I got out of the train at Valhalla station, looking for the Ryder Cup.

Couldn’t find it anywhere.

[image: Yanks Ben Curtis and Steve Stricker at Valhalla Golf Club, compliments of NY Times]

“The Saugatucker” writes in about a very special friend he made on the 7:05 to New Haven last night.

Old red-faced Wall Street guy with bloodshot eyes, tattered New York Post in his lap.  He’s talking loudly into his cell phone with his hand cupped over his mouth, as if that makes a difference. 

He’s going on and on about today’s markets, drinking a Miller Lite and a Glaceau Vitamin Water simultaneously: 

“I just got shot in the DICK!!!  Oh, my God!  My reputation!  How stupid do I look!!  I’m in, short!, and he decides to blow this up.  I am really scorched.  Really scorched. 

“Equity volume was lost because they SUCK!  DUH!  This is really bad, really, really bad.  I’m going to see them tomorrow and I’ll need one beer before I punch their lights out.”

He just hung up and went into the bathroom, and I hear vomiting. 

[image: inmagine.com]

It appears Dr. Seuss enjoyed the T on a recent trip to Boston.

The Mystery Train

The Mystery Train is a train of excitement,
With windows so clouded that you cannot see
Which station you’re passing - or IF there’s a station,
Or where in the world you might happen to be.

You stare in confusion at windows so frosted
An x-ray machine couldn’t peer through the haze.
Is my stop coming up? Or have I just passed it?
Or am I a minotaur lost in a maze?

The conductors all thoughtfully aid in the mystery,
Never breathing a word which might pierce that dark veil
Where is the train going? Are we passing a station?
Was that blob Back Bay station, or was it Montvale?

If YOU want to ride on a train full of mystery
They’re rolling along on the tracks every day
You might never get to the place you were going,
But that’s how it is on the MBTA.

You scored this sweet townhouse in Red Hook, within crawling distance of the Liberty Heights Tap Room. The only downside is that nasty-ass commute to lower Manhattan–the long walk past the projects to the F train.

Then along comes Ikea, and its free ferry. Yes, the much maligned new Ikea on the Brooklyn waterfront is offering free ferry service to and from lower Manhattan, and the NY Times reports that some opportunistic commuters are availing themselves of this luxury.

There is the daily water taxi and shuttle bus service provided free by Ikea, technically for its customers. But for residents, the boats and buses have made the hard-to-reach neighborhood without a subway stop a little less remote; the ferries in particular have given them a picturesque way to travel between Manhattan and Red Hook.

There is concern that Ikea will scale back its bus and water taxi service, or scrap it altogether. But until then, plenty of people are enjoying the free ride across the Buttermilk Channel and the bay.

On another night, Chris Curen and Bill McDermott waited in line for the Ikea ferry on a pier in Lower Manhattan. Mr. Curen lives as close as one can to the furniture store, in an apartment building across the street. He is still angry about his new neighbor, arguing, among other things, that Ikea destroyed historic buildings to open its store.

But he added: “I guess I have to admit the traffic isn’t that bad.” Neither was the esplanade. “I think any time there’s waterfront access, it’s positive,” he said, as he and Mr. McDermott got on the boat for the shorter and more appealing ride home than their typical subway ride.

[image: NY Times]

As TJ gets a dreadful sunburn up in Cape Cod next week, Trainjotting will be in the very capable hands of journalist/novelist/memoirist/chiropodist/screenwriter/copywriter/EasyRider Tim Coleman. Tim has a Weegee-esque knack for stumbling upon curious and dubious happenings around Gotham, and a Beat writer’s flair for rendering those happenings in lyrical black and white.

Tim’s unique perspective will make next week the Best Week Ever on Trainjotting.

A Brooklyn-based writer by the name of Philip Recchia has launched the subway blog “YoTransitMan.com,” which dubs itself as “the leading source of erroneous transit news.”

TransitMan offers a weekly dose of NYC subway-related Q and A’s. To wit:

Q: So far this year I’ve been flashed three times on the subway. What’s a girl to do?

A: Next time some deviant opens his raincoat . . . [EDITOR’S NOTE: For legal reasons, all references to the following terms have been removed from this response: “pipe clamps,” “ice tongs,” “melon scoops” and “ball pein hammers”] . . . until he hollers “Uncle!”

A quick Google of Mr. Recchia shows him to be a former NY Post reporter and the programming director of an outfit called BlogTalkRadio.com.

ELEVADER /ELL eh VAYD urr/ noun: A witless dolt who invades a full elevator as the doors close, then typically selects a floor that’s lower than yours to further delay your arrival at work.

Usage: I was all set to be on time for my morning meeting, but this elevader sprinted through the lobby and jammed his foot in the doors, forcing them to reopen. I stared at the back of his head until I’d successfully singed his hair.

This was a fascinating idea, even if the actual execution didn’t prove to be quite as compelling. The NY Times marked Independence Day by interviewing, or at least trying to interview, every rider on a rush hour Q train heading into Manhattan from Brooklyn.

Is it [sic] nearly impossible to take a single authoritative snapshot of New York City’s population, to freeze it in place, to discover and list all the different people who live here. Or were born here. Or who came here in search of success, or family, or to escape misery. Each block is different, from Park Avenue to Parkside Avenue, from the East Village to Eastchester — each is its own little city, with its own evolving ethnic mixture, its own traditions.

But if there is no perfect way to take that snapshot, then there are certainly worse ways than to catalogue the people in that car of the 8:27 a.m. Q train in the middle of the Manhattan Bridge, to learn who they are, and how they happened to be there…

The crew of Times reporters got 99 people to talk, while the other 29 were sleeping, were lost in an iPod haze–or simply held an innate mistrust of the media.

C’mon, folks, shoot us a vote for the best New York City commuter town around. All y’all schlep past these towns every day and say, Geez, I wish I lived there. (Sort of like Mount Yearnin’, if Mount Vernon was, like, really nice and didn’t have homicides.)

If you could shuffle the deck all over again and a genie offered you a 3.5% fixed rate on your mortgage, where would you drop anchor?

We’ll crown the Official Trainjotting Best Freakin’ Commuter Town Ever some time next week.  

This is long overdue.

“Dane” asks Trainjotting for the best commuting town in the area.

Hello! I was wondering if there was a secret consensus on what the best commuting town into Manhattan is? For instance, if someone could move to any commuting-into-Manhattan town (in NY, PA, CT, or NJ), which town is considered as having the easiest commute/quality of life when you factor in several variables – such as being able to find a seat on the train each morning, a quaint village surrounding the train stop, etc?

Thanks,

Dane

Excellent question, Dane, and I leave it up to you, dear readers. Which town offers the best quality of life for commuters? Every town has some sort of dealbreaker: Bronxville has that $2.4 million price tag for starter homes. New Rochelle has that crime. Pleasantville is a slightly long haul for our tastes. Montclair has the Jersey factor. Hawthorne has TJ.  

Shoot us your vote for the best-ever commuting town in the area, and ideally a reason or two why it’s best. We’ll crown a winner once we have a consensus.