Commuter Column: The Conversation (EDIT)

Sometimes, when I'm running late, as I make my way towards an open car of the train, docked in Grand Central Terminal, I'll scan the windows to see if I know anybody I'm friendly with. A face is what I'm looking for, really; a face I recognize.

The reason for this is two-fold, really: on a crowded train (as they almost certainly are), you'd rather be rubbed up next to someone you know personally, as opposed to someone who is sweaty and weird and might try to grab your inner thigh (this hasn't happened to me yet, but I'm fairly certain it's only a matter of time). It also eases the pain of making someone move their bag/purse/box of shrunken human heads easier from that empty middle seat because, hey, I know the person sitting beside your bag/purse/box of shrunken human heads.

And when you're desperate for a train buddy, just about anyone will do.

It doesn't have to be someone you've gone out to dinner with and shared one of those divided "Best Friends" necklaces where you have "Best" and he or she has "Friends" with. In fact, it can just be someone you know informally. But the question that should loom largest is: do you think that you can carry on a conversation with this person for more than an hour? I think, trapped in an enclosed metal tube with a bunch of drunk yuppies, I don't think I'd be able to talk to my own father for an hour, but in these situations you lower your standards and get on with it.

Some other things to take into consideration: you won't be able to listen to your music (yes, even if you just downloaded that three-disc Joanna Newsom thing) and you won't be able to read. Sitting down next to someone locks you in to a conversation, whether you like it or not. You two are inseparable for the entire trip and have to fill that up with catching up, idle chitchat, asking about how so-and-so is doing and talk about who you think will win the Best Picture Oscar in the expanded, ten-movie field. Results may vary.

But I've found that this offers more positives than negatives, even if there are lulls where you either don't talk or have to sit in shocked silence as you hear about their recent trip to India and the strangely erotic multi-person rubdown/massage they got while they were there. The biggest positive I can think of is that it keeps you awake. There are few things worse than nodding off on the way home and waking up in a town not your own. Talking to someone on the ride home, even if you barely know them, cuts that possibility out of the equation and with it gets you out of the frantic disorientation and scramble to get someone to pick you up from whatever dusty, late night station at which you end up.

On an even deeper level it does remind you that the people you ride the train with are actual people and not just huffing, grunting animals that take personal offense when you tell them you'd like them to move their briefcase so you can sit down. And more than that, these people suffer through the very same indignities you do and are juts as exhausted, worn out, and embittered by their commute. It's then that you realize a little company goes a long way.

Actual Journalism: Lather, Rinse, Repeat

I reviewed three "Psycho"-related new books for the Fairfield County Weekly this week. Read it here.

Pop Culture Blog Post: The Triumphant Return of Hall & Oates

Four words: it's about fucking time.

As a lifetime Hall & Oates fan (almost literally - I can still remember picking up a Hall & Oates Greatest Hits disc at a San Antonio-area Best Buy when I was about ten), it seems that Daryl Hall and John Oates are about to retake the cultural zeitgeist.

Exhibit A: Bonnaroo, the hipster nirvana/huge-ass music festival, has recently announced that "Daryl Hall and Chromeo" will be a part of the lineup. If not hearing that the New York-based electro duo with a dude that pioneered electro pop isn't enough to get your blood charged-up, then head on over to Daryl Hall's wonderful website Live at Daryl's House to see the two bands jam together (just click here). Results are glorious.

Exhibit B: The Bird and the Bee, one of the country's greatest pop bands, is set to unleash "Guiltless Pleasures, Vol. 1: A Tribute to Daryl Hall and John Oates" in March. As someone who saw the duo perform "I Can't Go for That" at the Fairfield Theatre Company last year, I can tell you that this album is going to be off the hook. And the indie kids are going to love it.

Exhibit C: Hall and Oates are still awesome.

When did this resurgence begin?

I'll point to the mediocre romantic comedy "(500) Days of Summer," released last summer. The highlight of that movie was a prolonged musical number in which Joseph Gordon-Levitt sings and dances along to Hall & Oates classic "You Make My Dreams." (Watch it here.) And the movie was pre-packaged for the Urban Outfitters generation and a lot of young adults really loved that movie and bought the DVD.

Oh and speaking of the DVD (or Blu-ray), when you opened the DVD what fluttered out?

A flyer for the new Hall & Oates box set.

And I say: bring it on.

ACTUAL JOURNALISM BONUS: Read my write-up of a recent Hall & Oates show (done for the Fairfield County Weekly) here.

Pop Culture Blog Post: What's the Matter Marty?

Seeing a movie early (and posting your review early) is a kind of nerve-racking process. After all, going out their before everyone else makes you particularly vulnerable, especially in this day in age where critical dissention is not encouraged or even evaluated much; instead it's all about the aggregated critical consensus as posted on Rotten Tomatoes/Metacritic. Critical individualism (at atmosphere that bred greats like Andrew Sarris and Pauline Kael) has been replaced by the hive mind.

So it was kind of a shock to see the collective shoulder shrug given to Martin Scorsese's wild, emotionally resonant new movie "Shutter Island." I went gaga over it (you can read my review for The Playlist here - at the time I posted my review there were only three reviews up at Metacritic) but most, including A.O. Scott at The New York Times (review here) and Dana Stevens at Slate (review here), two of my favorite critics, have given it the seesawing hand of indifference and disappointment.

Ever the voice of reason, Glenn Kenny, formerly of Premiere Magazine, wrote an impassioned and deeply personal review of the movie on his blog (here). Read it, and let the discussion rage on. At the very least, a lot of people are going to be talking about this movie, which is never a bad thing.

Also, critical revisionism seems to come back around fairly quickly. When Terrence Malick's "The New World" opened in 2004, nobody really gave a shit. But when everyone was releasing their Top Films of the Decade lists, it was invariably on there (Time Out New York's extensive critics poll had it in the top 10). I have this great book called "The Critics Were Wrong" that collects reviews that, at the time, panned films that everyone now considers truly great, important works.

So "Shutter Island's" time will come. It's just not now.

Commuter Column: Is This Bag Taken?

One of the many things that Metro North conductors are generally terrible at (besides far-reaching concepts like "customer service") is telling people to remove their bags, purses, suitcases, or unfolded copies of The New York Times off the seat so that someone (like myself) can sit down. Instead, people just take up as much room as they can. It's like a tiny, moving version of urban sprawl, and every white guy is a mini-mall. Sure, you'll hear the occasionally announcement over the intercom: "Please make sure all seats next to you are available for other customers, the train is very crowded today" or something to that effect, which doesn't take into account the fact that every day the train is very crowded and the even more important fact that nobody listens to those stupid announcements.

Once I made a move that can only be described as Mario Bros.-like, since the two people at the opposite ends of a three-seat row weren't budging and had their shit in the middle. I hopped, like the mustachioed plumber, vertically and landed smack-dab in the middle of the two men. It was kind of impressive but my butt really hurt afterwards. But I was proving a point. Or something.

But recently I've noticed that it's gone beyond just the seat next to you. Now commuters are occupying the racks above the seats too - and not just the racks about their seats.

Just the other day I was getting on the train and I went to sit down in an open two-seater. I went to put my bag and jacket in the overhead rack only to find that it was completely taken up by a large duffle bag and jacket. The woman, sitting in the two-seater behind me, had nothing in her allotted overhead space. Instead, she was monopolizing mine.

"Excuse me miss," I said, calmly. "I know this is your train and I'm just riding in it, but I would really appreciate the use of the overhead rack."

She then launched into a tirade. She had a sharp Middle Eastern accent that did a lot to accentuate her fury. Much of what she said couldn't be printed here. I'm not sure if her indignation sprang from the fact that my wise-assery rubbed her the wrong way or if it was just shock from someone actually calling her on her selfishness.

After her screaming fit (hopefully therapeutic for her) was over, I looked at her and said, "You know what, I'm not sure I really want to sit next to all of this" (at which point I waved my hand in the general vicinity of her face) "anymore." Then I walked down to an adjacent car and had a perfectly pleasant ride home. When you're riding the rails every day, you've got to take to heart the immortal words of Jay-Z: brush that dirt off your shoulders (just hopefully not into the unused seat next to you).