I think my love affair with the one-train seat-guaranteed commute is ending. Critical concern for all, I know. I thought it would be a point of bonding between me and the person who encouraged me to make the change. We would talk about the differences between the N and the W, how the W had a classier clientele since they were not headed out to other boroughs. THe N peeps would give a sidelong, chagrinned glance at us as we declined the N and chose instead to wait for the W. We’d get catcalls of “Too good for the N train, buddy? What’s the matter? We’re not good enough?”
Yeah, right. These conversations barely happened, all in jest, of course, although it is not wrong to report that people boarding the N sometimes do a double-take when noticing that a small number of people remain on the platform, not boarding the N. Most probably think the N covers more bases than the W, but they probably consider the Brooklyn connection, which is not on the W train denizen’s radar.
Enough of this. These are the machinations of someone who just got to work and barely remembers anything of the experience. I very tall and unusual looking woman sat across from me. The neighborhood map at 36th Avenue still shows the Fisher Landau Museum of Art as being open after it closed something like 5 or 6 years ago. There is some irony in its endurance on that map, as it was one of Astoria’s best kept secrets. Now here it is, hiding in plain sight, years after its dissolution, inviting people to come find it long after the opportunity to do so has passed.
I have to admit, the new live stream of my window cam with the payphone radio overlay is kind of interesting. Different, if nothing else.
