A man experiences a strange satisfaction on the train. I am forced to watch.

I had the opportunity thrust on me last week of hearing a bulky man spend many minutes describing in loving detail a t-shirt he had recently purchased to his companion, a short woman whose wide-eyed appreciation for what this galoot was saying suggested either that she had a bottomless well of goodwill and charity, or had was in some sort of beatific fugue state brought on by a head injury that had somehow gone unnoticed by her loved ones.

He had bought on a trip to New York a Sopranos t-shirt, specifically one sporting the logo of Bada-Bing’s, the in-show hangout of the Sopranos gang or whatever they are.

To his rapt companion, he went into loving detail about how the shirt captured the typography of the sign just right (“It totally looked like the fuckin’ logo.”) and how cool it looked on him. He really lit up when he talked about how the sleeves clinged to his Slavic beef shoulders – “I look fuckin’ tough. It’s awesome.”

So, he was bragging he bought a shirt advertising a business that doesn’t exist from a show that has been cancelled. He’s a superfan, he’s passionate, and how can I fault him for that? Well, maybe if he hadn’t made it sound like his shopping coup was similar to translating the Magna Carta into sanskrit, I could be more supportive. But that’s what he did. And so I am forced to blog about it. Sigh.