Coming To Grips

The music of from here to there

I have a rather large playlist on my iPhone that I listen to on my way to and from work. Some of the songs are more evocative of my commute than others. Here are:

Top 5 songs for my daily commute

1. "But Anyway," Blue Traveler

John Popper's gritty-yet-melodic harmonica goes nicely with the squeal of breaks and other industrial sounds of the train.

2. "All Lifestyles," Beastie Boys

You're bound to see a sampling of the world's population on the train. Our freak-freak making B-Boys illustrate this well with these two tracks off "To The Five Boroughs."

3. "People Get Ready," Curtis Mayfield & The Impressi

A great chill-out song, and beautiful, too. Hey, when the hell did I stop listening to Curtis Mayfield strictly for camp value?

4. "First Train Home," Imogen Heap

Duh.

5. "Gates of Justice," Chana Rothman

Nice little slice-of-life story telling on the train. Besides, what's not to love about a break-down in Hebrew?

Dear New York,
I noticed that you do not have a law requiring every resident to live within distant earshot of a trumpet player like I do. My question to you is: Why not?
Cuddles,
XOXO,
Sincerely,
Me

Dear person on the subway holding onto the overhead railing with both hands,
How come?
Love,
Respectfully,
Your Pal,
Me

Anyone can comment!

I didn't notice this before, but only registered users had been allowed to leave comments, which is silly. So I've disabled that function. Now only people who write fast enough before before Capt-cha resets itself can comment. Oh, what a glorious age!

Subway splatter

Written May 6

I went into work this morning, my face smelling of Purell. I generally keep a bottle of it handy because, in my opinion, if you're not a germaphob, living in New York will give you plenty of reasons to become one. Things were going their normal course. I got on the W, my preferred line because I can get off at the Flatiron Building, which I think is a wonderful piece of archetecture, and then I can walk through Madison Square Park on my way to the office. I've found that a minute surrounded by trees and squirrels does wonders for me before I spend the next eight hours at a computer.

So, I was on the train this morning, semi-concious, when a woman boarded holding a cane. It's the law in this city that you offer your seat to anyone elderly, disabled, pregnant, or any combination thereof (were I in charge of the MTA, I'd add "hot chick" to that list). I'd like to think that I'd offer my seat anyway, even without the law. Because when you do, people look at you with relief as if to say, "Society has not crumbled!"

I offered my seat to the woman with the cane who declined, politely. I offered it a second time just to make sure, but she patted my shoulder and said she was getting off in a couple of stops. She then stood over me and began talking. About what, I don't know. The monologue seemed like a train of thought (get it!? "Train-of-thought"!! And we're on a subway train! Har!), plus it was a very difficult to understand her. I did manage to gleam the following:

• Her birthday was in a few months
• Something something "Mike Bloomberg"
• Something something "the people in New York"
• Something something "people in uniform"
• Something something about another state
• Something something "that's OK, ha ha ha"

None of this would have been a problem, except that she had an unfortunate tendency to spit when she talked. When the first drop landed on my hand, I thought, "it's OK, this isn't anything I haven't dealt with before. Remember that teacher in 7th grade with the unpronounceable name who did this too?" But things got worse as she kept talking, and drops began to hit me in the face. I reached for the purrell, but you can't just start lathering yourself up in mid conversation, otherwise people will get angry and they'll beat you with their cane. So I smiled thinly, and counted the stops until she got off. It was then that I noticed that time seemed to warp, everything became very drawn out, the murmur of conversation slowed to a slightly satanic mumble, and movement almost ground to a halt like a very mundane version of The Matrix.


Finally, she got off, after shaking my hand (who does that?!). I wished her well. I still do. I should say something nice here, about her, so here it goes:


1. Her lipstick was applied almost without flaw
2. Nice hair
3. Thanks for the bath

Hi, I'm German Boy from Queens

While visiting my sister in Rhode Island a few weeks ago, I stopped by an Army Navy surplus store. There, I found a surplus German Army shirt/jacket thingy that I really liked.

For a guy who can't shoot straight and who has not done a recorded chin-up, I have to say I look good in surplus military gear. The problem is that there is a small German flag on the upper portion of each sleeve, which leads to a lot of misidentification. 

"Where are you from?"

"Queens"

"I mean, before that."

"You mean, where I was born? Where I was living before? Are we talking Maine, here?"

"No, are you German?"

"Huh?"

"Belgian?"

"Oh, you mean the jacket? It's surplus."

"So, you're not from Germany, then?"

"No, like I said, I'm from Queens."

"Oh, you're boring then."

I was lucky in that last week, my friends Carla and Andrew came down from the aforementioned state of Maine to visit, share some fun time with the cast of Cinematic Titanic, and eat cupcakes. We took a ride on the Staten Island Ferry to confirm that the Statue of Liberty was returned to its rightful place after Bill Murray took it for a ride in Ghostbusters II (and it looks like it did--so much, in fact, that I'm starting to wonder if the events in Ghostbusters II ever really happened).

The fun thing about the ferry is that they serve beer on board, which means you get to meet plenty of friendlies, such as these women, who seemed concerned that I get a good photo of the aforementioned statue. "We'll find you on Facebook," one of them told me later. "German-Boy from Queens."

"That's me."

Also on board was Kevin from New Jersey. I know this, because as the ferry was returning, he said, to no one in particular, "I'm Kevin from Jersey!" And so he was. We talked about a great many things, such as TV's Alf. I wish we had time to make more memories. Now, all I have is these photographs. Good-night, you weary wayward wanderer, you Garden State Prince.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to come up with a German Boy from Queens Facebook profile.