Monday, August 15, 2005

Back in Black

Just as my left foot hit its usual waiting spot on the Cortlandt Metro-North platform this morning (in front of the payphone, past the benches, exactly where the door to the second car stops) the automated conductor crackled out of the PA to announce my train was running "Approximately. Twenty. Minutes. Late." He didn't apologize for my inconvenience like the robotic subway announcer does when I'm stuck in a tunnel for half an hour, but I'll assume that deep down in his electronic heart he felt ever so slightly sad about bearing such irritating news.

Most of the businessmen on the platform flailed their briefcases around in a gesture that was meant to signify frustration but looked more like some kind of interpretive swim dance about drowning in their fucked up Monday morning schedules. On any other morning I would've been just as pissed off, but the extra half hour before I had to get on the train today felt like a thirty-minute extension of my weeklong vacation. Well, maybe not that good, since I had to spend it standing on a platform watching the chemical plant next door, but at the very least it felt like I won a stay of execution.

I've been riding in style during the last week--chauffeured through the railway-adjacent stripclub district on an accidental trip through Worcester, Massachusetts, cycling to the beach on a school bus yellow seventies Schwinn, and returning home to New York watching Indiana Jones in my parents' huge kid-haulin' van. The train is a far cry from traveling planetarium-style reclined with a bag of salt water taffy big enough to last through all of Raiders of the Lost Ark. I did enjoy a whole row of train seats to myself this morning, which is the first-class way to ride sub-coach public transportation. But it was still craptastically adult.

The best way to remember what it felt like to be a kid is to take a family vacation. I don't care whether you camped in the backyard with your mom or took the helicopter to your house in the Hamptons, you will feel like a child the minute you cede control of your summertime itinerary to your family. When a trip to the A&W for chili cheese fries means the whole family has to pile into the car (and consequently feign carsickness to avoid sitting in the "wayback"), everyone not driving is a kid. Specifically, a ten year old antsy kid with sand in his shorts who wants iceee creeeaaaam, Mo-oo-oooooom. Despite the fact that I earn a paycheck, know what FICA stands for, and contribute dutifully to the Social Security pool, I spent the last week trucking around in a family van and asking my dad for quarters to use the pirate fortune-telling machine.

Though my computer was with me during vacation, a mishap with some sunblock and my USB ports made me a little afraid to turn the bastard on until it had a couple of days to dry out. No blogging was done, but my plan is to catch up this week with a different vacation topic every day. Today was my warm-up entry about transportation. See?

I'm thinking we might do Mini-Golf Tuesday, then Talk Show Watching with My Parents Wednesday, followed by Provincetown Thursday and Free-for-All Friday (with a focus on Dorky Guys from High School who Turn Out to Be Hot). That's the plan, at least. I have pictures to post, too.

(Nothing as lascivious as Brad's documentation of the outdoor shower at Herbie's house, but, you know, what is?)

2 Comments:

Anonymous brad said...

aaron was sschooo ssccwheeeet

2:00 AM  
Blogger What'sHerFace said...

Brad, it's 8:49 and I'm schooooooo schleeepy!

7:49 AM  

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