…as the distant sounds of a drunken bar full of people attacking the closing eight minutes of "Hey Jude" at the top of their lungs. I am filled with nostalgia for drinking, playing in a band, and also drinking while playing in a band.

The only thing that sucked about drinking and playing in a band was I had to stay sober, for the most part. More than a beer during the course of a performance and my voice wouldn't hold out, especially if we were doing more than a couple of hours. Meanwhile, the rest of the guys, glorious bastards that they were, only played better the more soused they became.

"Widge, want a beer? Can't have one? Damn, guess I'll take it then."

They were wonderful musicians. But assholes. God bless them.

First, we'd like to say we were impressed with how the toy store stepped up security, what with the world situation being what it is:

Second, we'd like to say that the company made it clear when we walked into the place what happens when you try to compete with them:

And lastly, they had a guy there who was so good with making balloon animals, he took requests. I asked, can you make me a Jean Grey circa 1977? He did a fabulous job:

The Strand Bookstore is ginormous. If you find yourself in the vicinity and need a book, rare or otherwise, or if you're like the I Love Books Guy from the second episode of Black Books, then it's right up your alley. However, prepare yourself for surly, unhelpful staff.

Guys, I know you live at this place and thus you know it like the back of your hand, but I'm from out of town, so excuse me if I find your three-level emporium, containing what appears to be so many dead trees that Treebeard himself is coming with an army to kick your asses (but it's the book version of Treebeard's army, not the version that can just teleport itself to his side–you're lucky, you still have some time), a little daunting and would appreciate your sage wisdom. Or here's an idea–don't sit under a sign that says INFO with a big question mark next to it. Because it might lead most humans to think you're inviting them to, you know, ask you things.

If you go to the Strand and require assistance, my advice is to try and find a female member of the staff. They were much nicer and actually willing to help.

That being said, it's good to go once and see it for yourself. And then thank God for Amazon. Don't get me wrong, I love brick and mortar stores, but I'll take a nationally owned chain or an online presence over surly college students any day of the week.

Or better yet, some place like Jigsaw, which I finally got to go by and see. And I'm not endorsing them because Benjones, the owner and head burrito, was kind enough to display my books on the same shelves as Alan Moore and Bendis, mind you. But because he seemed to, you know, actually want a customer in there. And because he had books by people who, if you met them, would no doubt be happy that you wanted to read them. It's amazing when people give a shit, isn't it? Just changes the whole world.

Forbidden Planet is down the street from The Strand, and they're just what you would expect from a comic book geekery in a city like New York. Basically, they're your local store but amped up and with a cooler name. My problem is, sadly, that I already own or have seen and tried out most of what they had in there. So my enthusiasm was merely dampened by the fact that they didn't have some impossible Ark of the Covenant level bit of geekdom on display–so I'm not a good judge. We were impressed that they had sense enough to split their books into spandex and non-spandex, though. So kudos to them for that.

I don't mind the sirens, or the band next door, or the regular traffic. They're fine and are not the recipients of this missive. As for you, granted, ordinarily, I would find amusing your attempts to play what I assume is a drunken version of the "Close Encounters" alien greeting on a legion of car horns. But it's almost two. So fuck off, would you? Thanks.

Here's the article from the New York Times. Go on, give it a read.

Now…you've probably found the flaw in this already, haven't you? I mean, beyond kicking the Fourth Amendment in the balls.

Let's say you're a T-word and you've got a B-word you want to bring on a subway train. You go to Station #1. You get selected for a random bag search. This is unlikely, because as the article points out, 4.5 million passengers go through the system on an average weekday. But let's say you do. All you have to say is "No thanks" and turn and leave the station. You're permitted to do so, according to the article.

Then you simply go to Station #2. And repeat as necessary.

This is yet another example of "Something must be done. This is something. Therefore, it must be done." And it gives the government the opportunity to search your stuff, because all subway riders are now suspects.

And incidentally, that sound you hear is the terrorists laughing at us.

Update: After being a bit shocked that Jeff Jarvis thinks this is a good idea…maybe he hasn't his coffee yet…I'd just like to underline one thing. I'm not putting this forward to be a dick. If asked to have my bag opened up, hell, I'll probably do it. Because I'm just trying to get from Point A to Point B. But if it took the guy with the English degree ninety seconds to break your lovely process and poke a giant hole in it, then the guy who does terror for a living is going to have even less of a problem. And if the process doesn't make us safer, then what's the bloody point?

Update: Shirts are now available here that straight up say you don't want to be searched. Tip of the hat to the NYC Metroblog and Jeff Jarvis. Of course, earlier today my libertarian ass came up with the perfect solution to all of this–privatize the NYC subway system. Then getting searched is just part of the TOS. Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm laughing on the inside.