It’s a hell of a town.

I’ve been meaning to write a bit about what I’ve been up to here in New York but, as always, as soon as I think I ‘should’ be doing something I stop wanting to actually do it. I’ve done a heap of like… stuff. And also some things.  So I’ll list these some of these ‘things’ and then elaborate on the more interesting ‘stuff’.

1. Flights.
Better than expected. But then again, I expected to vomit continuously before crash landing in the Pacific, so ‘better’ is not a difficult benchmark. In Melbourne airport I ran into a friend from a creative writing class who was also flying to New York with his partner. These sort of coincidences seem to happen to me quite a lot, and I almost expect them. It’s a small and infinitely strange world.
The only major stress was changing flights in LA. I had an hour to get from my long-haul flight from Melbourne to my flight to New York. If you’ve been to LA airport you will understand my distress at this prospect. LAX is the worst place on earth. No, really, it is. It’s one giant, angry, unhelpful queue. At the end of which you are felt up by airport security staff. And waiting in that queue when there is 20 minutes until your flight is due to take off —TAKE OFF that is, not finish boarding— is a special kind of torture. By the time I got to the front of the security queue and removed my shoes and took off my jacket and got out my passport and boarding pass and heaved my bag up onto to conveyor belt, there were only 10 minutes until my flight was due to leave. Then the security woman told me to put my shoes through the X Ray a second time. I was on the verge of tears at this point and begged to be allowed to run for my flight. The woman stared at me like I was an amoeba who had just shat on her rug, and said I had to put them through again. No exceptions. So I did. Then I ran. Yes, me.
Drawing on my vast reserves of good karma, I willed to plane to be late. And it was. I tend to have quite good luck with travel, so long as none of family are travelling with me. I was the last person to board, red faced and gasping, but I made it. One of the flight staff brought me a glass of water and patted me on the back in a matronly manner. This is something I like (perhaps the only thing) about United. All their staff are middle-aged, motherly, with an air of placid world-weariness which I find endearing. You can’t imagine them ever being particularly happy to see you, but if the plane goes down, they’re gonna know their shit.

2. Taxi Driver.
As mentioned in my status, was named Rosemond Phaniel. Excellent.

3. Bedford Avenue.
The hipster homeland. Though I can think of places in Melbourne that out-hipster it by a long shot. Nice place though.

4. MoMA
Was terribly jetlagged my first morning, so decided to put my inability to sleep past 5am to good use and get to the Museum of Modern Art early. Much too early in fact. They don’t open till 10:30, so I spent my time walking up and down the long line of film equipment vehicles which were parked in the street outside, hoping to see where there were filming or, better yet, some famous people. Sadly saw neither. Just lots and lots of white vans.
When MoMA finally opened up I went up to the top floor and began working my way down. Well, Jesus Christ MoMA. Want to calm the fuck down already? Don’t you realise that if you cram every great work of the 20th century into one space people might become a little overwhelmed? Seriously. Also it’s kind of selfish. Just saying.

5. The Strand Bookstore.
18 miles of books! As they proclaim all over the façade. I don’t know how they’re measuring that exactly, but there were a lot of books in this place. It is outrageous how much cheaper books are in the US. Oh! And, most excitingly, David Sedaris is talking there for free next Tuesday. I shall go along and see his funny little face and listen to his even funnier little voice.

6. Buildings.
I wish I knew more about architecture. I do know enough to be gobsmacked by the beauty of Manhattan however. The massive apartment blocks and skyscrapers around central park are especially impressive. The scale is just monumental. Utterly unhuman, in a good way. They speak so clearly of the industrialists and self-made-men of the early 20th Century, all trying to out-do each other in ostentation. I wish the mega-rich of today put their money into revolutionary architecture, rather than whatever it is they put their money into.

7. Grizzly Bear.
Bought a ticket on e bay to this sold out gig. Was, not surprisingly, amazing. All four of them have such beautiful voices and when, as an encore, they performed acoustically the whole room was enthralled. Gorgeous stuff.

8. Objectified.
Went to see the new film from the guys who made Helvetica (the film, not the typeface, though the film is about the typeface). It’s all about industrial design and the ideas and processes that go into every single manufactured object around you. Spent the whole subway ride home staring at screws and zips and railings. Great film.  Plus, the extended trailer for In The Loop, the film of the excellent British series, The Thick of It. Let’s just say I am really excited. Choice line:
“It’ll be easy peasy lemon squeezy”
“No it won’t, it’ll be difficult difficult lemon difficult”

9. Central Park.
Is awesome.

10. Crying in public.
I walked past the New York Historical Society museum and decided to go in (on the strength of a poster for a Lincoln exhibition they were holding—sorry Jess, it’ll be over by the time you get here, but I took lots of pictures for you). It was interesting in a low-key kind of way. Not much stuff, but some nice information about New York’s landmark buildings, early paintings of the area, artefacts etc. Then, in one corner of an obscure cabinet, was a small collection of things from the World Trade Centre site. A jar of dust, some fragments of glass, a warped dali-esque clock stopped at 9:04. And a transcript of a phone call made by a man on one of the planes that crashed. He was calling his Dad and describing what was going happening on the plane. He told how a stewardess had been stabbed and how passengers were being sick because the plane was flying so erratically. He didn’t think the pilot was in control anymore. He said he thought they were being flown to Chicago to crash into a building there. He told his Dad not to worry. That if it happened it would be quick. Then the transcript records a woman’s scream and the call ends. The man was travelling with his wife and small daughter. Reading this I was suddenly overcome by tears. I sat in front of the case and cried to myself for at least ten minutes. Something about this man, calling his Dad to reassure him that his own death will be swift… I find it an excruciatingly painful idea. Perhaps it’s disingenuous of me to react like that. I didn’t cry when hundreds of thousands were killed during the tsunami, or at the Chinese earthquake or at pretty much any other disaster ever. Perhaps I’m just crying because it happened to westerners like me. But what can I do about that? It’s such a hard thing to talk about without being either insensitive to those who genuinely suffered, or conversely buying into the jingoistic mythologising of 9/11, but being here, enjoying this incredible city, I am overcome by the vast chasm of sadness that 9/11 is in this place.
And on that mightily depressing note, I will end. Tomorrow I’m thinking Coney Island perhaps, or just another day of aimless yet fruitful wandering around the city.
Until then.
xx