For those of you who expected a review of the movie – sorry. I have seen it. I seem to remember I kind of liked it, but while every other teenager loved it because it was so “real, man” and because they all secretly wanted to be heroin addicts (I might be over-projecting), I was a prude and thought the poop-in-laws scene was disgusting. That’s the closest thing to a review of Trainspotting (the movie) you will ever get in this blog. As for Trainspotting (the book) – sorry again. I haven’t read it. I have, however, read (one) other book of Irvine Welsh’s, and while I kind of liked this one too, the heavy accent was too much for my 16-year old self and I could not face defeat and read the Norwegian translation. That’s the closest thing to a review of Trainspotting (the book) you will ever get in this blog.
On to trainspotting as in being spotted on a train; and more importantly, spotting things on or from a train.
As previously mentioned , the train ride to Boston was long and sleepless. Well, here’s news for you: the train ride from Boston was also long and sleepless. On the plus side, though, the ride back was during the day, so technically I wasn’t supposed to sleep. And since it was not just any old day – it was a beautiful, sunny day – I got to see lots of cool stuff.
The train passed such familiar and unfamiliar places as Providence (television show with that girl from CSI New York!), Mystic County (complete with a sign that mentioned the Mystic Fire Department – instantly made me think of superheroes), New London (it looked nothing like the old London), Philadelphia (where the Prince of Bel Air was born and raised, yo!) and Baltimore (I know I have some pop culture reference to this too, but all I can think of at the moment is that one of the girls from More to Love was from there…).
Oh, and of course that place you might have heard of – New York. Sigh. It’s been a life-long dream of mine to go to New York. I was there. So close, yet so far. Penn Station (did you all know there also is a “Penn Station, Newark”? This has got to be a deliberate attempt to trick foreigners, like me, who has immense problems pronouncing “New York” and “Newark” differently…) isn’t exactly what I most dreamed of seeing, though, and the skyline as seen from the rails didn’t quite make up for the fact that I didn’t get to leave the train and see the city that never sleeps. Oh, well. Next time.
Despite the joyous train ride, however, I was (and my back was too) glad to finally leave my seat in Union Station and head home. And it was lovely to come back to find two happy dogs, two surprisingly affectionate cats, three friendly people and my own bed (that, ironically, is less comfortable than Leanne’s couch. This is a compliment to the couch rather than a comment on the bed, though).