On The Train. October 7.

Heading to New York City on the Acela, the closest thing we have to a high-speed rail here in the US. I understand that in Japan, they have trains that bend light in front of them and have been known to arrive at their destination before they depart, but America is America and loves its individual conveyances and a lack of tentacles in our pornography. The Acela is sixty bucks more and it gets there a whopping thirty minutes ahead of a conventional train, but it’s comfortable and offers amenities like legroom, clean air, a “café car” serving up the finest in microwavable cuisine and full-release massages for the business traveler. Yes, the bus is much cheaper, but I steadfastly refuse to ride in the myriad array of torture chambers on wheels that comprise that particular option.  While I may have to worry about a derailing caused by wet leaves on the track (yes, that is an actual thing they’ve warned us about via signage at South Station,) at least I’m able to stretch my legs and savor air that isn’t 35% fart.

I’ve had the Adam WarRock album in my iPod since about 5:30 yesterday morning and I’ve yet to give it a listen. I suppose this makes me the worst of friends, but there’s something about Euge’s delivery that demands your attention. I told someone it was like the first time I heard Kanye West’s Graduation and had to sit down and pay attention to the album three or four times before I could do anything besides listen to that album. Hopefully, I can use this train time to get around to rectifying this particular matter.

While I was at the train station, I had a microphone shoved in my face and was asked if I wanted to be on Channel 7 news. They wanted to know what I thought about Amtrak’s more visible security presence, with sniffer dogs and armed guards wandering the terminal. I babbled for a moment or two about game theory’s applications to anti-terrorism efforts, security showmanship and how private security forces make me a bit nervous. If they use any of it, it’ll be a miracle. I imagine they could string the “ums” together to create a polyphonic arpeggio suitable for an underground dance track, but it’s more likely that they’ll cut it so I say something like “Armed security guys…make me…feel safe.”

See some of you in New York. There’s a new post up at The Rack, but it’s basically about how there’s not a strip today and why.