In Which Say It I Wish We Would Make It And I Wish That I Could Take It When You Turn On Me

Give me your eyes I need sunshine…

I am now commuting, something I said I would never do.

So far I have not really done anything during the commute. This morning I mostly mouthed the lyrics of this song at random people.

“I’ll Believe in Anything” — Wolf Parade (mp3)

I am driven by the desire to talk to random people and I usually do. I make a big show of reacting to whatever occurs. I dislike the smell of B.O.

On the way home today I was particularly ebullient. I felt like a star burning out.

“Masterfade” — Andrew Bird (mp3)

Two conductors were talking over their routes. They were discussing MTA employees who as a rule they fucking hate. Their venom, quite frankly, excites me.

“It’s never the bigwigs, it’s always the peons.” Ain’t that always the same?

On the Long Island Railroad, class and race boundaries are a little bit different. Society woman freely interpolate their lives with those of migrant workers.

I missed the shuttle to my new job, so I had to get a cab. This was more difficult than you would think. The driver eventually picked me up, along with a few other fares. He told a story about how some guy’s head had gotten knocked off the train, as he was crossing the tracks and the Huntington train came by. “Ew,” I said.

“Another Day in Paradise” — Phil Collins (mp3)

“House Fire” — Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin (mp3)

He also told me and three non-English speakers a story about how a bullet had gone through his head in Vietnam. I was particularly moved. I said, “That sucks.” Then some Third Eye Blind started playing on the radio and I was like, “Summer of ’98??? Anyone???” No one responded.

You can act however you want. I laugh at people openly. I high five people frequently. And it’s only my first day on the motherfucking railroad bitches!

“Same Ghost Every Night” — Wolf Parade (mp3)

“Bittersweet Symphony (remix)” — Moby (mp3)

Hitting on women on the Long Island Railroad is something more difficult. First of all, women don’t like to be hit on during the beginning of the commute, they’re just waking up, have some respect!

By the end of the day, they are like wounded prey. Any stray compliment makes a wife for you and a mother for your children.

“One More Try” — George Michael (mp3)

Also, nobody young is commuting out to Long Island for the most part. The women tend to be a bit older, a bit wiser. Probably, they know things.

Once I break out the substance of my book collection, this is going to be more fun than when Will Hubbard hits SoHo.

I mean, people please. When I tell them who Derek Walcott is! Can we be imagining the look on their faces!

Commute that!

Let’s not stop there. I will hit on anything that moves. I recently read that someone forced someone (Harry Potter?) to talk to 100 women as a way of getting over their shyness. I am way past this point. I will ask the poorest speaking immigrant his life story and he will leave feeling as if no one has understood him as I have. Gold, Jerry. Gold.

“Weeping Willow” — The Verve (mp3)

“Some You Give Away” — La Rocca (mp3)

This commute is going to give me the greatest fucking book of all time. I shall thank you all in my Pulitzer/Nobel speechz. Get on board my train while you still can. I don’t want to have to omit you from my list of people to thank just because you thought it was cool to be a dick to me. Hint, hint. I like presents, and also, mezzuzahs. No matter how you spell them.

Alex Carnevale is the author of this recording, although Molly’s attempt to distract you with her feminine wiles shall continue unabated. God love you, Lambert.

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