I always walk to the front of the subway station because there are fewer people in the front two cars then in the middle ones closer to the entrance. I like to sit when I travel and I don’t care if it means more walking. To me, walking and standing are interchangeable – it’s only once we allow another object to help out with our fight against gravity that we truly relax.

At the front of the Easter Parkway/Brooklyn Museum stop there was a pile of human poop. I guess the people who walk all the way to the front of the station are either people who are aficionados of laziness and efficiency or people who don’t have access to a toilet. I didn’t mind being grouped with these people, as long as it meant I would get a seat next to a wall of metal bars I could rest my head. I hung out by human poop. It was so worth it.

Not only was their a seat empty, but the entire car was devoid of humans. From Eastern Parkway all the way to Grand Army Plaza I was going to be alone in this moving cart of metal bars and slippery seats. This is how I would get my start as a member of the fantastical dance troupe that dances in the streets. I jungle gym’d harder than Kanye West Emmet Till’d. Then the train stopped at Grand Army Plaza. No one entered my car! I had 3 more minutes of intense breakdancing off a moving vehicle’s walls! The doors began to close!  But then a rich couple came running across the platform to join me last second. I had to sit.

Dancing>sitting>walking>standing.

Fun>comfort>movement>boring.

This is the problem with people and the fact that they can be offended.

I should have kept dancing – that was what was in my heart, but I couldn’t because I thought they might judge me poorly because of their suits and their non-smiles. I was on my way to a place full of suits and non-smiles and I was wearing jeans, a vest, and my ridiculous facial hair that make me look like a pedophile attempting to attract the children of pirates by reminding them of their fathers. My alma mater had invited me and some other burgeoning arts performers in New York City to mingle with other alums who had a lot more money in an attempt to convince the latter group to give donations in order to build our college’s arts center.

I was greeted by a tray of seared tuna topped with wasabi infused caviar on a daikon radish. I don’t usually eat fish, but it’s hard to say no to things that have infusion in them. The rest of the night was me not knowing what to say. See, I wanted to talk about how amazing it was that Kanye West put pictures of his penis on the internet, but I felt like people who worked in undescribed finance positions were not interested in that.

I enjoy fun, but I also feel it my duty to allow others to enjoy fun. If they want to do whatever, they are allowed to do whatever and if I don’t like it, I don’t like it. It’s seems simple and without nuance, but it has plenty of nuance. Don’t force upon someone your definition of fun, and walk away when someone tries to force upon you their definition of fun.

Why did they invite me to this event?

They know that the performance I do is just me complaining about how I couldn’t get laid in college, right?