New York, Yew Nork (part 2 of 2)

I woke up on Al Pacino's couch ridiculously early, already damp with sweat. I was sleeping on the third floor, and in full sun, so continuing to snooze was not an option. I knew that Hyatt was going to be sleeping for quite a while, so I left him a note and made my way back to Manhattan.

Luckily, the film crew outside of Lindsey's apartment hadn't started for the day. I would find out later that the crew was there to film an adaptation of the play "For Colored Girls That Have Considered Suicide," a play I know nothing about, but did remember from NPR.

Showered and refreshed, I headed back downtown to Time Square. From the directions I'd read off a sign on the subway, the King Tut exhibit was somewhere in that general area. It was not hard to find, thankfully. Time Square isna critical mass of tourists and bizzarre New York entertainment, and I prefer to view it from a distance.

The exhibit was surprising not only for its completeness, but also the scope of how informative it was. While Tut was not present, the exhibit goes to great pains to help the viewer understand the social, political, and religious context of Tut's rule.

For instance, I had no idea that Tut was the son of Aknahten, the enigmatic pharoah who overthrew the traditional gods and instituted his own brand of monotheism to Egypt. Tut succeeded Aknahten, and set about undoing most of the social and political turmoil created by his father. All of this was rather deftly handle by te exhibit, in addition to supplying plenty of shiny and interesting things to look upon.

After I'd had all the Tut I could handle, I retired to Bryant Park. I stumbled upon it while trying to find my way elsewhere, but found the peaceful allure of the trees too much to resist. As a result, I spent some time there.





The city provide park goers with equipment for games like bocci and ping-pong. I was stunned by how many games I ended up watching. It was shockingly engrossing!

Once Lindsey was off work, we strolled the stately grounds of Central Park. I arrived a little before she, and used the location-based game Gowalla to find some of the park's attractions that I had missed during previous visits. Little thing like the Cherry Hill Fountain:


And big things like the Bethesda Fountain Square, where I found a man playing cello:


After an excellent Thai meal, Lindsey, her boyfriend Noam, and I went out to Brooklyn to meet up with some of her friends. It was a curious evening, made curioser by the Armenian gentlemen we shared a table with. I think I'll go into greater detail on the other blog (wmeddy.com), but needless to say: the subject of the Michigan Militia was addressed.

We closed off the evening with a night-cap of rum from the Dominican Republic that tasted eerily like Nyquil. We used these coasters:


My last hours in New York were spent pleasantly with Lindsey and another of her friends over a late lunch. Befor I left, Lindsey was kind enough to show me one of the advantages of living in NYC.


And then I was off to New Jersey! I'm sorry that this is so glib, but I am running Late an have just completed a 22-hour bus trip from Jersey to Atlanta. More to follow, of course.


Onward!

Location:Savage Rd,Denville,United States

Yew Nork, New York (1of 2)

No, no; I'm not dead. But I seem to be laid up with some nasty allergies. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that it's not an illness, since that would be disasterous at this stage. The Everett's are taking excellent care of me, though, and perhaps a slow few days would be good for me all around.

But I am nagged with fear that I might get derailed not even a week into my trip. Anyway, let's talk about New York.

The trip to the Big Apple started innocently enough with a tasty sandwich and cousin Laura dropping me off at the Boston bus station. I boarded on time and was expecting to be moving ahead of schedule. But it was not to be. Within two hours of leaving Boston, the bus started to feel warmer. Each breath increased the claustraphobia, and the terrifying illusion that there wasn't enough air in the bus.

At our first rest stop, the bus driver confirmed that the AC was working at half capacity. But w plaowed ahead. 90min outside of Manhattan we stopped again. The driver informed us that we might have to wait for another bus to transfer to. Several strong-looking and strong-willed guys that looked of college age became extremely perturbed at this. Sleevelessly they walked through the bus and lead a revolt/opinion poll supporting a platform of "pushing on through."

At the time I felt good about pressing onward, but looking back on it, I wonder how much of it was me, and how much was the charismatic youthes that spoke on behalf of the passengers.

Popular opinion won out, and we had a dreadful, grueling 2hr trip to the Port Authority bus station.
Arrived and revived by the cooler air of the station, I shouldered my bag and went downtown to meet Lindsey, my oldest friend.

Despite my disheveled appearance, she insisted I come up to her office, hugged me, refreshed my spirit, and introduced me to her boss. He was a handsome, clean, bald man that resembled an Egyptian male model I saw in a German soap opera years ago.

I showered and changed at Lindsey's apartment on 152nd street, and then headed out to meet Hyatt. Frequent readers will recognize him as one of my former roomates in college. While I didn't get any pictures of the H-Man himself, this was painted on the wall of the Brooklyn bar where we met.


We had a few drinks and talked about The Old Days. We talke about how we got to where we are now, and if "here" is where we want to be tomorrow. We made fun of Nico.

Hyatt has always been an artist. When we were in school, he studed film and was heavily involved in theatre. A lot of his work explores issues of race and identity, but to say that does him a disservice and makes me sound like a pretentious film critic.

The bar was an excellent locale for discussion between two old friends. It had a dark-wood interior, with little octagonal tiles across the floor. The bar itself was topped in blue tile squares and rectangles. In the candle light (yes, candle light), the moving shadows and echoing tile reminded me of the Belle Isle aquarium; a strange, anachronism in the Detroit river.

Our talking went all over the place, but I noticed that despite the continued tenuous existence that he maintained all through college and afterward, Hyatt seemed more self assured than ever. He spoke with great sincerity, even on the lightest of subjects. "I've had some of the best times, and some of the worst -- the lowest lows -- since moving to New York," he told me.

A highlight of the evening was receiving a free round from the bartender becuase he overheard us talking about Tom Waits.

Meandering back to the film commune where Hyatt lives, we stopped for Emergency Falafel. We ate it lazily in the back yard of the collective, where a stage was framed between the huge neighboring buildings that towered over us. We talked about the future.


Hyatt showe me around the home he shared with other artists who work together making films. I could feel the excitement that you get from imaginitive people through the walls. One tennent had nailed pages from a French poem to his door. Hyatt's small room boasted a fragmentary Lichtenstein.

It was late, so I slept in the common room on a couch allegedly used by Al Pacino in a made for TV movie. I woke early, and made my way back to Manhattan in the haze of someone who has slept, but rested too little.


Up next: Lindsey, Armenians in Brooklyn, and a journey to the Garden State.

Location:Savage Rd,Denville,United States

Yew Nork

New York.
What can I say?

(NY Trip July 11 - 14)

The People

(Apologies for the crazy image sizes, but Flickr doesn't play nice with Blogger.)



I lived with Justin for two years in college. He's a great guy; unflappably relaxed, quick to laugh, and brilliant behind the editing console. He's one of the first people I've met who just pours out creativity, and is relentless in his pursuit of artistry. Justin was kind enough to let me and Kris spend several days in his lovely East Village apartment.



Kris is my longtime pal, currently residing in Boulder, CO where she does magical things with hard drives. Kris was the art director at the Gargoyle for three tumultuous years, and her artistic accomplishments speak for themselves. Despite working with me while I was editor we've remained friends -- a rarity at the Gargoyle.



Jennifer is the only person I know that sent in an unsolicited application to the Gargoyle. Talented with words, the Gargoyle was not enough to contain her and she's worked at all kinds of places (including the hardly reputible Michigan Daily). She met Justin during a hectic evening we all barely recall, and is now living with him in beautiful Yew Nork, NY.



From left to right: Kris, Me, Jennifer, Justin



Hyatt(hyatthyatthyatt) is another former roomate. Like Justin, he majored in film but spent a good deal of time focused on stagecraft. Currently living in Brooklyn, Hyatt is involved in some kind of theatre company. Unfortunately, the play he's working on opened after we left. Fortunately, he worked on a faux-blaxploitation movie that you can enjoy.



Cathy is the current editor of the Gargoyle and a skilled artist besides. Another film major (how does this happen to me?), she used my apartment on Madison street as a set for a student film. I'm not in it, on account of nearly dying from the flu. She's spending the summer in Yew Nork working as an intern for Conde Naste, the publishers of several magazines -- including the Yew Norker. I'm not in the least bit jealous.



Justin's Friends were many and varied; they were all so welcoming, if confused by us and our strange ways.
---

The Places



If pressed I'd have to say that we spent 70% of our time in Justin's apartment. Watching movies, laughing our heads off, and wondering what to do next it was the perfect staging ground for our adventure(s). Not having a TV, Justin has made do with his laptop hooked up to a massive HD computer monitor. The affect of which, coupled with his seemingly inexhaustible supply of hi-res films, was quite impressive.

I slept on an air bed. Not an air mattress, an air bed. It was about three feet thick with a slow leak that meant I entered stranger and stranger positions throughout the night. Given that, it is odd that I not only slept well, but enjoyed the challenge.

Justin's apartment has three gold records and one platinum record on the walls. How cool is that?

I can talk at great length about the restuarants. We experienced phenomenal pizza, delictable Italian food, and uniquely Ukranian quisine throughout our travels. Chicago is the food capital of the US, of course, but NY gave us some phenomenal options. And the bars weren't too bad either.

After much recommendation from my parents, and friends, we made sure to hit up Essa bagel. While I have had several NY-style bagels, this was a unique experience. With a variety of fillings and toppings, complimented by a laid back experience and a truly massive bagel it should not be missed.

We also made a meal out of soup-filled dumplings. There's not much more to say about this except that it was awesome.

There were several encounters and experiences in a Halloween shop, followed by an overwhelming trip to Forbidden Planet -- the famed NY comic shop. I was excited to see the place, having heard so much about it on the Internet but left a little disappointed. We couldn't figure out the organization of the place, and the only staffer I spoke too was brisk to the point of rudeness. The place has serious potential, but could use a little refinement. However, I don't regret a moment (or a cent) of the time spent there.

We did amble around Battery Park, discovered secret statues of dogs in Central Park, and paid our respects to the flashing light gods of Time Square. We attempted a museum trip but were deflected by strange scheduling, instead paying a visit to a few galleries where we saw Seuss and Dali on the same street. Quite a time.



---

The Things

A series of strange and wonderful movies Justin provided

Barack Pharoh-bama



Large, Ukranian meatballs



A clutch of art pens

Mattresses designed to give the sleeper a nautical adventure on a cushion of air

Small notebooks, filled with giggling sketches

Postcards

Old cameras valued for their peculiarities, rather then their photo prowess

A straw hat that's been everywhere

The sweat stain I left on the plastic bench in the 4 train

The homeless man that explained the Amtrak system to me

A gawdy gilded newsletter professing the wrath of God and the terrors of satan, complete with bedazzled cross clipart and a photo of the Elvis/Cash hybrid preacher

The quiet voice of a man as he passes quickly buy, quietly broadcasting his trade in fake IDs amidst the pulsations of Canal street.

A pizza joint that has a Major Award



The shirt that your friend also bought, that you don't wear on the same day

Finding yourself acting like you did 4 years ago

The future machine



A book about Sartre that you take off your friend's shelf, read, and makes you realize that you don't really like Sartre all that much



All these pictures come from the Flickr pool we put together. It's named for the Tom Wait's song, and will hopefully grow to include a complete if bizarre pictoral account of our trip.