A humorous thing happened on the train, entertaining yet acquainting. While riding on the notoriously slow, and inevitably problem stricken green line, its fate occurred. Due to the fact the green line runs above and below ground and is the older of the lines in the great city of Boston, it stopped. Even more impressive, it not only stopped but seemingly shut down. Initially I had gone through my 30 second Courtney Love panic attack wishing for a Xanax, checking my armpits for sweat, frantically locating the nearest exit only to find that it is blocked by what is likely to be 30 feet of man manipulated concrete. My overzealous mind tricked me into believing that this fucking horribly constructed, only mildly ventilated hot box of transportation may be stuck in this state for hours. Unfortunately this did not happen. The only reason why I saw unfortunately is that after I could calm the sweats, encourage myself that I do not need drugs for everything and opened a book, I found a very attractive young female. I think given another hour or two in the moving pile of emotion I could have convinced her to cut her losses, grab a coffee with Frangelica, skip work to head back to my place and see how the Tempurpedic holds up.
Good lord, you win some, lose some.
While the train was essentially shut down; standing still, lights dimmed, engine ceasing to run, and all was silent, something more transparent occured. 1. Jay-Z and Foster the People do not sync up well at all. 2. 87% plus or minus 2% were listening to headphones. Of that 85-89%, 0% had high enough quality headphones to keep the sound contained to their ear cavities, letting their musical choices soar out into the open train for all to hear. Had my headphones not just suffered a severe fatality while running this morning, I would be among the majority, but luckily I was not. I was fortunate enough to tune into the melodic jumble of over 25 different masterpieces coming from my colleagues on the train of "go fuck myself."
They say that the one good thing about music is that you feel no pain, unless of course it is every genre mixed together and its about as painful as cuddling with a sick cat. Once I was able to move forward amicably from the horrendous blend of notes, I started to isolate the sounds and finally meet my fellow riders. The Asian man, roughly 26 years of age, with a nice watch was listening to Luther Vandrose, "Dance with my Father." One could infer he just lost someone close to him, which may or may not explain his saddened, yet hardened facial expressions. The very professionally dressed young women nearest to my right was listening to Juicy, by Notorious BIG. I could tell her inner self wanted to just use the isle as her own personal dance floor and shout out racial slurs, not to be racist, just because she wanted to sing the song in its entirety. Let it ride sister, I wont judge you.
As I moved down the line I found the songs to be more and more interesting, and of course I did not recognize some of them. One person was listening to a song I had just recently heard, and it was rather obscure, so I was excited. Once i heard duo play a couple weeks back I listened to the entire album and found that the artist were in LA, struggling to make their way (ignore rhyme) and each song was about a memory. I then inferred that she is new to the city, possibly starting a new job in Cambridge and can relate to these young storytellers. The artist was Kenneth Pattingale and Joey Ryan aka the Milk Carton Kids, if anyone cares.
As I continued to listen during the short 12 minute stop I convinced myself that I knew a little more about the people around me, and the beat they march to. I started thinking more about what I listen to, when I listen to it, and why. I also found myself confused. Why do I go to bed and sleep to Alexisonfire, then get pumped up to run to gaslight anthem? The answer is that we are all constructed differently, our legs move appropriately to the way a dissonant sounds hits our ears, and it is completely inconsistent the next person. We all have a playlist, what is on yours? I think I'd like to listen to it, I may like to meet you.
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