I Just Don't Get It

I was on a New Jersey Transit train, the North Jersey Coast line, going from New York City's Penn Station to Woodbridge, N.J., where my car was. It was late last night, about 11:30 p.m. Most every seat had at least one occupant in it but, fortunately, it wasn't crowded like it gets after Madison Square Garden has a concert or a Rangers hockey game.

A few rows behind me, I could hear, in fact we all could, three or four very loud black young men, probably around 20 years old, talking loudly, clearly with the intention of aurally hijacking everyone in the car. One in particular, clearly the ringleader, was cursing to the point that "muthahf*ckah" was about every fourth word. Everybody else in the car, probably 60 to 75 people, were quiet or talking softly. These guys dominated the space. I never looked back to see what they looked like.

They didn't get off at Newark, which was about 20 minutes out of New York. I then hoped they'd get off at Elizabeth, about 10 more minutes into the ride. That would at least leave me 10 or 15 minutes of peace before my station at Woodbridge. Elizabeth just seems to be the station where a lot of rowdy kids and adults (of all races) get off (and on), so that's why I hoped for Elizabeth.

Sure enough, four surprisingly clean-cut, well-dressed, nice-looking black kids filed up the aisle to get off at Elizabeth, with the loudmouth spewing his f*ck-you attitude all the way out the door. (Usually venomous loudmouthed kids look the part more than these did.) I was relieved.

But it was short-lived. The white, quite-unattractive 30's-age woman sitting one row in front of me and across the aisle and the 50's-ish, Joe-normal-looking man sitting with his wife in the seat in front of me commented on how obnoxious the guys had been who'd just left. Fine. But then they got carried away and talked INCESSANTLY and almost as loudly, though with no vulgar language, about things people on trains pontificate about, namely complaints about nearly everything and how wrong, sleazy and corrupt everyone in government is, especially in New York and New Jersey. I tried to ignore them, zoning in as much as I could on the paperback murder mystery I was reading.

They got to talking about Donald Trump and New York City Mayor Michael Bloomberg and some other rich, famous or political figures. Ignore, ignore, ignore. I looked around. We were nearly to the Rahway station, just one before mine at Woodbridge, and the crowd had thinned considerably. The only other person near me other than the whining, intrusive, loud, abrasive white folks in front of me was a quiet, nice-looking young black man in the seat across the aisle from me.

I went back to my book. Ignore, ignore, ignore.

Then the man in front of me pierced my concentration when he said, "I'd vote for him before I'd vote for that black guy." I have no idea who he was referring to, but his derisive tone made it clear that he didn't like either one. I really couldn't believe this white asshole had said that, regardless of who he was talking about, in a public venue in a loud voice to someone he didn't know with other people he didn't know around him.

I glanced over at the young black man across the aisle from me. He'd been minding his own business, as had I, but that one sentence jolted us into attentiveness. His eyes locked with mine. I pursed my lips, shook my head and rolled my eyes. His expression back to me was nonverbal also, but it was clear. He'd heard this kind of thing before. He considered the source, just like I consider the source when an ingorant chauvinist makes some comment about some woman's knockers in front of me as if I'm not there and he's not offending anyone.

The young man rose from his seat and walked up the aisle to get off at Rahway. He was peaceful in who he was, not angry or vengeful. He and I smiled at each other, making a brief soul-to-soul connection. It was a nice moment.

I only had about five more minutes left to endure the obnoxious white people before we hit Woodbridge. I got off the train, not looking at them. I left them behind. My world was quiet again. It was a nice moment.

Keyless in Columbia

My NASCAR key ring sits empty on the table next to my car keys for the first time in my adult life that I can remember. It's the strangest sensation....

I'm moving from Woodbridge, N.J., to Columbia, Maryland -- today. I moved out of my 2,400-sq.-ft., 3-story duplex in Woodbridge yesterday and turned in my keys. (I've been temperamentaly better suited to be a renter than a buyer for years. I like the idea of being able to change my life in short order, which is what I have done this time.) My furniture and "stuff" spent the night in a locked moving van in Jersey City, N.J., and the four guys from White Glove Moving Co. who loaded everything are on their way to Columbia as I write this at 6:00 a.m. from the comfort of a Marriott Courtyard in Columbia. I take possession of my new apartment in three hours.

So I will have been homeless for 17-1/2 hours by the time my new keys are on my ring. I spent nearly four of those hours driving from Woodbridge to Columbia in a merciless driving rain that actually slowed people down on the New Jersey Turnpike. Officially the speed limit was lowered to 45 mph along the whole 100-mile NJ Turnpike stretch of the drive, and people actually "only" drove about 60 in the normally 65-mph zone where traffic usually zips along at about 80.

The drive wasn't much fun. We -- my friend Michele from Seattle who's (thankfully) helping me move and I -- only saw one accident on the way down and it wasn't serious, but the rain was relentless and intense and the wind whipped at the car in bumpy gusts. It took us longer than usual because of the weather and we were both eager to get to the hotel to eat dinner and settle in for a long nighttime nap after our long day of moving. But our accommodations were (and are) comfortable (I love Marriotts) and a good meal at Red Robin ended the day on a happy note.

My move is occurring, unfortunately, on the two days of a nasty record-breaking Nor'easter. They talked about it on TV for days before it hit. Yesterday was the driving, pelting, soaking-everything rain, nearly 8 inches worth. (I thought I saw animals lining up two-by-two.) I hated the idea that my furniture and zillions of boxes and accessories would get wet and damaged in the few feet between my garage and the moving van. We'll see how it all ends up. Today, though, is the wind, and I mean major-league wind. On the news this morning they are saying it's gusting to the equivalent of a Category 2 hurricane. Gusts are up to 60 mph, averaging around 45 mph. The trees outside our 4th-floor hotel room window are swaying back and forth like animated dancing figures in a Disney musical. I hope the guys in "my" moving van are faring well on the drive down. Scary, this wind is scary.

So the few hours of being homeless for me are about as cushy and comfortable as they can be. I am grateful for my life and my blessings. Every day I am but this morning I am especially so. If the biggest thing I'm worried about in my homeless hours is a fierce storm (and how I'm going to fit everything into half the space I had in New Jersey), I'm in great shape.

Michele just asked me, "Doesn't it feel good to wake up not in New Jersey?" I laughed. More than that, it feels better to wake up in my new home town and tomorrow I'll wake up in my own bed in my new home in my new home town. The rain and wind will be gone and it will be warmer, in the 50s. And my NASCAR key chain will be full again.

Closed on Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving has never been a big, sentimental holiday in my family the way Christmas and birthdays are. My family is 2,500 miles away and my friends all have families-plus-one-or-two-or-ten on Turkey Day so every year I get a handful of generous invitations to join one horde or another. Sometimes I say yes, sometimes I prefer going solo to making a big shlep somewhere and behaving myself with people I wish weren't there. I like my friends but their squirmy, whiney parents or the squirmy, whiney kids who belong to some relative or guest just make me uncomfortable and irritable. (Sound kind of Bah! Humbuggy, don't I? Ah, well.)

The times I've joined friends and their immediate families and a close friend or two I've usually enjoyed the day. A few times I've made the mistake of going with friends to somebody's house where I don't know the hosts very well or there is such a mob that I feel like a stranger in a strange world. Those times have been pure torture. One time a few years ago when I still lived in Manhattan, I joined two friends, also from Manhattan, and we trekked out to the farthest town on Long Island to join friends of theirs in a huge house with at least 1,000 boistrous people I didn't know but who all seem to know each other. Not really 1,000 but it felt that way. The minute I walked through the door, I felt a discomfort that made me want to turn tail and leap onto the first train back. That was a loooooong day.

So after some tentative plans fell through for today, I found myself searching for a good turkey dinner at the last minute. Kentucky Fried Chicken drive-thru just didn't appeal to me, nor my leftover pizza in the freezer. So many places are closed on Thanksgiving -- I tried calling several restaurants that I frequent that I figured would have decent turkey dinners but they were all closed. Geez, even TGIFriday's was closed -- I figured I could count on them! The Denny's near me was open and I love their Super Bird (it's made with turkey) but I couldn't see myself there on this day.

At length I thought I'd try a little local Italian restaurant, Mulberry Street, and BINGO, I got a winner! Yes, they were open and yes, they had turkey dinners and yes, I could get in right away.

So I took the three-minute drive there (in the rain) and was delighted to see only six cars in the parking lot. I got a nice big table in the corner and enjoyed a scrumptious traditional turkey dinner with fresh everything, including cranberry sauce, which I usually can do without, made with fresh berries and some fresh fruit to dilute the characteristic tartness - delicious! Great service, not too expensive, all in all a relaxing and satisfying experience. I waddled out of there nice and full.

I thought about doing something charitable on this day, something for someone else. But with no advance planning I wasn't sure where to go. And frankly, I just wanted a whole day to do what I wanted, even if it was not much. So I went to the gym, talked to a good friend on the phone, got my (obviously artificial) Christmas tree out and started getting it set up, e-mailed a friend, talked to another friend on the phone, took a nap (the ultimate luxury), took some time to reflect on how fortunate I feel, talked to my mom on the phone and am writing this as I watch the Kansas City Chiefs kill "my" Denver Broncos. Wait - the Broncos just scored. Maybe there's hope for a 100% fabulous Thanksgiving Day. Instead of just 99%.

Train Spotting

Following the July 7 London bombings in the subways and the bus, New York City and New Jersey took instant action. Penn Station was thick with National Guardsmen and city and transit cops. Uniformed policemen appeared on train platforms almost immediately. Even in my little town in New Jersey, three cops appeared at our New Jersey Transit station within a few days. I really never see one uniformed policeman or Guardsman anymore -- I consistently see three to five together. At the Secaucus Junction station, which I heard one fellow passenger refer to the other day as "Memorial Station" because there are so few passengers at NJ Transit's newest station, there were more cops on the platform than passengers.

That was the first week after the London bombings. Then they started random searches of bags and briefcases in NYC subway stations and, later, on commuter lines in New York and New Jersey. At first I wondered if that would impact the train schedules and/or result in some people missing the trains they usually take. It hasn't, from what I know. I still try to be at least a few minutes early to catch my trains, just in case.

At my little station in New Jersey, one day more than half a dozen state troopers showed up, looking tall and stocky and mean, and set up tables near the stairs leading up to the platform. They stopped a few people, pawed through their backpacks and bags and made a great show of force. But one day was it. Have seen nary a trooper there since. (Maybe they were federal officers of some kind -- I admit that I didn't pay that close of attention. Wow, and I call myself a journalist?!)

The debates are about privacy vs. protection...about window dressing vs. really deterring potential troublemakers. (Troublemakers = the bastards who want to kill us and are willing to die to do it!) These are not easy issues to sort out.

I am basically a libertarian, philosphically speaking. I only voted for a Libertaran Party candidate once, in some presidential election a few ago, when I couldn't bring myself to flick the lever for the Republican or Democrat. In most areas, I think the government should leave us the hell alone and not interfere with our lives. I resent them constantly protecting us from ourselves. In that vein, I think that prostitution is one of the most ridiculous things in the world to make a crime. And for sodomy and even oral sex between married people to be illegal in some states -- unreal! Any kind of sexual activity between two consenting adults in the privacy of their own home is nobody else's business. I may or may not choose to participate but that's my business, not the government's. Get the hell out of our bedrooms, for God's sake! And to go to the lengths they do to refuse to legalize the use of marijuana, even for medical purposes, is beyond ridiculous when you compare the harm that pot does compared to the devastation that alcohol wreaks, and alcohol is legal. (No, the point isn't to make alcohol consumption a crime.)

These days, I know it's not that simple to just want government out of our lives. It's way too complex of an issue and too much of an internationally interwoven society for that to be reasonable. Most days, I just opt not to focus my energies on that whole macro-topic. I just go on with my day, happy in my own oblivious world. If I clean up my own life, I figure that's what I can contribute and I wish others would try to do the same.

We need to be careful not to "protect" ourselves right out of being a free society. We are less free every day as it is now. Right after the London bombings, they shut down cell phone service in the Holland Tunnel and Lincoln Tunnel going into New York City. Fortunately, they let it go back on within a few days. But earlier they were also looking at banning photos of subways or other trains, even from public streets. We should make sure we don't rip away the rights of the majority -- law abiding, honest, well-meaning citizens -- to try to "protect" ourselves from the occasional nut job. And let them use real knives again on airplanes, please. Geez. Real forks can cause just as much damage, as can 1,000 other things that we all carry around with us every day and use for their intended purposes.

Despite my misgivings about privacy and my desire for less intrusive government, I admit that up on my NJ Transit station platform the day that the troopers were there, I felt a little bit safer. I also find myself breathing a little easier when I see the Guardsmen in force in Penn Station and the deliberately surly-looking cops in the various New York City subway stations. I hate that I feel that way but I do. I am also gut-level grateful for the men and women who are there trying to keep us safe.