Halloween on the train

Warm in NYC this Halloween. Costumed idiots wearing little on top. The rains will come and won't they be sorry as they shiver in the means streets vainly hailing taxis at 2 AM.

I'm on this amazingly crowded NJTransit train, SRO and all that. Shrieking toddlers and querulous old ladies. (Hey, lady, I got the last seat, so tough. I'm older than you, so quit bitching.)

Why are all these people LEAVING our magic isle? Shouldn't they be streaming INTO Manhattan for their pranks and cranks?

Or, OMG, they're all going to the same bar mitzvah that I am! Today I am a man, etc.

It's Reform affair, so I can safely bet there will be mountains of shrimp -- no one loves shrimp with the same ardor as Jews, for reasons I've never fathomed -- and lots of good and obviously non-kosher wine.

I've hardly had anything to eat all day, since I'm still traumatized by recent sightings in the looking-glass. I suspect I'll dive right into the food, and indeed, I am often the first in a buffet line.

What's the point of this post?

Shit, there I go again, demonstrating my utter failure as a worthy blogger offering informative, sage wine interpretations. "Terence, you valueless FOF!"*

Bene. The key to Inner Peace is self-knowledge. The -loathing's optional.

*FOF = fat old fuck

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