Hot oil & Leroy

Several tidbits to address today, as I am really enjoying the feedback I am getting from everyone:

1. Yes, I am saving these emails. I don't know about a book deal, as a few of you have suggested, but maybe my kids will enjoy reading them some day.

2. JP says I am old because I criticize frivolous fashions. I want to clarify: Not all frivolous fashion is up for criticism. I like some of it. Just not the unflattering, blood-tainted kind. Perhaps that's just me. And JP, I believe one of us is 29, and it isn't me ... (kisses!)

3. Welcome newcomers! That would be Andrew, who apparently hasn't dropped off the face of the Earth after all, and my cousin Bob. Congratulations! You've pushed me over my 50 person per email limit, so I'll be sending these out in two batches from now on. You each get a cookie. (And, yes, Andrew, I am really, truly living in New York. More on your other questions later.)

Now onto the very New Yorkiness of it all ...

There is this man. I imagine his name is Leroy, because he could possibly be the baddest man in the whole damn town.

Leroy sings on the subways around the 23rd Street area. I've heard him on the F, the 6 and the R, W, N lines. I'm not 100 percent sure what he looks like, since I am always trying to avoid eye contact -- and the plea for my spare change. To the best of my knowledge he is a black man, likely in his late 50s, early 60s. He's kind of short, wears a tan parka and sings like someone, but I can't quite put my finger on it. Maybe its Eartha Kitt? Maybe Macy Gray? Katherine can probably help me out here: It's raspy and sort of deep. It's not pleasant, but it's not unpleasant either. Sort of an acquired taste. Like corn dogs.

Anyway, the first day I heard Leroy was Valentine's Day. I was on my way back from work and Leroy was on the 6 train, belting out love songs. I assumed this romantic mood was inspired by the holiday.

I was so wrong.

Since Feb. 14 I have heard Leroy sing "Turn Off The Lights" by Teddy Pendergrassat least a half dozen times. You know, it's not the singing that gets to me. It's the lyrics, being sung to every man, woman, man/woman and child from here to 42nd Street.

A sampling:

Let's take a shower, shower together, yeah
I'll wash your body and you'll wash mine, yeah
Rub me down in some hot oils, baby, yeah
And I'll do the same thing to you

Leroy seems to be particularly fond of the hot oils part, since he repeats it at the end of every verse.

Now, I know I can be prudish. But it's just very, very uncomfortable to be in a small, cramped enclosed space with total strangers hearing about hot oils and "sexy moods." Yet another reason not to make eye contact.

So yesterday I was on the platform waiting for a V train and an F train pulls up. The doors open and I hear Leroy's dulcet tones, crooning about -- you guessed it -- hot oils.

It was a good day to ride the V train.

Until Friday, my friends ...