So this bartender was like, "How old are you?" And I'm all, "Twenty nine. No, wait, shit, I'm thirty. I've been thirty for 10 months. I should remember that."

It's been a while since anyone has asked me how old I was. Or am. I'm old.

So I realized last Sunday night that the most depressing place on earth at 11:00 p.m. on a Sunday is Newark Penn Station. Sure, you might say something like, "I bet Lebanon right now is a little more depressing. Or maybe the Harrison PATH station." Maybe, but I doubt it.

Newark Penn Station is the worst. No matter what time. I've never been somewhere that no matter what is going on, no matter what time it is, I always feel like I am about to be stabbed. It just has that Imminent Stabbing feeling about it.

I was getting off of the Amtrak train from DC and it's just one of those places. I was waiting for the Amtrak guy to say, "Next stop, Newark! And just so you know, I will be stabbing you when you exit the train." And then I bought a water and some Doritos, and I anticipated the guy there to be like, "OK, your change is $1.35, and if you don't mind, I am going to stab you in the spleen." Then I'd be like, "Ow, that's my neck, motherfucker!" And he'd be all, "Neck, spleen, whatever. Have a good trip."