Week Ending 3/24/07:
"I love you." "Luv you." "Love you too." With all this love in the world, one wonders how we have so much conflict. Of course, maybe folks really don't love everyone, but only those who make their cell phone address book. That's right, I'm talking about the almost universally accepted and expected protocol for ending a phone call. It's particularly evident when someone on the train makes or takes a call, which unfortunately, is almost always for some railers. What's more, we have become a nation of verbal exhibitionists, with no need or desire for privacy, just take that "verbal leak" anyplace we feel like it. The train offers little shelter to filter or shield our conversations anyway, whether intimate or not. Of course, no matter what the context or subject of the main conversation, always close with you know what. It has become epidemic. Wall Street types, hip-hop types, college kids, 20-somethings, 30-somethings, even sixty-somethings are caught in this cultural "cupidity." While we know virtually nothing about the person sitting next to us during our morning or evening commute, we should at least take some comfort in hearing their expression of affection for someone other than themselves. Of course, one can ponder whether these same mysterious creatures only slip the "L" word out there first, with the desire and need to hear someone acknowledge that they are the object of another's ardour. "Je t'aime, mon cherie."
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Sunday, March 18, 2007
De-Training
Week ending 3/16/07:
Who knew there is such an art as "de-training"? Now, I'm not talking about riding the "D" train uptown (similar to the "A" train). Nor am I goofing on Herve Villechaize's immortal "De plane, boss, de plane" signature announcement from Fantasy Island. I'm talking about the conductor's announcements over the intercom system as we approach the next scheduled stop. The voice over the speaker dutifully instructs passengers to "get ready to de-train". That means we are to gather our bags and personal items from the overhead storage areas and be careful as we step from the train to the platform at the station, since there is a gap between the platform and train. This has to be accomplished in relative quick order, since some of the stops (Baltimore) are for only a two-minute respite and its easy to be trapped on board by packages, bags, strollers and other less-nimble trainees, so you have to hustle. These alerts are valuable guidance in this age of litigation, when personal injury is the result of too hot coffee, or cigarettes that force us to smoke. Lord knows what a jury would find for some real damages from, say, oh I don't know, maybe, ah, being cut in half by slipping in between the rails and the haven of the platform. It's a challenging art that requires honing through alertness, agility, co-ordination and moxie. Sensing just the right moment to bust a move: grab your coat, briefcase, shopping bags, newspapers, water bottle and any other remaining refuse, maneuver around other passengers who are trying to make it to the restrooms that reside close to the exit doors, or to the cafe car; but not too soon, or you'll be subject to the knee buckling, hyper-extending pre-stop jerk that lurches the train forward and can send the unprepared hurtling head-over-teacups. In any case, it's an interesting term. It's a made-up term that seems to qualify for the other d-lists we improvise and then find their way into a dictionary: de-ice, de-brief, de-glaze, and the ever popular, de-tox. Does it qualify that, as a former athlete, my lack of physical activity is now, yet another interpretation of "de-training"?
Who knew there is such an art as "de-training"? Now, I'm not talking about riding the "D" train uptown (similar to the "A" train). Nor am I goofing on Herve Villechaize's immortal "De plane, boss, de plane" signature announcement from Fantasy Island. I'm talking about the conductor's announcements over the intercom system as we approach the next scheduled stop. The voice over the speaker dutifully instructs passengers to "get ready to de-train". That means we are to gather our bags and personal items from the overhead storage areas and be careful as we step from the train to the platform at the station, since there is a gap between the platform and train. This has to be accomplished in relative quick order, since some of the stops (Baltimore) are for only a two-minute respite and its easy to be trapped on board by packages, bags, strollers and other less-nimble trainees, so you have to hustle. These alerts are valuable guidance in this age of litigation, when personal injury is the result of too hot coffee, or cigarettes that force us to smoke. Lord knows what a jury would find for some real damages from, say, oh I don't know, maybe, ah, being cut in half by slipping in between the rails and the haven of the platform. It's a challenging art that requires honing through alertness, agility, co-ordination and moxie. Sensing just the right moment to bust a move: grab your coat, briefcase, shopping bags, newspapers, water bottle and any other remaining refuse, maneuver around other passengers who are trying to make it to the restrooms that reside close to the exit doors, or to the cafe car; but not too soon, or you'll be subject to the knee buckling, hyper-extending pre-stop jerk that lurches the train forward and can send the unprepared hurtling head-over-teacups. In any case, it's an interesting term. It's a made-up term that seems to qualify for the other d-lists we improvise and then find their way into a dictionary: de-ice, de-brief, de-glaze, and the ever popular, de-tox. Does it qualify that, as a former athlete, my lack of physical activity is now, yet another interpretation of "de-training"?
Saturday, March 10, 2007
The Mask of Snorro
Week ending 3/09/07:
"The fox so cunning and free,
Snorro, who makes his mark with a ZZZZZZ". "ZZZZZ's" as in snoring. This guy saws some lumber! He's one of our regulars on the morning shuttle. One thing he does enjoy is a good nap. He jumps on in Wilmington and hunkers down pretty quickly. He's a mid 50's white guy. Looks Greek to me. He wraps himself up in his overcoat (just like a big blinky), pulls out his inflatable faux zebra-fur neck pillow, and slips on his black sleeping mask. Within minutes, he's off to la-la land and the fireworks begin. Anyone who sleeps with a snorer knows what I'm talking about. A steady nasal snort and then, as if he's falling, an extended blast, which I would think would wake him up (it's loud enough to wake the dead), but no such luck with Snorro. I'm not sure if natural body sounds qualify as a violation of the "quiet zone" extended to the quiet car.
Some other morning regulars: The Biker, he's a middle-aged sort of out-of-shape guy that wears his Harley garb on a daily basis. He doesn't really look like a biker otherwise, and I'm not sure if he really rides a hog, but his outfit is always accompanied by high black leather boots (like the motorcycle cops wear) which make his jeans look like jodphers. I don't know about you, but I like to see bikers that look like they are out of central casting for a professional wrestling gig. Also on board is Mr. Blackwell, a meticulously-dressed, 70 year-old that looks like he's Orville Reddenbacher if Orville was an Orvis catalog model. Next, Mr. No-Socks, he's a 40-something Wall Street-type that wears a suit, and for some reason, feels compelled to put his socks on at the train station, rather than, say, when he gets dressed in the morning. Why, I don't know. But in summer and winter, he comes, bear-ankled and ready to expose his toes for show. Next is Nona The Hatchet Lady. Nona as in "no cellphones" and "no talking". She relishes in admonishing those who violate the quiet car rules. Not that I disagree in maintaining the quiet sanctuary, but it's her zeal for jumping into the fray that is so interesting. When she hears someone, she's out of that seat like a shot and in their face. She's a 40-something overweight white woman, who pulls her jet black hair up into a Dream of Jeannie high-knotted ponytail. Don't rub her the wrong way!
"The fox so cunning and free,
Snorro, who makes his mark with a ZZZZZZ". "ZZZZZ's" as in snoring. This guy saws some lumber! He's one of our regulars on the morning shuttle. One thing he does enjoy is a good nap. He jumps on in Wilmington and hunkers down pretty quickly. He's a mid 50's white guy. Looks Greek to me. He wraps himself up in his overcoat (just like a big blinky), pulls out his inflatable faux zebra-fur neck pillow, and slips on his black sleeping mask. Within minutes, he's off to la-la land and the fireworks begin. Anyone who sleeps with a snorer knows what I'm talking about. A steady nasal snort and then, as if he's falling, an extended blast, which I would think would wake him up (it's loud enough to wake the dead), but no such luck with Snorro. I'm not sure if natural body sounds qualify as a violation of the "quiet zone" extended to the quiet car.
Some other morning regulars: The Biker, he's a middle-aged sort of out-of-shape guy that wears his Harley garb on a daily basis. He doesn't really look like a biker otherwise, and I'm not sure if he really rides a hog, but his outfit is always accompanied by high black leather boots (like the motorcycle cops wear) which make his jeans look like jodphers. I don't know about you, but I like to see bikers that look like they are out of central casting for a professional wrestling gig. Also on board is Mr. Blackwell, a meticulously-dressed, 70 year-old that looks like he's Orville Reddenbacher if Orville was an Orvis catalog model. Next, Mr. No-Socks, he's a 40-something Wall Street-type that wears a suit, and for some reason, feels compelled to put his socks on at the train station, rather than, say, when he gets dressed in the morning. Why, I don't know. But in summer and winter, he comes, bear-ankled and ready to expose his toes for show. Next is Nona The Hatchet Lady. Nona as in "no cellphones" and "no talking". She relishes in admonishing those who violate the quiet car rules. Not that I disagree in maintaining the quiet sanctuary, but it's her zeal for jumping into the fray that is so interesting. When she hears someone, she's out of that seat like a shot and in their face. She's a 40-something overweight white woman, who pulls her jet black hair up into a Dream of Jeannie high-knotted ponytail. Don't rub her the wrong way!
Thursday, March 1, 2007
Trains Fat
3/01/07:
In December, New York City's Board of Health unanimously approved an ordinance that prohibits NYC restaurants from serving cooked food in oil containing trans fat. My response: what about the trains? Does the elegant cafe car cuisine get a pass, or must it comply as well? Maybe there's some interstate commerce exemption, or maybe it only applies to the trains when they roll through any of the five boroughs? Maybe it doesn't apply at all? However, maybe it should! Any catalyst to improve the menu selections will provide welcomed relief. Now I must admit, I enjoy a jumbo all beef kosher hot dog, an artery-clogging processed jumbo cheeseburger, or a personal sized pepperoni pizza (with enough grease and oil to meet with my Audi's manufacturers' suggested two-year lubricant levels) as much as anyone. All of the above to be chased with a cold Heineken or two. And for the first, oh, 50 or 60 times you order, they are pretty tasty, but at this point in my continuing commuter saga, by the 500 or so round tripper, it becomes a little too much of a "good" thing! Almost, like, the thought of it makes me want to hurl. Not that the faire is limited to the three above-mentioned entrees. We also can select from the ever popular Sierra Chicken sandwich (don't ask), the turkey sub, spicy chicken wings, and the, dare I mention, tuna salad surprise! Additionally, I would be doing a disservice if I didn't mention the chicken Caesar salad (in support of the produce industry, we love PMA). Hopefully, this new response regarding trans fats will make its way to the Amtrak culinary kings, the ones who decide which company receives the food service contract and what should be included on the nightly menu. Think about it, trans fats are formed when liquid oils are made into solid fats by adding hydrogen in a process called hydrogenation. "Trains fatties" are formed when liquid carbs are supplemented with 50+ fat gram sandwiches in a process called inebriation.
In December, New York City's Board of Health unanimously approved an ordinance that prohibits NYC restaurants from serving cooked food in oil containing trans fat. My response: what about the trains? Does the elegant cafe car cuisine get a pass, or must it comply as well? Maybe there's some interstate commerce exemption, or maybe it only applies to the trains when they roll through any of the five boroughs? Maybe it doesn't apply at all? However, maybe it should! Any catalyst to improve the menu selections will provide welcomed relief. Now I must admit, I enjoy a jumbo all beef kosher hot dog, an artery-clogging processed jumbo cheeseburger, or a personal sized pepperoni pizza (with enough grease and oil to meet with my Audi's manufacturers' suggested two-year lubricant levels) as much as anyone. All of the above to be chased with a cold Heineken or two. And for the first, oh, 50 or 60 times you order, they are pretty tasty, but at this point in my continuing commuter saga, by the 500 or so round tripper, it becomes a little too much of a "good" thing! Almost, like, the thought of it makes me want to hurl. Not that the faire is limited to the three above-mentioned entrees. We also can select from the ever popular Sierra Chicken sandwich (don't ask), the turkey sub, spicy chicken wings, and the, dare I mention, tuna salad surprise! Additionally, I would be doing a disservice if I didn't mention the chicken Caesar salad (in support of the produce industry, we love PMA). Hopefully, this new response regarding trans fats will make its way to the Amtrak culinary kings, the ones who decide which company receives the food service contract and what should be included on the nightly menu. Think about it, trans fats are formed when liquid oils are made into solid fats by adding hydrogen in a process called hydrogenation. "Trains fatties" are formed when liquid carbs are supplemented with 50+ fat gram sandwiches in a process called inebriation.
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