I Dare You to Move (Breathe, Mutter or Otherwise Act Human)

It feels really good to get back into the swing of things, including starting up this blog. Small blips of online conversation and occasional shouts over cubicles have been the interaction ration I get daily...which I would like to improve upon, heavily. Hence, the point of my entry:

The silence starts ringing at 8:30, when I rise in a dark room, alone. The white noise continues on my commute to work, where the only noises I hear are the germ addled coughs of F passengers and the subtle shift of my person as I attempt to pull my iPod out of my pocket without bothering the old woman snoring softly to my right.

I've sort of started to love my commute, which I now refer to as the worker's Stockholm Syndrome. A chafing, irritating experience, dangerous and filled with fearsome self-loathing, has now turned into a delightful way to people watch. Yes, I still run for the bus as if it is my only means of getting to the subway. And sure, sometimes I'll just put my earbuds in and ignore everyone, but still.

The gentle lull of the subway car has been a Brahm's for me more times than I can count, and when I've devoured my latest paperback I tend to watch groups of Patron girls, tourists or wanna-be-rappers navigate the cars to find a seat.

I have a feeling that my memoirs are going to be labeled "Sitting on my Ass in the Subway"...which brings me back to my heydey, when it was "Sitting on my Ass on NJTransit". Each is a respectable way to get around and offered me a chance to interact face to face with other individuals without the barrier of the web. Sadly, no one really wants to talk to you; instead they will stare idly at their sudoku, ignoring you entirely.

And this, people, is why I need a job where people communicate through their voice box rather than their Blackberry or Gmail.

I've discovered help in the form of Pandora.com...but the glances I get from the lawyers walking up and down the library area where I'm stationed are enough to make one run for covers (and live under them with a supply of Fruit-by-the-Foot and Gatorade). Until people realize that personalized conversation in a day to day arena will not spread H1N1, Ebola or AIDS, I'm going to stick to contently ogling people from afar in the hopes that if I look nice enough, they'll strike up a conversation.

Or I could just go on Twitter.