Back in NY for the 22nd time, and on the nicest couch yet, courtesy of the lady filmmakers who brought me here to talk in their emo documentary. Full time foil, part time shill - I'm always glad to go on the record and fly for free. NYC is still on my breath from 2 weeks ago, my compass still works, I am unfettered by it's pacing now. Due to being here on someone else's beckon, rather than business, or personal, or anything of my own need, the rudder is up - I can float sans plan, from the N or the R to the 6 downtown, from Carroll Gardens across the bridge and up FDR at 3 am, wondering if the toxic fish in the shit-fume river can "feel" cold and if they panic, or if they can remember the winter before and take solace in the coming spring and summer.
When I would come here back when I was a barely post-teen sprout, I did not feel choice in letting the city consume you, I felt like I had been drunk up into the belly. Initially, there was no comfort in it. Now, I love the equanimity, the deep embrace where you get lost in the folds, making like some botanical aggregate -- an organic mass teeming in unison: the camo'd toddlers rocketing up the avenues in their plasti-sheathed strollers, the 15 yr old boricuan girl on the Brooklyn-bound L running her long nails down her boyf's back while he attempts to harvest her virginity between stops, women on Sunday parade pinching poodles in the armpits of their fur coats on 86th, the long suffering staff writers drowning the hustle struggles with the beleagured 'sisstants siddled tight to mahogany bar tops deep into the week night, the enforceful stewards piloting the elevator at the Met killing weekends shuttling one floor up one floor down for eight hours at a go.
It is not my city, but sometimes I kiss it back.
Working backwards from now, I ate pudding with both meals today, took the train 11 times in 42 hours, lapped an easy quart of decaf mochas, tested out the bevy sweet smelling shampoos of my hosts shower, went to a NY muesuem for the first time ever and saw the Arbus exhibit where her suicide gets exactly and only one sentence of acknowledgement "On July 26th, she committed suicide", laughed the wrong way at the Falun Gong prisoner-reenactment in Union Square with sweatsuited and dramaticly sad folks in cardboard constrcution cages, had a drunk dude almost fight me at the Juiceboxx show because I did not want to converse with someone who was wasted and flicking brandied spit on my face , saw Juiceboxx redefine raw power, saw Airbrains play the most ironic set of ironic "electro" that was 9o% wacky outfit and 10% puppeting of signifiers of ironic ideas delivered with mock enthusiasm, met penpal Megan who was Hey 19 art school cute clad in all lavender and had a mouthful of goldfronts and tattoos of a bandaid and a bike on her leg, did a two hour interview for someone's film on two hours sleep making easy jokes about eyeliner'd emo bands and was thankfully not asked to reconcile my personal war with eem after years of repping At The Drive In, Promise Ring, Get Up Kids, Braid, Onelinedrawing, Alkaline Trio and Jimmy Eat World (Really, sorry bout that... but, honestly, I was only the lamaze coach on that whole thing.)
I hit the trail home tomorrow. Word to Manhattan and all the boroughs.Posted by Jessica at March 14, 2005 01:01 AM | TrackBack