It's Raining Fat People

Well, no, not exactly. But it's raining, and fat people are on ABC.

I've been out of town for a couple of days, so thankfully I wasn't around this morning when rain brought New York's mass transit to its knees. Or, possibly, left it in a puddle of its own puke in the gutter. I did read a story where New Yorkers had posted a couple hundred comments, and I have one thing to say to New York. Grow the fuck up. You HAVE a mass transit system, and it works. Okay, yes, I understand that you think it should continue to work in rain and other foul weather, and maybe you're right. But nothing underscores the "we're awesome and we take it for granted" hubris of New York like the enraged reactions to the news that the subways weren't running this morning.

The comments I read that made sense to me were the comments about how the MTA and its employees generally failed to inform people of what was and wasn't running for most of the morning. I will grant you, that is slovenly and inexcusable. But as I have said before, if you use mass transit to get around in Phoenix, you will be waiting for a long time. Actually, you'll be waiting for as long as it takes to build it. New York has subways that are obviously reliable enough that, by your own admission, it's unthinkable that you wouldn't be able to use them to get to work for One Single Day. That's a pretty good thing you've got going there, people. Suck it up.

Meanwhile, there was nothing quite like getting home this evening. I had a darling cabbie who explained to me that although mass transit was down, today it had sucked to be a cabbie (apparently you picked up one fare and then spent an hour or more stuck in traffic, whereupon the fare either left to walk back home or called someone on their cell phone to complain loudly about how much you suck). And the city smelled clean for once in its life, no mean feat, and probably an illusion caused by homesickness.

(I haven't been homesick since 1993. It's a good feeling.)

In other news, I have just discovered "Fat March," a shameless piece of reality programming wherein fat people march from Boston to Washington, D.C., where they will be given some money. There's a slightly more complicated premise involving voting and cash (isn't there always?), but frankly, no one cares.

Is it wrong to call them fat? Watch them weigh in and ask again. I think most of them would agree. In fact, one of the show's few distinguishing features is the point-blank frankness of the contestants. Usually on a show like this, you have a "designated frank person." But I don't think a single walker got through the pilot without airing a good home truth or two--even the comedian, who might have seized the opportunity to deliver some comic relief, seemed perfectly candid about her desire to improve her sex life. The sex and the money--can I get an amen?

But my favorite, and the only reason I would ever watch the show again, is Anthony. Anthony is billed as a "26-year-old virgin," and he's clever, articulate, and heartbreakingly telegenic. The first task is to walk the Boston Marathon and Anthony says, "I just envision that like, all these thin, small people are running from the big fat people that are walking behind them." Heh heh.

The challenges are dull, the trainers may as well be Barbie and Ken, and the voting--well, let's just say there's a reason that it's tough to get Americans to the polls. Voting, never sexy, has never been so dull. Yes, it's reality TV. Yes, I am apparently addicted to junk. Yes, it's awful and probably representative of the decline of Western civilization. But Anthony is charming, and I will at least follow his progress on TWOP.

(In other, other news, the Proclaimers continue to sell out, as "500 Miles" is used to promote "Fat March." Fair play to them.)