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Show Tunes Me The Way
A girl gives the gay-hating religious nutbags on the train what they've got coming. Then again, it would have been even more perfect if she'd made them all spend the night in bed with human plastic surgery practice doll and Liza-leech, David Gest...but I guess you can't have it all.

Posted by aalkon at September 21, 2004 8:56 AM

Comments

Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.

If I could sing, I would do the same thing the next time I am in Manhattan.

Luckily, in Paris I don't understand when people are preaching, so it really doesn't bother me, yet.

Posted by: Jason Stone at September 21, 2004 6:57 AM

I don't know that I'm going to /believe/ it, but damn, if it's true, this woman deserves all the oranges she wants. :)

Posted by: Lea at September 21, 2004 11:15 AM

She's full of shit.

Posted by: Lena at September 21, 2004 5:30 PM

Yeah, that seems like the more likely answer. Bah. :)

Posted by: Lea at September 21, 2004 7:19 PM

I have my own "sexuality and the subway" story from the summer of... 1983, I believe.

It was the summer I came out to my family. I was bussing tables in the theatre district, going to therapy twice a week, and having a serious problem keeping weight on. My hair style had a distinctly Dachau-like quality. Worst of all, I was reading a lot of Foucault and seeing conspiracies everywhere.

One particularly filthy and humid afternoon, I was on the downtown IRT, in a subway car with only three or four other people. A guy sitting directly across from me was screaming his head off, non-stop, like a complete lunatic. After a few minutes I was totally fed up, so I took a deep breath and roared back at him, "WOULD YOU PLEASE JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!!??" He suddenly looked very scared. And, not surprisingly, so did all of the other people in the car. They were probably thinking, "oh, great, now we've got TWO psychotics on our hands."

This is a poem that always reminds me of that summer. (It was hell, but it was great.)


The Yellow Star that Goes with Me
by Jessica Greenbaum

Sometimes when Im really thirsty, I mean really dying of thirst
For five minutes
Sometimes when I board a train
Sometimes in December when Im absolutely freezing

For five minutes
Sometimes when I take a shower
Sometimes in December when Im absolutely freezing
Sometimes when I reach from steam to towel, when the bed has soft, blue sheets

Sometimes when I take a shower
For twenty minutes, the white tiles dripping with water
Sometimes when I reach from steam to towel, when the bed has soft, blue sheets
Sometimes when I split an apple, or when Im hungry, painfully hungry

For twenty minutes, the white tiles dripping with water
As the train passes Chambers Street. Were all crammed in like laundry
Sometimes when I split an apple, or when Im hungry, painfully hungry
For half an hour, sometimes when Im on a train

As it passes Chambers Street. Were all crammed in like laundry
Its August. The only thing to breathe is everybodys stains
For half an hour. Sometimes when Im on a train
Or just stand along the empty platform

Its August. The only thing to breathe is everybodys stains
Sometimes when I board a train
Or just stand along the empty platform
Sometimes when Im thirsty, I mean really dying of thirst

Posted by: Lena is all better now at September 21, 2004 9:33 PM

Heh. I'll believe your story more easily, Lena. It's simply told, and it involves screaming rather than singing. Screaming comes /easily/. ;)

I've no stories of my own to share because I live in a town where the public transportation is crap. Whenever I've taken subways in other cities, the people have been scrupulously polite and ignored my existence completely.

Nice poem, by the way. Writing that sort is a task, to be sure. *grins*

Posted by: Lea at September 22, 2004 6:11 PM