Finally I got my ass out of the house and made it onto the nostalgia train. I remember knowing a couple of kids in high school who were train geeks and I thought they were complete idiots for caring about things like old trains, old token collections and the history of the subway. I see they were ahead of their time, or else I was just a jerk who couldn't appreciate a thing.
I especially like that it's a train to Forest Hills (even though this particular nostalgia route only goes until Queens Plaza).
The train we were on was, I think, from the 1930's but the MTA website isn't clear. People dressed up in flapper era costumes, and there were a pair of Navy people on our car. The MTA on-board staff was excited and friendly and it's likely the only time I've ever seen them talk to people and seem human rather than miserable.
Sunday, December 01, 2013
A couple of malcontents moved fom my building to Jackson Heights several months ago. Something about more space, cultural diversity, fewer rats, blah blah blah. And now, we find ourselves schlepping out there periodically, when it seems rude to make them come into the city yet again because we can't drag our lazy asses onto the F train. And today there was a chance that we'd get to go on the nostalgia train, up no such luck. We waited for a couple of trains but it didn't come, and then we were going to be too late to the party. Next time we will check the schedule and not rely on hopes and dreams.
So instead I took a nostalgia-like photo.
Jackson Heights has certainly changed since high school when my then boyfriend lived there and I spent a bit of time hanging around. It is now better, more colorful, more vibrant, and more Indians, who have brought a certain bling with them that is charming. Or, perhaps it's that the glumness of being a teenager has allowed me to open my eyes. Or, perhaps, it's that Jackson Heights has retained its essence while the rest of the city is being smothered by glass and steel buildings that come with shiny chain stores. This is what my world was like growing up, and I forget sometimes that it still exists in pockets. Thank god I don't have to revisit my actual life, because that is what nightmares are for.
Of course, I didn't get any photos to illustrate my point so you'll have to go see for yourself.
The last photo is a penguin statue on 75th St dressed for winter. I couldn't get the flash to work and people were waiting for me to stop taking photos, but I post in honor of the third grader who did the dressing, and whose name is unspellable -- Chuky is my best guess.