Apologies for the relative slow-down in regular posting here. I think the recent passing of my friend Paul Raven just took a bit of the wind out of my sails, it being just the latest sad chapter in a frankly rather bleak 2007.
In an effort to distance myself from the gloom this past weekend, my lovely wife suggested going up to visit my friend Rob D. in New London. Rob's one of my oldest and dearest friends, and is currently sequestered in his rustic New England home, busily composing an exhaustively authoritative tome on New London's favorite literary son, Eugene O'Neill. Rob's first book, meanwhile, has recently been published and is out in stores now, so go fetch thyselves copies with the quickness.
Eager for a change of scenery and the chance to catch up with my friend, I took Peggy up on her suggestion and bought myself a ticket to go up to New London on Saturday evening. In true AmTrack style, my regional train was delayed for fifty minutes, leaving me ample time to explore the squalid, airless unpleasantness of Penn Station, truly one of my least favorite spots in New York City, let alone the Earth. Grand Central Station, in contrast, is a vast, architecturally rich expanse with a robust history. Penn Station is just a soulless, barely functional shadow of the august building (long since torn down) from which it took its name. Tear it down, I say.
In any event, I was eventually allowed to board my train and was soon streaming out of Manhattan. For all my grousing about the inefficiencies of modern travel, I have to say that I do enjoy a good train trip. The urban scenes outside my window slowly gave way to hints of Fall folliage until I was soon surrounded by vast swathes of marshland and water.
When I was a child, my family only came to New London while on our way to somewhere else. Whether to visit our friends in Newport or Nantucket, we'd invariably pass through New London at some point. This small whaling city didn't seem like a destination in itself, but rather a portal. My friend Rob, meanwhile, de-camped here a few years ago to pursue some teaching opportunities and has called it home ever since. A million figurative miles from the teeming ant heap of Manhattan, I stepped off the train into a thick, atmospheric fog (they don't call it New London for nothing) and spotted Rob's car just as the rain began to fall.
Rob and I spent the remainder of the evening consuming ill-advised quantities of cheapo beer and a herculean amount of surprisingly great Mexican food, catching up on old times. After the latter, we repaired to one of Rob's favorite watering holes on Bank Street which doubles as a live music venue. Despite the fact that the promisingly named local metal outfit, Face First, were preparing to blow new parts in everyone's hair, Rob and I decided to opt out and went back to his place, where we proceeded to drink his fridge dry, listen to irresponsibly loud music and scour YouTube for Jane's Addiction videos and drunkenn Ace Frehley interviews until about 3 a.m.
After a quick visit and a couple of bloody marys with Rob's mother in nearby Mystic the next morning, I let Rob get back to Eugene O'Neill's misbegotten moons, approaching icemen and long day's journies and boarded a midday train back to New York City, hungover but heartened from visiting my friend. Again, AmTrack dependably let me down via a track fire in New Rochelle which kept my train frozen and cut off at the Stamford station for a couple of hours. I finally walked back in my door after 6pm, greeted by my beaming wife and two giggling little children.
Today, I'm back at it, typing at you from a coffee shop on West Eighth Street (I've forsaken the chilly confines of Cosi in favor of the homier Gizzi's two blocks to the West -- better coffee, better tunes, same free WiFi). The weather may have turned colder, but for me, the gloom is lifting. Developments on my job search have taken a promising turn after weeks of discouraging silence, but I won't jinx anything by providing details. Suffice to say, I am again feeling hopeful. Stay tuned.
Oh, and seemingly since the dawn of time, I've routinely and unsolicitedly distributed mixtapes to my friends, forcing my musical tastes on their unsuspecting ears. Replete with ridiculous titles like The THRASH Compactor, The Third Reich Knee Injury Dance Party and Jammin' In Tha Stang-Whappa Dang Whappa Dang, my tapes have nourished the long suffering music collections of many of my nearest and dearest. Having not bestowed one on Rob in a veritable eon, I compiled a mixdisc for him on Friday night, summarily dubbed New London Calling. The track listing is below, ideal for a long train trip to see a far-flung friend....
New London Calling
"Three Legged Dog" by Firewater
"Start Wearing Purple" by Gogol Bordello
"The Great Annihilator" by Swans
"Cut You Up With A Linoleum Knife" by Mastodon
"Keep Forgetting" by the Cinematics
"Borneo" by Firewater
"Oh Timbaland" by Timbaland
"Your Touch" by the Black Keys
"Sick, Sick, Sick" by the Queens Of The Stone Age
"We Are Him" by the Angels of Light
"Phantom Limb" by the Shins
"Revenge" by the Plain White T's
"Wildcat" by Ratatat
"Jack The Ripper" by the Horrors
"Temptation" (a Heaven 17 cover) by Cradle of Filth
"Empire" by Kasabian
"Winter's Wolves" by the Sword
"Jesus Christ" by Brand New
"What Happened to Smith?" by Life In A Blender
"Not an Addict" by K's Choice
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