Yesterday, as I was walking from the elevator to the office building exit, a coworker I know but don't know her name asked me where I live.

- Brooklyn.

How long does it take for you to get in?

- Oh, 45 minutes to an hour. When the train comes in and there are no seats available, I wait and a second train comes in and there are always seats available. That's the nature of the F Train; it comes in two's. That's the train I take: the F Train.

Oh.

Why did I feel the need to elaborate? She was just making filler small talk--the lowest form of small talk. Who cares about the F Train? There are so many ways the conversation would've been more interesting. For instance:

Where do you live?

- Brooklyn. But I'll be living in LA for the next few days because "Credo," the film musical short in which I play God, is playing at Mann's Chinese Theater; it's nominated for four awards. I can't wait to go to the waffle and chicken restaurant.

or

- Brooklyn. At the end of the month I'll be in New Orleans performing in "Infertility," the musical I was in Off-Broadway. We're performing in the Convention Center for the yearly gathering of Fertility Professionals. I'm really curious about what I'll see when I go down there. I feel like the tourist who comes to NYC and visits Ground Zero and has his picture taken in front of the hole or the memorials. Why? Is it like going to hear Barbra Streisand in concert before she stops singing in public?

See? There are many subjects more interesting than the F Train. Like me, for instance.