Yelling "Fire" in a crowded T stop doesn't have the same effect.

I took inauguration day off so that I could watch the proceedings as they happened.  Since we don't have cable at our house, I headed off to a bar nearbye.  (Yes, they WERE showing it at all the libraries, but I was unsure what kind of scene that might be and I was pretty certain what it would look like at Doyle's, so I headed over there.)

As I walked down the stairs, I smelled smoke, and thought "Crazy JP!  Did somebody burn sage down here to cleanse the T on this new day of hope?!"  I saw some haze in the air, rolled my eyes, figured it MIGHT be some friction between train and rail, and continued trying to get CNN on my phone.  Eventually, I heard a man, almost shouting into the emergency call box beneath the escalators.

"... a small fire at Stonybrook station."

"Ok, sir, but you'll have to call a dispatcher."

"No, no.  I'm a passenger... on the T... and I'm reporting a FIRE here at Stonybrook station."

"Yes, sir.  I heard you, but you'll have to call the dispatcher."

At this point most of us on the platform had subtly scooted ourselves closer so that we could hear everything.  I'd looked around and realized that there was an actual fire on the line where the train to Forest Hills runs. The man had been bent over to get his mouth close to the call box, and at this, he straightened up and gave the most comically blank look I think I've ever seen.  We chuckled, and he tried again.

"Listen, I'm a PASSENGER, and I'm telling YOU that there's a FIRE at the T stop at Stonybrook station.  You WORK fo the T, I need YOU to call somebody!"

The woman started to protest but at this point the train to Oak Grove showed up and the man left the call box and boarded the train.  I also boarded the train (I ride this train everyday, and so even though I needed to go towards Forest Hills, I climbed on my usual train and rode a stop in the wrong direction.)  The passenger next to me asked "Do you smell smoke?"  "Yes." I said. "There's a fire at the Stonybrook station."  I said this calmly and looked at the man who'd been trying to do the right thing back there at the call box.  No reaction.  "Oh." Said the woman.  "Thank you for telling me."  Later, on the correct train, I had an identical conversation.  It was strange because I found the words "There's a fire at the Stonybrook T stop." terribly funny even though I really couldn't explain it.

and then, of course, I watched our nation's history change in front of us and drank a beer to celebrate.

Climbing

I was sitting on a big cozy cushion on a barn floor a few blocks from my house tonight when the man on stage asked us to turn off our cell phones.  I had not yet committed to taking off my jacket or hat, but was encouraged by the space heaters gathered around.  I didn't have my phone with me.  I ALWAY have it but today I dropped it and shattered the screen and so my new one was at home attached to my computer, remembering all the things my old phone knew, in no danger of disturbing the show.

The people around me were wearing lots of wool, and big boots and I wasn't the only one who'd kept my hat on.  The girl in front of me had a sign pinned to her back with numbers of Palestinan and Isreali casualties, that had white out beneath the numbers where she'd white them out again tomorrow to change them.  I hated looking at it, but my eyes kept going there, and I checked them,  18 and 718, as though she might white them out and change them during the singing.  The stage was lit by some strings of lights and a central red bulb, and a humidifier sat on the stage occasionally appearing to be a pathetic smoke machine.  I'm generally very good about remembering to turn off my phone at concerts, and since I hadn't done it I started a few times during the first song or two, remembering and then remembering that I had none.  The music was gorgeous, two groups of singers; one men, one women, one Georgian, one Appalachian, one from JP, one (mostly) from California (now).  We sang together, and by the end I was hatless and breathless. 

Earlier today I made my first trip to an Apple store...

I was cranky because I'd shattered my phone.  The people who worked there were all wearing t-shirts, except for the person whose job it was to open the door for people and cheerfully greet us; that person was dressed wierdly with a t-shirt and a hat and scarf.  I was late for my "appointment" with the "genius bar" and couldn't FIND the "genius bar" and resented having to ask someone how to find it.  I thumped up this huge, central, curving, invisible,  glass staircase awkwardly in my snowboots (we all thumped up and down it awkwardly and treacherously because we were all wearing snowboots) sweating in my long underwear.  I submitted to saying "genius bar" to someone too busy to look at me, followed their pointing finger up the REST of the staircase, stripped off all my over-layers and dumped them on a bench nearbye.  I took stock.  I was cranky, nervous, and shy and I had to shop AND admit that I'd droipped and broken a little, expensive computer that I keep in my pocket mostly so I can end disputes with wikis, don't have to ask directions, and so that I can read my friends witty responses to my witticisms on Facebook.  Yuck.  

I finally had to walk down those damn steps, having paid for and obtained my new phone and hot pink case (don't ask), and then donned my sweater, down vest, wool cape, hat, scarf and gloves. I was sure I'd fall down them and crash into some comfortable, cheerfully entitled-looking people. I teetered in the middle, and then kept going.  At the bottom was a man with a bottle of windex and a swiffer, gazing up at me and the steps under me.  He had a long day ahead of him, because we all were wearing snowboots covered in skunky ice.  I sighed then and smiled and apologized to the universe.

So, really, it was great when I didn't have my phone in the barn.  

It was great, and warm, and beautiful.