Posts Tagged ‘R Train’

We were swamped at work and I didn’t get a chance to catch my breath until well into the afternoon. Even if I hadn’t forgotten my lunch at home, I wouldn’t have been able to eat until 4:00 at the earliest. But by then I had gone beyond hunger. Ever been there? When you wait so long to eat that you no longer feel like eating? It’s like your hunger fed on itself until it disappeared.

So I decided that I wouldn’t run out and get something awful in the area (the deli around the corner makes a semi-competent egg sandwich; the owner of the deli two doors down is still mad at me because I refused to comp him a doctor’s appointment; the Chinese buffet next door makes Panda Express look like Shun Lee; the Burger King next door is a Burger King). Instead, I’d wait until we closed at 9:00, hightail it to Zito’s Sandwich Shoppe on 7th Avenue (in Brooklyn, not Manhattan) and get my new most favoritest sandwich ever: The 8-Hour Slow-Cooked Pork Bracciole.

It’s a butterflied loin of pork (from Faicco’s!) stuffed with provolone, garlic, parsley and a pinch of bread crumbs, covered in their deceptively simple tomato sauce, and sprinkled with parmigianno reggiano — all served on a perfect hero (from Brooklyn’s own Il Fornaretto Bakery!). It’s absolutely amazing.

Zito’s closes at 10:00, but I called them at around 8:00 and asked when they stopped taking orders. “10:00 p.m.” Perfect. If I left work at 9:00, I’d be between the Carroll Street station and the 4th Avenue and Ninth Street station (which is an area that gets great cell reception as it isn’t in a tunnel) by 9:45. I’d call in my order and arrive at Zito’s by 10:00 at the absolute latest.

I wasn’t hungry until around 8:30, but from the moment I devised my plan I could only think of that sandwich and how good it would taste when I ate it with my face.

A patient arrived at 8:15, so I started tidying and closing down what I could. He was on his way by 8:50 and I considered calling in my order and telling them that I’d be there in an hour. “Nah,” I thought. “No need. My plan is foolproof.”

Cut to 9:30, when we actually locked up.

I calmly walked to the R train, frantically doing math problems in my head (what if I get off the train just before 10 and call in the order and then get back on the train — would that work?). I didn’t see myself getting a sandwich. So I started considering the places near Zito’s that would still be open. Mediocre pizza, horrendous Mexican, Dunkin’ Donuts, Rite Aid… nothing really tickled my fancy. Then I heard the R train coming. I raced down the stairs and then raced up the other stairs (I hate you, Cortland Street station) and made it onto the Brooklyn-bound R. I looked at my watch phone. It was 9:35.

“Hmmm… I could get to Jay Street by 9:48… if there’s an F train there by 9:53, my plan will still work!”

I maneuvered through the train so that I was standing exactly where the entrance to the escalator at Jay Street would soon be. When we arrived at the station, I hurriedly climbed the escalator (it’s like walking fast on an airport treadmill except not fun and it makes me wheeze). In all the time I’ve made this commute, there has never been an F train waiting for me at Jay Street. Tonight, there was. At the doors closed as soon as I started down the steps toward it. A crazy person was loudly trying to seduce a morbidly obese station agent as she pretended to sweep the floor. It offered me no succor. I would arrive home sandwichless.

An F came about 10 minutes later. When we were finally out of the tunnel, I called Zito’s. It was 10:02.

“Zito’s, how can I help you?”

“He wants to help me!” I thought. “A place that wasn’t taking orders wouldn’t offer me assistance!” I tried to hide my giddyness from the dead-in-the-eyes commuters surrounding me. “Are you still taking orders?” I asked.

“Sorry, no. We’re no longer taking delivery orders. We stop at 10. Have a good night.”

***

But… but… what of his offer of help? What did he expect me to ask for that he would have been able to aid me with? “Would it be possible for me to not order a sandwich?” I was gutted. But then I had another thought. They aren’t taking delivery orders, but what of pick-ups? What of pick-ups? We were back underground, but I started to feverishly imagine various scenarios wherein I exit the subway and call and ask to make a pick-up order and am told, “Sure thing!” or that I arrive just as they’re about to throw away a pile of unclaimed but perfectly OK sandwiches or that I appeal to the kindness of Zito and he smiles and nods and hands me the sandwich that he had been saving for me all along.

[Full Disclosure: I don't think anyone who works at Zito's is named Zito.]

I started walking towards the shop and saw their sign was still illuminated. “That’s a good sign,” I thought. Then I thought about what a horrible pun that was and winced. I crossed the street and approached their door. As I did, I noticed people sitting and eating. Then, as I was about to reach for the knob (and feign surprise when I found it locked), someone opened it to take out the trash. I saw my opportunity and seized it.

The first employee who saw me wasn’t any of the three guys behind the counter. They all had their backs turned to me and were dealing with various closing duties. No, the one who immediately took notice of me was one of the cooks. He had a slight note of “you’ve got to be kidding me” on his face. I smiled weakly at him and waited by the register. Finally, someone turned around and asked if he could help me.

“Can I get a sandwich to go?”

He looked at the cook, then at his register, then at me — all while wearing a mask of “please notice that I am trying to make it clear that you cannot.”

I would accept a “no,” but he would have to say it to me. I wouldn’t say it to myself. At this point I was getting deliriously hungry.

“…OK,” he surrendered. The cook rolled his eyes. I didn’t care.

I sat down to wait. I could hear various people saying, “I told him not to take out the trash yet” and “lock the damn door” and “we’re supposed to be closed by now” and “what is wrong with him?” I went from fearing that I cost someone their job to wondering if the last remark was directed at me to not caring about anything except bracciole. In fact, I started imaging the man getting killed by his co-workers for unknowingly letting me in and, at his peasant funeral, a rockslide wiping his entire family out. I imagined everyone at Zito’s pointing and laughing at me for being so pathetic that I needed to swindle my way into a meal. None of it mattered to me. I just wanted my dinner.

After what seemed like two minutes (but might have been three), I was handed my sandwich. I profusely thanked the man who handed it to me. Then I profusely thanked the man who unlocked the door to let me out. I almost started to cry.

It took me another 25 minutes to get home, but I didn’t care. As soon as I walked in the front door, I washed my hands, ripped open the foil and paper casing and did unspeakable, inhuman things to my first real meal of the day (the semi-competent egg sandwich I ate at 8:00 a.m. doesn’t count).

You know what? This would be a terrible movie.

I hate the MTA.

On Saturday night, I braved the sleet and winds to get from my warm and cozy home to the UCB for Let’s Have A Ball. I took the same route I always do — the F to Jay Street-Metrotech where I switch to an A or C (if an A comes first, I get out at 14th Street and wait for a C or E to 23rd Street; if a C comes first, I take it all the way to 23rd).

Due to the weather I expected delays, but I always give myself plenty of time to get to the UCB (I prefer to arrive early and read over racing against the clock and giving myself an ulcer). When we arrived at Jay Street, the recorded announcement told me to “transfer here for the A, C and R train.” So I did.

An A showed up 10 minutes later and announced that it would be traveling on the F line until 4th Street. That made me sad (I got off an F Train 10 minutes ago — I would have taken it to 4th Street and switched to a C or E there had I known the A — and I assumed the C, as well — was becoming an F train), but I still had plenty of time and an Onion crossword to do.

When we got to 4th Street, the conductor said, “Next stop: 14th Street.” But I noticed we were still on the F line despite the previous announcement that said we’d be back on the A line from 4th Street on. The weather being what it was, I didn’t want to have to walk from 23rd Street and 6th Avenue to 26th Street and 8th Avenue. So I got off and raced upstairs to wait for a C or E. An E finally showed up and I got on. Ten minutes went by before the conductor announce, “This train isn’t going anywhere. If you want to go to 34th Street, go downstairs.”

A mob of already-frustrated straphangers raced downstairs only to find an empty platform. Eventually, an E arrived (on the F line) and I got on. After ten minutes, the conductor explained that there had been “an incident” at 59th Street and there was no service on the A, C and E lines. Five minutes later, we started moving.

I got to 23rd Street and 6th Avenue at 7:15. I called the UCB and asked them to let Becky and Kay know that I would be there ASAP and to hold the curtain until I got there (we were the only three performers because everyone else was out of town and Brandon’s plane to NYC was cancelled that morning). I was told (in a very polite way) that I didn’t have the authority to hold the curtain but they’d suggest it to the theater manager. If it wasn’t sleeting and if there wasn’t three inches of slush on the ground, I would’ve had no problem getting to the theater by 7:25. But it was (and there was), so I hurriedly slid into hordes of umbrella-toting pedestrians staring at the ground (instead of watching where they were going) until I got to the theater at 7:28. No curtain holding was necessary.

The show was fun and I was smart enough to pick up some empanadas for the journey home (I had to wait 25 minutes for an F train at Jay Street, but they were a delicious 25 minutes), but I saw something on the F train that made me glad that I had already eaten my dinner (as I would have immediately lost my appetite if I had one). I took a picture of the poster, but I found a less blurry photo at Fucked in Park Slope:

What this means: Starting on November 14th (and [allegedly] ending in “Spring 2012″), no southbound F or G trains will stop at the station I live above. This is the opposite of what happened last time (no northbound trains stopped there for a few months), and slightly more preferable (it will add no time to my commute to work in the morning, but it will require me to travel past my stop and transfer to a northbound train every time I am coming back from work or the grocery store or a rehearsal).

Bonus Points: FiPS also points out that the poster’s (alleged) finish date is different than the one on the MTA’s Web site.

I really and truly despise the MTA.

“As as many as 500 as many as 400 16 cops were hauled into Bronx Supreme Court yesterday to answer for the massive NYPD ticket-fixing scandal, and hundreds of officers protested outside, new details emerged on how the suspects made the summonses disappear.”

“IT’S A COURTESY NOT A CRIME” was a popular sign, as was “‘IT’S BEEN GOING ON SINCE THE DAYS OF THE EGYPTIANS.’ MAYOR MIKE BLOOMBERG.“ But my favorite is this: “JUST FOLLOWING ORDERS” (which you might remember as the most common defense at the Nuremberg Trials).

It looks like they’re standing in the street, doesn’t it? That’s a crime! Why isn’t anyone beating them with batons and pepper-spraying their eyes?

“Families worried about loved ones with Alzheimer’s getting disoriented and wandering off can now get them walking shoes with built-in GPS devices.”

But they’ll only work if the person wearing them forgets how to take them off.

There’s a story about how the new racino at Aqueduct Racetrack had to turn people away from their grand opening. I only mention it because it introduced me to my new favorite name: “‘This wait is crazy!’ said prospective gambler Inosent Carver, of Queens.”

His parents, Nahtgiltee Stabber and Akwidid Slasher, had no comment.

“Two off-duty NYPD officers were arrested yesterday morning charged with driving while intoxicated. Police officer Ariel Rosa, 26, was arrested after the rookie allegedly hit a parked car on Moffat Street in Bushwick  at 4:25 a.m. yesterday…He’s been suspended for 30 days without pay. Meanwhile, Officer Michael Botros, 29, was arrested near 150th Avenue and Lefferts Boulevard in South Ozone Park at about 7:40 a.m. yesterday, and also charged with driving while intoxicated.”

I don’t know who watches the watchmen, but I know who gently slaps their wrists.

“Firefighters powered down Occupy Wall Street yesterday, seizing protesters’ electric generators as the grungy horde prepared for the season’s first blast of wintery weather.”

The grungy horde? Fuck you, Antonio Antenucci and Bill Sanderson.

“Mayor Bloomberg said the seizure was made ‘just to make sure everybody’s safe.’”

Because what could make the protesters safer than removing the things that keep them warm right before a giant slush-storm?

“Meanwhile, a protester was arrested early yesterday on charges of assaulting a TV reporter. Dustin Taylor, 34, of Millersburg, Ohio allegedly threatened WNYW/Channel 5 reporter John Huddy, saying, ‘I’ll stab you in the throat with this pen.’” Now why would a protester be rude to a TV reporter? Hmmm… what’s WNYW/Channel 5 an affiliate of? Oh, that’s right. It’s Fox’s channel in New York City.

It’s such a shame that after weeks of insulting the protesters and perpetuating the “they don’t even know why they’re there” and “they hate wealth” myths, Fox isn’t treated with kindness. Incidentally, here’s a sign that might help Fox better understand the OWS movement:

“Meanwhile, a fed-up Rudy 9iu11ani said the city should move the protesters out, citing public safety and health hazards. ‘Enough is enough,’ the former mayor said. ‘We can’t allow this to go on forever and ever. It sets a bad precedent… [and] diverts police resources from public safety.’” And protests outside Bronx Supreme Court.

Bonus Points to Antonio and Bill for starting paragraphs #12 and 18 with “Meanwhile.”

“The Long Island Rail Road and a federal board said they are prepared to yank the pensions and disability benefits of the seven retirees busted in a $1 billion scam Thursday in which the workers allegedly falsely claimed to be too hurt to work.” Yay!

“But [RRB spokesman Mike] Freeman repeatedly refused yesterday to say if RRB will investigate — as it promised three years ago — whether up to 1,423 LIRR retirees who were approved disability benefits between 2004 and 2008 are legitimately disabled… The vast majority of the 1,423 retirees were certified disabled by two doctors, who were also busted Thursday.” Boo!

The TSA is firing the baggage inspector who put an inappropriate note (GET YOUR FREAK ON GIRL) in Jill Filipovic’s luggage after he spotted her vibrator. Here’s part of Jill’s response:

“I get no satisfaction in hearing that someone lost their job over this. I would much prefer a look at why ’security’ has been used to justify so many intrusions on our civil liberties, rather than fire a person who made a mistake… The invasion is inherent to the TSA’s mission, regardless of whether a funny note is left behind — the note only serves to highlight the absurdity of all this security theater.”

Page Six is on page 10 today.

“Actress Kristen Stewart has revealed the latest movie in the ‘Twilight Saga’ was originally given a ‘R’ rating after a sex scene between her and real-life lover, Robert Pattinson, was deemed too steamy… Luckily for younger fans, the rating will not be final as the scene is being re-cut.”

Wait… the Twilight Saga has older fans?

Conrad Murray’s lawyer put Dr. Paul White on the stand yesterday and he told the jury that “Michael Jackson likely injected himself with a fatal dose of the anesthetic propofol after popping an extra eight sedatives without [Conrad Murray's] knowledge.”

This is an odd strategy, as Los Angeles juries have made it clear that they disregard everything Michael Jackson does.

Swedish Chef:

Swedish Lunch Lady:

“[A lunch lady in Sweden] stunned teachers and students when they confronted her about the inedible food she served, and she responded by taking off her pants.opening her shirt, and doing a striptease in the cafeteria. ‘The school’s social-welfare officer tried to tell her this is no [sic] acceptable behavior, but she just kept on dancing,’ said a witness.”

This seems like a good time to thank all of the cafeteria workers in all of the schools I have ever attended for never taking off any of their clothes in my presence.

“A stray beagle mix that cheated death in the gas chamber of an Alabama dog pound is up for adoption in New Jersey.”

When he heard this, Pat Buchanan (who recently complained that Jews — “who represent less than 2 percent of the US population” — have “33 percent of the Supreme Court’s seats”) turned to his wife and said, “See? They can’t even kill a beagle mix in a gas chamber! I told you the Jews were lying about the Holocaust!”

Rich Lowry still doesn’t get it.

“Are we divided between the top 1 percent and a vast wasteland of the dispossessed, as many of the Occupy Wall Street protesters have it? Or are we still the land of opportunity, as top House Republican Paul Ryan insisted in a recent speech at the Heritage Foundation? The answer is that we are still a mobile society, although not as much of one as we might wish. If the nihilistic despair of the Occupy Wall Street crowd is detached from reality, neither is self-congratulation in order.”

Vast wasteland of the dispossessed? Nihilistic despair? That’s weird. When I listen to what the various Occupy groups are saying — and doing — I get a sense of unity and compassion and hope that has been sadly missing from America for some time. But please, Rich, tell us what the answer to our nation’s problems are.

“If Americans finished high school, worked full time at a job that matched their skills and married at the rate they did in the 1970s, the poverty rate would be cut 70 percent.” Of course! Everyone should just get full-time jobs! Brilliant!

“These old-fashioned bourgeois virtues, and particularly marriage, rarely figure in the public debate. Everyone is more comfortable talking about taxes or the banks, as the American Dream frays.” Yeah, Occupy Wall Street! Shut up about the criminals who almost destroyed our economy! Start protesting the lower marriage rates in this country!

Rich Lowry is not very bright.

Not to get too meta, but I honestly don’t know if the authors of these two letters to the Post are being sarcastic or not:

Staten Island’s Charlie Honadel writes, “I know that Frank J. Fleming is trying to be funny and that ‘Why We Must Lose the Darn 1 Percent’ is supposed to be satire. But some people might not understand he’s kidding and take him seriously.”

Flemington, New Jersey’s Joe Hann writes, “Fleming must have written this column with tongue in cheek the whole time. Include a picture next time so that we can know for sure.”

“Tesla Motors, a US maker of electric cars, is sold out of next year’s production of its new Model S sedan and should earn a profit in 2013, CEO Elon Musk said in a Bloomberg TV interview.”

I would like to applaud the Post for printing this sentence without adding “for eco-fags” after “electric cars.”

GOBLIN IT UP! is the PULSE section’s guide to the right candies to get for “your guests” on Halloween.

Examples include: A nine-piece bonbon box from Max Brenner ($12.90), a small skull with marshmallow eyes from Jacques Torres ($20), and cupcakes from Crumbs ($3.75 each).

If you come to my house on Halloween, I will give you one fun-sized candy bar from a giant bag that I got on sale at Rite Aid. You’re welcome.

Hondo (the sports section’s resident right-wing pundit) writes, “The Occupy Wall Street Protesters, aka ‘the 99 percent,’ today will belong to a group in which they will be ‘the one percent’ — the tiny minority that camps out while being deluged by a wintry mix.”

And speaking of tiny minorities,

And that’s Saturday.

Teresa and I are heading down to Zuccotti Park tomorrow and I start my new job (finally!) the following morning. But I’ll write what I can when I can.

Have a great week and Happy Halloween!

WARNING!

Graphic photo inside:

Michael Jackson on his deathbed

If you don’t want to see the graphic photo, scroll down and ignore the graphic photo directly below the words you’re reading.

(the word Homicide was added by the prosecution in Dr. Conrad Murray’s involuntary manslaughter trial)

If convicted, Murray will lose his medical license and serve up to four years in prison.

Let’s lighten the mood, shall we?

E-he.

AAA is suing the Port Authority over their gargantuan toll hike.

“The group claims the hikes are illegal because they are going in part to fund the rebuilding of the World Trade Center. Federal law requires that toll hikes ‘have a functional relationship to transportation,’ the group said.”

Speaking of which, I visited the office I’ll be working out of (any day now), and it is literally across the street from the World Trade Center. It’s also diagonally across the street from Zuccotti Park. But I was there at around 12:30 p.m. and it looked like the protesters were taking a breather and eating lunch (I think someone brought them free pizzas but I could be wrong).

I don’t have time to upload the few photos I took (I’ll do it when I get back from rehearsal tonight), but I failed to capture my favorite moment on film: Two husky cops were leaning on the barricade surrounding most of the park and arguing over… something. I have no idea what it was because this was all I heard as I slowly passed them:

“You’re telling me you don’t see sim-you-LEH-ruh-dees?”

“What sim-you-LEH-ruh-dees?”

“Look at them!”

“I guess.”

“I can believe you don’t see the sim-you-LEH-ruh-dees.”

“All RYE-duh-retty. I see some sim-you-LEH-ruh-dees. Now drop it.”

“You’re such a fag.”

I could feel the guffaw building in me, so I picked up the pace and headed for the R train.

I wish I was making any of this up.

“Even after shelling out more than $140 million to update emergency communications in the subways, the system still does not allow cops, firefighters and MTA personnel to talk to each other directly.”

That’s on page 2. And this is on page 4:

“The MTA yesterday launched cellphone service on six subway platforms in Manhattan, the first stage of a four-year plan that will bring yakking straphangers to every station and eradicate one of the last unwired refuges left in New York City.”

So the police and the MTA can’t communicate with each other but the people next to me can yell at people hundreds of miles away. Nice priorities there, MTA.

Bonus Points: “Service currently is available only on AT&T and T-Mobile.”

“Fed-up cougar Demi Moore has had it up to here with her half-grown husband’s harlots, and is officially ending her six-year marriage to Hollywood hunk Ashton Kutcher, according to a report.”

Fun Fact: That “report” was filed by… Star magazine.

I can’t wait to find out if this is true or not. Wait… actually, I can.

The headline is Poll: Frack, yeah!

Now see if you can guess the (alleged) Siena College poll results:

A) 74% for vs. 10% against

B) 64% for vs. 20% against

C) 54% for vs. 30% against

D) 44% for vs. 40% against

Pencils down.

Answer: “Supporters of the controversial natural-gas extraction process outpaced opponents 44 to 40 percent in the Siena College poll.”

Which means that 16% are undecided. Which means that the headline is incredibly misleading. Which shouldn’t surprise anyone, as the Post doesn’t give a frack about integrity.

Page 6 (not to be confused with Page Six, today on pages 12, 13 and 14) has two pieces on Chris Christie’s (im)possible run for president. Naturally, one of them (One for the Gipper: Chris hails Reagan in prez-like speech) is by Josh Margolin (with an assist from Carl Campanile), which applauds Christie for “delivering an uplifting speech praising America as an ‘exceptional’ country.” How novel. He also warns that President Obama is preparing “to divide our nation to achieve re-election.” Um… do you have access to a TV, computer or newspaper, Chris? We’ve been divided for a while.

The article ends by saying that Christie “said he doesn’t have the burning desire to be president and won’t run without it.” Now, if you were a complete idiot, you might read that and think “He didn’t actually say he won’t run! There’s still hope!” Which brings us to the second Christie piece: Christie doesn’t sound like a noncandidate by complete idiot John Podhoretz, who writes that Christie “closed the door — and yet still left it open a crack…”

He ends with: “He drew everyone’s attention to an edited series of clips in which he had ruled out a run. But he never actually said no last night. And judging from his brilliant performance, he shouldn’t.”

Keep hope alive, stupid.

Today, Michael Goodwin sings the praises of Matt Ridley (author of The Rational Optimist: How Prosperity Evolves).

Goodwin notes that Ridley was “citing despots from Nero to Stalin to Moammar Khadafy” when he said: “Not one of them used the market to repress and murder their people; their tool was government. I was at Auschwitz last month. People often talk about the horrifying ‘industrialization’ of death it represents. What struck me rather was the ‘nationalization’: the bureaucratic central planning and meticulous hierarchical organization of what was actually rather labor-intensive, unmechanized mass murder. It takes a government to do an Auschwitz.”

Ridley recently won The Manhattan Institute’s Hayek Prize (named for Friedrich Hayek). So I can only imagine what kind of asshole Hayek was. Ridley and Goodwin, though, it’s obvious what kind of assholes they are — suppurating ones.

What hot gossip do you have for us today, Cindy Adams?

“George Hamilton: ‘Woody Allen’s sort of like an alien. Scary is you don’t know if you might be fired right off the set. I was in one of his films, and he’s almost like a mobster I met who put his gun down and said: “Know why I’m so powerful? I have six bullets. If I fire one, I’m no longer so powerful.”‘”

You know who’d love to hear this story? Dead people.

Go tell them, Cindy. Now.

Remember Shanel Nadal and Nephra Payne? They stole their eight children from a foster home in Queens.

Well, they’ve been found. Turns out all ten of them were living in a “smelly, [sic] Ford cargo van littered with fast-food boxes and dirty diapers parked in a dangerous section of Harrisburg [in Pennsylvania].”

As Nadal was being led back to jail (after her arraignment), she asked reporters to “Make sure you all will do all that you can for my kids. That’s what’s important, my babies. Make sure they’re not being abused any more.”

The police already did that, dummy. Twice.

The editorial Over to You, Andrew can be summed up by its final sentence: “Time to get cracking on fracking.”

And (hooray!) Karen Moreau (who is now Karen Bulich Moreau, so I guess she got married last night?) is back for another pro-fracking (pr)op(aganda)-ed (How Fracking Works: Fears are based on ignorance). It begins, “The people trying to keep ‘fracking’ illegal in New York rely on our ignorance about the safety and environmental impact of this drilling technology.”

See what she did there? She’s insisting that if we only knew the truth, we’d side with her. Except the fracking companies are not obligated to tell us what’s actually in their fracking fluid (thanks, Dick Cheney!). So we can’t know the truth.

What we can know, though, is that anything the Post vehemently supports must be a terrible idea.

Garett Sloane (who may or may not actually be Garrett Sloane [this is an amazingly terrible newspaper]) reports that Amazon.com will be rolling out a tablet — the Kindle Fire — to compete with Apple’s iPad, and it will be in the “$250 range.”

Oh no! How will I decide which company that grossly mistreats their employees to buy a tablet from?

MOVIE REVIEW!

Kyle Smith gives one star to You Don’t Like the Truth (“typically appalling entry in the hug-a-terrorist documentary subgenre”).

For the record, Scott Tobias (of The Onion’s A.V. Club) gave it a B+, but then he isn’t a partisan hack.

Linda 3Starsi reviews the new ABC sitcom Suburgatory.

She calls it “very clever and funny.”

She gives it… three stars.

And that’s Wednesday.

I’ll try to write more when I get home but I’m operating on three hours of sleep and an oil drum of coffee.

G’night!

I was all excited to wake up today and barrel through all three of the remaining newspapers, and going to sleep tonight completely caught up. But after I procured today’s terrible paper, I discovered that my Macbook adapter no longer worked. This was double-bad because last night the one I always use broke and I remembered that I still had the one I replaced (I replaced it because it was dangerously frayed). So I figured I would use that one until my replacement arrived (I was all set to buy one at Tekserve until I checked their price vs. the ones on eBay — I saved roughly 75%).

And then, right after I returned with today’s Post, my other adapter decided not to work. And that’s when modern technology — and the New York improv community — came to my rescue.

At around 12:15 I used my phone to post this on Facebook: “Anyone in NYC have a MacBook adapter I can borrow for a few days? The 1 I just bought on eBay won’t arrive for a week. I’ll buy you lunch…”

And less than 15 minutes later, the lovely and talented Julia Kwamya offered to lend me one. She even offered to bring it from her apartment in The Bronx and meet me in Grand Central Terminal, but I figured there was no reason to further inconvenience her (it’s hot out today). One trip north and a return trip south (with a brief stop at Jamba Juice for a liquid lunch — look at me! I’m a fancy executive!) later, I am back in my air-conditioned bedroom with a computer that can once again accept electricity.

But I won’t be able to get through all three papers tonight because I’ve been asked to sit in with the incredible cast of Lights Out, Shirley! at the Magnet Theater (at 11:30 p.m.). So I’m going to write as much as I can before I have to head back into Manhattan.

And if you think I called Julia “lovely and talented” merely because she allowed me to use my computer for the next week, I invite you to watch the video below (which she wrote, directed and stars in).

What did I tell you? Lovely and talented. And generous.

Most of today’s cover is devoted to:

Fashion’s Night Out

40-PAGE

PULLOUT TO SHOPPING HEAVEN

• FREEBIES • PARTIES • MAPS

And underneath the photo of two incredibly happy blonde women in gaudily sequined gowns, there’s a much smaller, less important headline: GUARD DOWN: Soldiers in slaughter at IHOP. Apparently “a lunatic with an AK-47″ (who else would have an AK-47?) “opened fire on five uniformed National Guard members eating at a Nevada IHOP yesterday — killing two of them and two civilians before blowing himself away.”

According to the follow-up on the half of page 4 that isn’t a full-color ad for tomorrow’s FREE Page Six Magazine, Eduardo Sencion, 32, of Carson City, wounded an additional eight people (including the other three Guardsmen).

I wonder if any of Sencion’s victims went to Shopping Heaven.

Bob Turner told reporters that David Weprin “does what he’s told. We’ve had enough of that.”

Actually, elected officials are supposed to do what their constituents tell them to do. But I don’t expect a Republican to know that.

Bonus Points: “Meanwhile, a new GOP-sponsored poll found Turner leading Weprin 44-40 percent.” In a related story, reports funded by the gas industry have declared that hydrofracking is completely safe. And a poll of 100 McDonald’s employees shows unanimously that the McRib is delicious.

Dina Matos (the ex-wife of Jim McGreevey) “is featured on tonight’s episode of Who the (Bleep) Did I Marry? rehashing the sordid saga that forced the former New Jersey governor to resign from office in August 2004.” I’m sure that the people who know that the Investigation Discovery channel exists will be thrilled. And what does Matos get in exchange for this soul-baring sit-down?

“Matos was paid $1,000 in location fees and expenses for her participation in tonight’s episode.”

Don’t spend it all in one place, Dina.

“The Cortland Street R subway station — heavily damaged on 9/11 — was opened in its entirety yesterday for the first time in six years.”

$20 says that 5 minutes after the first train stopped there, it stopped and announced that they were “being held due to train traffic up ahead.”

On the left side of page 6 (not to be confused with Page Six, today on pages 10, 11 and 12), there is a letter from… Jon Voight?! WTC honor belongs to more than politicians begins with “Dear fellow Americans” and explains that (on 9/11) “The firemen and police of New York City became a force — an energy of God’s love and power” and shares his outrage over Mayor Bloomberg’s decision to not let any clergy speak at Ground Zero on Sunday.

He finishes his overlong rant with “I say make room, no matter how it’s done. Make room for them to be part of a spiritual event, not a political event. Every American should voice their outrage. May God have mercy on all our lost souls, and may God give us all the strength to look truth in the eye. Let us not be bullied by elected officials whose pockets become heavier with greed and their own egos. Love to you all, Jon Voight.”

Remember how 9/11 united us all? If Mr. Voight gets his way, certain religious (and non-religious) people will feel slighted. It would be the opposite of uniting us. Love to everyone who thinks Jon Voight is a cranky putz, Jed Resnik.

S.A. Miller’s Mitt goes to work: Beats prez to punch on jobs plan breaks down Obama and Romney’s respective job plans. Romney wants to “Slash corporate tax rate to 25%” and “Reverse Obama’s pro-union policies.” Romney sure does love corporations.

B’also? According to a contextless ABC News/Washington Post poll, “53% of Americans disapprove of President Obama’s job performance” and “47% say they ’strongly’ disapprove.”

OH MY GOD. EVERYBODY HATES OBAMA!

Michael Goodwin is so full of shit I’m amazed he isn’t shaped like an outhouse.

“Obama’s first two years, when Dems controlled Congress, were a left-wing fantasy of taxing, borrowing, spending, regulating and government expansion.” Who did he tax, Mike? Whose taxes went up in the last two years? You are a lying liar who lies.

He goes on to say that people who believe that “ObamaCare is unpopular because it lacks a public option” and “Obama isn’t tough enough with Republicans, won’t fight hard enough and wants to appease the right” are “the political equivalent of dogs barking at the moon.”

And Goodwin is the journalistic equivalent of someone giving fake vomit to a Holocaust survivor.

(neither analogy makes sense)

Speaking of which…

Cindy Adams, please tell a partisan and sexist joke that doesn’t make any sense.

“Hearsay from the presidential bus. Aide: ‘Forget talking to the people. Better you should be talking to God.’ Obama: ‘Ssssshhh. She’s inside sleeping.’”

Cindy Adams, please die.

And now I must away to the Magnet.

More to come…