To use the old chliche, there are a million stories in the naked city. Last night, on the way home, I ran into three. :: I like my old boss' girlfriend/finacee. She's nice, in a Chinese sort of way (which makes perfect sense, being that she is Chinese). Besides the occassional (OK, constant) language problems, she's a lot fun to be with. Then today, I went to Pathmark with her. The confines of supermarket isles and the slow pace of other shoppers are not well suited to her personality. Between the frantic back and forth for one item or another, the scurrying of the cart, and the occasional forgotten item, she was a whirlwind of shopping activity. Being a more laid back guy, this of course was not a good mix. But then, I suspect that my sentiments were not alone, as the cashier was mildly irritated at her standing beside him, rearranging the bags as he was still putting items in them. :: The shuttlebus to the city from Jersey is usually a mix of tired immigrant workers, heading home from jobs, heading home from visiting relatives, or people on their way to jobs. Occassionally the pretty folk will hop aboard on their way to party, as opposed to the PATH train where the majority of them congregate. But when they do get on, they have an impulsive need to get on their cellphones and chat their lives away. So while I don't know his name, I do know that: 1) He is applying to be a financial planner at a big firm with a big paycheck. 2) His aunt had a lot of family come in, so he had to move out for a bit, and luckily a friend of his came through with housing. 3) He's been out drinking all night for the past week, and that the Underbar, under the W Hotel at Union Square is a good lounge type bar. 4) Apparently he is cute enough to get free drinks at the various bars, although I don't see it (not that I'm really looking). So, all in all, a total flake. (No, that is not a hint of envy you detect.) :: It doesn't happen to me ... ever (except with Jason Sussman), but sometimes you do run into people you know at random times. JR, your average plain looking college aged pseudo-intellectual street girl, was reading a book. I was doing my best not to look like I was staring (I'm often curious about what books people are reading, especially new books beause, unlike library books, that means people cared enough to spend hard earned money.), while reading her book backwards in the reflection in the mirror. Out of the blue, in a big booming voice, comes "John Dewy High School!?" And so begins the dance of hesitant recognition.

Mr. M: "You were in my math class, remember?" JR: "Yes ... I thought you looked familier but I was too embarassed to say anything" Mr. M: "Your Sophmore year ..." JR: "Freshman, with that crazy girl in the back ..." Mr. M: "That's right! It was my first year teaching! J******* ... " JR: "Starts with an 'R' ... " Mr. M: "Ooh, I'm blanking." JR: "R*****." Mr. M: "R*****!!!" Mr. M: "Do you remember my name?" JR: ... Mr. M: (Jokingly) "Shame on you! I was your teacher!" Laughter from everyone else on board ensues.