Should the unthinkable happen

here's what I propose: somehow, possibly with the help of a SWAT team, swap Sarah Palin with Tina Fey. John will never notice if you hide his glasses--plus, he's only met SP, what, four times now? The real trick will be convincing all those cynical, sharp-eyed 30 Rock fans that Liz Lemon's sudden conversion to Pentecostalism is part of the script. I'll let them worry about that.

I, meanwhilest, continue to worry about taking the subway. On Friday some nutso jumped in front of my train, and I, sitting happily in my usual seat in the front car, felt the bump and was thrown forward when the driver slammed on the breaks, and sat there with my hands over my eyes, literally, as the NYPD climbed along the outside of the train and yelled into their walkie-talkies to get the EMS, the guy's alive, he's bleeding from the head, we're going to have to bring him into the train, wait--evacuate the customers, OKAY, EVERYBODY OUT. MOVE.

When I finally made it out, the subway station was filled with firefighters in full gear, and dozens of cops, and those flat wooden stretchers with the buckles dangling. I walked the rest of the way to work, shaking like a chihuahua in January.

I've decided the middle of the train is my new best spot.