Trains of Thought

(August 27, 2004)

I know, I know, it's unacceptable. Eleventy-six days and no update. I am not dead, I am merely at the apex of a colossal taffy-pull of commitment. In said tugfest, diary comes last. Well okay, exercise has been coming way last, but I'ma work on that.

So I have, just so's ya know, been keeping a little notebook of all the stuff on which I'll expound, eventually. Expound, is that right? Think so. Fuck, I've been so grammatically and spell-attically lazy lately. I swear to god, when I can't remember how to spell a word now I just use a different word. And if I'm not sure of the meaning I'll just use it anyway and hope I'm surrounded by idiots. That used to be the case, I can't tell about now.

So it's 3:42am and I have a few things to say about trains. Boston trains.

1) Some intrepid soul has gone to the trouble of scraping the U and the R off of the "Watch Your Step" inscription on my train, so now much of the Red Line advises safety like a big old diesel powered homeboy. (IS it diesel? I don't even know. This is the kind of thing Hub would know.)

2) On the doors of some of the trains it says "These Doors Do Not Recycle." I have been chewing on this one for months. Breaking it down into digestible chunks. These doors...okay, got that part, it means them, those two doors right there. Do not...okay, they're warning me not to expect something. Recycle. And this is where it all falls apart. The first time I saw that I actually looked at the floor for a bin of old newspapers and soda cans. But there was no bin and, in fact, all the old newspapers and soda cans were strewn about the train car. Nobody, including the doors, recycles, it would seem. They'd just like us to know.

3) Here is what I am going to do. I am going to get a bunch of those .99 cent sample deoderants they sell in the samples aisle at CVS. Then I'm going to print up little labels to cover the brand name, labels that shout out my own invented brand name: Subway Stink-Away. And then, oh yes, I am going to hand them out on the B-line trains. Because, damn. Hooooo!

4) If you have found a seat on a crowded train car and, instead of holding your bag on your lap you hog the seat next to you with said bag, I have one question: who raised you? Let a person sit down, Rudey McRudeville. Oh, and, if I catch you putting your wet umbrella on the seat next to you, I'm tellin' you they won't be able to find the body.

And that, friends, is my first entry in awhile. Miss me? Welcome back. Your dreams were your ticket out. Welcome back. To that same old place that you laughed about. Well the names have all changed since you hung around. But the dreams have remained and they're turned around. Who'd have thought they'd lead you. Back here where we need you. We tease him a lot because we've got him on the spot. Welcome back. Welcome back, welcome back, welcome back.