Cars

Al Gore says cars are ruining the world. At least, contributing to its global warming problem. Some yuppie notion of environmentalism is supposed to advocate greener fuel, hybrid vehicles, and alternative modes of transportation. Like the bike I’m too afraid to ride in Manhattan. Cars are more a burden than a blessing here, anyway.

But I’m a girl who’s always loved her automobiles. In high school, my car was my escape. Backing down the driveway — faster than my parents liked — forcing it into first and speeding away angrily away with no destination in mind. Or packing up the car for my trip up to college, finally moving out of the quiet, tree-filled neighborhood I had outgrown. Yes, the A Train (as I named her) was my parents’ car, but it was also my vehicle of freedom. It was the one thing I could control in the world of high school, bullshit drama.

I can’t stand some of these modern cars. I am a proud, key-carrying member of the Chicks Who Shift Sticks club. I like the good old fashion German automobiles. I want to make the engine roar.

Still, Mr. Gore makes some good points. And hybrids are so eco-trendy these days.

— Andrea

The Metro North

I am not a morning bird. The only time I willingly wake early is Christmas day—when I was 7. Yet three times a week I rise with my 6 a.m. alarm to make the Metro North train that takes me to work. Okay, I let it snooze for 15 minutes. God knows I need my beauty sleep.

Then I shower, dress, pack my papers and laptop, almost forget to lock the door, wave to my neighbor across the street with his dog, greet the doorman as I pass the W, and hustle to the Union Square station where I’m packed in with other sleepy commuters on an uptown 4.

My friends think it’s awful. Waking to distrustful darkness. $23 train tickets. A big line at Starbucks for a small coffee.

Really, I find the routine pleasant. A city awakening, the activity at Grand Central. The conductors like me, because I take out my headphones to say hello as they punch my ticket. A time to collect my thoughts and start off the day with the right soundtrack. (I’m back on this Joy Division kick.) I can relax under the comfortable rustling of Wall Street Journals and Financial Times. I like being the girl in jeans among the hedge fundies in their ties and button-down shirts. Sometimes I call my mom and tell her about last weekend’s loft parties so they know how cool I am. Usually, I just read Hesse, which is cool enough. I have three train crushes: we share the front car and follow the same path to work. It seems odd to be this familiar with such strangers. We have never spoken; we never even acknowledge each other. They’re probably all bankers. Need I say more?

One day, I expect to see them in the East Village with their girlfriends, and it will break my heart. At least, it will be awkward.

— Andrea