An anonymous Bwog staffer has found the best place to yell, and s/he wants to share these findings with you.

When I first came to New York, I was terrified by the subway. I got on, it immediately started shaking violently, and I legit wondered why anyone would take public transit here.

But for all its shortcomings – and there are a Litany of ’em – it runs pretty well, and it gets you from point A to point B with few problems.

It’s speedy, loud… and when arriving at the platform, the perfect vessel into which I can moan, mutter, and grumble about my daily anxieties.

Shouting into the wind generated by the giant metal box barreling down rat-infested tracks at 160.934 kilometers per hour is cathartic. For one thing, given all that noise, no one can hear me scream. (Or they see me and just think I’m pissed at the MTA. “Relatable!”) It’s anonymous, since no one in a city of eight million other people cares about me or my problems. Plus, that $2.75 (or a real solid box jump) is a better deal than what any therapist in this city would give me.

So, if I may make a suggestion for this new term, use the breeze to vent. If you want to yell, yell. If you want to bitch about that NSOP “friend” you’re going on an obligatory outing with, you’ve got ample time to get out the real bad stuff. Maybe if enough of us do it, we might be able to make this a tradition instead of that stupid “primal scream” thing.