Showing posts with label New York. Show all posts
Showing posts with label New York. Show all posts
Sunday, 15 February 2009
City Expectation Reversal # 1
So Rome is everything I thought New York would be and vice versa. Rome is the dirty, intimidating, frightening city, with filth and graffiti in the streets, dodgy looking characters, and mysterious dead bodies outside the Termini. Frightening, but broken up with extremely beautiful architecture. Meanwhile New York was the safe, fun, beautiful place, that seemed like some kind of magic.
Saturday, 3 January 2009
One of those moments that make you glad not to be an idiot.
Another thing about my day at MoMa. At one spot they had a collection of the gallery's works selected and organised by one Vik Muniz. It looks like they regularly have an exhibit where an artist selects works according to a certain theme. This one was called Rebus and its mission statement was a quote from Albert Einstein:
The start of the exhibit was a quite long film of one massive Rube Goldberg machine. For those who haven't heard the term before, a Rube Goldberg machine is basically where you use a chain reaction of needlessly complex mechanisms to perform a simple task. Some of you might remember an example of this from the Honda Accord commercial.
Anyway, it was massively packed in that spot. People were crowding in to see it, exclaiming there enjoyment of it, and laughing aloud at some of the crazier things that were happening on the screen. People were glued to this fucking thing, and it just went on and on. And they were all LOVING it. Having the time of their lives. Sitting down with the kids, talking about how good it was. And everyone was staying for the whole thing! I didn't watch it all but it had to have been longer than 10 minutes, and most people walk past any film exhibit longer than a minute.
As I watched these people, I noticed that a lot of them didn't even look at the rest of the exhibit, and in fact almost none of them stopped to read the explanation accompanying the film (and setting up the tone for the whole exhibit.) I did read it, and when I did, I felt glad for the first time in a few days. I felt glad to be me.
Here is an excerpt of what it said:
I thought that was such a fascinating thing to read and to ponder about, and hardly anyone bothered to read it. They just sat there living it, and not paying attention. I'm glad I can enjoy this sort of thing, and I'm glad I'm not one of the many people who cruise through exhibits (and life) without paying attention to what's around them. I'm glad the art got me thinking about the artists intent, and about the human condition, instead of just mindlessly enjoying Rube Goldberg machine footage.
The only reason for time is so that everything doesn't happen at once.
The start of the exhibit was a quite long film of one massive Rube Goldberg machine. For those who haven't heard the term before, a Rube Goldberg machine is basically where you use a chain reaction of needlessly complex mechanisms to perform a simple task. Some of you might remember an example of this from the Honda Accord commercial.
Anyway, it was massively packed in that spot. People were crowding in to see it, exclaiming there enjoyment of it, and laughing aloud at some of the crazier things that were happening on the screen. People were glued to this fucking thing, and it just went on and on. And they were all LOVING it. Having the time of their lives. Sitting down with the kids, talking about how good it was. And everyone was staying for the whole thing! I didn't watch it all but it had to have been longer than 10 minutes, and most people walk past any film exhibit longer than a minute.
As I watched these people, I noticed that a lot of them didn't even look at the rest of the exhibit, and in fact almost none of them stopped to read the explanation accompanying the film (and setting up the tone for the whole exhibit.) I did read it, and when I did, I felt glad for the first time in a few days. I felt glad to be me.
Here is an excerpt of what it said:
The human brain responds directly to the eye's inability to process all the visual elements of a scene instantaneously. As our eyes move from one point to another, they create a continuous narrative that is perceived by the brain as a seamless whole. I have often contended that human consciousness emerged from the growing complexity of such optical narratives and our penchant for interacting with the world through cause-and-effect models, graphs and timelines. The pleasure we derive from Rube Goldberg machines and rows of falling dominoes is an echo of one of our most primitive perceptual handicaps. Attention is what enables us to capture a managable vision of the world, by allowing us to ignore its natural complexity.
I thought that was such a fascinating thing to read and to ponder about, and hardly anyone bothered to read it. They just sat there living it, and not paying attention. I'm glad I can enjoy this sort of thing, and I'm glad I'm not one of the many people who cruise through exhibits (and life) without paying attention to what's around them. I'm glad the art got me thinking about the artists intent, and about the human condition, instead of just mindlessly enjoying Rube Goldberg machine footage.
Reflections on a failed New Year's Eve
I haven't had a great start to 2009. It all started on New Year's Eve, where I attempted to go to Times Square, had an awesome spot, but couldn't handle the cold or the lack of a bathroom and left. As Aaron put it, "the ball dropped prematurely" on that night, for me at least. It's taken me a few days to collect my thoughts on that night. I've been trying to write about it since I got back to the hostel that night, but I just haven't been able to get my head right about it all yet.
I feel pretty down about it, but I don't really know why. I don't think I should feel bad at all, but I do. Personally I think my decision to leave was an important one. I was freezing, my clothes weren't up to it at all and I would have been in a lot of trouble if I stayed. As I left I got really dizzy and faint. My eyes had swollen up from the cold, and were totally red. It looked like I had been crying for hours. I feel like deciding not to freeze to death was a good way to start the New Year. And I felt like deciding to leave, to give up on this stubborn attitude I always have about sticking it out for things, was important as well. I know it would have been amazing to have been there for the big finale, but why was I there? Was it for me, or was it for the checklist? For me to have something to tell everyone back home?
I wasn't having a good time at all. I was an ice-block. My pen was filled with guys, couples, old people and slutty teenage girls, so staying for a kiss was out of the question. So what else was there? I was freezing to death to see a big ball move down a pole and a whole bunch of confetti fly everywhere. I must have been crazy.
It took me a long time to come to the decision to leave though. I got there at 2pm, and left about 6.30 or 7. It snowed for a good portion of that time. There really is no feeling in the world like snow hitting you in the eyeballs. I can only describe it as being like crying in reverse. I met a nice Dutch couple while I was there and we hung out for awhile. They gave me a cigarette and a banana. I was grateful for both. Bananas are quite filling, and the cigarette actually warmed me up some. I think that probably counts as my first real cigarette.
Lionel Richie also helped me stay a bit longer. He performed three songs, stopped, waited 45 minutes and then played those same three songs again. The entertainment there was well fucked, I might add. Unorganised and horribly intermittent. In any case, I never thought I would ever be so happy to see Lionel. For those brief minutes everyone sang and danced some warmth into themselves.
The turning point for me was when I witnessed a young American couple fighting. She must have been complaining about the cold or something, and he was just letting her have it. He kept saying how she always has to get her way 99% of the time and how much of a pain in the ass she is.
It was a long and lonely walk 60 or so blocks home. I had to take awkward routes because of all the road closures. I jogged in the park for a while to try and get some feeling back into my limbs. I ended up getting back here, going on the computer for awhile and eventually getting to bed shortly after midnight, having totally ignored the countdown.
I was in the room on the laptop for awhile when this black guy, drunk as Mel Gibson comes in, climbs shakily in to his bunk and collapses. A few minutes later he starts vomiting uncontrollably for ages. I didn't even realise he was vomiting at first. It was all liquid. So much so that it sounded more like gargling than vomit. So he chucked all over himself and his bed. Later he started getting all emotional and apologising to me. Then he passed out again.
He continued vomiting throughout the night, and at one point vomited over the side of the bed (top bunk). It went everywhere. I just kept sleeping though. I didn't care.
I guess some people had it worse off than I did that night.
I feel pretty down about it, but I don't really know why. I don't think I should feel bad at all, but I do. Personally I think my decision to leave was an important one. I was freezing, my clothes weren't up to it at all and I would have been in a lot of trouble if I stayed. As I left I got really dizzy and faint. My eyes had swollen up from the cold, and were totally red. It looked like I had been crying for hours. I feel like deciding not to freeze to death was a good way to start the New Year. And I felt like deciding to leave, to give up on this stubborn attitude I always have about sticking it out for things, was important as well. I know it would have been amazing to have been there for the big finale, but why was I there? Was it for me, or was it for the checklist? For me to have something to tell everyone back home?
I wasn't having a good time at all. I was an ice-block. My pen was filled with guys, couples, old people and slutty teenage girls, so staying for a kiss was out of the question. So what else was there? I was freezing to death to see a big ball move down a pole and a whole bunch of confetti fly everywhere. I must have been crazy.
It took me a long time to come to the decision to leave though. I got there at 2pm, and left about 6.30 or 7. It snowed for a good portion of that time. There really is no feeling in the world like snow hitting you in the eyeballs. I can only describe it as being like crying in reverse. I met a nice Dutch couple while I was there and we hung out for awhile. They gave me a cigarette and a banana. I was grateful for both. Bananas are quite filling, and the cigarette actually warmed me up some. I think that probably counts as my first real cigarette.
Lionel Richie also helped me stay a bit longer. He performed three songs, stopped, waited 45 minutes and then played those same three songs again. The entertainment there was well fucked, I might add. Unorganised and horribly intermittent. In any case, I never thought I would ever be so happy to see Lionel. For those brief minutes everyone sang and danced some warmth into themselves.
The turning point for me was when I witnessed a young American couple fighting. She must have been complaining about the cold or something, and he was just letting her have it. He kept saying how she always has to get her way 99% of the time and how much of a pain in the ass she is.
You said you wanted to come to New York for New Year, and here we are. You always get your way, all the time. I'd much rather be on my couch with my family in Rhode Island, but no. We had to come here so you could get your way.It went on like that. He was being pretty harsh I thought, and she wasn't saying anything. I wondered how on earth those two people could stay together if that's how he talks to her. Then again I guess I've had some pretty vicious fights with lovers too. In any case, seeing that fight, the way the cold was making people crazy, and the logic of this guy who just wanted to be on his couch in Rhode Island got to me. I got the hell out of there.
It was a long and lonely walk 60 or so blocks home. I had to take awkward routes because of all the road closures. I jogged in the park for a while to try and get some feeling back into my limbs. I ended up getting back here, going on the computer for awhile and eventually getting to bed shortly after midnight, having totally ignored the countdown.
I was in the room on the laptop for awhile when this black guy, drunk as Mel Gibson comes in, climbs shakily in to his bunk and collapses. A few minutes later he starts vomiting uncontrollably for ages. I didn't even realise he was vomiting at first. It was all liquid. So much so that it sounded more like gargling than vomit. So he chucked all over himself and his bed. Later he started getting all emotional and apologising to me. Then he passed out again.
He continued vomiting throughout the night, and at one point vomited over the side of the bed (top bunk). It went everywhere. I just kept sleeping though. I didn't care.
I guess some people had it worse off than I did that night.
Wednesday, 31 December 2008
Experiences in the Empire State Building
Here are some stories which I hope will sum up the tourist experience.
Today I went to the Empire State Building. I managed to sort of sleep-in this morning, so I figured if I went to the ESB it'd probably be the only thing I would end up doing that day. I had seen how bad the line could be from the last time I was in the area. So I wandered down there, and in my customary fashion, accidentally came at the building from the completely wrong side and had to walk all away around to get to the end of the line. This can be a good thing. It lets you know what you're in for.
I had come prepared with a novel, my mp3 player, half a bottle of water and a medium coffee from Dunkin' Donuts.
I got to the end of the line at about 11 o'clock and prepared for a long wait. It was one of those lines that struck disbelief into the hearts of bypassers. Several people stood in it for awhile thinking it was just regular foot traffic for the area. Others stormed off in a huff at the thought of a line so long. I read patiently.
As we inched up the line, we had to endure the gauntlet: a bunch of people on the street from one of the bus tour companies. They begged, bargained and cajoled anyone who would listen, promising that for a nominal fee we could jump the queue on their particular tour, and be able to see the observation deck and more! Some people went for it. To entice the others they tried scare tactics, telling us it would be a 3 hour wait on the line. That seemed to not help their cause all that much but it helped mine, as some people would throw up their hands in digust, whip their scarves around their necks and head away from this madness.
I am not as opposed to waiting as some are, but then I had come prepared. The tour people started telling us to ask the ESB staff just how long the wait would be as if to justify themselves. One lady did, and they told us it would be about 45 minutes from now. At that point we were at the entrance to the building. Ha! I thought. 3 hours my arse. Not that I would have minded all that much. I had come prepared.
The line twisted and turned inside the building like the lower intestine of a metal giant. Each time I turned a corner I smiled as the people around me groaned. It went on and on. Thankfully I had come prepared. At about 12 o'clock I passed through the metal detectors. During the wait to be processed by security, I looked out one of the second floor windows and saw something in the third floor window of the building next door. It was a man in a turban, speaking on what looked like a walkie-talkie and looking in my direction. An old English couple nearby spotted this also and started talking and joking about terrorism in hushed tones.
At 12.33 I bought my entry ticket. Here I ran the second gauntlet: the EBS staff trying to sell us city maps and audio guides. I waved one of them away and she started sassin' me.
"What you gonna do then? When you get up there you'll see there ain't no signs or nothing. How you gonna know what you're lookin' at?"
It seemed scare tactics were the order of the day. A lot of people, unsettled by this threat of lost knowledge, reached into their wallets and purses to fork over 8 dollars for a map, 8 dollars for an audio guide, or 13 dollars for both.
At 1 o'clock I finished my novel. For this I was not prepared.
At 1.30 I got onto an elevator and thought "this is it!" The lift took me from the 2nd floor to the 60th floor in no time at all. I stepped out into the upper intestine of a metal giant. The line stretched on endlessly. I was now out of reading material, out of coffee, out of water and a little tired. My bag strap cut deeply into my shoulder like it was a spongecake. Now I was groaning along with everyone at each turn of the line. I started getting really angry inside at the people around me. Kids kept getting into my personal space and being little shits. Old people walked to slow when the line was moving. People were stepping on toes and heels. In a controlled environment, with security and concierge's everywhere, people are still hopelessly unorganized. Disorderly. As we climbed a set of stairs I pondered this, and, thinking back to my trip to Ground Zero yesterday, I had a real sense of just how horrifying it would have been trying to get out of the towers on 9/11. If people are this bad when nothing's wrong just imagine the worst nightmare of a situation.
Eventually I got on to a second elevator. I was skeptical, but this time I was pleasantly surprised to be actually on the observation deck on the 84th floor. The elevator from 60 to 84 took only about 5 seconds.
The view was pretty amazing, but was it worth it? I felt like the day was a bit of an anti-climax. It was good to do, but I didn't have that sense of wonderment I had in Chicago when Chris took me to the top of the Hancock Observatory. I guess that was because it was the first time I'd been to the top of a building like that. Still, the ESB was cool. It was different to be outdoors that high up. Windy as hell, freezing, but pretty cool. There's a certain satisfaction also in surviving the lines, and achieving a goal after enduring huge waits. I think what satisfied me the most though, was finding out I was right not to purchase a map - on each of the coin-operated binoculars up there was a list of what sights you could see from that spot. No signs up there my arse. There is a lesson in this: don't give in to terror.
After about 20 minutes up the top, I got out of there. It was too cold to stay too long, and it was pretty crowded up there. I headed to the exit signs, and discovered a queue to exit the building. I was not prepared for this. A concierge said we could walk down 6 floors to the next set of elevators which would be less crowded, so I did that. 6 floors later I was sitting in an even longer line. I groaned. What a day.
Today I went to the Empire State Building. I managed to sort of sleep-in this morning, so I figured if I went to the ESB it'd probably be the only thing I would end up doing that day. I had seen how bad the line could be from the last time I was in the area. So I wandered down there, and in my customary fashion, accidentally came at the building from the completely wrong side and had to walk all away around to get to the end of the line. This can be a good thing. It lets you know what you're in for.
I had come prepared with a novel, my mp3 player, half a bottle of water and a medium coffee from Dunkin' Donuts.
I got to the end of the line at about 11 o'clock and prepared for a long wait. It was one of those lines that struck disbelief into the hearts of bypassers. Several people stood in it for awhile thinking it was just regular foot traffic for the area. Others stormed off in a huff at the thought of a line so long. I read patiently.
As we inched up the line, we had to endure the gauntlet: a bunch of people on the street from one of the bus tour companies. They begged, bargained and cajoled anyone who would listen, promising that for a nominal fee we could jump the queue on their particular tour, and be able to see the observation deck and more! Some people went for it. To entice the others they tried scare tactics, telling us it would be a 3 hour wait on the line. That seemed to not help their cause all that much but it helped mine, as some people would throw up their hands in digust, whip their scarves around their necks and head away from this madness.
I am not as opposed to waiting as some are, but then I had come prepared. The tour people started telling us to ask the ESB staff just how long the wait would be as if to justify themselves. One lady did, and they told us it would be about 45 minutes from now. At that point we were at the entrance to the building. Ha! I thought. 3 hours my arse. Not that I would have minded all that much. I had come prepared.
The line twisted and turned inside the building like the lower intestine of a metal giant. Each time I turned a corner I smiled as the people around me groaned. It went on and on. Thankfully I had come prepared. At about 12 o'clock I passed through the metal detectors. During the wait to be processed by security, I looked out one of the second floor windows and saw something in the third floor window of the building next door. It was a man in a turban, speaking on what looked like a walkie-talkie and looking in my direction. An old English couple nearby spotted this also and started talking and joking about terrorism in hushed tones.
At 12.33 I bought my entry ticket. Here I ran the second gauntlet: the EBS staff trying to sell us city maps and audio guides. I waved one of them away and she started sassin' me.
"What you gonna do then? When you get up there you'll see there ain't no signs or nothing. How you gonna know what you're lookin' at?"
It seemed scare tactics were the order of the day. A lot of people, unsettled by this threat of lost knowledge, reached into their wallets and purses to fork over 8 dollars for a map, 8 dollars for an audio guide, or 13 dollars for both.
At 1 o'clock I finished my novel. For this I was not prepared.
At 1.30 I got onto an elevator and thought "this is it!" The lift took me from the 2nd floor to the 60th floor in no time at all. I stepped out into the upper intestine of a metal giant. The line stretched on endlessly. I was now out of reading material, out of coffee, out of water and a little tired. My bag strap cut deeply into my shoulder like it was a spongecake. Now I was groaning along with everyone at each turn of the line. I started getting really angry inside at the people around me. Kids kept getting into my personal space and being little shits. Old people walked to slow when the line was moving. People were stepping on toes and heels. In a controlled environment, with security and concierge's everywhere, people are still hopelessly unorganized. Disorderly. As we climbed a set of stairs I pondered this, and, thinking back to my trip to Ground Zero yesterday, I had a real sense of just how horrifying it would have been trying to get out of the towers on 9/11. If people are this bad when nothing's wrong just imagine the worst nightmare of a situation.
Eventually I got on to a second elevator. I was skeptical, but this time I was pleasantly surprised to be actually on the observation deck on the 84th floor. The elevator from 60 to 84 took only about 5 seconds.
The view was pretty amazing, but was it worth it? I felt like the day was a bit of an anti-climax. It was good to do, but I didn't have that sense of wonderment I had in Chicago when Chris took me to the top of the Hancock Observatory. I guess that was because it was the first time I'd been to the top of a building like that. Still, the ESB was cool. It was different to be outdoors that high up. Windy as hell, freezing, but pretty cool. There's a certain satisfaction also in surviving the lines, and achieving a goal after enduring huge waits. I think what satisfied me the most though, was finding out I was right not to purchase a map - on each of the coin-operated binoculars up there was a list of what sights you could see from that spot. No signs up there my arse. There is a lesson in this: don't give in to terror.
After about 20 minutes up the top, I got out of there. It was too cold to stay too long, and it was pretty crowded up there. I headed to the exit signs, and discovered a queue to exit the building. I was not prepared for this. A concierge said we could walk down 6 floors to the next set of elevators which would be less crowded, so I did that. 6 floors later I was sitting in an even longer line. I groaned. What a day.
Monday, 29 December 2008
Thoughts on a city.
What determines whether you like a city or you don't? I have no idea. I've been on the road 6 weeks, and seen about as many cities, but I still can't put into words why I feel the way I do about a place. Often I don't even realise I feel anyway about somewhere until after I'm gone. I thought I had a ball in LA, but after leaving I realised I hated it there. It's strange. But it's even more strange how much I love New York.
I feel really alive here. I feel like I could live here. I feel at home and not at home at the same time. And I can't really explain why. A woman asked me the other day what I thought about NY compared to the rest of America that I'd seen and I told her it was a million times better but I couldn't explain why. I guess that made me look kind of stupid considering I also told her I wanted to be a writer.
Some guys in the dorm were talking last night about what makes a good travel experience. The consensus was that any place on earth could be great one week or awful the next, and that it all depends on the people you're with and the people you meet. Everything about an experience will boil down to the people involved. Normally I would agree with this. The people around me made my experience in New Orleans awesome. The people around me in Miami made it shit. But that theory just isn't stacking up for me here in New York city.
Here's why. I'm avoiding everyone. I haven't made any friends here. I'm not trying to. I'm avoiding everyone, especially other Australians (shudder). And yet, I'm enjoying this city at least 10 times more than the rest I've visited.
I definitely need a new city theory.
All I can come up with though is gut instinct. I don't know what it is I love about this place, but the important thing is that I feel it. And I feel it. Just seeing the city as I flew into LaGuardia had my heart pumping. Seeing the Statue of Liberty today sent a charge through me, and seeing the skyline, sans the WTC makes me feel hollow inside. Tears welled up in my eyes at Strawberry Fields. Seeing the buildings, the streets, the incredible diversity makes me smile inside every day.
I <3 NY
I feel really alive here. I feel like I could live here. I feel at home and not at home at the same time. And I can't really explain why. A woman asked me the other day what I thought about NY compared to the rest of America that I'd seen and I told her it was a million times better but I couldn't explain why. I guess that made me look kind of stupid considering I also told her I wanted to be a writer.
Some guys in the dorm were talking last night about what makes a good travel experience. The consensus was that any place on earth could be great one week or awful the next, and that it all depends on the people you're with and the people you meet. Everything about an experience will boil down to the people involved. Normally I would agree with this. The people around me made my experience in New Orleans awesome. The people around me in Miami made it shit. But that theory just isn't stacking up for me here in New York city.
Here's why. I'm avoiding everyone. I haven't made any friends here. I'm not trying to. I'm avoiding everyone, especially other Australians (shudder). And yet, I'm enjoying this city at least 10 times more than the rest I've visited.
I definitely need a new city theory.
All I can come up with though is gut instinct. I don't know what it is I love about this place, but the important thing is that I feel it. And I feel it. Just seeing the city as I flew into LaGuardia had my heart pumping. Seeing the Statue of Liberty today sent a charge through me, and seeing the skyline, sans the WTC makes me feel hollow inside. Tears welled up in my eyes at Strawberry Fields. Seeing the buildings, the streets, the incredible diversity makes me smile inside every day.
I <3 NY
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