Well, it finally happened, an event so immensely irritating that I could no longer sit on my duff and continue to *not* blog. So now, thanks to rain+tornado?+heat+the ever-loving MTA, is the first-ever New York Minute blog post. Let's get to the good stuff:
Ah, rain. Not only did you rob me of hours of sleep by tripping some stooge's car alarm right below my window—not once, but twice, at 45 minutes a pop—but, rain, you also saw fit to shut down THE ENTIRE NEW YORK SUBWAY SYSTEM. And for good measure, you took out New Jersey Transit, Metro-North and the LIRR. All hail the mighty rain.
But surely the MTA has had to deal with rain before, no? Oui, my friends. On average, it precipitates 121 days a year in New York City. For those of you keeping score at home, that's a third of the year. Granted, it isn't all rain. But a goodly portion is. So what gives? Apparently the infrastructure of "the world's best transportation system." (Direct quote from MTA website http://www.mta.info/mta/network.htm, which apparently shut down during the critical times when people would have actually needed it to get information today.)
But, truly, I tell you brothers and sister of Gotham and beyond, I am *not* here to kvetch about the MTA (today). I am here to ask, nay, demand to know what became of the Future? You remember the Future, don't you? It is that golden age of telecommunicating telecommuting we were all promised. Why do we even need the MTA? Why must I leave the comfort of my air-conditioned apartment to put in eight hours of hard, grueling labor? Why can't I labor from my living room? Or kitchen? Or, for the risque, bedroom? Where is my teleconference? The one where I wear a suit jacket and blouse with just my Jockey shorts in the southern hemisphere? You know, business up top, party on the bottom. Or better yet, where is my IM-based workgroup, so that I can sit on my couch in my Underoos all day, no one the wiser?
I see how telecommuting won't work for everyone. Certain careers are dependent on location; waiters, doctors and my Starbucks barista lose some meaning if they aren't where I need them. (Closest barista: 981 feet.) But imagine, if you can, a commute without the desk jockeys, such as myself (proud member since 1999). It would be so easy! No sweaty bodies packed into a metal tube like Spam. Just half as many sweaty bodies, with more space to breathe. Trust me, this is a good thing. There is only so much good will to be spent in one day and if you have to sink it all into your morning commute, things don't look so good for the afternoon. Not even with a venti iced green tea.
Until next time, hang tough. Underoos optional.
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1 comment:
Yippy! NYM!
I prefer my 'Dukes of Hazard' underoos.
-Anon
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