Rest in Peace:

Kase 2.

The King of What? King of Style.

Tribute to Kase 2 by Dame

Son, I’m sayin’…

[Photo Credit: Pam Hule]

The subway trains ran this morning, but for whatever reason, there weren’t too many people underground. Originally the Mayor said we shouldn’t expect public transportation to be operational today. Maybe some people just left it at that. Maybe they had aftermath to quell.

There are days like this, usually around the holidays, when the crowd on the train shrinks past the usual density into something comfortable and quiet. It sets up a gentler day, and that’s certainly welcome after the big storm.

Photo by Kitty

A beautiful young women boarded the train this morning and sat down in the seat right next to me. Right behind her was a dad and his pre-teen daughter. The dad suggested that the daughter shift one seat to her left so he could sit next to the beautiful young woman on her other side.

He turned away from his daughter and started talking to the woman. They were strangers, but had just met on the platform when he noticed she had some paperwork from a graduate program he recognized. What followed was possibly just normal chit-chat, but I viewed it as a come-on all the way.

The dad was speed talking and never once turned back to his daughter. They lived in the same area and he mentioned that he had a dog and it sparked something in the young woman’s memory. “Do you have that little, black dachshund?” she asked.

He was wounded. “Do I look like the kind of guy that would have a dachshund?” he answered in a tone the demanded an answer.

“Well, no. I guess,” she said. But she was just giving him what he needed at that point.

“I’ve got an 80 pound lab, a real monster.”

I don’t know why the whole thing seemed so creepy. It probably wasn’t, and the guy was wearing a Yankee hat. Maybe it was just because the young woman was so attractive and he appeared so eager. The part that really made me uncomfortable was the way he boxed out his daughter. But maybe she had a book to read. I got up and left them the first chance I got and I didn’t look back.

Yesterday morning on the A Train, I gave up my seat for a Sox fan on crutches. I got to work early to cancel all my credit cards and order a new driver’s license for my new wallet. It was annoying but over in twenty minutes.

Quitting time was fast approaching, but I still had piles of vacation work to catch up on. I had made my peace with the Yankees, Rivera, the Red Sox and their nation as I worked. I got a call from home. They found the wallet. Almost everything in it is now useless, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t relieved. I hate to be careless, though I know I am prone to lapses too often.

I jumped down to the 1 Train to go Uptown, put on my music and opened my book in something resembling a good mood. I got bumped from behind as I waited for the train. It was a strong shove, enough to move my feet but not enough to knock me off balance. I looked up. It was the same Sox fan on crutches. So hard to navigate those platforms on crutches.

He apologized needlessly and started to move down the platform but then recognized me from the morning and stopped as I pulled out my earphones. I had an idea to tell him he had starred in a New York Minute, but decided that the minor thrill wouldn’t be worth the voluminous exposition.

We boarded a rush-hour 1 Train and some other guy saw his crutches and hopped up for him. We looked at each other and he laughed out loud.

P.S. The wallet was in the oven.

I stayed up late and watched that game last night. I woke up early and searched the street outside my apartment for my lost wallet. No luck on either end of the candle.

First day of work after vacation sucks, but not as bad apparently as the first day of daycare after vacation. My younger son was a wreck and I was a triple grump when I slouched into my subway seat.

After a few stops a tall, young Black man boarded the train on crutches. He had a large cast on his left foot and a weathered Boston Red Sox smashed down over his head.

I was listening to music but I made eye contact with him when he settled up against the opposite door. I pointed at him and then I pointed at my seat. He nodded and I got up and moved to the side for him to sit. He nodded again in thanks and we exchanged small but genuine smiles.

I reached to my head to adjust my Yankee hat. When my hand touched my forehead, I remembered that I hadn’t worn it today. I wish I had.

A woman squeezed into the seat next to me this morning on downtown A train. It’s a tight space and tough to maintain personal borders, but we were both trying our best.

About a hundred blocks after she sat down, I finally glanced in her direction. She was reading the same book as me. Down to the same chapter. I smiled and thought to say something, but I had a Kindle and she was hauling the paperback, so I don’t think she could make the same connection.

An unanticipated loss for the urban eReaders out there.

The other day, I hopped on a 1 Train for one stop. I wanted to slide next to the door to make a quick exit because I was running late, but a guy was blocking my path. He was more than a head taller than me and twice as wide. He had a gut, but he wasn’t fat so much as extra-large. I thought of Andre the Giant. If aliens find our skeletons next to each other in a million years, they’ll probably classify us as different species.

I turned towards the other door and standing right behind me was a shaggy college kid with dark facial hair leaning on a fencing sword. He was standing stone straight, both hands folded over the hilt and the point of his epee wedged between his toes in his sandal.

I noticed a lot of eyes drifting between the sword, the kid and the giant. Were we all thinking the same thing?

I got off at my stop, but I kind of wanted to linger and see if a man in black was going to board…

Last Friday evening I saw these kids on the subway as I headed downtown.

Later that night, I saw the same crew again, this time on an uptown train.

Man, that’s the second time in a few weeks that I’ve run into people in both directions on the train. Weird but cool.

Via the Gothamist, check out this footage…I was 15 that summer (thanks to Bronx Rob, now Brooklyn Rob, for passing this along).

It is dark, cold and wet in New York this morning. Nothing like the rain to make the morning commute an adventure. The bus was jammed packed and so was the train. At one point, the conductor on the IRT said, “Please, step all the way inside, you are blocking the closing doors.” A few seconds passed and then his voice came over the loudspeaker again, “You are still blocking the door.” He wasn’t happy. Another beat, then: “I’m looking right at you!”

That got a good chuckle out of the people near me. I was smiling too. At the next stop, the conductor said, “This is a crowded train, people, let’s work together.” He wasn’t upset anymore but encouraging. And when we arrived at 72nd street, a transfer station, he said, “Number 3 arriving across the plaform, number 3. Oh, and it’s as crowded as we are. You are better off staying put.”

I got off the train at my stop and went up to the conductor, who was peaking out of his window, and told him what a pro he was and how much I appreciated riding with him. He had big teeth and he smiled and then he was gone.

A boy climbed into the seat next to me on the subway this morning and pressed his face against the window. We were underground and he looked into the darkness, yellow and red lights whooshing by. The train went above ground for a stop and then back into the tunnel. The boy didn’t seem to notice the change from dark to light and back again.

I remember staring out of the train window as a kid, fascinated by what was out there in the darkness, beyond the graffiti and the sparks of light and the dirt. It was all so mysterious and exciting, a playground for a young boy’s imagination.

[Photo Credit: Kirstiecat]

“A best friend is someone who gives me a book I’ve never read,” Abraham Lincoln.

Thanks to Subway Art Blog, dig the work of Enrico Miguel Thomas–the subway artist of New York.

Last night on the uptown IRT, packed train, rush hour. As we approach 181st Street, the conductor says, “I would advise the passenger who is smoking to get off at the next station. The authorities have been notified.”

I’ve seen people smoke on the train before, kids used to love smoking blunts in the last car back when. Mostly, anyone who smokes on the subway is furious or crazy or both. But to do it on a crowded train? That takes chutzpah.

[Photo Credit: John F. Conn]

A few years ago I had some words with an older gentleman on the subway. We beefed about space, seating, something trivial. I’d see him after that–never forgetting an enemy–and took a small degree of pleasure when I caught him arguing with other passengers. I hadn’t seen him in a few years but last night he got on the train at 168th street. He looked thinner and older and he smelled. I heard him say something but couldn’t make out the words. A few people stood up and let him sit. He was a sad sight and I felt that I’d been petty, not in having an exchange with him one time, but for holding a grudge.

Bowie Friday for Diane…

I listened to a street musician/comedian on the subway last night. When he was finished with his song he said, “I take donations and child support payments. I take spare change and chump change, folks. I take tax donations and college credit. Thank you. I take cell phone minutes.”

The last one got me.

Yesterday was the 10th annual No Pants Subway Ride in New York. Man, and I had to stay home (click here for more photos).

Meanwhile, peep this cool New York City Subway Moment by Emily Lemole Smith.

[Photo Credit: News.com.au and Liptick Alley]

Jeanne Verdoux’s got it going on.