Rated R for dirty double-entendres and creaky cunnilingus. (From NYT review of “The Lovers”)


I love the subway. I was the kid on the train with my grandfather staring out the window on my knees (I’m aware that the phrase “on my knees” is triggering to some. Stop it) and peering into the darkened tunnel. (I’m aware that the phrase “darkened tunnel” is triggering to some. Have fun).  I love the rats (although my toes curl), the feculent track water, the third rail (yes, Mr. Blue) and the increasing stench of urine as you approach either end of the station towards the tunnels. I love how you can tell the time of day by the crowds. Somber and silent is a Monday morning commute. Loud and raucous is a Saturday night at midnight. I love when I can stare out of the front of train and watch as it glides along from the dark to the light of the next station. When I lifted up one of my kids to look out, I enjoyed it as much as they did. I love when I see another train next to mine and it’s either much higher or lower than my train or going at the same exact speed. I suppress the urge to wave. I guess what I’m saying is I love this city. Did I say I miss stepping in dog shit?


I’ll write about music soon but just got this sticker and put it on the case. Simple, true.