Many people I know complain that the subway is a difficult system to navigate. Agreed. The first time I tried to go to Central Park via the B train, I nearly ended up in Brooklyn. But you get used to it. What I can't use to is the amount of stupid (or just plain rude) people who insisit on making my journey feel way longer than it needs to be. Here are a few basic rules I'd like to implement:

1) The subway is not a playground: That's right, moms and dads. If you have children, they should be seated next to you. Not bouncing in the seats or swinging on the poles. And speaking of poles...

2) The poles are not for strippers: Everyone needs to hold on. So ladies, please don't wrap your bodies around the poles, unless you expect me to shove a dollar in your crotch.

3) Please bathe. Even if you are homeless, New York is an island! Plenty of water to help you get clean. Nuff said.

What are some other rules you'd like create for the subway? Love the Hate would love to know!

Welcome to my new blog, which I fondly call "Love the Hate." According to my mother, to hate someone is to wish them dead. But what about hating a something, an act, a way of being? I don't see any harm in wishing away the things that annoy us, drive us to reach for our Xanax, frustrate us beyond repair. This is New York, afterall, and these things happen every other minute. So, rather than go to desperate measures, I want to provide an outlet to vent, make-fun of, and embrace the rage that fills us. In other words to, "Love the Hate."