Sardines

Today was one of those days on public transportation where you wished you had a big gas-guzzling limo and driver to take you wherever. Home, Jeeves.

We were all hanging, like so many sides of beef, suspended from bars and handles, not that any of us could have fallen even if we wanted to. There was no where to move in the crush of bodies on the N-Judah.

Since it was hard to ponder anything else, I wondered why it was that this same type of contact, in the arena of the dance, is pleasurable, and yet the same type of closeness on a commuter train causes such stress and displeasure and whining.

I think what struck me most is that even though both situations require us to be physically close, often with total strangers who we'll never see again, that the need to be embraced or to embrace is what is paramount. In our day-to-day lives, it's so hard to get a passersby to even meet your eye, let alone smile at you. So how do we change so much from this public persona to such an intimate embrace? The person you are sandwiched next to on the train could just as easily be your dance partner at a milonga later that night. Maybe they should try playing tango music on the trains and see if we all get a little more comfortable with the commute.