Amtrak Quotes

The human digestive tract is like the Amtrak line from Seattle to Los Angeles: transit time is about thirty hours, and the scenery on the last leg is pretty monotonous.

I’m back, Eddie! the asthma yelled gleefully. I’m back and oh, I dunno, this time I just might killya! Why not? Gotta do it sometime, you know! Can’t fuck around with you forever! Eddie’s chest surged and pulled. He groped for the aspirator, found it, pointed it down his throat, and pulled the trigger. Then he sat back in the tall Amtrak seat, shivering, waiting for relief, thinking of the dream from which he had just awakened.

THE SWORD-WIELDER LOOKED DELIGHTED. “Chop off head?” His name, GUNTHER, was printed on an Amtrak name tag he wore over his armor—his only concession to being in disguise. “Not yet.” Luguselwa kept her eyes on us. “As you can see, Gunther loves decapitating people, so let’s play nice. Come along—

That may be true," I thought, "But they don't have digital cable or Internet access, so really what's the point of being alive?" Civilized life, with all its threats and potential dooms, is too much to bear without the respite of three hundred channels. True, Osama bin Laden may very well send nuclear-bomb-filled suitcases on Amtrak trains into Penn Station, but until then: "I Love the 80s on VH1.

I looked over my shoulder, scanning the gangway. Shockingly, there was no clearly labeled switch that would allow a passenger to decouple the train. What was wrong with Amtrak?

What’s more wholesome and trustworthy than Amtrak?

Evelyn leaned toward the Amtrak window, searching for the TRENTON MAKES, THE WORLD TAKES sign, which she always looked for on the ride back to New York. She knew now that Trenton was a run-down Jersey city,

Zoe returned by rail to Claremont Village. After the train pulled away, she stood alone, beneath a security camera affixed to a lamppost. She looked up, and its lifeless eye looked straight back. In some uncontrollable fancy she turned and curtseyed, imagining someone wonderful on the other side of the lens would be captivated by her new American dress.

Yesterday, where someone had dumped a cat-scratched leather recliner in the weedy empty lot around the corner, an elderly man was found sitting in the chair, quietly disoriented. The recliner looked like a seat on an Amtrak train, in Coach. The man did not seem to know where he was, or how he got there, but he was not fearful, just quiet. He was able to recite his son’s email address and list the son’s many accomplishments to the police whom someone called to help. They were kind when they contacted the man’s son in another state. But this won’t go well, I thought, and chose not to follow the story.

Sometimes the people who’ve owned the books in this shop leave little clues between the pages, and not just love notes or pressed flowers. You might come upon an unused Amtrak ticket tucked between the pages of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes or a sprinkling of crumbs along the gutter inside The Complete Engravings, Etchings, and Drypoints of Albrecht Dürer. Makes you wonder what kind of person noshes on a salami sandwich over The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

The stigma for bus travel has evaporated,” says Joseph P. Schwieterman, director of the Chaddick Institute for Metropolitan Development at DePaul University. “People are willing to endure a longer commute for a mobile office benefit.” His research found that nearly 60 percent of discount bus travelers used a personal electronic device en route in 2014, up from 46 percent a year earlier, while the numbers held steady at 52 percent for Amtrak and 35 percent for the airlines. The study did not include a separate category for luxury buses.

There is no logical reason to think that a tire company should be a food critic, but a hundred years ago, Michelin tires started reviewing rural restaurants to encourage people living in the cities to drive farther and wear their tires out more quickly. Guinness created the Guinness Book of World Records to reinforce its brand and give people something to talk about in the pubs. Similarly, I predict that one day a brand like Nike could put out its own sports programming and compete successfully against ESPN, or Amtrak could launch a publication that could stand up to Travel + Leisure.

I missed the morning AMTRAK and then, after lunch, missed a few more trains while mistakenly looking for the PMTRAK.

The DCA Tower of Terror is a powerful visual landmark that looms over the park day and night. It's not just the tallest building at Disneyland Resort; it's the tallest building in Anaheim. Amtrak travelers know they're approaching the Anaheim train station when they see the Tower of Terror looming in the distance.

Amtrak CEO Joseph Boardman, speaking at a news conference with Nutter, said limited service on the busy Northeast Corridor would resume Monday, with full service expected a day later. Airfares between the city and D.C. have soared since the accident, with a one-way ticket from JFK to Dulles Airport hitting more than $1,000 — for coach. Some cost $983, others a whopping $1,769.

This is a public service,” argues Andy Kunz, president of USHSR. “Our highways don’t make a profit. Our airports don’t make a profit. It’s all paid for by the government.” (Together, the Highway Trust Fund and the Federal Aviation Administration receive about 45 times what Amtrak does, through subsidies and gas taxes.)

For decades, Amtrak ran a long-distance train from Los Angeles to Jacksonville called the Sunset Limited. In August 2005, Hurricane Katrina washed out the tracks from New Orleans to Florida. The service was never restored, and the Gulf Coast has been without rail travel for nearly a decade now.

And those stats don’t figure to improve anytime soon. While Amtrak isn’t currently in danger of being killed, it also isn’t likely to do more than barely survive. Last month, the House of Representatives agreed to fund Amtrak for the next four years at a rate of $1.4 billion per year. Meanwhile, the Chinese government—fair comparison or not—will be spending $128 billion this year on rail. (Thanks to the House bill, though, Amtrak passengers can look forward to a new provision allowing cats and dogs on certain trains.)

In both the public and the private sectors, one can find people who are altruistic, selfish, smart, stupid, capable, incompetent, and just about every other description. They are all drawn from the same mass of people in roughly the same proportions. What is true of all of these people is that they pursue what they believe will make them happy, and they respond to the incentives that surround them. When those incentives are tied directly to their job performance, people’s quest for happiness encourages them to behave in ways that satisfy the people for whom they perform their jobs. But when people’s incentives are tied to something else, like voters avoiding the cost of becoming informed, or politicians attracting more voters, or bureaucrats making their jobs less difficult, the outcomes that emerge can be very different from the outcomes people had in mind when they empowered government to pursue those outcomes in the first place. Consider the typical experiences with the Post Office versus FedEx, Amtrak versus Southwest, applying for a driver’s license versus applying for a credit card, or applying for federal financial aid versus applying for a bank loan.

Instead of funding the completion of the Second Avenue subway, billions of dollars may very well be used for other transportation megaprojects in the New York metropolitan area, such as constructing a sorely needed new Hudson River railroad tunnel for New Jersey Transit and Amtrak, replacing the world’s busiest bus terminal at 42nd Street, and improving rail connections to the region’s airports. The MTA still needs to finish the Long Island Rail Road connection to Grand Central Terminal, a project that started along with the Second Avenue subway in the 1960s. Nagaraja, who as president of MTA Capital Construction was once responsible for its construction, referred to this project as “one of the biggest disasters in transit history.

Most of all, Joe had heart. He’d overcome a bad stutter as a child (which probably explained his vigorous attachment to words) and two brain aneurysms in middle age. In politics, he’d known early success and suffered embarrassing defeats. And he had endured unimaginable tragedy: In 1972, just weeks after Joe was elected to the Senate, his wife and baby daughter had been killed—and his two young sons, Beau and Hunter, injured—in a car accident. In the wake of this loss, his colleagues and siblings had to talk him out of quitting the Senate, but he’d arranged his schedule to make a daily hour-and-a-half Amtrak commute between Delaware and Washington to care for his boys, a practice he’d continue for the next three decades.

And I’d be damned if I let the first photograph of me in ten years be taken on fucking Amtrak. I mean, the light alone.

Amtrak.

she was mostly steamed about how I’d portrayed my conversation with the Amtrak gate agent in Atlanta. She thought that my account fit in too closely with the white-male capitalist hierarchical construct of Amtrak as a failure of central planning, and that I should have tried to advance a narrative more consistent with both social realism and the need for additional Amtrak funding. I tried to explain to her that I’d written the blog post based on what actually happened, which got me a lecture on the difference between objectivity and advocacy in the pursuit of social justice for the downtrodden proletariat. “But she wasn’t a proletarian,” I said. “If anything, she was petty-bourgeois.” I got a long lecture after that about mystification and revolutionary sentiment and code-switching, which I wish I had recorded now because it would have made for an awesome episode of that NPR podcast everyone is listening to.

With heroin alone, the sources of supply seemed finite and organizational; access was limited to those with a genuine connection to the New York suppliers, who had, in turn, cultivated a connection to a small number of importers. The cocaine epidemic changed that as well, creating a freelance market with twenty-year-old wholesalers supplying seventeen- year-old dealers. Anyone could ride the Amtrak or the Greyhound to New York and come back with a package. By the late eighties, the professionals were effectively marginalized in Baltimore; cocaine and the open market made the concept of territory irrelevant to the city drug trade.