SUSPICIOUS OF SUSPICIOUS

Last week Dan Barry wrote an article for the New York Times titled, 'What Does Suspicious Look Like?'. The article was interesting however it was the title that grabbed my attention.

I had just been thinking the same thing myself when riding the morning subway to work. It's true. What does suspicious look like and more importantly how will I know exactly what to look for when it arrives? You have to understand something. I live in New York. I ride the train every day with thousands of freaks - me counted among them. Take last week for example where I was faced with the most random combination of people: a man dressed like Richard Simmons reading a book titled, 'Potty Training: Easy as 1, 2 and 3", a Russian man with a bulbous nose and pocked face clutching a bug zapper on his lap, a Mexican guy with a giant stick full of multi-colored cotton candy, a transvestite resembling Mrs. Doubtfire, a homeless man with no arms or teeth holding a dirty Dunkin' Donuts cup under his chin while groaning, 'I'm hung-eee...I'm home-ess...' and a woman dripped in gold jewelry with a tiny rat of a dog in her purse wearing once of those elaborate hats women in England wear to weddings. Did they look suspicious? Yes. In a dangerous kind of way? No.

Last night on my way home however, I couldn't take my eyes off the guy sitting across from me. I first noticed him on the platform where he clutched a black backpack and zipped and unzipped it several times to peek inside. He also muttered to himself and giggled. The first thing I thought to myself was, 'oh great.'

He then boarded the train and looked around - eyes darted and sweat and more sweat poured off his temples. He continued to peek inside the backpack several more times and zipped and unzipped it over and over again. To make it worse he took out a mini-bible and chanted some prayer while giggling and by this time myself (and a few passengers around me) became visibly uncomfortable. Was this guy going to blow himself up or just nuts? More importantly, was I slowly turning into one of those paranoid New Yorkers? The kind that can barely step outside because the evil news media has somehow crept inside my brain and filled me with fear? At this rate I'd soon be one of those people I despise - New Yorkers that hold their ears when the subway car pulls into the station or when a fire truck drives past.

Despite all this rationale I did what any paranoid, overly active imagination type person like myself would do - I got off at Delancy. The minute I did this and my body was overcome by the suffocating heat from the platform I thought to myself, 'oh great.'

While I waited for the next, much more 'safe' train (?!?) to come along, I was surrounded by an old man that danced around me clutching two bananas and a woman in a wig with a peg leg wearing a spraypainted 'Selena' T-shirt who sang loudly and off key to 'Smooth Operator' on her headphones. By the time the second train came along fifteen minutes later I just felt foolish. There was no way someone like me would EVER be able to predict what was and was not suspicious. Ever.

Banana man, Smooth Operator peg leg and I finally boarded the F train. This time I sat across from someone I couldn't help but feel suspicious of despite everything I'd just reflected on. It was a Joe Wall Street guy with an 'American Psycho' look in his eyes. He sat with one hand that clutched his hard, black leather gym bag and with the other...he played with his balls.

SETTLING IN

When I travel, it often takes me a while to settle in when I reach my final destination. Part of the reason is that I know it's not my final destination. My final destination is home again so often I think what is the point? All this packing, unpacking and repacking again.

While most normal people hit a hotel room and immediately stuff their crap into hotel dressers, spread their travel kit contents across bathroom countertops and hang their clothes within the hotel closets - I am quite the opposite. It's not until day two or three that I begin to settle in. Take things out. Make myself at home. Until then you can find me groping an extended arm into my wheeling suitcase reaching for my toothbrush only to zip it all up once again when I am finished.

I'm not sure where I developed this resitance to settling in. It could be as simple as being lazy. But I recall being like this in college as well. I went to an all women's college in the south where decorating your room was taken to the extremes. While the majority of the women were busy turning their freshman dorm rooms into mini B&B's - frilly throw pillows, leafy plants, wicker baskets full of magazines, etc. - I barely unpacked. By the time parents weekend came and my mother inquired about the three cardboard boxes still full and now serving as a night stand, I just shrugged and said, "What's the point? I'm leaving in a few years anyway."

E is a big inspiration in this area. Take for example our recent arrival in Maine. While the cabin hadn't been boarded up for the summer, it certainly needed some settling in. The moment we got here E ran about putting out lawn furniture, mowing the lawn, pushing curtains back and emptying the back screened porch of it's various contents - canoes, paddles, etc. He set up the hammock between two birch trees. He fixed the mini grill. He even put bird seed in the bird feeder. If it weren't for him, I'd probably be satisfied keeping my wheeling suitcase in the trunk of the rental car and curled up in the dark (curtains drawn) reading a book on a cushionless porch chair or even in the canoe.

Despite only being here three nights though, I am starting to see the point to all this. When you take the time to do these little things it really does matter. I feel much more relaxed then I might not having really committed to being here. For now I am off for a swim. E has wheeled the giant black inner tube down to the pond and I plan to joing him. Bob around for a while in the warm sun. Take in the mountain view. Settle in.