RUDIMENTS, pt. 543
(zooming for the top)
Privilege is nothing, and
privilege is gone. The world
gets pretty vapid after a
while, and one has to look
out, or away, far from it,
to have anything make
sense. Old age, I suppose,
can be tedious. (I'll let
you know?). Study Greek
grammar? Take lessons
in Chekhov? Bullfinch's
Mythology? Sleep later?
Stay in? Walk to Gramercy?
You can only watch clouds
and shapes so long and
then that becomes dizzying
too. I've not had a heart
attack yet, and my heart
is already dead - or weary.
Kids on phones and skateboards,
or both at the same time. They
make me puke. Girls walking
by, sometimes, like the pillars
of Hercules on their come-get-me
platters. I never know what to
do but I sure know what not
to. My tiresome fanaticism
has become my only good trait.
What's that tell you, huh?
-
The park smells like urine,
or dog shit too. Either way.
Wild animals, it's called scat.
Dogs and cats get it's called
poop? How's that go? At
least there are far fewer
joggers about - these days
that all seems like a dying
talent. All those struggling
lungers trotting off to their
nowheres. I don't eat breakfast.
I don't eat lunch. I don't walk
with a cane. I don't act on
a hunch. Good, solid proof
only, I need. Other than
indecision, I've not got
much left.
-
For much of the 2000's, or
after '05 anyway, I took the
train daily to Princeton. It too
was mostly a meaningless
endeavor for me, though I
tried to make it have some
import or some sense to me.
The boredom level was about
the same as if, perhaps, I'd
been a male nurse or something.
The conductor on the Dinky,
one in the morning - always
talking. The more, glum guy,
in the afternoon, with his later
shift, seemed always angered
and annoyed, red-faced, and
about to burst. He'd gotten a
reputation as a volcano, always
ready to explode at any passenger
(I'd seen it a few times) whose
ticket process was not correct,
or had it presented wrong or
was too slow. All those tedious
'conductor' things that were
supposed to flow smoothly
through the boarding process.
Not so here - there'd be
times when he'd spend way
in excess of time berating a
passenger - an otherwise
docile, and probably embarrassed
passenger - over some silly
'infraction' in front of everyone.
The entire little train-trolley ride
over to Princeton took only
maybe 7 minutes, and it wouldn't
be unlike him to make a fuss
for that full amount of time.
-
As I said, the morning guy was
just a 6am talkathon. Non-stop.
Ken Doggins, from Bensalem, PA.
Nicest guy in the world, and I
took right to him. He liked
photography, we were in NYC
once together, his grandkid
occasionally rode the train
with him for the day. The
only awkward problem was
that he told me things about
him that I didn't need to know.
Things that made me cringe.
Like this one time, he's carrying
on an affair with one of the
daily train ladies - real nice
and everything - and they
were really going at it, the
whole 9-yards, and his wife
finds out and locks him out
of the house, throws out,
destroys, all his camera
equipment - he had major
stuff, expensive lenses,
cameras and camera bodies,
tripods, sunrise filters, all
that stuff (he loved Nature
photos - skies, sunrises and
sunsets, clouds, water). It all
went. He was over the top
about it. Eventually, months
go by, it's over, his wife relents,
and he's back home. That's why
we were in NYC together - he
was visiting J&R Camera on
some pending re-equipment
deals and some salvage sales
for trade-ins. All well and good,
but I never needed to know all
this. Nor the stories about how
much this train lady enjoyed
sex. God's own harem queen.
-
I'd ride that train thing with
all sorts of people, Princeton
University stars, students,
famous people, professors,
and the regular stiffs, like me,
and Scott and Alan. I got to
know a hundred. John Nash,
when he was alive. Paul Muldoon.
One time, I found myself sitting
next to Elizabeth Stribling, of
NY real estate Stribling fame
We had a great conversation
going, when her phone wasn't
ringing, all the way back to
Metuchen (for me) as she
continued onward to NYC.
I was going to buy a 57th street
condo from her, but I only had
12 dollars. Thankfully, she
understood.
-
It was all pretty crazy because
everyone had their place except
me, and I always felt I could
see through them - just like
they probably thought they had
my number. Whatever it was.
Paul Muldoon, had a rock band
in Princeton. 'Racket'. OK, that's
exactly what great poets need.
Ask Bob Dylan, I suppose.
Ask Bob Dylan, I suppose.
The real estate lady was lost in
the stars. That's such a great
pun because the 'stars' were
buying from her. John Nash,
he was only the seven-minute
trip guy, because he got off
right away at Princeton Junction,
(the Dinky's only stop), and
he'd just walk off. Weird stuff.
We'd talk about Dubai and Qutar,
and the Beijing Olympics too.
He had an interest in all that
stuff. I just played along, for
I had no interest. He always
dressed like a K-Mart cadet.
It was pretty amazing the
leisure junk he wore, and
walked around in. One time
I watched him get off the
train, in shorts and some
Bob Hope shirt and hat, and
jump down to the tracks and
walk off. (If you followed
the tracks there, they went
right to his turn-off). Pretty
cool, like fissionable material
sizzling away. Paul Muldoon
was changeable - some days
way on, and others not at all.
One needed to judge that.
The afternoon conductor the
grump guy, he never cared.
Treated everyone the same -
I think if the Pope had gotten
on with a poorly prepared
ticket he'd have been right
there consigned to 'next stop
Hell.' That's how it went.
-
There were always train
problems and train breakdowns.
Onetime the train just stopped,
along the straightaway between
Princeton Junction and Brunswick.
We had to wait for some 40 minutes,
until what they called a 'rescue
train' was going to come get us.
OK, that was cool, but the rescue
train came and stopped for us
right on the Amtrak tracks - where
usually 70mph trains (Amtrak)
go whizzing by on their DC to
Boston runs. I freaked; they
set up steps and ladders and
we all had to file out of the
dead train and onto the new
'rescue train.' All the while
I'm waiting for an Amtrak
rig to come flying right
through us. Another time,
the train broke down, never
arrived, at Princeton Junction
and they told us we'd be there
until like 8pm. People were
freaking. Everyone was getting
picked up. The taxis were
lined up. I commandeered
a taxi, said 'how much to
New Brunswick?' - he said
50 bucks. So I rounded up a
few other people interested,
and we split the fare and tip
3 ways, I think it was, and
got to New Brunswick by
about 6:30. Traffic sucked.
If it wasn't the train, it was
the car - one thing or another.
-
I never cared, because I never
concentrated on it. That's my
big flaw - lost in the stars,
just like Elizabeth Stribling.
A businessman or any person
in commerce can't be like that.
You've sort of got to have a
concentrated head for focus-to
task, on business. Not me.
Dollars? I detested. Too much
of a loss and leak factor. My
other friend, Barry, who ran
the Princeton Record Exchange,
he made a huge, huge bundle of
money doing just that - an
irritating and one-eyed focus
on only one thing. Buying
cheap (used LP's, CD's, etc.)
and selling, still cheap, but
within a profit mark-up that
was perfect. But that's his
one thing. I spent time with
him, there, and in NYC too,
and he was maddening. No
other interests at all. Greatest
guy in the world, but a one,
period, singular, focus. I
could never be that way. One
time we were having beers
in the 'Village Pour House' at
3rd Ave and 11th street, while
he waited for the ticket window
to open at the movie house there
for the Village Film Festival.
(He kept a tab there, at the
Pour House. Pretty cool).
We were talking, running
through 45 minutes, and I tried
to interest him in things about
art, writing, etc. He just declaimed
that he had no interest, 'No, that
stuff wouldn't interest me at all.'
Then he said, 'But, after we
leave, take a few days and send
me a note about things I could
do to improve my business.'
His business was great. I
hadn't a clue; and we left, and
I never sent him anything.
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