Tuesday, May 27, 2003
Yesterday when I was taking the train back to my apartment there was an absolutely classic moment. Imagine with me a L-train car with their strange seventies decorum and hard carpet covered seats. Sitting in the seat directly caddie-corner across the doorway is a pair of black Velcro shoes. Follow now with me up the legs of a ridiculously pale and hairy white man. His shorts were plaid of the golf short variety and he wore a dingy T-Shirt with a band that I had never heard of plastered across the front of it. His balding bald head was covered slightly by a pair of enormous head phones. The kind that block all sound but your own pathetic music choice. His eyes are closed and the only sound on the train is this strange rocker half whisper-screaming to his Discman which is pumping white trash rock into his balding bald head. I specifically heard three words: rock, Hate, and Jews. Did I have myself a Nazi-punk on my hands or what? Man was he weird looking. He didn't fit any stereotype except his own creepy style that is hard to pin down. And so he sang all the way into the city. Absolutely freaking hilarious. He at one point opened a map of Chicago and continued his balding bald head banging and soft-scream rocking. Did I mention that he had a slight lisp that was quiet apparent when he screamed so softly. Was he a tourist with his map? A lonely, ugly, Nazi tourist? Boy am I going to do some impressions of this guy.