It is, of course, International Kissing Day, and thus by rights it ought to be time for one last kissing poem before cooling our jets a tad.

Alas, I've used up almost all of my good ones here and here and here and here and here (and long ago here (and longer ago here)).

But I think I have one last such poem up my sleeve to play against the curmudgeons (and it's not Catullus's call to "love and not give tuppence for the mutterence of old men's tut-tutterence.") [Note, incidentally, that nothing in International Kissing Day promotes public kissing, a much more dubious (if sometimes seductive) vice.]

Drunk as Drunk, by Pablo Neruda

Drunk as drunk on turpentine
From your open kisses,
Your wet body wedged
Between my wet body and the strake
Of our boat that is made out of flowers,
Feasted, we guide it-- our fingers
Like tallows adorned with yellow metal--
Over the sky's hot rim,
The day's last breath in our sails.

Pinned by the sun between solstice
And Equinox, drowzy and tangled together
We drifted for months and woke
With the bitter taste of land on our lips,
Eyelids all sticky, and we longed for lime
And the sound of a rope
Lowering a bucket down its well. Then,
We came by night to the Fortunate Isles,
And lay like fish
Under the net of our kisses.

Below I mention that the D.C. Metro trains always run an even number of cars, and speculatively attribute it to some bureaucrat's sense of balance. Amber Taylor emails to correct me:

[S]omething does prevent them from running trains with an odd number of cars:

Married pair:
Two transit railcars which are semi-permanently coupled to each other and which share certain common equipment. Metrorail trains only operate trains with an even number of cars because it operates married pairs.

I'm not sure who decided to only purchase cars in married pairs, but this is the cause of WMATA's lack of flexibility with train length. I hope the cost savings was worthwhile.

As I've made all-too-clear in the past, I have pet interests both in subway behavior and in slightly obsessive game theoretic analyses of everyday life. Waiting for the train yesterday, I thought of another one. The ensuing post is long on strange mental games, and you're forewarned. If you aren't the sort of person who plays the "walk-through-the-law-school-such-that-I-never-retrace-my-path" game, or the "fill-my-car-with-gas-such-that-my-total-bill-is-a-prime-number" game, you may find no interest in it.

When they descend the stairs to their subway platform, most people waiting for a train go one of two places, either near the base of the steps/escalator they just descended, or near a bench or railing to lean on, if there is one. Regular subway riders, though, occasionally do neither of these things, and instead go to stand at other spots on the platform-- spots that correspond to where the stairs will be at the platform when they get off the train.

[I was introduced to this procedure by my friend Maggie Samuels-Kalow, and have since noticed others-- usually lifelong city-dwellers-- who do it. The idea, as I said above, is to get on the train in such a location that you will be right next to the escalator or stairs when you get off the train. This requires a good memory for the subway stations one visits habitually, and may explain why it is most frequently practiced by commuters and locals.]

Anyway, the question is: When descending the stairs to wait for the train, with nothing better to do than play such games with the crowd, where do you stand? Obviously, if you're really tired and need to sit down you can go for the bench or the railing. And if you know where the stairs are at you target platform, you can play the game I mention above in the brackets. But what if you can't or don't want to do either of those? Then you might well do what I do, which is try to pick the place to stand that will get you into the least crowded car. [I like doing this because I don't like crowded subway cars, perhaps as a result of the lingering paranoia that comes from having my pocket picked on the Paris Metro. This tactic also maximizes your probability of getting a seat in the car, which makes it easier to read as you travel.]

But playing the crowd-minimization game is complicated. First there's the simple tactic-- stand at the part of the platform where the least people are. The first trouble with this, of course, is that the least people are usually at the very end of the platform, and often that's because there won't be any car there. (The Metro platforms in D.C. can hold 8 cars but they never run more than 6, sometimes 4, and 2 very late at night. There's talk of going up to 8, but apparently the fit is tight at some platforms so it will take time. Amber recently pointed out to me that nothing would stop them from going to 7, but I suspect that violates some city bureaucrat's sense of symmetry. SEE UPDATE.)

Anyway, there are two other problems with the "wait at the uncrowded part of the platform" game. One is that other people are likely to descend the stairs while you are waiting for the train, and while most of them will do one of the things I mentioned above-- pick the bench or stay by the stairs because it's convenient or pick the spot that corresponds to the stairs on their arrival platform-- a few of them will also trickle down to the uncrowded spots.

Finally, you have to remember that the crowdedness of a train-car isn't just a function of the number of people who enter it at a stop. It's also a function of the number of people who were on it when it got to the platform, and the number of people who disembark there. On that note, two observations:

One: The train cars at the end of the train seem less crowded, most of the time. (Perhaps because the end of the train is rarely near the stairs and benches, perhaps because people don't always remember where the end of a 4-car or 6-car train will be, and so stand someplace where they are sure there will be a train, namely, at the middle.)

Two: If a sufficiently high number of people on the train are commuters or locals playing the Maggie-game (where you get on the train such that you get off nearest the stairs), then a relatively large number of people will get off the train at the stairs, making that a relatively uncrowded car.

Point Two is somewhat counterbalanced by the fact that a lot of people wait near the base of the stairs, but I've noticed that as the platform gets most crowded (at rush hour, for example), people become relatively evenly distributed along the platform. That makes waiting by the stairs a great tactic, because the number of people entering the train is relatively equal all down the line, but the number of people vacating their space on the train by the stairs is very high right there-- especially at rush hour, where the number of people who do the stairs-game is higher.

So the conclusion of this post, and my analysis of crowd movement on D.C. metro platforms: To get an uncrowded car during crowded times, stick by the stairs. During less crowded times, you may want to wander toward the ends. The latter is a better tactic the more inexperienced train riders you expect to be on the train (since they will not gamble on knowing where the train ends). The former is perhaps a better tactic the more experienced train riders you expect to be on the train (since they will be disproportionately vacating the train nearest the stairs).

UPDATE: A safety-minded reader writes:

you missed an important piece of the train game. the late at night where is the conductor part. conductors in ny at least are in the front and the middle of the train which makes the last car the place where you're in the most danger (only one way to run, further from any help). (i hadn't really throught about it much, but [name deleted--ed.] saw a bunch of people get mugged in the last car of a train once).

Happy Kissing Day, all -- a Scottish Ballad, loosely related to kissing, but with kissing nonetheless. I posted it because the ballad itself, in my ears, is beautiful. I recommend the Baltimore Consort's rendition, found here. Anyhow, the text follows -- as found here (the tune -- in, as far as I can tell, MIDI format -- is also present on the website itself, although I'd reserve judgment until after hearing the Baltimore Consort):

The Three Ravens
or, The Twa Corbies
There were three ra'ens sat on a tree,
Down a down, hey down, hey down,
They were as black as black might be,
With a down.
The one of them said to his mate,
Where shall we our breakfast take?
With a down, derry, derry, derry down, down

Down in yonder green field,
Down, a down, hey down, hey down,
There lies a knight slain 'neath his shield,
With a down.
His hounds they lie down at his feet,
So well they do their master keep,
With a down, derry, derry, derry down, down.

His hawks they fly so eagerly,
Down a down, hey down, hey down,
No other fowl dare come him night,
With a down.
Down there comes a fallow doe
As great with young as might she go
With a down, derry, derry, derry down, down

She lifted up his bloody head,
Down a down, hey down, hey down,
And kissed his wounds that were so red,
With a down.
She got him up upon her back,
And carried him to earthen lake,
With a down, derry, derry, derry down, down

She buried him before the prime
Down a down, hey down, hey down,
She was dead herself ere e'en-song time,
With a down.
God send every gentleman,
Such hawks, such hounds, and such a leman.
With a down, derry, derry, derry down, down

Disclaimer: People know more than me -- not only in general, but also about Midwestern Punk Scene...although, that said, I don't necessarily think that what follows is without worth.

Not that I'm generally one to be watching Chicago Tonight on a regular basis, but tonight's episode was more interesting than usual. Bob Sirott did a piece on the Chicago rock and roll scene during the British invasion of the 60's. Not that I'm particularly well-versed, but I was surprised to hear that not only were many of the bands they discussed formed in Chicago, but a few were formed at high schools were I had participated in Math and Latin team competitions -- names such as "Buckinghams," or "Chicago," etc. ...well, I guess I shouldn't have been surprised at the last one, but whatever.

What was particularly surprising was the popularity of these bands from (apparently) the get-go. Not only did they draw huge crowds at their local venues -- designated local venues, for that matter, but also huge support from local stations (as example, WLS, or WBBM -- the erstwhile FM half) that actually took time to rate the bands among the top in the nation. I don't, of course, mean to give the impression that this happened for every band formed in the 60's. Most probably not, and Sirott's piece didn't make it sound like it at all. However, what stunned me most was much the same presence the midwestern music scene has today.

You have to look for it, of course, but go onto any self-respecting midwestern college campus (best in Chicago), and you'll be sure to find it. As for bands -- as evidenced by my fairly long conversations with my room mate from first year -- I'm not particularly sure what "rocks," but they've claimed their own: names such as First Coat, P1xel and the Chronic Network, millimeters mercury, The Soft Addictions, and The Sixtyeights certainly come to mind (as is best known to me in Hyde Park -- certainly, the Kearney-based PEWEP in the Formats -- currently on tour -- and the -- erstwhile? -- DePaul-based Written in the Sand also come to mind). As for venues, it's not clear to me that anyone actually knows the Fireside Bowl for its alleys any more...although admittedly, I don't really frequent these haunts.

Why do I mention this (and search, and research, and code an alarmingly large amount of websites)? Perhaps it was just me, but Sirott's piece had a certain nostalgia to it -- now middle-aged men reminiscing over their youth and accomplishments, how the psychedelic age introduced by "Sargeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts" changed music forever, and reduced musicians such as the Buckinghams or the Beach Boys to pesky "bubble gum" bands. And I can empathize, but not too much, I think. After all, classical music seems to have been a bit more popular prior to that, (Bert Cohler, should you have the opportunity to have him as a professor, tells the story of his first year in college (at UofC) when his room mate entered their room plopped on a recording of Mahler 9*, and started chewing on some -- then enigmatic -- mushrooms), and prior to that, the various kinds of styles...

What's amazing, however, is that however hidden, this same tradition of producing really interesting music seems to have remained in the midwest, at least as far as the punk tradition goes, that to a large part the music appeals to much the same crowd, and that the popularity, at least among the younger generations, extends through to the same levels. Although I, for one, cannot for certain say that the parallels are even and the influences are equal, nor that this, in itself is hearkening -- consciously, or subconsciously -- to the British invasion...

...I all of a sudden have the distinct urge to pray that God Save the Queen...

*I recommend the Bernstein recording with the New York Philharmonic -- found here -- as a quick fix, this one if you have a bit more money, this one if you have significantly more money and want to understand Mahler and this one if you know him, love him, and want to appreciate him as he himself would have wanted you to. Sadly, I have no suggestions on the shrooms.