Don't delete me!

I am the most important person in New York

Or at least I feel like it, when I part ways on the street with my boyfriend and his pooch. Because she cries, cranes her neck and howls (while he stands there impassively and sips on his iced coffee) and it pierces through the ambient Manhattan noise, and ricochets around the skyscraper canyons. Hurried businessmen and -women stop, turn, look for the source of this tortured wail, and then follow the direction of its plaint up the street, to me, grinning, blushing, hurrying to the train, fishing for my metrocard.

SIGH

We can talk about why 9/11 is my most hated time of year, or we can just watch this video together.

Six storeys underground in a bank

So, one day I went to the Federal Reserve. I mean, I lived across the street from its hulking stone mass and its armed guards and its barricaded entrances for an entire year. And then one day, much more recently, I went on a tour of the inside. The tour was utterly bizarre. This is, of course, post-2008 financial collapse, which gives the cheerful, educational colouring books and filmstrips boasting about our financial system a rather uncanny glint. The highlight is when they take you six storeys down to the gold vault, and you get to walk through a 6-foot thick steel door and peer through the metal mesh fence at the stacks of ingots. The individual vaults all belong to foreign governments or private holders, but they won't tell you whom! Fun fact: all official weighings are still done with mechanical, and not electronic, scales. When the tour ends, you are treated to a bag of shredded dollar bills.


And then, a few weeks later, I accompanied a friend to the very same depths underground in Chase Manhattan Plaza, directly opposite the Fed. He had to retrieve something from a safety deposit box. This requires being escorted by a bank official, through turnstiles, into a service elevator, through vault doors and into a reinforced room. You sign a ledger. The official takes you into the maze of safety deposit boxes. Some are big, some small, some have spinning locks like an old safe, some just have keys, as did my friend's. Two key holes, in fact, which you and the bank official have to unlock simultaneously. The metal sleeve comes out, still concealing its contents, and you take it to a private booth to deal with its contents. When you are finished, you repeat the process in reverse.

HA where?

My stalker and I (will explain later) have a shared fascination with obscure street names in Manhattan. I mean, everyone knows Broadway and Delancey and Houston and the Bowery, but Cherry Street? Attorney Street? Corner of Jefferson and Henry, anyone? Beach Street at St John's Lane? We can play this game because we like to walk around WDT (that's waydowntown, yes we invented that and yes you can use it). I mean, you sort of at least have to play this game below Houston, where the grid ends and the streets get name-names and not numbers. The best neighbourhood for it is perhaps Two Bridges (my favourite neighbourhood - so obscure, so...off the radar), on the far east side of the island between the Manhattan and Brooklyn Bridges. We have a running joke about hopping in a cab and casually telling the driver "Um yeah, going to X Street and Y Way thx."

Well I have found the ultimate, my friends. The intersection of Wui plaza and Teddy Gleason Street. I defy you to find it on a map. It even mystifies Google. Bahahaha.

UPDATE: Teddy Gleason is gone!

Backing up: This strangest intersection in New York was discovered on Tuesday night, around midnight. We happened to walk past that same spot the very next night, and found that the sign for Teddy Gleason Street had disappeared! Just then, a mysterious man emerged from a parked car under the street lamp to which the street signs are attached.

“You two! I remember yous from last night.”

“What the hell happened to Teddy Gleason?” we ask.

“The sign – they knocked if off,” he says, gesturing at a pair of ATCO trailers parked on WUI Plaza, evincing some kind of construction taking place during the day. He said it like he’d been waiting to tell us all day. “It’s layin’ on the ground around here somewhere.” And he proceeded to look for it, like he was going to…give it to us?

“We found out who he was,” we say. “He was the president of the Longshoreman’s Union.”

And then, simultaneously, the mysterious man said “President of the Longshoreman’s Union and all he got was this little street?” and my stalker said “They named a street after him just cuz he was president of the Longshoreman’s Union?”

SMS Highlight Reel, vol 28: impromptu vacations

"3 seats left. You in? Bahamas."


Drinking out of coconuts poolside, taking the jitney to the collection of shacks that serve fresh conch ceviche, walking on the beach, swimming in the ocean and basking in the sun and then going up to the air-conditioned room to lie on clean sheets and watch CNN. Also: watching 20-year-olds with fake tits and belly button piercings parade around in leucite heels and string bikinis - apparently we were there just in time for the "American Dream Model Contest." The non-idiomaticness of that title was oh so apt.

Mirth vs. mirthlessness

My favourite humans are those who do not take themselves too seriously. Illustrating the opposite pole is the Serbian artist Marina Abramovic, who had an exhibition at the MoMA that involved...being admired while sitting in a chair? Also, a retrospective of her "art," the recurring theme of which seemed to be: "OMG the naked human body!" It soon became clear that all of Abramovic's admirers take themselves too seriously also, because - for instance - when they had to squeeze between two naked models in order to get to the next gallery room, none of them - not one - like, giggled. Ugh, we do not share a world.

Also, Orlando Bloom was there with some incredibly hot chick, and they were getting their own guided tour amidst the crush of visitors. And people did not notice them and kept bumping into them with their bags, hee.

Sigh, and then date and I had drinks outside on some rooftop bar and then went to Nougatine for dinner (address: One Central Park West) and then walked around the park after dark. Rough life.

Prague conference

I got invited to an invitation-only conference in Prague. There were lace curtains and frescoes and doors with keyholes. I printed my talk out on A4 paper (it's like 8.5 x 11 on a diet). Between talks coffee was served in porcelain cups for a 20 kroner piece. Important people listened to what I said and asked me questions about it. I stayed in the villa, on the conference grounds. It looked... like this:

A tale of two delis

Admin I sit next to at work: "That place is kinda pricey."
Me: "I don’t know, I can get a bagel, lox and cream cheese there for $2.95."
Admin: "It’s probably cheaper at the Bagel Buffet."
Me: "Nope. Don’t believe you. $2.95 is cheap. Not lox cream cheese, lox and cream cheese."
Admin: "Nah, Bagel Buffet would be cheaper."
Me: "Which one is that, anyway?"
Admin: "13th and 6th. We used to call it the smelly deli. They had a vent to the outside so you could smell their bacon all day."
Me: "Weird, I’ve never seen that place and I'm at that intersection all the time."
Admin: "You could walk right by it and miss it."
Me: "Well I still don’t think it’s gonna be cheaper."
Admin: "Hey, [office assistant], call Bagel Buffet please and aks them how much is a bagel with cream cheese and lox."
Office Assistant: "I don’t know - you have to habla espanol at Bagel Buffet."
Admin: "Don't worry, they speak American dolla."
[calls]
Office assistant: "Oooh, you're not gonna be happy, [admin]."
Admin: "What did they say?"
Office assistant: "They said $7.50."
Me: "Hah."

Katherine was here!

Damn it, I need a PA

A personal assistant, yes. Not because I am important (I am not important), but because by the time I finish working, going to class, and riding the subway all day I have just enough time left over to answer emails and put more things in my daytimer. In other words, forget studying or reading or writing these damn conference papers, or even getting all my mundane little tasks done. Yeah, that's what I need, one of those PAs like the ladies on the Upper East Side or West Village have. Return these library books for me. Update my cv and find me the email address for the editor of the Times real estate section I DON'T CARE HOW. Drop this picture off at the framer's and drop this cheque off at the landlord. Finish this fee board application and buy my sister a birthday gift (by the way, you're late, her birthday was April 8th). And, of course, pick up more diet coke and ramen.

Takin' it from the streets

One night after a few glasses at Loup, on my way to the subway home, I came upon an abandoned coffee table on 13th street. Beautiful, solid wood construction and just like new. I carried that table up and down stairs, through subway turnstiles, onto the 1 train and off again, and up two flights in my building, where I knocked on my neighbour's door (well after midnight, I am sure) and asshhkked her if she wanted it. She did!

The other night after a nighttime stroll my friend and I came across an abandoned Billy bookshelf on Chambers street. It was covered in dust but in surprisingly good condition, and the former owner had even gone to the trouble of bundling the shelves with twine. I pulled all the shelf pegs out and stuck them in my pocket, and we carried it off into the night. Some twenty blocks later, my neighbour had a new bookshelf, too.

He's standing right behind me, isn't he?

Things continue to happen in twos in New York.

I brought my mom and her friend Cathy, who were in town visiting me, to Loup, and explained that this was our after-class haunt (and hence where my mom got me a $100 tab as a Christmas gift), though celebrities sometimes pop up here, perhaps because it is so low-key. Just then Michael Douglas walked by and took a seat at the table over my right shoulder. (Which means he would have got a good view of when the bartender came over to give us props, hehe.)

Saturday I "tabled" (vended) all day at the Anarchist Bookfair, with my publisher-friend who was in town for that reason, and at some point we ended up engaged in conversation with a passerby about what a clown Zizek is, har har har, until I realized that he (Zizek) was standing at our table perusing our books.

Hot dog guy and coffee cart guy are friends!

My coffee guy had to move his cart across the street because of the tearing down of the New School Graduate Faculty building (a matter of some controversy, if you recall). Now his cart is right next to my hot dog guy! I actually don't visit my coffee guy so much anymore (I get free coffee at work, which accounts for some 90% of my job satisfaction), but I'm up to about two hot dogs a day.

Passover vs. Easter

Sarah is one of my favourite Jews, not least because she will invite all of us to her seder and give us photocopied Haggadah handouts so we can participate.


She is a vegetarian, so this is her version of a shankbone:


Apparently Passover is a whole week long! We closed it out (same guest list) with a big, ham-centered Easter dinner cooked by yours truly (I forgot to take a picture before we decimated the banquet).

Conference In Chicago

Because my mom came along, we stayed in the nicest damn hotel. No crashing on futons for me.


Also because my mom was there, we took a lot of cabs (Chicago is windy!). But we also took the El. That damn train feels like it's going to tip over. I prefer my trains underground, thank you.




And because my mom was there, we ate deep dish



But we also ate tapas and sangria and crab salads and prosecco


Finally, because my mom was there, I got to do wonderful touristy things and not just conference-y things (which were, admittedly, also great), like check out the Frank Lloyd Wright houses in Oak Park




And have a drink at the top of the John Hancock building, and then wander through downtown




Now, my mom came with me a conference once before. The very first time I got a paper accepted to a real, grown-up (non-student) conference, she and my dad flew us all down there, and rented a car, and got a hotel room (and stocked it with wine), and even sat through my talk - my mom, in her gold sketchers and gold earrings and leopard print top, my dad in his Nexen Engineering promotional windbreaker and his Colt Engineering promotional golf shirt. It was absolutely lovely.

Now admittedly, we dowdy academics dress like caricatures of ourselves too. But not this time, friends. Because this time, when I arrived to find myself underdressed for the cold, my mom went and bought me scarf. And the only one she could find (SO SHE CLAIMED) was loud gold paisley just like hers.


The two of us walking around with our big, Texas beauty queen hair and our gold scarves? We were several El stops away from the University before I put that thing on, lemme tell you.

Going to Chicago

Email conversation between me and my mom:

Manhattan vs. Brooklyn

Some of my friends live in Manhattan, but more live in Brooklyn, because it is cheaper, on account of being a little to the right of the centre of the universe, and not having quite the same vibe, or energy, or number of coffee carts. Don't get me wrong, living in Brooklyn involves very little sacrifice. You can live in the cute hipster Brooklyn neighbourhood, or the quirky warehouse neighbourhood, or the gentrified, family-populated neighbourhood, or the somewhat sketchy neighbourhood, or the really homogeneous ethnic neighbourhood. In fact, people who live in Brooklyn will go on and on about how great (charming, convenient, homey, interesting, up-and-coming) their neighbourhood is. Sure. But when someone invites you to their birthday drinks at their neighbourhood Brooklyn pub, and you're at the mercy of the single goddam train that goes there, and unable to hail a cab back, all you can think is "pay the extra two hundred dollars and live in the city, asshole."

Census

I filled out my census form. I opened it and filled it out and mailed it right away like it was Christmas morning. I like the idea of there being a record that I lived here. In 200 years, someone mining data will happen upon this and wonder, "There used to be a Lower Manhattan?"

Monday was cold and rainy

It's still the case that our good friend passed away on the ides of March. I don't think either she or we realized we'd think of her this much.

Haha this is video is terrible, and I can picture the two of us arguing about it.