My iPod Knows Me...

I have an iPod Shuffle, and I think it knows me. I mean, it plays exactly what I want to hear. For example, this morning it played all the harmonic stuff while I winged my way to work. Which was really needed, since I hopped on the V just for kicks, which required a switch at Queens Plaza to the E. And since I usually take the much quieter F train, the soothing sounds of Aimee Mann and Slaid Cleaves was the perfect zone music for the rocky trip.
And this evening, as I raced from work to get to Macy's in time to buy the perfect jewelry and evening wrap for the Brazilian Chamber of Commerce thingy that I'm going to tomorrow night, the music spoke to me again. Lots of The Killers and Green Day. "Get to the store before it closes!" it said. So much so that I got off at 42nd just so I could walk to Harold Square. Which was a dumb move - I had to dodge tourists.
Which is another story. This is episode 17 in my continuing series of "Becoming a New Yorker." In this episode, Identifying Tourists beyond the normal tells (camera, shorts, black socks with gym shoes) goes beyond the visual and becomes the psychological. It makes you a little crazy, but as soon as you see three or more people strolling abreast in the middle of a busy sidewalk, you feel the word tourist - you don't even have to say it in your head. You pause your iPod in case you have to execute the Lance-pass ('scuse me, 'scuse me) in case someone asks for directions. (Prior episodes, unwritten here but experienced just the same, cover the NY-dweller's requirement to give directions in clear, concise terms: Down two blocks, take a right and one avenue over...)
So the Tourists were a technical problem, but I slalomed my way and made it in time. I spent roughly 3 times on the jewelry than the evening wrap. Macy's has the old-timey wooden esaclators, so I rode those a little, too.
On my walk home, I saw a plastic crate in the middle of the cross walk at 34th and Broadway, so I thought it would be a good deposit in the Karma bank if I picked it up and put it on the sidewalk. But Karma is a funny thing. As I was doing it, nonchalantly and in my oh-so-New York way, I realized I was now out of balance in my Karma bank. You see, last week I stayed with an elderly woman who had fallen and roughed up her arm while my colleague ran to get an EMT from a nearbby car crash. That was my payback for mildly cursing (to myself) a certain media type for inaccurate reporting that caused no end of annoying midnight phone calls from other nutty media types. But now, with picking up the plastic crate, I was in the positive on my Karma bank. I'm not sure what happens now. But I stepped carefully on the way home just in case.
No one had a good day at work today. By lunch time, we were all freaking a little bit, or on the verge of total coma. We're exhausted and there's still so much to do. This can't be the new normal. But we decided to write it all off today.

So let's talk about Our President's choice for his Second Supreme. I
swear... he must've pulled a muscle in his neck searching far and wide all
the way down the hall to his chief counsel's office. She was in charge of
the Texas Lottery. I swear I'm not making this up.

So to review: presidency of the Arabian Horse Association (AHA!) makes you
qualified for FEMA. And running games of chance mostly played by the
working poor in a desperate attempt to realize the American Dream makes you
perfect for the highest court in the land. Ok. Hello Einstein, your
dog is calling.