Not long ago I was reading a monthly publication released by some sort of train-system watchdog in Japan. Being that I am in love with the idea of quick and non-shitty rail transit, it was pretty interesting to me, despite being dry.
One particular section that caught my eye was a timeline of events regarding the production of shinkansen (bullet) trains in Japan. On this timeline, I read the following: in 1972, all new Series 1 (I think it was 1, but it doesn't really matter) trains were outfitted with scrolling displays on the outside. These displays are the LCD kind of thing that show basic information like route number, destination, name, etc.
What struck me is that a great number of the trains on the MBTA subway system in Boston still have paper/static displays on their side...and half of the time they show the wrong destination. So to recap: Japanese trains got digital displays in 1972. Almost 40 years later, the MBTA has yet to catch up.
In other news, I noticed in the news paper this morning that the MBCR (the commuter rail division of the MBTA) has given up on its bid to buy new trains from the Toronto transit system. Of note is the fact that those trains are 20 years old. So wait, if those 20-year-old trains are considered "new," how the hell old are the old trains?!
With our public transit system in such a state, it's a wonder anyone uses it at all. Way to go!
Yesterday evening I attended an alumni hobnobbing function for my college. It was interesting enough, I suppose, with the requisite social posturing and asking how/what everyone is doing. This time, of course, there was a great deal of condolences about lousy "at least it's a job" jobs, along with well-wishings in the torpid economy. Nothing particularly surprising.
At this event I was forced to recognize something about my own job that I knew all along but didn't want to think about. Whenever I'm asked what I do, I tell people where I work. I'd rather not tell them the specifics about the peon-like existence I live. When people hear where I work, they always make noises of being impressed; after all, it does sound kind of impressive. Naturally I would rather keep it at that, but social graces dictate that one must press the issue and ask my actual title. So they ask.
Invariably I tell them my position, and I've come to recognize easily just how quickly the interest fades from their face. Let me correct myself: the interest doesn't fade so much as it flees. Unfortunately, for both myself and the "interested" party, social graces again dictate that they continue forward and ask about what exactly I do. This is where I tell them, and we both do our best to steer the conversation in a new direction.
I hate how I bore people.