Long stations for short trolleys

I wonder why the Green Line stations along Huntington Avenue are so long?  Was there really a time when three- and four-car trolleys plied between Lechmere and Forest Hills?  The underground stations have as much length so this systemic design must be for a reason.

The Red and Orange Line platforms are a perfect fit for their trains.  I haven't been on the Blue for awhile, but I assume they are likewise.  If I recall, Aquarium is very long, but they just bought some new Blue Line trains so the new models may fit now.

A two-car train is slow going down Huntington and South Huntington Streets as it is.  I can only imagine the effects on traffic of a four-car model going through Jamaica Plain.  Not that it wouldn't be good.  I'd visit JP more often.

Thanks to Dr. Hermes for today's illustration.

The T is not a trash can

Monday, February 1, 2010, 1:00 PM on the E Line between Northeastern and Brigham Circle, Car # 3806B...

An outbound trolley had just passed as I my way to the Northeastern platform.  I moved to sit down an enjoy my magazine while I waited for the next train but as I turned my head I saw it exit the tunnel headed my way.  I didn't make it to the head of the platform where the sign says "First Car Stops Here" but the driver saw I was the only person around so he stopped right in front of me.

One passenger disembarked and a young lady ran up behind me from across the street.  "After you," I said.  Ladies first, after all.

The young lady took the first seat available but I headed down the car a bit, toward the second set of doors.  The backwards facing single seat on the port side was empty and I headed for it, but on my way down the stairs I was struck that this was a remarkably dirty train.

I tried to read my magazine (the current New Yorker!) but I couldn't concentrate.  I kept being distracted by the disheveled surroundings.  I took out my notebook and this is what I recorded:

Tattered and scattered pages of the Metro newspaper like a hamster would leave behind if a hamster were the size of a person....sand and road salt everywhere...crumbs in three consistencies, five colors and six shades...one Hershey's Dark chocolate bar wrapper...one twisted rope of an individual serving Lay's potato chip bag (original flavor)...a Starbucks cup upside down and drooling light brown ichor...a phone card...a shred of cherry flavored Chap Stick wrapper...a golf pencil...a sheaf of lottery tickets uncurling on a bed of three discarded, scratched scratch-offs...wadded up tissues stained and held into their haphazard origami by earth toned, natural glues....a crumbled Chipotle Grill bag...a trail of Chipotle Grill napkins that led from the bag to the door....

The train arrived at Brigham Circle and I had to stop writing.  I don't blame the MBTA for this state of affairs at this time of day.  I'm looking at you, fellow citizen.  Don't be a litterbug.

Taking the Green Line to Somerville

I've lived in Boston for two and a half years and I've never been to Somerville.  I've been to Davis Square once, but never into the guts and heart of Somerville.  I did get a postcard once and that tempted me to visit, but not enough to actually get off my duff.  The only reason I've been to Cambridge and Malden is because I hopped a train to get there.

To someone in Dorchester, Somerville seems a lot like the Dot.  A city of three decked homes, one after another, lacking a sterling reputation.  The way people call Dorchester 'Poor-chester;' people call Somerville, 'Slum-erville.'  Despite what the rhyming slanderers have to say, Dorchester is a magnificent place, why not Somerville?

Why not, indeed?  I'm sure it is magnificent.  I daydream about Somerville now, waiting for spring.  In spring, a man's fancy turns toward Somerville.  I've heard palaver about it at the Harp and Bard on April evenings when the moon is full.  A carpenter will be talking to a bricklayer and they'll reach a spontaneous conclusion to head over to Somerville, "to see what fish might be biting."

It's very snowy today so I don't think I'll be heading over to Somerville this evening.  I will probably wait until the crocuses start poking up their heads.  By then, God willing, the Green Line Extension will be completed and I will get to Ball Square entirely by train.

Planning ahead

I went to an after hours meet-up at the Gardner Museum tonight. I do venture outside Dorchester, you know. I work outside the neighborhood and I often enjoy the cultural events this great, big city of Boston has to offer. The Dot does hit the spot but it is a part of a larger parcel of which I am also a part. Ah, Boston, let me count the ways I love thee... There is no time for that however.

Before going to the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum to meet some chums for cocktails and a tour, I thought I should replenish my internal combustion engine with some fuel. I stopped in for a plain slice of pizza on Tremont Street. It was a good decision. The neon sign outside the Tremont House of Pizza claims this pizza is the best in Boston. I wouldn't go that far, but I got more than my $1.50 worth for a plain slice. Nice guys run this shop and they make a decent pizza pie. My meal stuck to my ribs and to the walls of my arteries to get me through the night. It was a good thing too. The museum was selling a toast plate for $12.00. I had already filled up so I wasn't tempted to place an order.

As usual, after the festivities the Green Line sped me to Park Street where I transferred to the Red. Lickety-split, before I knew it I was back in Dorchester. I laid my head on pillow knowing that I live in Boston's best neighborhood and sweet dreams followed.

An overworked icon.

We were at Landmark Center the other day (before the snow) and noticed a familiar face while en route to the art store. If I recall recent franchise business news, UFood Grill is the recently renamed and rebranded Know Fat! restaurant chain. Any name would have been better and UFood is okay, I guess though I'm still not tempted to try it. The new mascot is a curious selection.

Isn't this winking cutie the guy from the Tedeschi candy bags?? Who licensed his appearance on behalf of the UFood chain? Does Tedeschi know he serves two masters? I doubt there's a lot of overlap between customer bases but where does a mascot draw the line? I'm all for making a buck and I realize times are tough, but how can this chipper imp keep smiling when he's appearing all over town? With one more endorsement, he may become the most overworked icon in Boston.

Where the good eats are

Yesterday was pleasant in Edward Everett Square, 59 degrees on the benches by the giant Clapp Pear Statue. Directly behind the park that sits at the bend where Columbia Road branches off the beginnings of Mass Ave and Boston Street, is a KFC that perfumes the neighborhood with the savory smells of fried poultry and Col. Sanders' special, secret blend of eleven herbs and spices. Taking advantage of the weather, five teen-aged boys were enjoying a ten-piece bucket of the Colonel's extra-crispy thighs, wings and breasts and commenting on their meal.

One boy said, "This chicken is okay but it's not as good as New York Fried Chicken. We could have walked three blocks and gone to New York."

The boy next to him replied, "There's nowhere to sit outside at New York. There's just a traffic island in the middle of Hancock Street. I'm not sitting there."

The boy next to him chimed in, "We could always sit inside. The tables are a little scrubby but the lights are bright. We would see what we're eating." This occured around 5:30 in the afternoon, dark in pre-winter solstice Boston even with the streetlights lit.

The second boy added this rejoinder: "Yeah, it's bright in there. It's bright enough to see the dirt."

The fourth boy said, "They run a clean joint but do you know where I want to go? KFC is okay and New York Chicken is okay but I'd rather be in Fenway. There's a Popeye's in Fenway."

The boy at the end of the last bench took a big bite of succulent breast meat. "Mmmm," he said, "Popeye's, now that's good fried chicken. They're living good in Fenway."

His companions nodded and smacked thier lips in agreement while they polished off the bucket. They made a plan to take the Red Line the next day and then any Green Line train but the "E" to Knemore Square. The first boy rubbed his belly and said, "I can't wait to pop in at Popeye's"

Resistence is Futile

We are sure that in as geek-heavy a city as Boston this observation has been made before but this is an acromymn that bears repeating. The Borg are a race of sentient machines that devour organic life in thier path for thier own, group-think purposes in the Star Trek mythos (the Next Generation). The letters arrange quite nicely if a Bostonian travels from Wonderland to State Street to Downtown Crossing to Park Street Station for a trip out to Riverside.

Blue-Orange-Red-Green. B-O-R-G.

Of course life lived pressed close to the flesh on the MBTA is more free and lively than that conjectured in sci-fi telenovelas. Isn't it Charlie? If there can be a Silver Line, can there be more than one Borg?

Acorns

Out of a little nut a majestic tree will grow. The oaks along Huntington Avenue beside Harvard Medical School are flush with acorns. They hang heavily on the ends of branches while leaves unfurl thier glossy, green leaves like stoutly inflexible pennants.

Longwood is not the most cheerful neighborhood in which to take a lunch hour stroll. The classrooms and labs have taken over the neighborhood and there aren't many shops and there isn't too much shade to paint a picturesque streetscape. Despite that, there are a few trees, like the 10-year-old oaks already mentioned, and there are benches where diners tuck into pizza slices and sandwiches. This is also ideal weather for girl- and boy-watching depending on your inclination.

I wouldn't recommend Longwood to tourists unless they are the type that groove over medical students, art students and people wearing hospital johnnies. Longwood is modernist ugly but it is lively. It doesn't thrum with an urban vibe, rather it hums with medical administrators ambling about the sidewalks killing time until the return thier cubicles. There are worse sights.

Manicures on the T

My nails need a little trimming so I thought I would blend in with the crowd and bring some clippers onto the T. I thought better of it in the end, but I got to wondering: what makes this act of personal hygiene so attractive to perform on the train? I see people clipping thier nails on the T all the time.

The Red Line is a popular line on which to perform this task, but the Blue and Orange lines seem equally inviting. I see less of this behavior on Green Lines trolleys, but once the streetcars get underground, the stainless steel clippers come out. Do dark windows make closet nail clippers come into the light? The Silver Line is the only branch of the MBTA that doesn't seem to tempt this urge to nip cuticles or cut off excess keratin. No one straphangs with a hangnail in Boston.

I live in Dorchester, and when I disembark at JFK/UMASS station I walk past plenty of front porches where people are clipping thier nails, letting the shards fly where they may onto the sidewalk. On front porches people clip thier toenails too, something I haven't yet witnessed on the T. Maybe I don't ride often enough.