Posts from — October 2002

Tonight’s installment of Mass (transit) Hysteria was one of those moments where you pretty much throw your hands up in the air and go: “yep, this planet is crawling with people who are so totally self-absorbed, that they make life miserable for everyone around us.”

Now, the cars on the New Jersey Transit Northeast Corridor line do tend to get a bit noisy, what with all the cellphones ringing. This you get used to. You also silently thank the heavens that the FAA has decided to write a bogus rule banning their use on commercial flights. It?s one of the few times I really don’t mind that the airline staff are lying directly to my face (folks, cell phones don?t do a damned thnig to the airliner?s navigation equipment).

Where was I? Oh, right. The ringing. Yes, it?s really not that bad. You get used to it. However tonight, the phones appeared to be ringing off the hook! Brrring! Brrring! … dit dit de da du dit dit de da, DIT DIT DE DA DU DIT..

After a moment or two it became clear that this was not an unusual flurry of incoming calls to one locale on the train. No. This digital, low-fi cacaphony was being caused by a guy a few seats away who decided that THIS was a good time to browse through his new cell phone?s (many) ring tone options.

dit dit de da du dit dit de da, DIT DIT DE DA DU…(scales)…(TV show themes)…(classical tunes)…

After several full minutes of this, it was time to test the volume options. I’m not kidding. This guy’s ring tone selection—carefully selected following an exhaustive search—was now cycling from soft, to loud, to annoyingly loud, and back down again.

In the end, I believe he went with the default Nokia ring tone and a volume setting somewhere around four bars, assuming a maximum of five on the strength indicator.

I’m glad he’s got that all set up now.

A friend sent me the link to the “swtich” commercial parody last week. It portrays a guy complaining about his shitty experience going from OS9 to OSX. It’s funny, but in a sad way, because the guy doing the complaining represents the voice of everything wrong with the Macintosh community.

I was a mac head for years, defending the company and the platform for years even as my PC garnered more and more quality time from me, and ran more applications that I needed to run. All the while I was getting tired of staring at the bomb icon. A co-worker developed this odd habit of wiggling his mac’s mouse every time an intuitive time period elapsed between commands.

Let’s face it folks, MacOS < X sucks, it always did.

My personal road back to the mac fold is a long story and I won’t share it here tonight, but it’s a good story. Suffice to say, Mac OSX represents the greatest innovation to come from Apple in a long time. Their hardware design has always been great, but their recent move toward industry standards such as USB and FireWire only solidifies their commitment to the idea that they have seen the light.

OSX is awesome. If you use software that does not run natively under OSX, you need to talk to your vendors. Of course, there is most likely a better solution already running under OSX, as an open source UNIX application, that you can compile and run for a modest or non-existent fee.

I went from Mac lover to Mac hater to Mac lover, over a period of 18 years, and it all has to do with this new OS called OSX.

Folks, OSX is the greatest thing to happen to Apple, ever. Get over your ease of use bullshit platform that you have been running on forever. You are a computer user. They are complicated pieces of equipent. Read a book or five, and you will be doing more with your Mac than you ever dreamed before. And if you only use Photoshop/Quark/etc, things haven’t changed a whit, so really there’s no excuse for the complaints.

I was race-walking down thirty-second street tonight, trying to make the 6:37 home. As I approached Penn Station, I focused on the digital clock embedded in the concrete awning that theoretically serves as a useful indicator as to How You’re Doing, with respect to catching your train.

It read 7:29.

Now, I know I’m not living in Switzerland, but you’d think that the clocks at the second largest train station in the largest goddamned city in the USA could get the friggin’ clocks set correctly for Monday’s rush hour, following the whole complicated transition from EDT to EST.

I wear a watch, obviously, but you know, it’s the principle of the thing.

I am a commuter. I commute. I ride on the New Jersey Transit rail “system”, the Northeast Corridor line. I use this expensive conveyance to deliver myself a mere 15 miles to Penn Station, New York, and it sucks ass.

We recently moved from Hoboken NJ, spitting distance from New York City, to the suburbs. The impending commute was always the underlying paper cut in the entire deal. We both knew this was coming. I thought it would be easier.

I’ve been commuting from Metropark Station for the last couple of months, and this topic has been brewing since about day two. I have seen some unbelievable shit, and been inconvenienced in ways I previously thought unimaginable. The executive summary: there are a lot of jerks riding the rails and the ticket takers are not much better. The infrastructure of the NJT rail system is grossly overstressed, and it pushes equipment, staff and customers to the breaking point on a daily basis. When I arrive at the office I have endured something, and I have yet to endure another “experience” before I can slump into my couch at the end of the day. I feel this is wrong. If I want this shit I’ll move to Tokyo and get shoved into train cars by professionals.

Yesterday, both the inbound and outbound rides featured verbal confrontations between passenger and conductor. While there are a few truly great conductors on the line, I think the whole lot of them need to ask themselves why there are signs in every train car explaining the fines and penalties for assaulting a conductor. Many of these folks are rude and belligerent. Listen folks, if you hate people, maybe you should have chosen a different career path (and may I recommend you avoid retail).

We need more seats, we need nicer conductors, and we need better coffee. The Dunkin Donuts at “Metro” is the only one on the planet that manages to turn out consistently bad coffee. Someone at corporate HQ should be informed, because the two ladies that “work” at that one are ruining the reputation of one of the better java purveyors around.

Enough complaining. I’m going to bed. But this serves as a good framework for future rants about past and future experiences on the rails. G’nite.

Today, a park dedication took place in Hoboken, NJ, USA. The Debbie Williams Memorial Playground was dedicated today, in honor of one of the many Hoboken residents who fell victim to the terrorist attack on the World Trade Center on 9-11-01. Some very special people were there, and it was a moving and important event for many. Many family and friends of Mrs. Williams were in atendance, from all over the world. They came to see a playground enter service, in her honor. This was a park that Mrs. Williams took her child to many times, located in a city that she had adopted from her native Canada. Plenty of children were on hand, and seconds after the ribbon was cut, they were crawling all over the playrgound apparatus, putting the park to work making children happy. Despite the truly dismal weather, one could almost feel a ray of sunshine beaming out as those kids faces lit up and they lost themselves in the fun of exploration.

Brenda & I were there, not because we knew Mrs. Williams, but because some special people in our lives also were in attendance. Sara Giannakakis and Sherry Childs, the Assistant Principal and Principal of the Glenwood Primary School in Rome, GA, flew all the way up to be there today. Raymond Smith, a Hoboken artist, was there. Brenda & I were there. None of us had never met in person, but we knew each other and had formed a tight friendship over the course of the last year. The common bond? A flag. A flag that not only represented the spirit of the United States of America but also the spirit of a community, the capacity of people To Be Nice. The desire of people to understand, to contribute, to help. A flag that embodied everything that is right with the world, despite signs everywhere to the contrary.

I was an eye-witness to the attack on the World Trade Center. I was, and still am, very messed up by what I experienced. I wrote about it. I sent it to family and friends, and, like those old Wella Balsam shampoo ads from twenty years ago, they told two friends about it, and they told two friends about it, and so on, and so on, and so on. My story ended up in Sara’s email inbox, and she sent me a reply. (She & Sherry told me today that there was much hand wringing over this, wondering if that might be rude to blindly correspond with me, a stranger. Oh those southerners!) As it turns out, I was delighted to hear from her, and it was one of the first of many exchanges I have had with people who read my story. (I thank you all for taking the time to send me a note.)

In the immediate aftermath and chaos of 9-11, the art teacher at Glenwood Primary had an idea, to create a flag made up of the handprints of the kids from the school. I believe the flag project served as both a distraction from the horrifying reality of what just transpired, as well as giving them a sense of lending some support to a hurting New York City. Well, it turns out that the people of Rome, Georgia all wanted to prop us up. The flag ended up containing not only the handprints of the kids, but also the teachers and the parents. It became a community project that helped a town help a city.

Sara now had a new friend in the New York area (me), so she asked if she could send the flag to me to do something with it. Brenda & I took it to Pier A Park on the Hoboken waterfront, near where I saw everything go down on 9-11. We tied it to a railing, and that was it. That’s where my involvement ended.

The flag took care of the rest.

Pier A had become a shrine to the WTC victims, and a steady stream of people had been coming down there ever since that awful day, to pay their respects, to see the altered skyline, to reflect. They all saw this flag made up of handprints, some of the palms being quite small. It made quite an impact. Brenda & I sat nearby and watched and listened to people as they walked by; they all stopped short at that flag. They did double takes, leaned in, and studied the details. “Look, it’s little hands.” “Hey, Julie, come here look at this, look it’s the prints of other school children, look what they did”, said one mother to her daughter. I’m glad Brenda convinced me to take it down there so everyone could see it. (I wanted to fly it from our apartment fire escape, but no one would have been able to see those little palmprints.)

Another person who saw it was Raymond Smith, a local artist. He was preparing an art exhibit of children’s artwork regarding 9-11, and felt that the flag belonged in the exhibit. The flag moved to Hoboken’s City Hall, as a featured piece in the exhibit, but it ended up staying around long after. The Mayor felt it deserved a permanent home and it was decided to keep the flag up full-time. (As it turns out, politics reared its ugly head and the flag has since been co-opted several times for partisan fundraisers and such, but there is hope that it will find a proper home in Hoboken’s Historical Museum in due time. But I digress.)

So today, in Hoboken, under a very gray sky, high winds and pelting rain, the five of us met face-to-face. It was wonderful. Like a completion of something. Not in the sense that our communications will cease (quite the contrary; we have an open invitation to visit Rome), but just in the sense that we have formally met. We have faces and hugs and handshakes to go with all the words and emotions we have shared over the last year. Ray & I shook hands, and looked at each other, saying a lot without speaking a word. He’s a neat guy and I wish I had more time to talk with him and his wife and kids. But he was busy creating a flag too; Rome is getting a reciprocal palmprint flag and I’m proud to have my hand on there. Ray’s dedication to the Rome flag, and his efforts to compile an accurate list of all the Hoboken victims—Hoboken lost more residents on 9-11 than any other city or town anywhere—are commendable, and deserve more recognition.

As it turns out, we all were named on a proclimation; Ray and Sara were really excited to have me named on it, but I still say I didn’t do anything. I’m flattered, and honored, and I thank you, but I still say that the people of Rome, GA and Ray Smith are the heroes of this story. But I will hang that puppy on a wall in my house and show it to everyone who comes over.

Brenda, Sara, Sherry and I walked around Hoboken while we played tour guides, feeling a bit nostalgic (we moved to the “suburbs” two months ago). We took them to Pier A and showed them the place where their flag hung. I showed them where I was standing on 9-11. I showed them lots of little things that I love about Hoboken. We stopped in a cafe and snacked, and talked, got to know each other. It’s funny, because not only do I know the two of them, but I also know two other guys who grew up in Rome from an aviation-related mailing list I subscribe to. They still remain email addresses; we have not met in person, but hopefully someday. In fact, one of them was going to try and fly up in his single engine airplane, but Ma Nature had other plans for that. (We missed ya Stan, why not come up for Thanksgiving?)

Driving home, Brenda & I compared notes. Bottom line: we want to know more people like Sara, Ray, and Sherry.

(pictures to follow)

The next time a toddler asks you “why is the sky blue?”, how about answering “why Junior, the answer is simple. Rayleigh scattering is the reason.”, instead of your usual “Because it’s not green.”

OK, so the Yankees are out of it. Sure. In a fit of needed diversion, I immediately latched on to the other series. I was thrilled to see the Twins beat the A’s, and am looking forward to seeing the strange Metrodome ventilation tubes in the background of a playoff game once again, it will remind me of 1991, a glorious year when the Twins beat those annoying miscreants from Atlanta.

Speaking of annoying miscreants from Atlanta, I am watching the Braves/Giants series right now and can’t help but feel a sense of nostalgia. You see, 1991 is when I began my love affair with baseball, and it’s when I began my very healthy period of dislike and hatred for the Atlanta Braves.

Tonight, they actually showed the play where the spark was ignited, with Sid Bream limping his sorry ass home from second base to finish the Pirate’s hopes of a world series in ‘91. You could see the damned knee brace through his uniform. As the years went on, I watched this supposed baseball powerhouse show up in the post season, trash talking, yapping about how superior they were, only to see them win one World Series in an entire friggin’ decade. They LOST all the other years. And every time, Bobby Cox has some sorry-ass excuse, or has a complaint about the officiating. Let’s face it folks, Cox is a loser. Turner’s a loser. The whole lot of them, those mindless miscreants, blindly tomahawk-chopping, they know nothing of the winning ways. At least, when it counts the most, in the post season.

I am so happy to see Bonds do well tonight, and I hope he can carry the Giants to the playoffs—at the Braves’ expense.

Hello everyone; my name is Rob, and I hate the Atlanta Braves.

Well, after a fantastic week in Switzerland, we are home again. The train ride home from Newark Airport really slammed that fact right down our throats. After a week of timely departures, clean & quiet trains, and pretty scenery zipping past the windows, here we were on New Jersey Transit’s Trenton Local. A quick look around revealed a pile of french fries on the floor and a gruff ticket taker. Sigh. While still my favorite place to be, every time I leave New York I discover a few ideas for the suggestion box, you know what I mean?

Pictures and a more detailed trip report hopefully to follow soon.