In 2000, Tony Early published a novel called "Jim the Boy." It is a terrific book, a Depression-era tale about, well, a boy named Jim. Everybody should read it. I read it while riding the train between New Jersey and New York. And then I learned, from Early's acknowledgments in the back of the book—in which he thanked New Jersey Transit—that he WROTE THE BOOK while riding the train between New Jersey and New York.
I mean, c'mon.
It IS kind of a short book ....
TODAY'S SCORECARD
9:03, window seat, on time; snorer behind me.
TODAY'S TRAIN SONG
"Sally Maclennane" by The Pogues
"And we walked him to the station in the rain/And we kissed him as we put him on the train/And we sang him a song from times long gone/Though we knew that we'd be seeing him again."
TODAY'S TRACKSIDE SIGNAGE
FABCO
WORDS TO LIVE BY
"I heard that Ketchel's dynamic onslaught was such it could not readily be withstood, but I figured I could jab his puss off... I should have put the bum away early, but my timing was a fraction of an iota off."
--Philadelphia Jack O'Brien, on fighting Stanley Ketchel, in 1909
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Oh, Lord ... and Taylor
On a gray and windy morning a week or so ago, two middle-aged male commuters—briefcases, newspapers, topcoats, sorry-looking hats—were walking down the platform at Princeton Junction, pausing every few steps to look at the advertising posters mounted along the railing. They passed, shaking their heads, and I heard one say, "It just ain't right," and then they both laughed.
The object of their strolling colloquy? The lineup of new Lord & Taylor ads that have seemingly taken over the station. The obvious centerpiece of the campaign, and the one that appeared first, is a large lush color photo featuring Lauren Hutton—ageless and blonde and gap-toothed, richly radiant (and radiantly rich)—seated on a large fancy couch surrounded by what are clearly meant to be her brood of four comely, coltish, equally blonde and radiant daughters and/or nieces along with one other comely, coltish young woman who, to judge by her dark skin, is neither daughter nor niece but is surely one of their exquisite, well-bred friends from Yale or Brown or Middlebury, down for the weekend to relax in white linen and read The New York Times on the couch.
There are several other ads in the series (all simply "lifestyle" photos with only the Lord & Taylor signature in the lower corner), each featuring one or more of the women, usually in the company of equally attractive young men (obviously not family; perhaps members of the lacrosse or polo team on a weekend road trip), and engaged in some manner of upscale leisure (running a catamaran through the surf, for instance, or enjoying tea on the beach).
No doubt any series of oversize photos of leggy young beauties in various forms of skimpy dress would have been enough to slow up those two guys last week. But I think what really gobsmacked them, what produced that rueful "just ain't right"—whether it registered with them or not—was the fantastic world of privilege on display. The gorgeous young women (and men) in the photos aren't enjoying some once-in-a-lifetime vacation getaway. They're just hanging out for the weekend at Mummy's, just living their lives—lives that naturally include surfside tea service and the quietude of a hammock.
Somehow it all seems a mockery—a hammockery—and a very poor advertising strategy, to confront potential customers so near-nakedly with the gulf between their quotidian existence and some other-worldly blend of oppulence and leisure. Maybe Lord and Taylor should consider photo-shopping a couple of tired-looking commuters onto the couch beside Ms. Hutton. Now that would be right.
TODAY'S SCORECARD
9:03, on time, window
TODAY'S TRAIN SONG
"Night Train" by Jimmy Forrest, and sung by James Brown.
--Hey, Sonny Liston skipped rope to it. That's good enough for me.
TODAY'S TRACKSIDE SIGNAGE
Ferrari
WORDS TO LIVE BY
"Sure, I sold the code and two pair of plans!" --Chico Marx, in Duck Soup
The object of their strolling colloquy? The lineup of new Lord & Taylor ads that have seemingly taken over the station. The obvious centerpiece of the campaign, and the one that appeared first, is a large lush color photo featuring Lauren Hutton—ageless and blonde and gap-toothed, richly radiant (and radiantly rich)—seated on a large fancy couch surrounded by what are clearly meant to be her brood of four comely, coltish, equally blonde and radiant daughters and/or nieces along with one other comely, coltish young woman who, to judge by her dark skin, is neither daughter nor niece but is surely one of their exquisite, well-bred friends from Yale or Brown or Middlebury, down for the weekend to relax in white linen and read The New York Times on the couch.
There are several other ads in the series (all simply "lifestyle" photos with only the Lord & Taylor signature in the lower corner), each featuring one or more of the women, usually in the company of equally attractive young men (obviously not family; perhaps members of the lacrosse or polo team on a weekend road trip), and engaged in some manner of upscale leisure (running a catamaran through the surf, for instance, or enjoying tea on the beach).
No doubt any series of oversize photos of leggy young beauties in various forms of skimpy dress would have been enough to slow up those two guys last week. But I think what really gobsmacked them, what produced that rueful "just ain't right"—whether it registered with them or not—was the fantastic world of privilege on display. The gorgeous young women (and men) in the photos aren't enjoying some once-in-a-lifetime vacation getaway. They're just hanging out for the weekend at Mummy's, just living their lives—lives that naturally include surfside tea service and the quietude of a hammock.
Somehow it all seems a mockery—a hammockery—and a very poor advertising strategy, to confront potential customers so near-nakedly with the gulf between their quotidian existence and some other-worldly blend of oppulence and leisure. Maybe Lord and Taylor should consider photo-shopping a couple of tired-looking commuters onto the couch beside Ms. Hutton. Now that would be right.
TODAY'S SCORECARD
9:03, on time, window
TODAY'S TRAIN SONG
"Night Train" by Jimmy Forrest, and sung by James Brown.
--Hey, Sonny Liston skipped rope to it. That's good enough for me.
TODAY'S TRACKSIDE SIGNAGE
Ferrari
WORDS TO LIVE BY
"Sure, I sold the code and two pair of plans!" --Chico Marx, in Duck Soup
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
April's Fool
April 1, 2008 Why has nobody written a song called "April's Fool?" (Of course, maybe someone has and I just don't know it.) It could be a sappy ballad sung by a lovesick guy who "tries to play it cool," but knows that he's "just April's fool."
When I was a kid, my father had Puffed Rice cereal for breakfast nearly every morning, always with a couple of spoonfuls of sugar. One April Fool's Day my sister and I filled the sugar bowl with salt and then watched, bursting with anticipation, as Dad prepared his breakfast, pouring out the cereal, adding the milk and then topping it off with the "sugar." We howled with glee when he took a big bite of salted cereal and made a horrible kabuki face and spit out the cereal. He laughed so much and got so involved with telling our mom about the great prank the kids had pulled off that he absent-mindedly repeated the whole procedure, salt-sugaring a second bowl. We laughed even harder. The incident became an oft-told day-the-pig-fell-in-the-well story, and I only recently, these decades later, stopped to consider that his gaffe with the second bowl -- and maybe even the first -- might well have been staged for our benefit.
Ah, to be April's fool.
TODAY'S SCORECARD
AM - 8:23 too crowded; 8:40, window seat
TODAY'S TRAIN SONG
"In the Pines" by the Louvin Brothers
("The longest train I ever saw went down that Georgia line/The engine passed at six o'clock and the cab went by at nine .... The longest train I ever saw was nineteen coaches long/The only girl I ever loved is on that train and gone."
TODAY'S TRACKSIDE SIGNAGE
KEEPING
JERSEY
STRONG
WORDS TO LIVE BY
"The worst meal I ever had was wonderful."
--Robert B. Parker's detective Spenser, in Promised Land
When I was a kid, my father had Puffed Rice cereal for breakfast nearly every morning, always with a couple of spoonfuls of sugar. One April Fool's Day my sister and I filled the sugar bowl with salt and then watched, bursting with anticipation, as Dad prepared his breakfast, pouring out the cereal, adding the milk and then topping it off with the "sugar." We howled with glee when he took a big bite of salted cereal and made a horrible kabuki face and spit out the cereal. He laughed so much and got so involved with telling our mom about the great prank the kids had pulled off that he absent-mindedly repeated the whole procedure, salt-sugaring a second bowl. We laughed even harder. The incident became an oft-told day-the-pig-fell-in-the-well story, and I only recently, these decades later, stopped to consider that his gaffe with the second bowl -- and maybe even the first -- might well have been staged for our benefit.
Ah, to be April's fool.
TODAY'S SCORECARD
AM - 8:23 too crowded; 8:40, window seat
TODAY'S TRAIN SONG
"In the Pines" by the Louvin Brothers
("The longest train I ever saw went down that Georgia line/The engine passed at six o'clock and the cab went by at nine .... The longest train I ever saw was nineteen coaches long/The only girl I ever loved is on that train and gone."
TODAY'S TRACKSIDE SIGNAGE
KEEPING
JERSEY
STRONG
WORDS TO LIVE BY
"The worst meal I ever had was wonderful."
--Robert B. Parker's detective Spenser, in Promised Land
Song of Solomon
March 31, 2008. This morning's sad little shred of resistance: Standing on the platform at Princeton Junction in the gray, moist morning air, waiting for the 8:40 to the city—the 8:01 having been baldly, unexplainedly, in-your-facedly canceled, the 8:23 consequently as packed as a rush hour Tokyo subway—I cue up the ipod to Solomon Burke's "Fast Train."
Yeah, right.
Ah, but is it really so far from the mark, the speed factor aside? "...And you start breaking down/"Cause you're under the strain/And you jump on a fast train/...Ain't nobody here on your waveband/Ain't nobody gonna give you a helping hand/And you start breaking down/And just go into the sound/When you hear that fast train."
As train songs go, it's got some lines that most assuredly speak to the New Jersey Transit commuter, that hapless soul whose days roll away, slowly, lurchingly, draggingly, inevitably, irretrievably, on those sorry-ass tracks between Penn Station and whatever Jersey junction he or she calls home. Let this post be the first in a blog that will speak (or sometimes just grumble or even grunt) for all those soldiers fighting the endless, bloodless war in the railway trenches. (O, where is the Wilfred Owen of the Northeast Corridor?) There will be no schedule, no regular stops or departures and absolutely no apologies for the inconveniences. Then again, there will be no fare either, and plenty of seating up front, to the rear and smack-dab in the middle.
Welcome aboard!
TODAY'S SCORECARD
AM - 8:01, canceled; 8:23, SRO; 8:40, aisle seat
PM - 8:07, window seat; make the Dinky
TODAY'S TRAIN SONG
"Fast Train" by Solomon Burke
TODAY'S TRACKSIDE SIGNAGE
WE BUY
GOLD
WORDS TO LIVE BY
"Course it stickin'! It's barbed wire. Stickin' what it s'posed to do!"
--Junkman to Dukie, on The Wire
Yeah, right.
Ah, but is it really so far from the mark, the speed factor aside? "...And you start breaking down/"Cause you're under the strain/And you jump on a fast train/...Ain't nobody here on your waveband/Ain't nobody gonna give you a helping hand/And you start breaking down/And just go into the sound/When you hear that fast train."
As train songs go, it's got some lines that most assuredly speak to the New Jersey Transit commuter, that hapless soul whose days roll away, slowly, lurchingly, draggingly, inevitably, irretrievably, on those sorry-ass tracks between Penn Station and whatever Jersey junction he or she calls home. Let this post be the first in a blog that will speak (or sometimes just grumble or even grunt) for all those soldiers fighting the endless, bloodless war in the railway trenches. (O, where is the Wilfred Owen of the Northeast Corridor?) There will be no schedule, no regular stops or departures and absolutely no apologies for the inconveniences. Then again, there will be no fare either, and plenty of seating up front, to the rear and smack-dab in the middle.
Welcome aboard!
TODAY'S SCORECARD
AM - 8:01, canceled; 8:23, SRO; 8:40, aisle seat
PM - 8:07, window seat; make the Dinky
TODAY'S TRAIN SONG
"Fast Train" by Solomon Burke
TODAY'S TRACKSIDE SIGNAGE
WE BUY
GOLD
WORDS TO LIVE BY
"Course it stickin'! It's barbed wire. Stickin' what it s'posed to do!"
--Junkman to Dukie, on The Wire
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