Best Subway Ride Ever

First of all, on the first truly hot day of the season (high 87°F), it is my intense, dehumidified, pleasure to announce that MTA subway cars are air-conditioned. After a sweaty trudge to downtown(ish) Williamsburg to catch the J (because the F-ing L is down again!), I transfered to the 6 and there, on a mostly empty car, is a middle-aged black lady in a flowery church dress, plugged into her diskman (when I said everybody has an iPod, I didn't really mean everybody) and singing her ass off. I mean, full volume and full head-bobbing action. There were a few disapproving or "what a loon" looks cast her way by other riders, but I, for one, couldn't suppress laughter. Sing out, sister.

At the first stop, a guy gets on who screamed music nerd, complete with thick-rimmed engineer-glasses and black & white checkered Vans on his feet. He no sooner sits down than he's pulling his new treasure out of the plastic bag: a big, worn, double-album of some forgotten hippy/psychedelia band, by the looks of it. As he looked at it, you would have thought he was a 13 year old boy with porn from the look on his face. I have so been there, dude. I can almost smell old-record smell and hear the crack of the double-album spine just writing about it.

And then, the Uptown 6 transformed into the Treat Train. With every following stop, all of these hunky guys just kept getting on the train, striking pouty poses and taking advantage of the tricep-tightening overhead handles to give full benefit to their new tank-tops. I don't know if there was a male model convention on the Upper East Side or what, but that train was positively crowded with beefcake by the time I got off. Of the train, I mean.

Yep, that trip's gonna be hard to beat.