Apple Foot

Thoroughbred racing

On Friday, Racing Hall of Fame trainer Frank Whiteley, Jr., died. Whiteley's most famous horse is probably Ruffian, so it seemed appropriate that Saturday's Derby featured a filly (the first in nine years to enter racing's premier three-year-old event) that seemed to capture the hearts and imaginations of many. Souvenir stands sold out of Eight Belles supporter buttons while they still had plenty on hand for other contenders. The filly obliged with a good race and showed placed behind a strong Big Brown.

And that's when the reminder of Whiteley's horse turned horribly specific. While Ruffian, despite her heartbreaking efforts (link includes interview with Whiteley and footage of the match) to run on three legs, never finished the great match race, Eight Belles crossed the wire and was galloping out before she broke down.

Some early commentators questioned whether it was fair to run a filly with colts. These were followed by animal cruelty questions, questions about track surface (a hot topic right now in racing), and finally questions about the industry's breeding practices.

When I was going through my adolescent "horse-y" phase, I followed thoroughbred racing more closely than I do now. A thoroughbred race is a beautiful thing--they're gorgeous animals, with great big hearts, lots of determination. Unfortunately, racing lore is full of gallant horses that tragically broke down.

It's always seemed weird to me that humans take so much credit for the work of horses--trainers and owners lifting the trophy and being honored while the horse goes back to the barn. That contrast was especially evident yesterday, when humans took a lot of credit for Big Brown's win while not taking much responsibility for Eight Belles' death. That's probably not fair of me to say, pending autopsy, but I think as much as I love thoroughbred racing, it's worth asking what place racing has in our modern world.

MBCR: All The Wonderful You've Come To Expect

On Tuesdays, I get on the Stoughton line. I catch the train at 5:20PM at Back Bay, and by 5:32 I'm supposed to be stepping off at Hyde Park.

Tonight I got on the train and, by the time we hit Ruggles, the conductor had announced that due to an emergency ahead of us, we would be traveling slowly. Somewhere just shy of Hyde Park, the conductor announced that due to a medical emergency at Canton Junction, ours was the last train outbound for Stoughton that night, and that our train would either disembark all passengers at Hyde Park for transfer to shuttle buses, or return to South Station to meet up with buses. After twenty minutes or so in a tunnel near Hyde Park (so I couldn't call the person meeting me there to let her know what was going on), the conductor announced that the train would be going back to South Station (no stops at Ruggles or Back Bay) as soon as the driver got back to the car at the other end of the train. Several minutes later, the conductor announced we'd be returning to South Station after a brake test. Several minutes after that, we were moving, and the conductor announced that we would, after all, be stopping at Ruggles and Back Bay (much rejoicing as those of us looking for Orange Line connections thought we'd avoided the South Station vortex). As we got closer to Ruggles, the conductor announced that dispatch had changed their minds again, and that we'd be going straight to South Station.

At about this time, folks started to get cell phone service, and we heard that there was an accident in Canton involving an earlier train and a boxcar.

We pulled into South Station at about 6:26. At this point I'd been on the train for over an hour in order to go back one stop from where I started. As we got out, I recognized the conductor with the train on the other side of our platform: he usually is the conductor for my return from Hyde Park on train 922.

As the crowd was making it's disgruntled way down the platform back toward the station we heard the announcement: "6:30 train to Stoughton now boarding on Track 5."  Chaos ensues, since we just got off the train to Stoughton, and we'd been told there were no more Stoughton trains tonight, and we'd been further told that shuttle buses would be run from South Station. After much shouting, rumormongering, and gesturing reminiscent of traders on the stock exchange floor, it turned out that the 6:30 was only going to 128, then shuttle buses would go to Sharon/Stoughton. This information was not shared over the public address system.

Honest to God--we'd just been on a train that had made it halfway to 128 before being sent back to GO and then were told to get on another train back to 128. Not to mention that now the 6:30 has a double load of people on it, having picked up everybody from train 919.

I realize that when things go wrong, you have to expect a certain amount of inconvenience. There was an emergency, and our train had to be re-routed/re-scheduled. However, the indecision about where exactly we were going and how we were getting home from there, is really disturbing. And stupid.

The MBCR: all the wacky wonderfulness you expect from the MBTA!

P.S. Since my music lesson was well and thoroughly missed, I actually got the Red Line to the Orange Line and went home, wishing the rest of the Stoughton passengers good luck.

Things Seen on the Red Line

The MBTA's Red Line is so named because it runs through Harvard Square (red=Harvard Crimson). The red line also stops in the neighborhood of MIT. You see slightly different advertisements on the red line than you do on, say, the orange line. Today I was on the red line and saw an ad for a sperm bank. At first glance, the graphic looked like a hairy dollar sign. Closer examination showed that the drawing actually depicts dozens of spermatozoa attempting to penetrate a dollar sign's outer membrane.

This struck me as crass, but I note on the sperm bank's web site that under "Why Become A Donor?", the reasons listed are (1) you're part of an elite group (2) we pay you (3) you help others fulfill their dream. The more I think about it, the more I think the graphic isn't crass, just honest marketing.

It still feels icky.

Trek on the picket lines

I'm not sure I support the Writers Guild of America position, but as a matter of interest I'd like to point to the fact that today was Trek Day on the WGA's picket lines (coverage at the LA Times).  The union has produced t-shirts that say, "Logic clearly dictates that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few." I wonder what Surak's position was on collective bargaining?

Thanksgiving

Things I am thankful for:

• CPAP
• The Twenty-Second Amendment

Restaurant Chain Grateful

The Ninety Nine Restaurants have reason to be thankful to the Boston Globe today for a lengthy, front page (below the fold) article. Globe writer Sacha Pfeiffer explains that the chain is remodeling, and it's customers are paying to take home the old decor (the money goes to charity). In this article, the 99's loyal customers talk about their affection for the place, the chain gets credit for charitable works, and the company promotes its "brighter, less cluttered, and more contemporary" new look. Plus, no company PR flak could possibly write better promotional copy than this:

"The reasonably priced, family-friendly chain is popular for its folksy ambience, casual bar, and something-for-everyone menu, where offerings range from sirloin tips to Caesar salads to cedar plank salmon."

On the down side, the 99's bête noire, the Steak-Tips Massacre, gets mentioned, but comes across as part of a colorful history.

The online version of the article also has a handy gallery of some of the signage for sale.

You can't buy this kind of publicity, or so I'm told.

(Whatever you do, don't make the mistake of going to the 99 Restaurants web site--pop-up window and embedded, unstoppable music.)

What they don't teach in library school

If you've spent any time in an urban library, you know that it's become the de facto day center for the homeless. Library schools don't teach that.

Election Nuggets

• I get the Globe delivered daily. And I actually read a goodly chunk of it. I spend a fair bit of time following various blogs, including some Boston-centric ones. Yet, last week as I was deep in a news article about the 2006 elections, I suddenly discovered: "Whoa. There's a US Senate race in Massachusetts this year?" Gee, and the Republican National Committee didn't spend any advertising dollars to unseat Ted Kennedy? Another golden opportunity lost.
• Ed Prisby learns about the perils of the Boston accent at his West Newton polling place.
• It was quiet in town tonight. I think people were hustling home to vote and watch the results. That's good news.

Maynard!

Jazz trumpeter Maynard Ferguson has died.

When I was a high school band nerd, Ferguson was one of the musicians we most worshipped. Our high school jazz band's style was heavily influenced by Ferguson's brand of jazz fusion. My freshman year in high school, when I was not worthy of membership in the jazz band, that group did a version of MacArthur Park (MP3) that left us band girls screaming and fainting. I can't recall if it was sophomore or junior year that the marching band did Birdland. Birdland (MP3) was really the soundtrack of our lives--we just loved that number. I've been humming those two songs (with snatches of Gonna Fly Now) all day.

Twenty years ago, Maynard Ferguson played a nearby high school, where the band director knew me and my friends pretty well; we had plenty of notice of the concert and we couldn't wait to get there. Maynard was a big star in our universe--I remember being shocked he was playing at a high school. Today while looking for information about Ferguson, I found a high school band advertising his appearance there this coming November. Several obituaries and appreciations mention his support of music education, and playing these venues was one of the ways he did that.

At the concert, I sat between two trumpeters, friends of mine. One of them had perfect pitch, so other friends kept leaning over to ask him what note Ferguson had just hit. The energy was incredible. That's the energy that I still feel when I hear a drum corps really cooking--it's the energy of my band nerd youth, when we'd jump up and down and scream for a man who could hit 'double high C' with ease.

Commuter Rail Follies

Tonight I took the Stoughton line to Hyde Park (and then back again). The LED signs (that's what you call those red light signs that scroll words, right?) at Hyde Park Station welcomed me to Branford Station. Is there a Branford Station anywhere on the MBTA?

I pop over to mbta.com to see if I can find Branford (there's a Bradford on one of the northern lines), and I find that the T is taking a survey:

"We’re redesigning MBTA.com to create a more customer-focused experience for our riders. We think that you’ll have some of the best ideas to make MBTA.com more powerful and easy to use."

Well golly! How can I resist? Hey, MBTA, consider standards compliance and accessibility (they've got a lot of nerve claiming Bobby compliance)! And don't even get me started about the poor content of the "survey" question that graces the home page every month. Do they get many responses to those softball questions ("I love the T because (choose one): A. It's fast.   B. It's easy.   C. I love the surprise of daily detours.")?

Apparently, the MBTA's commitment to the environment is nonpareil, which explains why the new, disposable paper "Charlie Tickets" littering the stations are such an improvement over the old metal tokens. Those Charlie Tickets will soon replace instant lottery tickets as the city's number one gutter-clogger.

[Edited 27 July to note: a heavily rewritten account of my Hyde Park sign experience was posted to BadTransit.com]