If it's 10 AM it's Philly

I've gotten really good at sleeping on trains. In fact, I've always been good at sleeping on anything that moves. (Which makes me a very scary long-distance driver).

We would take these six hour drives from Rochester to New Jersey when I was a kid and my brother and I each got our own seat in the silver Astro Van (which surely eliminated hours of territory battles).

We would load everything into the car, throw some pillows into each of our respective travel beds, pull out onto the first main street from our "tract" and instantly I'd be out cold. My parents would wake me for a Wendy's stop; I'd have a frosty and twenty minutes of groggy conversation; then be out for the remaining several hours.

It was like teleporting. Fall asleep in Rochester, NY and wake up in Flemington, NJ. Brilliant.

I would really love a Wendy's Frosty right now. Wouldn't you? Now that you've started thinking about it?

Unfortunately, as skilled as I am at sleeping on trains they still don't lend themselves to a great sleep. Now I fell kind of achey and my contacts are sticky for the rest of the day.

I had my own seat leaving Penn Station, had a business man neighbor between Wilmington and Philly (who I tried not to drool on or do the "my head keeps falling over and almost leaning onto your shoulder" thing) and then had two really chipper just out of college girls sitting behind me from Philly back to DC. They didn't understand that train rides are for sleeping and not for talking and chattered away for the full two hours of their trip. It was kind of unbelievable. As soon as one finished a statement the other would come right in, without pause, like they were doing a speed-through of their lives to get everyone to pick up cues.

It was exhausting just listening to them.

This all followed another two days in New York. I thought I had better reasons to go up than I did but once the plans were made it was going to happen. More on that eventually, highlights included a matinee of Awake and Sing and the Gomez concert at Webster Hall (with Martha Wainwright opening).

But I can't type anymore because my contacts are itchy.