. I will not paint my face today. I will not part my hair. I will cry tonight because it is my right.

I am a woman. I have sex when I want to, and I do not need a license to do so. I place value on my life's work, my love, my honesty, my friends, my family, and my sincerity. Sex is not who I am.

I am a woman. I have a voice. I matter.

Every day.