How did that happen, you might ask? After persistently, but really nicely, asking the newspaper guy at the train station to start carrying the New York Sun in addition to the New York Times -- I cannot stand the Times anymore -- he has kindly agreed to order ONE copy of the Sun for me every day. How cool is that? My very own special order.

Yup, the commute just got a whole lot better.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 04:17 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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It is now almost exactly three hours since I stepped off the train at Grand Central Terminal this morning and walked up Park Avenue to the gym.

I am still wet.

My shoes sit stuffed with paper towels and my socks are lying next to them. I am wearing borrowed socks from the gym. I hung the clothes in the sauna and they are still wet.

I have not experienced a downpour like this since I left Louisiana. The sky opened up and the streets become rivers with water so high that the gutters overflowed on to the sidewalks, sweeping all debris off the walkways. I sloshed with each step.

My briefcase, and contents, are wet. My pants are still wet and my shirt is still wet.

I sit here not quite dripping but far from dry.

Another day in paradise. You betcha.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 08:28 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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I found a lovely picture on the internet that shows one of the views I enjoy from the train on my way home. I think this is really quite nice. There is just something about the water I find very soothing. And by the way, that big cabin cruiser? I've never seen it move.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 11:14 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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I generally stand on the train from somewhere in the Bronx until we reach Grand Central. I usually chat with a train buddy ot two from that point in. It is a nice way to start the day.

Today, I was chatting with one guy, the other was absent without excuse, when this nicely dressed older woman decided to vomit her breakfast (and perhaps her dinner, too, come to think of it) into her copy of the New York Times. God knows, while I have often been tempted to do that, I have always been able to resist. One wonders which article set her off.

Either way, a delightful beginning to the morning after the baby kept us up just about the entire night with his own vomiting problem. And he can't even read the Times yet! I wonder what his excuse was.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 02:31 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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I may be reading too much into this, but, with that caveat at the forefront, let me jump right in.

I have often thought commuting by train from the suburbs of NYC to Manhattan was, for a certain type of person, a kind of death. It is a suspension from reality, it is time away from work, fun, family. It is a time spent, for most, in avoiding human contact as they pretend no one is sitting next to them and they nurse their silent resentment of the inch or so extra that their seatmate requires. These kinds of commuters, let's call them ghouls, shall we? These ghouls have sold their souls to live where they live. Well, since we all have mortgages out there, I suppose we all have to a certain extent. But it weighs more heavily on some than on others.

For instance, last night, I had a chance to observe one such ghoul. He was dressed in some kind of dockers-like pants, old ones or ones that had missed the last wash day, a button down shirt against which his paunch strained and in the chest pocket of which he had a pack of smokes and some pens. He wore metal framed glasses of no discernable style. They did not flatter the planes of his face. His skin was grayish in tone -- probably because of the cigarette smoking. At his feet, 3 empty Coors light tall boys -- the equivalent of 4 beers in an hour. One beer every 15 minutes. That's a lot of beer, it seems to me. I hope he wasn't driving home. I hope someone was picking him up. But a beer every 15 minutes, by yourself, that is not an expression of joy and happiness. It smacks of desperation and sadness -- like he was trying to dull the pain of his day or even his life.

I hope not to become one of these people. I worry sometimes that I could be well on my way to doing so. There are days I hate my job and days I worry that my daily life (read: work life) is so crushing that I could easily find myself destroyed by it. And then I too would be one of those gray people, sucking hard on a beer. Well, I hope I would at least have the good taste to make it a Scotch. I mean, a girl has to have her standards, you know.

What is it about people that they allow themselves to get caught up entirely in prisons of their own making? This is a serious question. I have been applying it to myself and not in a very coherent manner so this may not make sense. I sometimes look at these other people on the train and wonder if they are tied down by lines only they can see. Maybe its a failure of imagination, that they cannot articulate a solution so they cannot envision a path to accomplish it. Maybe its all about me, there. But the ties that hold you down, I think, are self imposed limits. Maybe you can do whatever you want, if you are prepared to take a risk.

Maybe not.

Maybe this makes no sense and I will cut it off here.

If this made any sense at all, or if you think I am totally full of it, feel free to say so.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 10:18 AM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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1 No, you are not totally full of it, it's there, and I was there for almost 3 years, working a shit job for terrible bosses. A nobody, not listened to.I fortunately came out of it, took a chance and found another job, then got my old boss fired. Sometimes there's such a lack of hope that you just continue slogging away in the rut that is your situation. I've fallen in to that rut too many damn times mostly because of debt and/or unemployment. That ghouls self-medication is just making it worse too, your diet and exercise make a huge impact on your perspective and mood, a beer every 15 minutes is not the way to improve your situation although it may make you feel better temporarily. When hope is lost, soon so is life.

Posted by: Oorgo at May 31, 2006 12:30 PM (2uqyw)

2 You're talking about me, aren't you?

Posted by: Jennifer at May 31, 2006 01:06 PM (jl9h0)

3 The difference between those who make prisons out of their lives and those who don't, are people who are willing to change. I understand completely about how scary it is to do that, and how many people can't muster up the courage. My own personal thought on it is that people who refuse to look after themselves---the ones who are never prepared for the knife that inevitably gets stuck in their back because they're such an easy target---are these same people who create their own prisons. They think that by making their lives smaller, that by lessening the chance they'll come up against someone who means them harm, there's less chance of being hurt. This is their defense mechanism and it's just sad because it doesn't lead to a richer, more fulfilling life but rather to a very small, contained one that's bound to be a disappointment. But I could be full of it

Posted by: Kathy at May 31, 2006 02:25 PM (D4iZS)

4 Good people find themselves in hell when they can't forgive themselves. I lived that above sentence for a very, very long time. The profession you are in is changing, but I used to know quite a few folks who drank to excess. Even the ethical ones.

Posted by: Margi at May 31, 2006 06:44 PM (BRtaN)

5 ...a beer every 15 minutes is not the way to improve your situation..." That's true. To improve your situation, you need a beer every 10 minutes. In all seriousness, I agree with all of the above. Many people live in prisons of their own making. Although some may not even attempt to get out for whatever reason, the saddest are those who don't even [fully] realize that they're in a prison to begin with.

Posted by: TeaFizz at May 31, 2006 11:09 PM (z2/GK)

6 It is sad isn't it. I commute for 1 hour and 15 minutes from Kent countryside every day to London. I have made some very nice train buddy friends but equally have witnessed the same people every day who are totally and utterly miserable. I think they cocoon themselves on the train journey home, they always look resentful of having to share their journey with other people. There are people too that make me smile, they don't know it, but they do.

Posted by: Sharon Hayles at July 14, 2006 04:07 AM (TaW0T)

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I know I've written about the power of smells before. Smells/odors have the power to transport you temporally. I had that experience a couple of nights ago on the train. It had been a very hard couple of days at work and I had spent that particular day in front of a very demanding judge so, by the time I hit the train, I was more than ready for my nap. In fact, I was out before the train left the station. When I awoke, and I did so sort of gradually and grudgingly, it was to a smell. It was a kind of clean, at first, odor. And then, as I become more conscious, I was struck by memories of 9th and 10th grade study hall, sitting in the back left corner of the room that we dubbed the swamp. I vividly recalled the space, the arrangement of the desks, the appearance of my friends, and the smell of the Kodiak dip we regularly (me, not so regularly) put in our mouths and spit on to the carpet behind the radiator. And that's when it hit me, the nicely dressed, gray haired fellow with the respectable spectacles sitting next to me was spitting dip or chewing tobacco into an empty bottle.

Uh, yuck?

While I appreciated the nostalgia trip, I was actually mildly grossed out.

Just the same, we had a short but very pleasant conversation and he told me that a lot of the people he worked with, bond traders, used it. A lot of them are ex-baseball players and picked up the habit there. Also, as a trader, its hard to step away from your desk for long enough to have a smoke. Hence, the smokeless stuff.

Funny experience, though. Even if it was a little icky.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 11:29 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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I'm not quite sure how to go about this particular entry. See, often, I have either an idea of where I want to end up at the end of an entry, and no idea how I'm going to get there, or no conception of the destination but the journey is clear. This one? Well, neither. I'm trying to figure something out about myself with this one and, truth be told, I neither know how to do it nor remain entirely convinced that the trip is worth the trouble. Enough travel references?

It has to do with my relationship to space and time. There. That sounds nice and broad and perhaps a touch pompous.

Ever take the train? At night? All you can see is the very occasional glimpse of light as you rocket along. And from that glimpse, you can sometimes discern more or less where you are on your journey. Some silhouettes are enough to tell you, some half seen shape, some peculiar configuration. Well, to me, for some unknown reason, this is important. I like to know where I am in terms of time and space.

I can't really do the time part, actually. Ask my wife. She'll tell you that I am curiously unable to calculate and internalize and apply to myself travel time or the amount of time needed to get ready or get others ready or, well, the list could go on. Like putting the kids to bed. She claims I have no idea how long it takes. She may be right. I think kids expand time to suit whatever latitude indulgent parents give them. I can say, dear, that when I have the kids to myself and you are away, I can get them to bed happily and efficiently, no muss, no fuss. I just don't, upon reflection, know how long that takes me to do. Ok, enough digression. Although, since I don't know where this post is going or how its getting there, this may not have been a digression. I reserve judgment on the digression thing until I reach the end. And even then I may not know.

So, I like to know where I am. Even on the train ride. The train ride never varies. The rails were laid out many years ago and they don't move or change their route on a daily basis. So, chances are good that yesterday's ride was the same as today's ride, etc, ad infinitum. That just hints that my needing to know where I am is not rational. Well, that does me no good. I never claimed to be completely sane.

No, maybe I need to know where I am because I have an internal clock, totally divorced from the watch I wear on my wrist. I know, kind of, by some strange calculation, that if the train hits the Greenwich station going in, that I have scads of time left to read. That if I'm at a certain point in the Bronx, starting a new chapter is an exercise in optimism, a second marriage ("triumph of hope over experience"). That, on the way out, a nap from 125th Street to Stamford is a darn fine thing, one to be bragged about at home. I calculate time by knowing distance. I could, I suppose, look at my watch. But I don't. Pretty much ever.

Ok. I can accept this much -- I need to know where I am because I use it to tell time. Kind of atavistic, but still, not entirely without reason.

And by the way, I am really good at this. Even in the total darkness, I can, within moments of looking up from my book, figure out exactly where I am anywhere from Grand Central to Greenwich. Beyond Greenwich, well, no. I can't do it. And it makes me uncomfortable.

Hence this post. As I try to figure out why I need to do this and why it makes me uncomfortable. I think, by this point, I have managed to convince myself it is not an outward manifestation of some deep seeded OCD, but a totally rational albeit strange way to tell how time has passed, by relating my changing position vis a vis landmarks.

I suspect that I will feel more at home in Connecticut when I can extend my little geography from Greenwich to home.

Well, this feels like it could be the end of this post. I'm not sure. But, might as well be. How do I know? I think I've run out of things to say.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 11:53 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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As regular readers may have gleaned, I am early train type of guy. I take either the 5:26 or the 5:56 a.m. train into work every morning.

As an aside, I usually take the 5:56 train home. That led me to the starkly depressing realization that I exist in 12 hour periods defined by my trains. I don't know why I find that so depressing, but I do and I certainly cannot identify anything uplifting about this division. But, as I said, this was an aside and not the main point of this post.

No, the main point is to reflect on the weirdness that is the early train.

The early train is a different crowd from the rush hour / express train crowd. These early types are quieter, with one or two exceptions, and include a similar mix of people. There are the finance types, the people who trade for a living or work on foreign securities markets. In fact, one acquaintance asked me which bank I worked for. Then there are the critical function types and I include police officers and the like in this group. You often see them on this train along with NYC Police Academy cadets in their uniforms. Finally, there are the gym rats and I'm in this group. We're all either in our workout gear or clearly unshaven and on the way to the gym to spiff up for the day. These are just general observations and I'm sure that there are lots of different people taking the train who don't fall into these groups.

Then, there are the weirdos. I commute with at least three of them. I suppose, since I have no reason to think otherwise, that they are perfectly nice people but they have mannerisms that cause them to stand out from the herd. Of course, I have named them.

First, there's the Twitcher. Twitcher has something going on with her that causes her facial muscles to twitch and contract into a rictus of a teeth baring grin, except without the friendliness that the word grin connotes. She is in her mid to late 30's is my guess, slim, with short hair and favors blue jeans. Seems nice enough, but who knows. It requires a real effort to look away from the twitch on the platform.

Second, we have the Talker. The Talker is a tall woman, maybe in her 40's, a little thick in the body, looks like she may have played power forward for her college basketball team and still favors that kind of haircut. I call her the Talker not because she talks to me, no, that would be just fine. I have dubbed her the Talker because she appears to be talking to herself, sotto voce, in an impassioned way complete with anguished and sometimes exaggerated facial expressions and head shaking. She conducts arguments with herself and seems, from my vantage point, to be on the losing end of those arguments. I try not to stand too near to her out of a fear that I will be able to overhear the argument and might, against my will, be drawn into it.

Third, and finally, we come to my favorite. I call him Yoga Boy, or sometimes just Yoga. Yoga is probably in his late 50's. He is short, maybe about 5'3'', very thin, with graying hair, balding, and some sort of skin condition that causes his skin to dry out and flake. He is usually dressed in some sort of jeans / sweatshirt combination, carries a back pack with a "No Blood for Oil" and an anti-Bush pin on the shoulder strap. He does not sit on the train. He instead stands in the vestibule and appears to engage in some form of meditation. His eyes closed, standing away from the wall, his knees flexed, he contemplates some inner, more peaceful place, or so I imagine. Hence, Yoga Boy. He stalks up Park Avenue with me or near me almost every morning and appears to move with a barely contained rage. So much for the inner peace thing. His elbows jut out to the sides as he swings his arms and his back pack rides down low over his hips as if it was slightly too big for him. And he hates red lights. When he sees the light is about to go against him, he breaks into an odd floppy bird kind of run, with arms akimbo but keeping his center of gravity very low. I find myself cheering him on in his quest to make the light. “Go, Yoga, go!” Although we stand on the platform together in the morning and although we walk up Park more or less together, he has never acknowledged my existence. I have looked at him when he arrives on the platform so as to at least give him a friendly nod, but his gaze is resolutely fixed simultaneously both inward and outward across the platform. Either way, although we have stood next to each other for months, I clearly do not fall within the scope of his gaze. That’s actually kind of fine with me.

I do wonder if it annoys him when I chat with my friend, though, as we wait for the train together.

Welcome to my world on the 5:56. I am but a spectator on this one, most of the time.

I do wonder, only fleetingly, what my fellow passengers would write about me, given the opportunity.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 11:03 AM | Comments (14) | Add Comment
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While standing on the train platform this morning, awaiting the arrival of the 6:40, I was treated to the following exchange between two older men behind me.

Man 1: How old are you anyway?

Man 2: Just turned 59, actually.

Man 1: Really! Good for you. I just had a milestone birthday myself.

Man 2: Milestones?!? They pay to get rid of them?

It was all I could do not to laugh out loud at that one.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 07:52 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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There is something oddly beautiful about Bruckner Blvd. at 10:00 on a Tuesday night in the Fall. The cars go whizzing by as they pass by the scrap metal yards, building supplies establishments, gas stations, strip clubs, and mysterious boarded up lots with huge amounts of razor tipped barb wire. True, your quiet contemplation of this urban landscape may be disturbed by the shouts of the driver telling the gas station attendant that he gave him a ten dollar bill and not a five and that he better program the pump for ten dollars, all expletives deleted here. But you let that all roll past you since you left your house some 16 1/2 hours earlier that morning and you sit in the car sort of half dazed by lack of rest.

At this point, you may be wondering, with apologies to the Talking Heads, this is not my beautiful train. How did I get to this place? Metro North. Police activity. Shut down the New Haven line for who knows how long. Stranded in Grand Central Station.

So I called a car service. The car service assured me that they would have a car for me in 8 minutes. I must have misheard them. It took more like 40 minutes. I stood outside the Grand Hyatt on 42nd Street for 40 minutes and watched the Secret Service and Police cars fly by with the dignitaries and their hangers on. The UN General Assembly is in session and all kinds of world leaders are here to address the Assembly and do a little shopping. It was fun to watch the President of Kenya, surrounded by body guards and guys trying to sell knock off Rolex watches (I kid) and other guys in flowing white robes saunter into the hotel. I was still out there when one of the bodyguards came out and, in accented but idiomatic English, have a long, pleading cell phone conversation with a woman (I presume) who he was trying to convince to come out and give him some special international intervention. Highly entertaining. The doorman I was standing next to thought so, too. This was easily the high point of the journey home last night.

When we managed to tear ourselves away from the conversation with the gas station attendant and leave the Bronx behind, we journeyed on to Westchester and home. Where the son of a bitch driver tried to cheat me. First, I paid the toll at I 95 -- $1. Then, he asked me if I could pay the tip in cash and I said, sure and gave him a $10. The denomination may not have registered with him because when I gave him the $10, he told me that there was a mandatory 20% tip. Also, his math? Not so good. A 20% tip would have been $10.40. So I, at that point with no patience, lost my temper. I took the ten back. I told him that this was the first time in the many years I had been using this car service that I had ever heard that and I was going to call the dispatcher right now and ask if that was true. He told me to forget it. I then got the charge slip to find that he added $5 on for "tolls". At that point I crossed that out, told him that I wasn't tipping him at all, accused him of trying to cheat me and left. Not a great ending to a not great trip. I'm going to be calling American Express shortly to see how much the car service has tried to actually put through on my card. Then I'm calling the car service customer service people. Let the games begin.

What idiot said it was the journey, not the destination, that mattered? I have a number for a great car service for him.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 08:38 AM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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1 I hope things go better today...you don't want to deal with that crap everyday!

Posted by: Mick at September 22, 2004 09:32 AM (VhRca)

2 well. good afternoon anyway.

Posted by: standing naked at September 22, 2004 12:15 PM (IAJcf)

3 Sic 'em, Random. They just don't know who they're fooling with.

Posted by: Amber at September 22, 2004 09:54 PM (zQE5D)

4 Crap, that sucks. I wish I could say that this happened to me, but it's, als, only a story told by my High School biology teaxher: "I got out of the cab after the ride and handed the driver the fare plus a fiver. 'Is that all...?' he pleaded. 'Oh, did I hand you a five? I'm sorry, jus' give that back to me.' He handed it back and thereupon I told him to get the fuck outta here."

Posted by: Tuning Spork at September 23, 2004 08:07 AM (cjZzG)

5 I can relate to your experience, as well as Tuning Spork's. Hopefully, you can use a different car service in the future. If you need a good, reliable, and professional car service email me. It's bad enough when you have to work that late, to be subjected to such rudeness in addition would put me over the edge easily. I rarely stay late anymore, instead I telecommute after taking a pleasant dinner break at home. It's a much better environment, as I can work in my sweats or jammies, with my favorite mug by my side. Hope this evening's commute is much better.

Posted by: michele at September 23, 2004 02:26 PM (2c9qq)

6 I need to use a car service again tonight (9/2 and you better believe I'm using a different one!

Posted by: RP at September 28, 2004 11:26 AM (LlPKh)

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I pass through Grand Central Station at least twice a day every work day, sometimes more often. I pass through it during prime commuter hours, at least in the evening when I usually try to make the 6:00 train so I can get home early enough to play with my kids. That's why I'm at my desk by 7:30 every morning. The terminal is usually guarded by police and national guardsmen. I think that the guards are supposed to make us feel safe. Generally, I don't feel safe. My thoughts usually tend to the dark and the morose while walking through and I fixate a bit on some bad things. Today, coming off the train, there was some woman with a small camcorder taping the passengers as they exited the train and streamed up the platform. She wasn't in an MTA uniform. It made me nervous. I've never seen anyone do that.

So I found a policeman immediately, told him what I saw, and he went from relaxed and watchful to tense and in motion in a nanosecond as he went to investigate. He didnÂ’t even take the time to say a single word to me after I reported to him. He was just on his way without hesitation.

The taping made me nervous, more nervous, I should say. I'm glad I narked on this woman, even if it was a perfectly innocent exercise on her part.

Because, what if it wasn't?

Posted by: Random Penseur at 08:28 AM | Comments (15) | Add Comment
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1 Better safe than sorry!

Posted by: Andrew Cusack at September 15, 2004 08:51 AM (xuV6d)

2 Hey I was going to say that! Glad you did something RP..

Posted by: Rachel Ann at September 15, 2004 09:18 AM (tM5rN)

3 What they said!

Posted by: GrammarQueen at September 15, 2004 10:21 AM (gDEwS)

4 She could have been dangerous, or she could have been this guy - http://www.toomuchsexy.org/index/weblog/2004/09/06/ Or this guy - http://www.brownequalsterrorist.com/ Not that I'm saying she may not have been dangerous and that you over-reacted... but photography and videotaping has almost become illegal in the U.S. it seems. Unless you are in your own home taking pictures of you cat, you may be a terrorist

Posted by: Oorgo at September 15, 2004 10:59 AM (lM0qs)

5 Oorgo, standing on the commuter platform, which is not a place frequented by tourists and has no intrinsic artistic merit, then videotaping is really a suspicious act. Let her explain herself to somebody. When you read in the news about video surveillance performed by terrorist groups in aid of planning attacks and you see someone filming where there is no good obvious reason to do so, then I think it is the better practice to request a polite explanation. If she doesn't like it, well, not my problem and certainly not a violation of her civil rights.

Posted by: RP at September 15, 2004 12:06 PM (LlPKh)

6 "Better safe than sorry!" Please, give us all a break. The only threat to civilization is the mass of Henny Pennys running around fearing that the sky is falling, yet taking no note than the trusted Farmer Brown is going to lead them all to slaughter. Perhaps you should start narking on mobile phone users too......they may be DRUG DEALERS! With all do respect Mr. RP, you very much sound like a commuter.

Posted by: Eric at September 16, 2004 12:02 PM (1xJuE)

7 Eric, I guess you haven't spent much time reading any of the previous posts. I don't mind since there are rather a lot of it. That said, one, it's all "due" respect and two, that's just a fancy way of saying you have no respect at all for the object of that phrase. So, bearing in mind your ignorance, maybe we'll just give this one a pass. Also, I'm feeling sort of kindly disposed towards humanity today. No, screw it. Eric, you don't have the first clue, do you? The next time you attend a memorial service with an empty coffin for a victim of terrorism, you are welcome to comment. Until then, you have added nothing to the discussion. I would have expected more from the U of Chicago.

Posted by: RP at September 16, 2004 05:18 PM (X3Lfs)

8 Personally, I don't like being filmed by particulars in public areas. I must submit to being filmed by security cameras everywhere, but I think I have the right to object to being part of anybody's personal endeavor, be it made with good or bad intentions. That said, I would rather people err on the side of safety than not challenge questionable activities because it may seem like a silly thing to do. I'm with you Random. If there's no hidden motive behind the lady's recording, she can easily explain herself and move on. But people have to show a little more caution and consideration in what they do, and be aware of the high sensitivity of our current predicament. It's not a good time to go out there and do things that could be confused with planning or conducting a terrorist activity. Sorry...didn't mean to ramble on so much.

Posted by: Mick at September 16, 2004 07:21 PM (m/BWU)

9 I have to side with Eric on this, only definitely in a less acerbic way, since you are my big blog brother and I think I am allowed to disagree with you I commute into London several times a week (as you know, since I blog about the trains and how they are fodder for people watching and frustration!) and I go to the commuter platforms of said stations, not the cool Eurostar ones or anything like that. If I saw someone videotaping it, I wouldn't care a bit. Big deal, video all the people you want, I know people watching is a huge part of being a tourist. Now, if she were trying to get into a locked maintenance shed or something, then that's a different matter, and would be reported pronto. I live with a train enthusiast, who is keen to check out the fittings and workings of trains. I don't like thinking that just because my boyfriend is checking out the hooters on a train instead of on a woman, he may wind up in the clink. I think the videoing was likely totally ok, and if it made you feel better, perhaps the best thing to do would be to ask her yourself what she was up to.

Posted by: Helen at September 17, 2004 03:05 AM (/uGVk)

10 Helen, you are totally allowed to disagree with me. Indeed, EVERYBODY is allowed to disagree with me, I just prefer it when people do it lie you do it, as an adult without a spiteful comment. That said, I remain unmoved by your argument. Filming in odd places today is a suspicious act. Grand Central Station has been evacuated a couple of times over the last few years because of terror threats. I know, I've been there when it happened. Filming the commuter platforms which by themselves have no artistic merit and should hold little to no interest (and which are reserved for ticket holders, I believe) is out of place and cause for noticing it if not concern about it. We don't really have train watchers here as you do in GB. It's a cultural difference. And there was something about the way in which the young woman was holding the camera plus the odd expression on her face made me nervous. If I was nervous, the best thing to do was to ask a police officer to do something about it. What was I supposed to do if I asked her what she was up to and received an answer I didn't care for? I'm not empowered to do anything about it and nor should I be. No, she's better off talking to someone who has to care about her civil rights because, as a private citizen, I don't have to let my behaviour be guided by the protections afforded to her by the Constitution. Again, it may be that the taping was ok. But what if it wasn't? People with links to terrorist groups have been filming bridges and other infrastructure, including the Citibank building in NY. Put into that context, I don't believe I was over-reacting. The police officer I told about it didn't seem to think so either.

Posted by: RP at September 17, 2004 09:34 AM (LlPKh)

11 The only question I have to you and her would be if she was a terrorist, why did she pick a commuter platform, filming people as they go to work. I'm sure she was amazed at the streaming crowds of people coming too and fro, I sure am. I also know weird film buffs that use stock footage like that to make mosaic type short films. And they probably have weird looks on their face while trying to avoid the bustle and get a good shot. I just hope, if it was innocent filming, that she didn't get hassled by "The Man". I personally would have casually asked what she was up to, I'm usually pretty good at telling when people are lying to my face. If I wasn't satisfied with the response then I would report her. Besides you could always say that she needs your permission to show your image anywhere, or that she's stealing your soul

Posted by: Oorgo at September 17, 2004 03:58 PM (lM0qs)

12 This set of comments is in response to RP's reply to my initial comment. 1) Thank you for pointing out that I misspelled "due" in the phrase "with all due respect." I know better than that and should have acted in a consistent manner. 2) I did not mean to leave you with the impression that I have no respect for you, I simply meant to leave the impression that after reading your post my eyes were rolled so far in to the back of my head that I could not see straight. I imagine that most people would agree that suspecting mobile phone users as being drug dealers is ridiculous, but, hilariously, such has passed in our very recent history. I certainly mean to suggest the obvious analogy. The new vogue simply happens to be terrorism and video recorders carry the symbolic power. "Better safe than sorry" is something one says to oneself in order to avoid having both the logical and empirical arguments which do not make one feel good about oneself at the end of the day. My eyes were rolled into the back of my head because you (and some of those who posted) approached the matter with immense gravity even though the question itself is a joke. 3) On my meaning when I said that you "sound like a commuter": I meant that your tale reminds me of the meddling, paranoid, "daddy knows best" characters that make rush hour such a nightmare in New York. It appears rather unfair of me to have lumped you into a category that is reserved for suspect persons based on only one of your actions, but I only meant to be safe rather than sorry. (The obvious analogy will not be forced on you.) 4) You failed to address the meat of my comment re the Henny Pennys. Addressing structural concerns is the best way to allay the threat of terrorism, not running around in a state of frenzy blind and deaf to the proven sources of peril. 5) I take it that you lost a friend to terrorism, but this does not grant you a monopoly on the discussion. The Chicago education in me is dying to point out the fallacy in your argument, yet I am simply going to resist. I will say that the fashion of September 11th stopped being pleasing to my eye the moment that all and sundry began flaunting it at every social club in town. Being a New Yorker requires more than wearing black. Read the last sentence again. Respectfully yours, Eric

Posted by: Eric at September 17, 2004 06:51 PM (1xJuE)

13 Eric, I write to acknowledge receipt of your last comment. It put me in mind of a quote from the Princess Bride. You may know it. The quote goes something like this: “You keep using that word [here: respect; consistent; vogue; symbolic; logical; empirical; structural; fashion; and pleasing]. I do not think it [they] mean what you think it [they] mean.” Your comment is shot through with so many lacunae and tergiversations that I would ordinarily dismiss it as the work of a troll and move on. But, seeing as how I am inclined, generally, to give people the benefit of the doubt, I shall do so one last time here and take a moment to respond, refute, and explain. We’ll go in order of your points. Your point 1: I would be prepared to give you credit that you know better except your use of the word consistent in this point is nonsensical and strongly suggests otherwise. Consistent with what? Frankly, impossible to say. Nonetheless, let’s move on. Your point 2: You may wish to see someone regarding the problem you have with your eyes. I decline to address your point about phones and drug dealers. I have no experience with drug dealers and am prepared to concede your greater familiarity. I take strong exception to your unsupportable assertion that terrorism is the new “vogue”, or fashion and that camcorders carry only “symbolic: power. Terrorism is not fashionable, except in that many of the organizations that support terrorism are enthusiastically supported by fashionable young men and women on college campuses. Terrorism is not considered fashionable by those who ride buses in Israel or send their children to school in Beslan. To suggest otherwise is insulting. To suggest that camcorders are only symbolic tools in preparing detailed surveillance of terrorist targets is dangerously ignorant. Beyond that, this is a field where the language of deconstructionist theories and semiotics is not applicable. Finally, there are no “logical or empirical” arguments left to discuss here. Either you believe the empirical proof that terrorism is a danger and that camcorders are used to plan terrorism or you close your eyes and reject that proof. I invite you to continue walking around with your eyes closed and I hope nothing worse happens than a barked shin. Your point 3: You have created a new class of insult. I doff my hat to you. That said, of course I am a “daddy knows best” kind of guy. I have young children at home and I am an attorney at work. I am both charged with the responsibility at home and paid at work to advise and guide. Would you want a father or an attorney who lacked that certitude? Well, come to think of it, maybe you would. Most others would not. The rest of the point reeks of condensation and can, I suspect, be safely disregarded as the work of a crank. Your point 4: To quote an old commercial regarding your question about the meat: “Where’s the beef?” What meat? There was nothing to address. You now attempt to ascribe meaning where none existed before. I suspect that may be the proof of the U of C education we were looking for before. There are no structural concerns regarding terrorism that can be addressed at our level. Those concerns are the province of state actors, not individuals. Can we think about them? Sure. Can we act on them? No. We lack the means. It is naïve to suggest otherwise. Finally, your point that we should not run around blind to the “perils” of terrorism must have been dashed off in haste. It proves too much. Taken as true, my actions were correct and beyond reproach. Once again, camcorder use in taping infrastructure is beyond peradventure. It is suggestive of a known “peril”. Walking away and doing nothing would be consistent with being “blind and deaf”. Reporting it and letting someone else with the proper authority sort it out is the correct response. Your point 5: You take it wrong. I lost family in the Towers, as many did that day. I am not inclined to discuss it further with you. I will point out that there is no “fashion” for September 11 and no one is flaunting anything. If you think that I am, and your eye is not “pleased”, go away and haunt someone else’s comment board. Eric, no one is forcing you to read here. No one is forcing you to comment. But now, having spent some time in replying to you, I am clear that your comment is utterly bereft of common sense. I invite you, should you return to read my reply, to go elsewhere in the future. I decline to continue the discussion. I suspect I’ve just wasted my time. Respectfully, etc.

Posted by: RP at September 18, 2004 04:45 AM (X3Lfs)

14 I think the main issue here is not wheather or not to NARC on suspicious people, but rather people should not be so paranoid, and know the actual laws. The rules of th MTA state that photography and videography IS permited unless flashes, lights, and tripods are used. You freaked out, had the police harass a technicaly inocent woman, possibly ruining her day, or week, or month. Just so YOU can say, "better safe than sorry". I commute everyday from Stamford to Grand Central, and work in Times Square. If you can't handel the everyday life of being in New York, one of them being, EVERYONE has and uses cameras, you should work or live somewhere else. The police should have responded in accordance as well, saying, "sorry ma'am this woman is not violating any rules of the MTA, but thank you for the tip we will keep an eye on her." Instead they pounced on her. Again, if the police that work in the MTA don't understand the law and are so quick to freak out, and in this case violate this poor woman's rights, they too are not forced to live and work in NYC. They too should move. I thinks it's ironic. You made an ambigious situation tense by involving the police. So now it IS a situation. This woman is now being interogated, and searched, (in front of more passers by) her video probably being watched from beginning to end. That's justice?

Posted by: W at March 23, 2005 10:54 AM (IUd7b)

15 W, I decline to respond to you. I think that if you had read the extensive comment discussion on this point, you may not have made your comment. If you had and made the comment anyway, I have nothing to say to you. In any event, I think that the conversation can safely be closed. Suffice it to say that I disagree with you.

Posted by: RP at March 24, 2005 05:51 AM (X3Lfs)

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While waiting on the train platform this morning for the 6:43 local train to Grand Central Station, I was in that kind of half bemused totally automatic pilot state that comes from getting up too early and walking through the gusting winds and very hard rain, when suddenly I smelled a clove cigarette. I haven't smelled one of those for years. It smelled quite pleasant, a little sweet maybe, but certainly nicer than the cigarette the other guy was smoking.

I was mildly bemused when I realized someone was still smoking these things. Anyone else recall smoking these during college when you wanted to appear to be so sophisticated or because all of your dead head friends smoked them? Can you still taste the nasty, harsh taste of the burning clove oil on the tobacco? Growing up, and leaving that behind, is not all bad, I suppose.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 08:45 AM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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Coming home on the train tonight after a lovely dinner with my wife, I saw the following t-shirt on a young man on the train and I wanted to share it before the buzz from the wine faded and I no longer thought it was a good idea to post this:

My Other Ride is Your Mother

Now I hit "save" real quick before I can reconsider. Hey, I'm really not that mature.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 10:42 PM | Comments (7) | Add Comment
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1 now that is funny i am glad you posted it...lol...

Posted by: k at August 20, 2004 11:32 PM (IAJcf)

2 That's hysterical!

Posted by: Linda at August 21, 2004 08:00 AM (9Pzdi)

3 You need to read it with the accent.

Posted by: kb at August 21, 2004 08:50 AM (WxDFb)

4 I've seen that somewhere before. I want to say it was a bumper sticker. My husband is the one that pointed it out to me. It was indeed funny.

Posted by: Holly at August 21, 2004 10:30 AM (Wkg+N)

5 I'll have to get one of those for my daily bus trips.

Posted by: Tuning Spork at August 21, 2004 01:49 PM (aQTmy)

6 I am reminded of those immortal words cited by Samuel Jackson: "that is some f**d up, repugnant s**t!" And I say that with all respect and great amusement! thanks for sharing!

Posted by: GrammarQueen at August 23, 2004 08:57 AM (gDEwS)

7 Glad you all enjoyed it!

Posted by: RP at August 23, 2004 09:03 AM (LlPKh)

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I defaced a poster last night on the way home from work. Well, not a poster exactly. More like a sign. The conductor posted a handwritten sign with the words "No Exit" over the door to the train carriage closest to where I and many others were sitting. Of course it was an exit. In point of fact, it was the chosen exit for those of us in that part of the carriage and we all did actually end up exiting through it. I think the sign may have been left over from a different route. No matter. I was the first to line up at the door to await my station stop. I stood in front of this sign and couldn't help myself. I took up my pen and glanced quickly over my shoulder (thus establishing to the complete satisfaction of even the most casual observer that I was about to do something either suspicious or improper or both). I then wrote huis clos on the sign. Often enough, when you commute sitting near some idiot who has his cell phone fixed to his ear and his voice set to stun, you agree with Sartre that hell really is other people.

Inject a little existentialism in everybody's day.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 06:49 AM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
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There was no paper outside my door this morning. Usually, there is. So, I occupied myself this morning with reading all of various manual and "how-to" items I printed out concerning MT. The commute just flew by. At one point, however, I looked around the train and I noticed that the seven people sitting closest to me were all reading seven different newspapers:

* the Financial Times
* Investor's Daily
* Wall Street Journal
* NY Times
* USA Today (I guess it's a newspaper, too)
* NY Post, and,
* the local Gannet newspaper (I forget the name)

Now, you may say to yourself, "self, that seems like a lot of newspapers". And then you might agree with yourself. But that would be wrong, because thanks to Andrew Cusack, we know that NY has 18 daily papers. I think that's quite cool, but then, I am a newspaper and periodical junky. I probably look at three or more of those 18 on a daily basis and more on line.

The NY Times and I have a special relationship. I think of it as a love/hate/couldn't care less kind of a thing. Sometimes I love certain sections, sometimes a hate most of the politically correct and biased tone and reporting, and it couldn't care less about what I think about it. By the way, I am no longer allowed to read the Times around my children. I have language issues.

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What's the difference? The difference is being open and willing to become engaged by what you are looking at it. Most of the time, we look but don't see. Last night, coming home on the train, I saw. It just lasted a moment, but I saw. I'll try to describe what I saw.

I was on the train. We had passed over the bridge going from Manhattan to the Bronx and were entering this little canyon where the tracks are depressed and the walls on either side are high. I happened to look up out of the window for a moment and I saw a building, all alone, with nothing else around it. It was silhouetted against the sky. It was brick painted a tan or beige color, probably about 8 stories high, maybe 10. It was at an angle to me so that I was looking at its corner. And it was set against the sky, all alone. The sky was like thirty different shades of blue, streaked by some small clouds floating here and there. All of those shades of blue melded together into a blue that was achingly perfect and made more perfect by the small imperfections of the clouds. And this building thrust itself up against this perfect sky and looked, maybe because of the position of the angle or because of the juxtaposition of the three basic colors, two dimensional. It was like a painting.

The train moved on and it was evanescent. I think I gasped quietly at the perfection of that moment. I hope I conveyed it here.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 07:55 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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I mentioned before, in passing, the concept of commuting time as not being real time, as existing only in the interstices of your day. It is time defined more by what it isn't than what it is. What I mean is that it is time where you aren't: at work; at home; running errands; seeing friends; or playing with your children. See what I mean? It is time that doesn't fit nicely into the niche that is your daily life. It is time that is defined by the fact that it isn't any of those activities which constitute your daily existence. So what is it? I think of it as bubble time or time that is caught between your daily activities, which is why I consider it to be existing in the interstices -- its in between time. I think its a fascinating concept.

If, like me, you commute to work by commuter rail then you are probably in a seat, in a quiet train with relatively considerate fellow commuters who also value quiet (assuming you commute at rush hour or before). Maybe you read, maybe you sleep, maybe you listen to music. Maybe you just exist. If you are a to-do list, goal oriented person, maybe this is the only time of the day you can't be that, so you sort of shut down and exist. I can't explain it any better than that but if you look around the train in the morning you see people who are doing nothing and have such blank, sometimes almost slack, faces. Personally, I read the news paper or a book or a magazine on the way in. On the way home, much the same for me. Many people bring cocktails or beer or wine on the train home. That can make it a very civilized ride and I speak there from occasional but personal experience.

So, perhaps you agree with me that commuting starts out that way, at least. But what happens in the time you are waiting to commute. You know, you get to the station a couple of minutes early to get a good spot on the platform because the doors open more or less at the same spot every day. So you get there early to make sure you get your choice of seats on the train. But you are not alone. People are creatures of habit and more often than not will pick their group or spot on the platform. What happens when you see the same people every morning? Well, no matter how early it is, you eventually start to talk to them. Then you get your train buddies.

Train buddies are people who also only exist for you in this in-between world. You may never know their names. Sure, you may have exchanged names but you don't really remember them and the fact is that the names are not important. You know them by details and that is how you think of them. There is Bond Trader who sometimes commutes with Pretty Blond Fiancee. There is Euro Trader. There is Bow Tie guy. There is Real Estate Lawyer. There is Fire Lieutenant Jacket guy, who is always first at the platform. There is English guy. That's about it. By the way, almost all of them are men at 6:15 in the morning.

So, these guys exist in the margins only. What's odd, though, is the intimacy of the relationships. Fire guy knew I had applied for a new job that would have taken me to Florida to live. Something my parents certainly did not know. I know where Euro Trader's daughter is going to college and what she plans to study. I know about Bond Trader's former dating habits in the local bars (lots of foreign nannies) and his new wedding plans (his fiancee is a doll). I know about English guy's medical issues. I know that Bow Tie's wife just lost her job and he talked about how that will effect their house renovation plans. This is intimate stuff. And you know what else? All this takes place in no more than a 5-10 minute period shortly after 6:00 each morning. It stops when you get on the train because then you are in your bubble and no one wants to talk any more.

But, these guys are your train buddies. Keepers of intimate details of your life. You only see them for a couple of minutes a day and you may not even know their names. Maybe that's why the relationship works. Maybe we can only be intimate with others outside of our social/family circle if the main characteristic of the relationship is its anonymity.

Either way, I remain fascinated by the concept of time that you inhabit that exists only in the intersections of your life and filled with people who exist there with you.

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