Ukuleles and the L Train

All subway platforms are not created equal. Some are busier, some are trashier, and some are not even subterranean, they are above ground. However, I have found that the L train platform at Union Square is consistently the happiest. For the uninitiated, the L train runs from 8th Avenue and 14th Street in Manhattan through Union Square, across to the east side and into Brooklyn. The first time I remember being on it was a Saturday night about three years ago. A friend and I were headed to Brooklyn to hear a mutual friend's debut singing Gilbert & Sullivan tunes accompanied by a ukulele quartet. This is the type of performance event for which one must go to Brooklyn, as nothing like that seems to happen in Manhattan. As we headed to the L train, we ran into Lauren Graham (Lorelai Gilmore) on the street. We chatted a bit and then went our separate ways. Apparently Lauren Graham does not take the L train, but Lorelai Gilmore would have fit right in. Everyone was chatting, sometimes even with strangers. People were especially animated given that on all of the other subway lines people generally try to keep to themselves.

This past Saturday night I was back on the L Train platform at Union Square, trying to stay warm by taking the train instead of walking a few blocks like I normally would. On the platform, a guitarist was playing hits of the 70s and 80s for tips. Instead of pretending to ignore said musician, people applauded at the end of each song. This is not normal subway behavior. No one applauds for subway performers, except for the occasional Michael Jackson impersonator.

Late on Saturday night, the L train only comes about every 20 minutes, so there is time for a small concert as people wait. A middle aged woman walked up to the musician and pulled a ukulele out of her full length fur coat and started to play along. I started to wonder why so many people play ukulele in Brooklyn. Two other people had guitars with them, and just as it seemed like a small band might form, the train pulled up and the moment was lost.

The subway platform is often just a holding area where a semi-lifeless mass of humanity waits until they can continue toward their destination. L Train people embrace the journey, at least on Saturday nights.

Cocktail Party Questions

When meeting for the first time, Americans love to ask "What do you do?" That question is often followed by "Where do you live?" It seems we want to get a basic framework for the people we meet, and these are two of the categories by which we box people in.

When I say that I am an Urban Nomad, it generally confuses people. I don't fit in a box. Admittedly, the Urban Nomadic life is not something that people generally choose. After people understand the definition (see sidebar of this blog) they often say that they could not do it. I understand that some people need to provide a stable home for their children or have other good reasons for staying in one place, but this is not generally given as the reason that people say they could not be a nomad. Usually they say that they want to be surrounded by their possessions. They can't imagine not having immediate access to their things. Are the possessions a comfort and stability, or do they define who they are at the very core? If they loose their possessions will they loose comfort or loose a core part of their identity?

These may sound like extreme questions, but I was once in band with a guy who refused to put down his electric guitar. Ever. He always had it, and even if it wasn't plugged in he still played it. We would try to have a serious discussion (as all bands have to have from time to time), and he would half participate while he was still practicing his guitar. We asked him to put it down. He wouldn't put it down. He said that the guitar was a part of who he was.

We all fall somewhere on a continuum in our connection to our possessions, ranging from completely detached to completely attached. We probably also all have different levels of how many possessions we need in order to feel like we have enough. I appreciate nice things and comfortable surroundings and take good care of the things that I have, but I aspire to reduce the number of things that I find completely necessary. I've already reduced into a small storage space. Perhaps more reductions will be in my future. Or, perhaps I will settle into another place soon. Until then, I will continue to confuse people at cocktail parties when they ask that inevitable question, "Where do you live?"