There was a debate on the most recent episode of the Real World (my source for cogent cultural commentary) about whether the world is harder for little girls or little boys. Ultimately, it devolved into name calling and foot stamping, but there are definitely some things are more complicated if you're female.

Take dressing up, for instance -- if you never make an effort, a certain kind of desirable man will never notice you. You have to be Betty Draper to marry Don Draper, and even then he'll still cheat on you with nearly everyone woman who enters his office, even though John Hamm is guest starring on 30 Rock. Then again, his character seems to be unhinged -- maybe even more so than Liz, which is something -- which is a lesson to you: If ever you see a couple in which one partner is significantly more attractive than the other, that person is probably completely insane or totally unbearable.

BUT if you make too much of an effort, dress a little flashy one day, and then you'll attract the wrong kind of attention and be forced to live in a state of perpetual invasive awkwardness. Take for example today's adventure on the subway (of course, where else) when a generally jovial homeless man boarded the train and proceeded to declare that we were all beautiful white women (I was wearing sweats) but that his favorite was a averagely attractive but conspicuously dressed (short skirt and heels, she looked a little trashy but, again, I was wearing sweats) and then proceeded to spend the next two stops touting her charms to the rest of the passengers.

Moral of the story: Betty Draper would have been shamelessly catcalled on the subway. Liz Lemon would not. Because she is practical. But she only gets to date Don Draper if he's a basket case.

I think this whole blog-to-book thing is only the logical extension of music (and now, thanks to broadband internet, video) piracy. Everyone in the big ol' media establishment is looking for ways to "monetize"* content that users are increasingly obtaining -- and, as such, increasingly expecting -- for free. Why buy the iTunes single if you can download it from Napster/Limewire/a bit torrent/whatever the illegal downloading mechanism d'jour is? Why buy the DVD if the entire first season of 30 Rock is available from a weird Chinese website? (Answer: Because sometimes when you really want to see Liz Lemon and friends, the Chinese website doesn't load and you're left watching the same 30 second opening gag on repeat until it does. Also, it's illegal, and 30 Rock will get cancelled it we don't declare our loven with dollars and/or credit cards).

But those savvy publishers have found a way to get back at us (although not necessarily a way that supports the industries that suffer from illegal downloading... not that the publishing industry is exactly flush right now): Making consumers pay for content they could get for free just by clicking through old blog archives, because the ability to click through old blog archives doesn't make for a very good gag gift for your friend on her birthday.

*I believe that's the word. If not, I'm sure my extensive readership in the big ol' media establishment will let me know.

Fact: this blog is one zany family member and two weird medical maladies away from being exclusively about public transportation.

For instance, possible ideas for my next post included, "Why is it OK to drink conspicuously on Metro North (like they have a drink car) but it's against the law to drink even inconspicuously on the subway?" and "I feel simultaneously more sympathetic to and more annoyed by homeless people with dogs, because on one hand there's a cute dog that's probably not hooked on heroin that's hungry too and on the other hand, I don't get to have a dog because I don't have the space or the means to care for one, why did you think it was a good idea?"

But maybe this would actually be a good turn of events. Lots of popular blogs have themes (even that inexplicably popular blog about TD that appeals to maybe 300 people at most, if you assume everyone in TD enjoys reading blogs or that there are sufficient numbers of interested alumni to compensate) and considering I spend most of the day in an environment I can't blog about (and which, were it the subject of a blog, might not appeal to too many people given that most of the little dramas are very little and of the "you had to be there" sort) or in bed, public transit really is the source of most excitement in my life.

So in the near future, maybe you can look forward to a post about how public transport is a hard place to exist if you were raised to respect the opinions of others and cower when yelled at.

I feel like the New Yorker is disappointed in me.

Or rather, would be if it were, you know, sentient or animate or whatever. While certain people (read: my father, who almost bought me a subscription for Christmas before cleverly casing out my general indifference to its venerable pages) think we should get a long, I fear that my concerns are not its concerns, my discourse not its discourse, my preferred fiction not its preferred fiction (though we do share a surprising fondness for Sedaris). And, worse yet, despite my best efforts, I can't make it work between us, can't commit to a thorough analysis of geopolitics or discern the soon-to-be-big-time poems from the ones they throw in because Joni Mitchell wrote them. But I've resigned myself to this fact, and I do begrudgingly admire my peers who've secured jobs and internships and profiles within its glorious preference. For me, though, a weekly's just too much of a commitment, even if it were all cartoons.