I am in New York!
It's been 24 hours of dream-come-true wonderfulness.
The view of the nighttime New York skyline from the Williamsburg Bridge was breathtaking, and yes, I cried.
First thing this morning my driver told me there is a free Bon Jovi concert in Central Park tomorrow night. For those of you that know the reason behind the timing of this visit to New York, I can only say that to have that *and* a free Bon Jovi concert happen in the same weekend is the first proof in my lifetime of the existence of a divine being.
I got myself into Penn Station and walked up to Times Square, then over to the New York Public Library, because libraries are my churches and I've wanted to see the inside ever since I saw 'Breakfast at Tiffany's' when I was a little girl. It's beautiful inside. Maybe possibly someday, there will be a book with my name imprinted on the binding, shelved somewhere inside. (Varjack, Paul, anyone?)
Then I went to MoMA, which had a veritable roomful of Piet Mondrians, and one of my favorite Paul Signac paintings, which was a complete surprise. I had no idea it was even part of the collection. The photography galleries were tremendous. There was a William Gedney photograph of some Haight-Ashbury street kids, taken in San Francisco in 1965. The photo could have been taken the day before yesterday. And why do I not have an Edward Weston or two framed in my house??? I left MoMA feeling renewed and must not let another several years go by before I am in a museum again*. It's bad for my mental health.
Then I walked around more, into St. Patrick's and around 30 Rock and by Radio City.
Seeing how I got through the morning without being mugged even once**, I decided to take the subway to Greenwich Village. I did not get lost, though it was the hottest, most humid subway I have ever been in. Once on the train, I was pleasantly surprised by how polite people were. I was also very thankful for the very nice man with the Russian accent sitting next to me, as he gallantly pulled a napkin out of his pocket and killed a cockroach that was crawling near my shoulder. And thank goodness he did, because just being a New Yorker does not prepare you for the screams you will hear if a spider or a cock-a-roach comes near me.
I walked around the Village for a bit. Comparatively speaking, Christopher Street was pretty tame compared to the Castro. Maybe it perks up at nighttime, I dunno. I walked around more and admired the architecture whilst deciding that my life would be perfect if only I had a vodka and soda with lime. Immediately after that wish, I turned the corner and there was the famous White Horse Tavern. So of course I went in and spent the rest of my afternoon there. Virtual round of applause for Bob the bartender: thank you for taking good care of me.
I will note for the record that I did not have eighteen straight whiskeys. And that is truly ironic, given who I'm off to see tomorrow!
Little sad note: there are still signs in the subway that say "World Trade Center". And they should never be taken down... but despite those thoughts being heavier on my mind than usual these last days, I wasn't expecting to see them.
Then a quick return trip by subway to Penn Station, and back to the hotel. I was tired and I had a blister the size of Topeka on my left foot. Being on vacation is hard work.
What else did I notice? Cigarette smokers, everywhere. It would literally kill me to live here. My asthma meds were barely keeping up. And if the cigarette smoke and the pollution didn't kill me, the heat would. It was 80, and a dry heat luckily, but I remember living in weather like this and I was thankful all day that that is no longer the case. I miss my fog!
They do not know what a Misto is in Starbucks here. I explained and they looked at me like I was nuts. So I gave up on the Misto and had a really really good cappucino instead.
I was unhappy to see litter, pretty much everywhere. Not a spot of sidewalk that doesn't have someone's spit-out gum sealed into the pavement. Yeah, in SF we got hippies and new-ageys and body-modification junkies and a mayor with a hair gel addiction, but comparatively speaking, the City is really clean.
And something I did not expect: several people here thought I was a New Yorker. The first time I heard that, I thought the man was joking, but it quickly became a theme for the day. I was told I'm dressed like a New Yorker. (Well, that's a given: black clothing.) Then, I sound like a New Yorker. (Moms told me she'd kill me herself if I come home with a NY accent.) And the weirdest one: that I look like a New Yorker.
Tomorrow it's the Metropolitan and the Guggenheim. And the Bon Jovi.
-------------------
* I have a good excuse, though. The last time I went to the museum in SF, I was pregnant with #2 and kid #1 was in that phase where she screamed if you put her in the stroller. I was "that lady with the annoying kid" and decided museums were out of my life for a while.
**I grew up in a very small town in the midwest, the kind of place where we didn't lock our doors at night. Even though I've lived in San Francisco for almost 13 years, I was sheepishly nervous about traveling alone to NYC, only partly due to the several nervous phone calls and e-mails I got from my mother once she learned I was flying out here.
The view of the nighttime New York skyline from the Williamsburg Bridge was breathtaking, and yes, I cried.
First thing this morning my driver told me there is a free Bon Jovi concert in Central Park tomorrow night. For those of you that know the reason behind the timing of this visit to New York, I can only say that to have that *and* a free Bon Jovi concert happen in the same weekend is the first proof in my lifetime of the existence of a divine being.
I got myself into Penn Station and walked up to Times Square, then over to the New York Public Library, because libraries are my churches and I've wanted to see the inside ever since I saw 'Breakfast at Tiffany's' when I was a little girl. It's beautiful inside. Maybe possibly someday, there will be a book with my name imprinted on the binding, shelved somewhere inside. (Varjack, Paul, anyone?)
Then I went to MoMA, which had a veritable roomful of Piet Mondrians, and one of my favorite Paul Signac paintings, which was a complete surprise. I had no idea it was even part of the collection. The photography galleries were tremendous. There was a William Gedney photograph of some Haight-Ashbury street kids, taken in San Francisco in 1965. The photo could have been taken the day before yesterday. And why do I not have an Edward Weston or two framed in my house??? I left MoMA feeling renewed and must not let another several years go by before I am in a museum again*. It's bad for my mental health.
Then I walked around more, into St. Patrick's and around 30 Rock and by Radio City.
Seeing how I got through the morning without being mugged even once**, I decided to take the subway to Greenwich Village. I did not get lost, though it was the hottest, most humid subway I have ever been in. Once on the train, I was pleasantly surprised by how polite people were. I was also very thankful for the very nice man with the Russian accent sitting next to me, as he gallantly pulled a napkin out of his pocket and killed a cockroach that was crawling near my shoulder. And thank goodness he did, because just being a New Yorker does not prepare you for the screams you will hear if a spider or a cock-a-roach comes near me.
I walked around the Village for a bit. Comparatively speaking, Christopher Street was pretty tame compared to the Castro. Maybe it perks up at nighttime, I dunno. I walked around more and admired the architecture whilst deciding that my life would be perfect if only I had a vodka and soda with lime. Immediately after that wish, I turned the corner and there was the famous White Horse Tavern. So of course I went in and spent the rest of my afternoon there. Virtual round of applause for Bob the bartender: thank you for taking good care of me.
I will note for the record that I did not have eighteen straight whiskeys. And that is truly ironic, given who I'm off to see tomorrow!
Little sad note: there are still signs in the subway that say "World Trade Center". And they should never be taken down... but despite those thoughts being heavier on my mind than usual these last days, I wasn't expecting to see them.
Then a quick return trip by subway to Penn Station, and back to the hotel. I was tired and I had a blister the size of Topeka on my left foot. Being on vacation is hard work.
What else did I notice? Cigarette smokers, everywhere. It would literally kill me to live here. My asthma meds were barely keeping up. And if the cigarette smoke and the pollution didn't kill me, the heat would. It was 80, and a dry heat luckily, but I remember living in weather like this and I was thankful all day that that is no longer the case. I miss my fog!
They do not know what a Misto is in Starbucks here. I explained and they looked at me like I was nuts. So I gave up on the Misto and had a really really good cappucino instead.
I was unhappy to see litter, pretty much everywhere. Not a spot of sidewalk that doesn't have someone's spit-out gum sealed into the pavement. Yeah, in SF we got hippies and new-ageys and body-modification junkies and a mayor with a hair gel addiction, but comparatively speaking, the City is really clean.
And something I did not expect: several people here thought I was a New Yorker. The first time I heard that, I thought the man was joking, but it quickly became a theme for the day. I was told I'm dressed like a New Yorker. (Well, that's a given: black clothing.) Then, I sound like a New Yorker. (Moms told me she'd kill me herself if I come home with a NY accent.) And the weirdest one: that I look like a New Yorker.
Tomorrow it's the Metropolitan and the Guggenheim. And the Bon Jovi.
-------------------
* I have a good excuse, though. The last time I went to the museum in SF, I was pregnant with #2 and kid #1 was in that phase where she screamed if you put her in the stroller. I was "that lady with the annoying kid" and decided museums were out of my life for a while.
**I grew up in a very small town in the midwest, the kind of place where we didn't lock our doors at night. Even though I've lived in San Francisco for almost 13 years, I was sheepishly nervous about traveling alone to NYC, only partly due to the several nervous phone calls and e-mails I got from my mother once she learned I was flying out here.