Shock Culture Reverse

On the train home tonight, I noticed a small, red locked metal box in the entryway to my car. The label appeared to read "Fuseless Torpedos."

Intrigued, I asked a conductor about the box.

He explained that:

-- The label actually read "Fusees & Torpedos"

-- Fusees are essentially handheld signal flares

-- In railway parlance, torpedos are something that used to be put under the wheels of a stopped train. If a stopped train rolled, the wheels would roll over the torpedos and cause them to explode, alerting the crew.

According to the conductor, the torpedos are no longer used by New Jersey Transit because when they exploded they sounded too much like gunshots and because train crew were taking them home and playing with them.

Very amusing but a little disappointing. For a few, brief moments I was thrilled to think I might be riding on a torpedo-armed train. Oh, well.

Our London friend, Amanda, is visiting New York for a few days. We hooked up with her on Saturday for some ice skating at Wolmann Rink, fantastic hot chocolate at one of ABC Carpets' cafes and dinner at Tribeca's Odeon restaurant, a favorite of ours.

During dinner, actor Harvey Keitel walked in and took a table nearby, facing me. A few minutes later, I was told that a party including singer Debbie Harry of '80s rock group Blondie fame had taken up a table behind me.

Seeing Harvey was a surprise but not a huge one. He lives in the neighborhood.

This is one of the things I've always loved about New York -- seeing stars.

As always, we followed proper etiquette: you recognize the star in question and you quietly confirm their identities with whomever you're with. But you do NOT go up to them and tell them how much you loved their last book/movie/whatever or ask for their autograph. You let them be (To be honest, I think Debbie Harry caught me checking her out to confirm that she was she. Sorry, Debbie).

I'm at the Mall at Short Hills -- which just happens to have an Apple shop with handy laptops.

In the 'burbs, the mall is the gathering place. Much of what you do here is shop, of course. But there's coffee and meals and, on a cold, rainy day today, a chance to walk around without getting cold and wet. Not terribly orginal thinking, but true.

I'm not much for malls. But the Apple shop and Nordstrom's espresso bar makes this one a lot easier to take. If only there was a book store.

Ikea furniture, on the other hand, can be the Pit of Hell (Went there today to buy a TV cabinet).

During a slow moment at work today, I "Googled" a former girlfriend from many years ago, Beth Hill, to find out what she was up to.

I was stunned to find out that, about a month ago, Beth suffered a stroke, went into a coma ... and died. At 50.

An old friend, Dottie Ashley of the Charleston (S.C.) Post and Courier, wrote an appreciation of Beth. I think it captures her well. Beth was smart, cheerful and spontaneous.

Our continuing exploration of New Jersey includes checking out the diners in our neck of the woods.

For my British readers: the diner is an American institution. The closest British equivalent is the caff. Think good, fried breakfasts and hamburgers. The main difference is that the classic caff is an urban phenomenon whereas the best diners are found on the road.

We live not far from New Providence's Prestige Diner. Breakfast is OK, but dinner is to be avoided (think mountains of food with heaps o' cheese).

Last weekend, we went diner-hunting and found the Stirling House Diner Seafood Pavillion, about 20 minutes to the west of us. VERY good breakfast, including a generous helping of home fries whose ingredients included chopped green peppers. Mmmmm.

The Summit Diner is also on our radar. Stay tuned.

Took a slightly different route out of Penn Station this morning and noticed a bar named "Kabooz's".

Caboose. Booze. Kabooz.

I'll take my laughs where I can get 'em.