I must admit that I am severely spoiled, when it comes to public transportation. Having lived in Moscow for half a decade and spent nearly three hours a day commuting, I grew accustomed to the impeccable logic of the one of the world's largest cities' "metro". There are, as I see it, two major rules, which the builders followed through the whole process, and oh, boy, they work; they really do.
Rule one: there is one line per physical track. If you got on the train in a hurry you don't have to worry about what train you are on, A, B, C, or E, and whether you have to get off on the next stop and wait for your train, because this one ain't the one you need. It always is.
Rule two: the platform is always between the tracks. If you spaced out, fell asleep, or for any other reason missed your stop, all you have to do is get off, cross the platform, get on the train and go back.
It is simple and it works like a charm. Overall structure is simple as well; one circular line, encasing most of the city and connecting most of the major railroad terminals, and several "rays", crossing the circle and connecting center of the old city to the outskirts of the metropolis.
If we compare this to, say, NYC subway system, we'll see how confusing and inconvenient it is, with all the lines chaotically intertwined in some places and totally absent in others, different lines sharing same tracks, and suddenly parting after. My personal favorite is when you get on the train, like E, and it turns itself into another, like F—in Moscow it would be impossible, here it's common practice.
Well, everybody in New York has to deal with that somehow, and everybody does.
Friday morning I took the horn with me to the office, planning to attend a jam session in the City late night, same one I went to about a month ago. I figured that if I return home after work, I would probably not find in my heart to take the car to the City that same evening, and certainly will not take the train.
So I dragged the case to work and after a full day of working ended up facing a very hard question: what am I going to do for several hours I have to fill before the jam starts?
I hanged out in the office until 8 pm, working while I was still able to. Tried to watch a Herbie Hancock DVD I thoughtfully brought from home, but soon stopped, because it just felt weird, sitting behind the desk and watching DVD on my laptop. I can't just watch anything on a computer screen. The computer's got a keyboard, that's why. It's for working, duh.
I was for a while entertained by the task of getting the DVD to play, because, for some mysterious reason, Dell (and, probably, other Windows machines as well) laptops with DVD-drives do not com with DVD players. I see no logic behind that, but hey, it's Windows, there is no logic. When you insert a disk, a dialog pops-up, asking you if you want the disk played by Windows Media Player, you click "Yes", and it starts WMP, which in turns, says that it can't play the disk. Simple and efficient. Now you have to buy a decoder, unless you download VLC Media Player which plays pretty much anything that moves for free.
Anyway, it felt odd, so I packed and took off, heading for the Upper West.
Due to aforementioned complexity of the NYC subway structure, I have completely failed to locate uptown-bound E train, so I took 1 (which was OK just as well) to a 96 street and walked to a place.
There was no one playing at first, then the pianist emerged from behind a kitchen—I recognized him from the last jam, he was a guest player—, sat down and started to play solo. It was way to early for a jam, still 8:30-ish, so I had to sit through his act first, then listen to the host band for another set, and then, may be, play.
And of course, you can't just sit in a restaurant and listen to the music, so I had to order.
By 9:30 I was totally finished with my very well prepared and very upper-west-side-priced dinner. That niche of productively spending time was covered. I yet had to figure out a way of spending another couple of hours there, preferably without drinking myself silly, for I was going to play later, although the only force, driving me at that point was my own stubbornness: I couldn't cope with the idea of me going home after all the troubles I've gone through from carrying the horn to the city in the morning to paying $50 for steak and salad. I was dog tired and sleepy, and listening to a piano solo for two hours did not really help. I resorted to a modest Cap'n Morgan on the rocks, and managed to stretch it to an hour worth of decent adaptation of miscellaneous standards.
The host band arrived around 10 pm, same instruments, drums-bass-piano trio, different people, though, nevertheless, all good players. They looked new to the place, and there was a brief moment of confusion, when manager asked me If I am the one playing tonight ("no, I am here for the jam—planning on sitting in later on..." "I see..."). They did a set by themselves, as it usually done, then took a healthy break.
I looked around the steakhouse, tracing any possible guest players, beside me, and realized that I am the only one. I also realized that it's raining like in Noah's times. Crap, thought I, I can't even take off, first, I already said I'm here for a jam and taking off will be considered rude, like I don't want to play with them, second, it's raining really hard and I have a laptop with me; and it's clear, that nobody is coming in this weather.
It's not like I didn't want to play, I did, that was the idea, but to attend a jam is one thing, and to give an improvised concert is a totally different story. You can compare jam to a chat between several people, while being the only one talking is a bit more like a monologue; and that was something, I was not prepared to do.
The band returned and started playing, however they did not announce any jam, just played more standards one after another.
I waited for an invitation of some sort at first, but they kept playing, and started Summertime. I set up my horn and came up to the stage, got a inviting nod from the band leader, played a solo, then, when it was time, took the melody out. I wasn't really happy with my solo, I was dead tired, and it showed. "Nice... Call the tune, man what do you want to play?" I hate this, thought I, and I don't remember any... this one may, be? "How about a bossa? This one, what's it called..." "Blue Bossa, sure..." We played, I played another forgettable solo.
The took a break after that, I inspected the weather conditions and realized that the rain had stopped. I packed, thanked the band and fled the scene.
It took me two hours to get home, and I missed my stop, because the train I was on, which was supposed to go local, went express at 1 am for some mysterious reason. I got out on Jamaica, one of the few stations where they do have a platform between the tracks, but the tracks in the direction back to my stop were occupied by a maintenance vehicle and it looked parked there for good.
I walked home. I think I am still tired.
Somehow hight life is proving itself quite difficult lately.
Rule one: there is one line per physical track. If you got on the train in a hurry you don't have to worry about what train you are on, A, B, C, or E, and whether you have to get off on the next stop and wait for your train, because this one ain't the one you need. It always is.
Rule two: the platform is always between the tracks. If you spaced out, fell asleep, or for any other reason missed your stop, all you have to do is get off, cross the platform, get on the train and go back.
It is simple and it works like a charm. Overall structure is simple as well; one circular line, encasing most of the city and connecting most of the major railroad terminals, and several "rays", crossing the circle and connecting center of the old city to the outskirts of the metropolis.
If we compare this to, say, NYC subway system, we'll see how confusing and inconvenient it is, with all the lines chaotically intertwined in some places and totally absent in others, different lines sharing same tracks, and suddenly parting after. My personal favorite is when you get on the train, like E, and it turns itself into another, like F—in Moscow it would be impossible, here it's common practice.
Well, everybody in New York has to deal with that somehow, and everybody does.
Friday morning I took the horn with me to the office, planning to attend a jam session in the City late night, same one I went to about a month ago. I figured that if I return home after work, I would probably not find in my heart to take the car to the City that same evening, and certainly will not take the train.
So I dragged the case to work and after a full day of working ended up facing a very hard question: what am I going to do for several hours I have to fill before the jam starts?
I hanged out in the office until 8 pm, working while I was still able to. Tried to watch a Herbie Hancock DVD I thoughtfully brought from home, but soon stopped, because it just felt weird, sitting behind the desk and watching DVD on my laptop. I can't just watch anything on a computer screen. The computer's got a keyboard, that's why. It's for working, duh.
I was for a while entertained by the task of getting the DVD to play, because, for some mysterious reason, Dell (and, probably, other Windows machines as well) laptops with DVD-drives do not com with DVD players. I see no logic behind that, but hey, it's Windows, there is no logic. When you insert a disk, a dialog pops-up, asking you if you want the disk played by Windows Media Player, you click "Yes", and it starts WMP, which in turns, says that it can't play the disk. Simple and efficient. Now you have to buy a decoder, unless you download VLC Media Player which plays pretty much anything that moves for free.
Anyway, it felt odd, so I packed and took off, heading for the Upper West.
Due to aforementioned complexity of the NYC subway structure, I have completely failed to locate uptown-bound E train, so I took 1 (which was OK just as well) to a 96 street and walked to a place.
There was no one playing at first, then the pianist emerged from behind a kitchen—I recognized him from the last jam, he was a guest player—, sat down and started to play solo. It was way to early for a jam, still 8:30-ish, so I had to sit through his act first, then listen to the host band for another set, and then, may be, play.
And of course, you can't just sit in a restaurant and listen to the music, so I had to order.
By 9:30 I was totally finished with my very well prepared and very upper-west-side-priced dinner. That niche of productively spending time was covered. I yet had to figure out a way of spending another couple of hours there, preferably without drinking myself silly, for I was going to play later, although the only force, driving me at that point was my own stubbornness: I couldn't cope with the idea of me going home after all the troubles I've gone through from carrying the horn to the city in the morning to paying $50 for steak and salad. I was dog tired and sleepy, and listening to a piano solo for two hours did not really help. I resorted to a modest Cap'n Morgan on the rocks, and managed to stretch it to an hour worth of decent adaptation of miscellaneous standards.
The host band arrived around 10 pm, same instruments, drums-bass-piano trio, different people, though, nevertheless, all good players. They looked new to the place, and there was a brief moment of confusion, when manager asked me If I am the one playing tonight ("no, I am here for the jam—planning on sitting in later on..." "I see..."). They did a set by themselves, as it usually done, then took a healthy break.
I looked around the steakhouse, tracing any possible guest players, beside me, and realized that I am the only one. I also realized that it's raining like in Noah's times. Crap, thought I, I can't even take off, first, I already said I'm here for a jam and taking off will be considered rude, like I don't want to play with them, second, it's raining really hard and I have a laptop with me; and it's clear, that nobody is coming in this weather.
It's not like I didn't want to play, I did, that was the idea, but to attend a jam is one thing, and to give an improvised concert is a totally different story. You can compare jam to a chat between several people, while being the only one talking is a bit more like a monologue; and that was something, I was not prepared to do.
The band returned and started playing, however they did not announce any jam, just played more standards one after another.
I waited for an invitation of some sort at first, but they kept playing, and started Summertime. I set up my horn and came up to the stage, got a inviting nod from the band leader, played a solo, then, when it was time, took the melody out. I wasn't really happy with my solo, I was dead tired, and it showed. "Nice... Call the tune, man what do you want to play?" I hate this, thought I, and I don't remember any... this one may, be? "How about a bossa? This one, what's it called..." "Blue Bossa, sure..." We played, I played another forgettable solo.
The took a break after that, I inspected the weather conditions and realized that the rain had stopped. I packed, thanked the band and fled the scene.
It took me two hours to get home, and I missed my stop, because the train I was on, which was supposed to go local, went express at 1 am for some mysterious reason. I got out on Jamaica, one of the few stations where they do have a platform between the tracks, but the tracks in the direction back to my stop were occupied by a maintenance vehicle and it looked parked there for good.
I walked home. I think I am still tired.
Somehow hight life is proving itself quite difficult lately.