Chapter 75.7: Blogs From the Past

Last night I dreamed I had a blog that I'd forgotten. (Actually, I do have one I no longer show and another that I can't find any more. These things are like ex-girlfriends.) [Author's note: After I posted this item and the image, there was a very disturbing story about some depraved stalker of Uma Thurman. It sounds like that man needs help, and I hope people leave poor Uma alone.]

In the dream, I pondered what I might write about in this newly re-discovered blog, why had I abandoned it, what long neglected story threads might I string back together...

Last night on the train, I did what I said I'd do: I worked on my book. It felt good, though I realized somewhere between Maplewood and Millburn that I need to pay closer attention to where I am or I might not have time to get off the train with my laptop intact.

I believe the dream was a sign to me to continue writing, to reawaken my thoughts. I'm sinking into myself again, I suspect. I apologize for all the self-centered blog posts that may follow.

Chapter 64.1: The PATH Most Taken

Riding on the PATH train this morning, while ensconced in the last forty pages of the slow but enjoyable anthology of Graham Greene works I've been reading for the past few weeks, I was jolted back to reality by the grinding and grating of the train. It slowed and stopped. Nothing to worry about -- happens from time to time. Then it began again, only this time with a nasty grinding sound like I've heard when my car is about ready to die. And on toward Christopher Street. Reading during the several minutes of windy, wavy travel is like resting with my thoughts on a hammock in a soft breeze: quickly forgotten until the next time you experience it. After people disembarked at Christopher Street, the train urged from the station once again. It barked and squealed in frustration before finally it moved. At Ninth Street, the movement was the same at first. Then, quite suddenly, the train jumped with a terrible crunching sound. Passengers looked at each other as if to say "What the fuck was that?" A man beside me was reading his book. Without looking up, he said, "That's not a good sound."

In my mind, I joked. "We finally shook off that brake we didn't need. Now we can really get moving!"

At 14th Street, we arrived -- brakes intact -- and I noticed far more people than usual disembarking with me. Seems they'd had enough too.

Chapter 63.8: What's Happening?

My train this morning was delayed -- a New York train ahead of it was about 15 minutes late -- so we were late into Hoboken. When we arrived, a large crowd congregated at the head of the stairs to the PATH trains below. I took another route down, but still met with a line of people. When I finally got onto the platform, I saw one 33rd Street train packed to the gills with people and crowds of humanity standing around, looking confused. I asked a man if any announcement had been made about the delay. "Two Amtrak trains are blocking the way into New York," he said. I nodded and my mind was awhirl. Was it worse than that? What would I find when I entered New York. July 7 was the anniversary of the underground attacks in London. Am I safe?

So far, I am. I don't know yet what happened. Perhaps it was just two trains blocking the way into New York. Or maybe it's simply Monday after people have taken vacation.

Chapter 63.4: Albatross!

So, President Bush has commuted the sentence of Scooter Libby. I think that tells us that the president knows he has limited power and is in his lame duck period. And this will be one more nail in President Bush's legacy coffin.

The president's decision was praised by conservatives for his decision, and vilified by Democrats. But I'd like to know what other Republicans say about this. What's Arlen Specter's opinion in this matter? He's the former chair of the senate judicial committee, what does he think? I've not read enough stories to determine whether he's been interviewed, but he certainly wasn't the first of the Republicans to advance an opinion.

The president has another albatross around his neck. It's not as big as Iraq or Katrina, but in some ways it's a worse thing to be remembered for; it could be argued that he flouted judicial authority, thumbed his nose at the system. Does he even care anymore?