Momentary bliss

The bad news: The Stars concert I was planning on going too (on Rawbean's recommendation) is sold out, thus I shall not be attending.

The worse news: I am scheduled to be the opener at Starbucks tomorrow and Sunday, which means I get to wake up at the devil hour known as Five AM. The last time I was up at Five AM was due to the fact I hadn't gone to sleep yet the night before.

Changing the subject dramatically, I ride the LIRR four times a week. Twice to Manhattan and twice back. While I generally sleep during the morning ride, because even eight o'clock is too early for me, I am awake during the ride home - not because I'm not tired; rather I don't want to miss my stop, sleeping my way towards Long Island (and yes, this has happened, but I prefer not talking about it).

The ride is generally bumpy, loud, and bright. It's bumpy as most public rail systems are in some way bumpy (what the reason is I have no idea, I am not the engineer I make myself out to be). It's loud because the air conditioning units that circulate air in the cars are loud, letting you know how hard they are working to afford you "clean" air to breath. Not only is the free flowing air loud, but the motor that circulates said air grumbles something akin to a troll. And of course there are the florescent lights that keep the cars safe and full of horrid florescent light. Though the majority of all my rides home the train is filled with this, what I've deemed, "Florescent noise" (not the cleverest of names, but it suits the atmosphere nicely) every so often there are gaps; perhaps in the electric currents, perhaps in the circuitry, perhaps somewhere else entirely. All I know is during these gaps, when the lights suddenly go off, and the numbing drone of the recycled air dissipates, the train sails along near silently, the beats of our hearts pumping in rhythm with the soft palpitations of the wheels on the tracks, and we can see out into through darkness the isle of Manhattan growing distant and (what I think is, though am not sure) the Queensborough Bridge lit up off across the water.

For those few moments, before the electricity kicks back in, with Manhattan shrinking behind me, and Queens slowly expanding before my eyes, in the dark, the city actually looks peaceful and calm.

Then the lights come back and the air pumps loudly through the car, and I am reminded that New York city is by far and large a bright and noisy place.

But for those few seconds as the train treks on in quiet, I almost think that all is right with the world.

Almost.