A Brain, A book, and A Ballpoint Stage Two "Destination Nawlins"

Stage 2 is now complete as I sit back in the train station - Union Station of Chicago. Pope Benedict the ... oh I forget the Roman Numerals behind - Well anyway he is being sworn in on the TV. So now it is time to wonder, what is this man will have to offer the world? Yes I said man; he ain’t Buddha or that son of a virgin, no matter how hard he or any of his predecessors try or has tried.

I picked up my ticket at the window - previously buying it online. The ticket woman knew that Jazz fest is going on and that there was no other reason for a transient such as me to be heading to Nawlins.

Now I just sit here as an orchestra of chatter fills the air of Union Station as all are waiting, some patiently, some hurried. An older woman passes by the gate as the call last call for the Illinois Zephyr. Her son and daughter run in, one you can add the -in-law to being that I can’t figure out which.

"We have three minutes till they lock us out - hurry up."

Ah yes 911 is still ever present in the world of public transportation. A voice comes on over the PA addressing the fact that you should not bring any packages with you on the train if some strange person gave it to you. This makes me wonder what has happened to common sense.

The world today sure has changed as cell phones are fixed to a good number of people waiting here. The other half are glued to the TV news program which isn’t really news just a window into the trends of the day and human interest stories.

This wasn’t the first breakout of the cell phone rash as the bus offered many people trying to escape the monotony of sitting on the Bus.

What people must think of the stranger with a pad and paper scribbling down a shit load of words? They see the guitar case and pray that I pick it up and start playing so the monotony is broken and they can peak into the window of my soul. Or maybe they just want to read the crap I’m writing. Will they? No, these are not the type of people searching for the Neo - Beat - hipster - drug addict - writing from the bottom of his soul. These are the type of looking for the tabloid on the super center aisle, the next New York best seller, that classic Hemingway or the biography of that baseball giant.

An hour and forty minutes till the train leaves, maybe I should talk my way into a crochet lesson from that old lady over there or invite one of those Barbie dolls into doing things that her ken doll would never think of, "Whatever, like oh my god!" Wait strike that, dirty mind gone awry. Loveless lust strikes again and the pursuit of a meaningful relationship thwarted by a girl with too much makeup and time in the tanning booth, equaling the equation of a turn on the bed turn off out of.

Ipods replace the cell phone as the population sink away into their preferred soundscape.

Two Jazz aficionados walk in with the aura of multiple Jazz fest experiences under their belts. With a Thirty Five year tradition underway, wonder when their first was. Oh the waiting has taken hold of another in the form of slumber, again sleep breaks the Monotony. Boredom starved for another stretch of time.

"Have a good Trip, and don’t take no shit,"

The wise words of a conductor as I walk out onto the platform to board my train. I can only guess the weight of this human monstrosity, several thousand tons of metal bolted together to create a mode of transportation able to carry hundreds of people vast distances. It is dim lit as the only lights are around the windows and the faint glow of the stations 40 watt bulbs peering in. This is the only Amtrak train amongst nine visible tracks until the wall on the right and a metro train on the left. One can only imagine the good ol days before airplanes ruled the sky.

T minus 8 minutes till the train kicks into gear and starts the 19 hour ride down south to Nawlins. Ah yes the anticipation is building and my body seeks hibernation for the subconscious has a premeditated conception of the lack of sleep.

A voice comes on the PA, her Self Conscious out ways her courage. Her public speaking days must have been numbered so she took to the rails. She has an apparent accent but I can’t pick it out, when she comes around as she has promised I’ll ask. The students that have spilled over from the next car because of its noise can’t help but take the fodder and use it to their humorous will.

"Ah ha, take your shoes off for you safety,"

Did they miss hear that or did she really say that? Ah here she comes. Her courage comes out a little bit more in person.

Oh it must be an English accent.

"Don’t die, don’t die young, don’t die at all - Peter Pan."

Well read, at least in children stories. Finally moving, riding backward is always unnerving to me unless it’s under the power of my own two feat. Chicago at night is visible as the sun finishes its decent pass the sky line, the city aglow with a million street lights. The conductor takes my ticket and complains about the eight student refugees from the next car.

"We were short one seat so eight of you spilled over, Great, Great."

I take it back the accent has to be Scottish I’ve got to work on that one yet, especially being of that descent. Ah yes, the train is rolling the booze is flowing and the full moon is in bloom, bright orange over the black sky scattered with grey clouds. Johnny Depp is on the TV in the lounge playing his part in "Finding Neverland". Quite proper that this bookend is here in spirit maybe I can channel his loathing other half for the trip. After all this is becoming a "Rum Diary". I’ll have to make a trade for some Vodka that the kids across from me have.

Thank god for baseball, a few years ago I didn’t give a shit but now I can pick up a conversation with a complete stranger about the subject. Neifi Perez hit a home run ball into the glove of the subject of conversation of the last hour as the rum kicked in. Luckily I got to handle the ball before he left, the first such event of my life. It’s a wonder, you go through life with a glimpse of great sportsman but the actual grasp of a ball that has been homered is different. It is a touch of greatness, a feeling of the vibe of someone who has spent their whole life to get where they are, the vibe of a few thousand people cheering as that particular ball flies over one of the oldest parks left standing - Wrigley Field.

I find my way to the downstairs of the lounge car to get another cup of ice to mix the two liquids in the two bottles I have together. At the table directly in front of the stairs sits one of the students with the vodka talking to three other students. She notices me and asks,

"What ya drinking?"

"Oh the same thing as these guys,"

As I hold up my Nalgene bottle and refer to the fifth of Captain Morgan sitting prominently on the Table.

"You have a Nalgene full of rum?" She exclaimed.

"I was going to drink it hobo style."

"Then you saw me walk back with a cup of ice." She finishes my sentance.

Indeed she had led me to the Ice of salvation; rum is nice by itself but not warm. I sat down at a near by table. Across from me was a student from Carbondale who had his laptop out.

"I am surprised they ended the movies so quickly." I noted after the second movie Spanglish had ended.

"Would you like to watch another?" He answered with the displaying of Napoleon Dynamite on his screen.

The Scottish conductor came down to our level to check on us all and was obviously in the same state as us, Tipsy and conversationally abundant. She began telling the story of McSomethingRather who had two families neither having any inclination of the other existing until the death of said father McSomethingRather.

The movie was cut short by the arrival at Carbondale; the party was winding down so I found my way back to my seat. My body finally received its request for sleep.