An Apology

I'd like to apologize to a woman who was riding the Harlem Line 5:59 peaker last night. Here's why...

Chapter 1: Sockit Tumi

I bought a new briefcase yesterday, a sleek black Tumi briefcase, probably made out of recycled six packs and old goodyear radials, which makes it indestructable, which is cool because i dont want to have to drop another $250 on a briefcase for at least 5 more years, or until the effing recession ends, whichever comes first. And this new briefcase is much smaller and narrower than my old briefcase, because I'm such an obsessive compulsive a-hole that I firmly believe every extra ounce of weight and wind resistance I lug around makes me a less efficient commuter. I like to travel light. No coat in winter, no umbrella for rain, no books, no food, no newspapers, no effing extra weight. If i thought it would help to go with a full on Michael Phelps body shave "smoothie", I'd do that, if it meant knocking 20 seconds off my crosstown walk (plus I bet the missus wouldn't mind either. holla!). So now I have a bag with a really nice "profile", as the affected bag people would say, but i still have the same amount of crap to carry as I used to, so its packed tighter than a rush hour F train...

Chapter 2: The Rotten Apple

Last week my 14 year old daughter's Macbook laptop up and died. It didnt even have the ram to muster up a good old fashion screen freeze or spinning effing rainbow wheel. It just wouldn't turn on. I can't really blame it. After three years of sharpie marker tags, nail polished keys, glitter stickers, drops, spills, kicks,and sleepovers, I suspect it just said eff it and shut down for good. Which left it up to me to figure out how to get the three years worth of music, photos, journal entries and video chat screen grabs off of our dearly departed Mac in order to preserve the precious digital memories of my daughters transition from innocent child to hormonal effing devil. So I did what any smart dad would do, I took it into my IT department and asked them to work their magic, which they did...

Chapter 3: Ooooh. That's Gonna Leave a Mark

Time to bring home the laptop, but because I am now a streamlined commuting airfoil, there's no room in my fancy new bag to store it, so I have to carry it, and when I get on the 5:59 peaker heading home, I decide that the best place to store the laptop is on the overhead rack. Are you starting to figure it out now? Thaaats right, as I was getting ready to get off at my stop, I reached up to get the laptop, and that fat little 13" white plastic brick slipped right through the 3" spaced bars of the overhead rack and landed on the head of the sleeping woman in front of me. Suddenly awake and very surprised, she let out an audible gasp, something like "aahhhh! What the..." and she doubled over in pain in her seat. I picked up the laptop, which had slid down behind her, which meant i had to reach down in the vicinity of her ass and grab the thing, which no doubt added a whole new level of humiliation and confusion to an already awkward situation, and then I tried my best to apologize. Round about my 5th or 6th "holy shit, are you OK?" she finally sat upright, and in her lap, much to my horror was an open copy of the book "What to Expect When Your Expecting". That's right, I just dropped a 5 pound plastic cinder block onto the head of a pregnant woman. One express ticket to hell please. Whats that? No, I don't believe I'll need a return ticket. Pretty sure I'll be staying.

So with really nothing else to do but say I was sorry over and over and over, I braced for the inevitable. I mean, I've seen people get into fist fights on trains over phone calls and spilled coffee. What would a pregnant woman with a concussion and an angry mob on her side do? She stopped for a second and took a breath. "It's OK." she said. "Really. I'll be fine. I know it was an accident and I'm sure you didn't mean to do that." and then she touched my hand which was resting on the back of her seat and in a voice that could only belong to an angel she said "Really. Dont worry about it".

So lady, if you're out there somewhere reading this, I just want you to know two things. One is that I am truly truly sorry for what I did and if I ever see you again on the train, I will gladly let you drop the heavy object of your choice on my head as payback. At the very least, leave your email on the blog and I'll send you some flowers or a bottle or something. Oh, and the other thing I wanted to say was you will almost certainly be the world's most awesome mom.

Shout Outs and Blogrolls

Remarkably, or I guess not so remarkably, it turns out I'm not the only person who likes to kill time while he commutes by writing a blog...about commuting. I recently got emails from two like minded souls who found my blog and reached out. One of them is Mike, who writes Trainjotting. If you want to know what a real blog looks like, with ads and updates and all sorts of impressive looking stuff, well, take a look at Mike's site. It's what my blog wants to be when it grows up. Plus, I enjoy Mike's slightly dark and Cheever-esque take on life on the rails. It appeals to my glass is half empty sensibility. Finally, Mike told me what a blogroll is (look to your right...) so in my book, he's a standup guy.

The other person is Emily, who has an even more professional looking site called I Ride The Harlem Line. This is what my blog wants to be when it grows up and hires a designer, which it turns out is what Emily is. She's got all sorts of cool things like tags and ads and an illustration of herself. It's a fun upbeat site with a healthy and sometimes sarcastic sense of humor, which also appeals to my sensibilities.

In fact, the other day i was sitting on an early train that i never actually catch, like a 7:15am peaker i think, and a woman got up to get off at the White Plains stop, and she looked at me and said, "aren't you that guy with the blog"? and I said "depends, are you carrying anything that might be used as a weapon?" and she said, "I'm Emily. I write the I ride the harlem line blog". and we shook hands. Fellow commuters. Fellow bloggers. It's nice to be part of a group. A group of slightly unbalanced commuting misfits, but a group none the less. Please show my fellow bloggers some love. Thanks

Gooooooooood Mooooooorning Metro North!

 

Rise and shine people! It's another glorious day on the rails! I see you've REALLY got your game face on today. Ready to take on the world baby! Ready to GET SUM!

Lets do a quick pre-battle check, shall we? Eyeshades stolen from your last business class flight? Check! Neck roll pillow your wife bought you from the Sharper Image catalog? Check! (watch out for that drool soldier!). Pony tail that tells the world deep down inside you are a free spirited youth ready to fight global warming wherever it rears its ugly ozone depleting head? Check! John Fogerty sideburns. Check!

This is the dawn of a new day soldier, a day when men like us, men like YOU, who have the will and the determination to change the course of history can make their mark. Life is what you make of it, and today you and I are going to grab some effing life and shake it by the neck until that bitch does what WE tell it to do.
You are an army of one.
Now MOVE OUT!

(and dont forget to switch out your slippers for big boy shoes when you get to the office).

My Guiding Light

He's Baaaaaaaaaaaaak.

I know, it's been over a month since I've posted anything. Call it my winter break. Took a horrible vacation, been busy at work, got the winter blues. Whatev. Needed some me time to recharge the battery. So this week, as a way to get back in the swing, I have a story to tell that really isnt about a commute, but it ends in a commute, so hang in there.

The first time it happened I was in a bar. We were celebrating somebody's last day at work and we took about 10 people to a some place in NoHo. Now if you know anything about magazine people (which is what I am) and graphic designers in general (which is what I do) you know that they'll travel considerable distances for free food and drinks, and word gets out fast, so in a very short time the original 10 turned into about 50, all industry types, not all of whom I knew. So when it happened that I was standing at the bar and two women came up to me and said "We just wanted say that we love you and that we think you're really talented", I assumed they were a couple of fellow magazine folk come to pay me a compliment. The "we love you" part seemed a little strong, but not that unusual I guess, and the "youre really talented" thing made perfect sense to my misguided overinflated sense of self importance. Of course women approach me in bars, I thought. I choose typefaces and assign cartoons for a midsized weekly entertainment magazine. In fact, im surprised its taken this long...

"Could we get your autograph?" they asked.
Well hells yes ladies. In fact let me buy you two a drink and tell you all about the time I changed the display sans serif from Bureau Grotesque to a Geometric that really got the design world talking...

"We've been watching your show since high school and you're our favorite"
I'm sorry, what was that last part. What show is that?

"Guiding Light"

Yes. Guiding Light. Turns out, I look a lot like Josh from the daytime drama Guiding Light. More specifically, 13 years ago, when I cut my hair short, had a stubbly goatee and weighed about 25 pounds less than I do right now, I looked like Josh. Today I look like Josh after a 13 year carb bender.

Sorry ladies, Im not your man, but I can tell you some funny stories about how reducing the weight of your paper stock from 32 to 30 pounds can save almost a million dollars a year in shipping costs. Nope. I lost them.

So thats how it started. From this moment on, I would live my life as we all do but with one small difference. I would go to work, raise a family, pay my bills, battle through lifes daily trials, enjoy lifes occaisional victories, and then, about every 6 months, I would get confused for Josh from Guiding Light.

The sightings came less frequently when i changed my hair style, shaved or gained a little (or a lot of) weight, but whenever the stars (and our stubbly goatees) aligned, it would happen.

Aren't you that guy...?
Nope.
But you look just like...
Really. Not me.
Too bad.
Tell me about it.

So after about 10 years of this, I had an idea. It was time to "monetize" my good fortune, as they say in the online advertising world. I set up a meeting with the casting directors of Guiding Light and made my pitch.

As you can plainly see, I said, I look a lot like the character Josh from your show.
Well, if you lost a few pounds maybe...
So here's what Im thinking fellas. I'd like to come on the show for a week as Josh's long lost evil twin and then write about my week as a soap actor for Esquire magazine (which is where I worked at the time). My character (I was thinking Rex or Stone maybe) could show up on Josh's door, either recently escaped from prison, or a mental institution, or from being on the lam in mexico, and then I'd ask for money, or the car, or prescription drugs, and then I'd threaten the whole family, maybe take a hostage, burn down the hospital (I'd never actually watched the show, but I assumed there was a hospital), if the writers insisted I could have a brief affair, and then, bam, at the end of the week, they shoot me and dump my body into the river, not quite dead though, in case my week went so well that they insisted I come back later for a longer stay. Ratings would soar. My career as a TV actor would be launched and I could quit my day job and live happily ever after.

Can you guarantee us that the story will run? they asked
Well, sir, I can guarantee you this. I can guarantee you that I will show it to the editors at Esquire and that if they really like it and have some extra space that month that they will almost certainly consider running it.

We'll be in touch.
But...
Thanks.
but the ratings...
Security...

And that was it. 10 years of being mistaken for a Josh wasted. Nothing to show for it. No cameo. No effing awsome death scene where I hold the fake blood on my shirt and stare at my twin brother in disbelief as i drop into the murky water of the soap opera river. My one shot at stardom gone for good. So I gave up on the dream. I grew my hair long, shaved my goatee for good and moved on with my life.

And then, about 5 years later, I had left work early and was on the 2:48 afternoon off-peaker home (you see, here comes the commuter part), and there he was, literally sitting at the end of the car reading a paper. Josh. Or more accurately, the man who plays Josh, the actor Robert Newman. Turns out he's a commuter, just like me. Here was a man who in a small but not insignificant way had been a part of my life for 15 years and he didn't even know it. Needless to say (but I'll say it anyway) it's not often that life hands you an opportunity like this and so I decided that I would accept this gift from the daytime TV gods and I sat down in the seat facing him. Surely he would be fascinated by my numerous tales of mistaken identity, my brazen attempts to ride his coat tales onto fame and fortune, and the ultimate acceptance of my simple and lowly station in life.

I leaned, in close and introduced my self.
I explained who I was, how I had spent the last 15 years of my life being confused for him, thinking about him, plotting to infiltrate his show, the whole sordid tale, and even as the words were leaving my mouth I could tell this was a mistake. There was just no way to explain this story to the man who was its focus without sounding like an unstable stalker who had finally, after years of searching, cornered his pray on a northbound metro north train. When I was done talking, he stared at me with those steely blue moneymaker soap opera eyes of his for what felt like a good 10 minutes while he no doubt considered his options, and finally with a look that ultimately had more pity in it than fear, he said, "Nice to meet you", and he went back to reading his paper.

Fiber Man

I'm on the 6:42 peaker, front car, which means i got here at the last minute and grabbed whatever seat was available. Then, right before the doors close and we head out on our merry way, in walks Fiber Man and sits right across from me. I've seen Fiber Man before, and I know his deal. He's got an eating ritual, which is to say that he catches the same train home every night, sits in the same effing seat and eats the same very healthy ass meal which goes a little something like this...

Small tupperware container of black prunes (or maybe dates, its hard to tell)
Small tupperware container of what appears to be wheat germ or bulgar or one of those finely ground fiber based things that heart doctors are always telling you to eat but you cant stand the effing taste so you never eat it.
Small tupperware container of granola.
Large thermos of green tea.

Now I don't know about you, but if I just pounded all that fiber and then followed it up with a green tea caffeine chaser, well then yes, I'd be on my way to the head to drop a deuce. But not Fiber Man. Fiber man has super powers beyond those of mere mortals. Fiber Man and his effing wood stove of a stomach just pound all that fiber into a little rock hard ball that burns slowly and efficiently in his gut like a chunk of West Virginia coal while he relaxes with the book he recently borrowed from the Greenburgh Public Library.

And also, who eats like that? Like how plane crash survivors ration food until they have to start nibbling each others toes for protein. "Dammit, Bob, you've had your tupperware bulgar for the day! Move on to the granola man!"

I decided a long time ago that I didn't like Fiber Man. I don't like people who live life like its an effing spread sheet, where everything fits neatly into its predetermined slot. Never late, 20 minutes of excerise a day, rolls his change, tips exactly 15%. The kind of guy who is never surprised by life, takes no chances and draws inside the lines. Fair or not, without ever even speaking to the guy, I just don't like him.

And then I see it.
Peeking out from a slightly open outside pocket of his hyper-organized computer bag...
The Tucks Takealong. Thats right, the very asswipe that I myself carry and have written about in these very pages. The worlds greatest asswipe.

Fiber Man isnt a super hero. He's not a robot. He's human just like you and me (well at least me). And I know where Fiber Man is going. I know he doesn't pack that wipe just for show. He means to use it. And I also know that on some level, Fiber Man and I aren't so different really. Sure, he eats like a lab rat from premeasured plastic containers, but he also knows how to take care of business and he takes his hygene seriously. Amen brother

He is Fiber Man, and in some small a way, I am Fiber Man too.

Climate Talks

Welcome to day one of the Metro North climate talks. In honor of the climate conference going on in Copenhagen, i thought it was high time to address some of the climate issues we have right here at home, specifically on the Harlem Line of the Metro North train station. First on the list is the overpowering stench of urine that has become the hallmark of many a commute. I know we brought this up at last years conference which took place at the Golden's Bridge train station and was attended by myself and my friend Tripp who regularly sits next to me, but the problem persists, especially on the older cars. I believe this year we've come up with a solution. It seems that there is a room on some train cars where people pee. Metro north officials have confirmed that this room is known within the transit department as "the bathroom". Now that we know where the problem is centered, we have also come up with a two phase plan. Phase one, flush the goddamn toilet. Phase two, close the goddamn door.

I want to thank everyone for making time in their busy schedules to attend this years conference. This concludes today's agenda. Please check your mimeographed handouts for a list of tomorrow's discussion topics. I believe we are scheduled to begin at 9:00 am sharp with a discussion of a-holes who think its funny to fart in sealed environment.

Good day.

Stix to go

DEPARTMENT OF SHAMELESS PRODUCT ENDORSEMENTS:

A few months or three ago I popped into the coffee shop at the station, poured myself a small hazelnut, stuck on a travel lid and took it to the counter to pay. As I placed the cup on the counter, the lovely and talented Roseanne stuck a little green plastic doohickie into the sipping slot of the lid. "Why are you touching my coffee, Roseanne?" I asked. "Its a coffee stopper so you don't spill on your ride" she said. How thoughtful, I thought. I was intrigued...

Turns out it has a name, this little green thingy, and its name is "Stix to go". Obviously, some guy or gal who had spilled his or her coffee for the umpteenth time, and who also had access to an injection molding plastics facility, decided enough was enough. It was time to plug up the hole and save commuting coffee drinkers the world over. Besides, there really isnt enough excess plastic in the world's landfills, so, why not!

I've come to really enjoy the Stix to go stopper on many levels, but I'd be remiss if I didn't explain one reason in particular. Now, what I'm about to say may not come out right, and you may very well think less of me for saying it, but here goes. It's a very satisfying tactile experience for me, and I suspect for other men in general, to stick something into a hole and have it click into place. There. I said it and I'm not taking it back. In fact, its so satisfying, that I tend to do it over and over again as I ride the rhythms of the rails. So is that so bad? Really? I mean, I have to ride the effing train every day for two hours, if a little piece of plastic can bring some joy into my otherwise soul sucking commute, dont I deserve it? Yes, I do. Plus, it makes a little clicky sound every time you do it. I like things that make clicky sounds. I bet you do too.

Oddly enough, in my 12 years of commuting, I've never spilled a beverage of any kind, so I cant honestly say it works because I'm not a big enough idiot that I put my coffee on the seat, where it just might ruin someones ride. I keep it on the ground where it belongs, but it is nice to know that, if an unexpected leakage does occur, I have protection.

Have a nice day.