Sunday, August 28, 2005
Notes from the Road
I got off the plane after my (very)red eye at JFK airport. Realizing Jetblue has WiFi in their terminal I sat down to consume some bandwidth. I sat next to a flight attendant and plugged my phone charger into the outlet next to hers, she smiled. "Nomads", I smiled back. I wandered around trying to find transit. I found the AirTrain which rocks by the way. It whirls you around the airport and then to Jamaica station in under 15 minutes, sweet. On the subway I spoke to someone with a backpack. I noticed a sleeping pad strapped to it "are you camping or staying at a really bad hotel?" I speak from experience on choice B. Choice A in town for a prewedding camping trip. A while later we arrived at my connecting stop in the middle of her sentence, "bye." The six took me to Grand Central. I bought my ticket north and noticed there was time before the next train out, coffee! Walk!
Drinking hot coffee on a balmy August Manhattan morning isn't so easy, unless it's from Dunkin Donuts. I got my coffee and wandered for a few blocks, walking and gawking. This is the my first time arriving in NY alone. Accompanied or not, I usually am met by parents at the airport and Long Island is the first stop. This time I am free to soak it all in, the familarity of New York and the city are both happening at once now.
I'm now on the Metro North train. Riding along the Hudson river. I'm taking in the sites, watching the old world river side industry remains, wishing the train was half as fast.
I got off the train at Beacon, my first destination/detour. Is it wrong to photograph a building you consider to be a work of art if the building houses a museum that forbits photography of the art? If it is, then I don't want to be right. I visited Dia: Beacon, an amazing museum housed in an old factory. Two hundred and forty thousand square feet of magical naturally lit generously spaced modern art. It was a feast.
I waited at the train with an anarchist kid. He said he wanted to get a paper but couldn't find a machine on the platform, in that complaining way. I don't have a whole lot against anarchist kids, we have a lot of beliefs in common but they complain a lot. Confused by his choice of equipment, I told him papers are free right there. One of the greatest innovations of the Metro Transit Authority are bins solely for newspaper. Why buy old news in the middle of the afternoon, it's already been consumed fresh by the morning commuters. He offered me some, I read an article on public art, it mentioned an exhibit that I forgot to go see. He was smoking a tobacco pipe to see how socially acceptable it would to light up a pipe in public. Apparently he's never seen an old man, or Popeye.
After I got to my hostel, I caught up on some sleep. I woke up and ate some rice that was left over from dinner, I just wanted something hot. I met the hostel owner's parents. They needed to check ebay real bad and the hostel computer was angry at the network. My powerbook victorious, I offered the use of it's browser. The second his fingers touched the keys he was gone. I talked to his wife while he surfed, old lady's love me. It must be all the dark hair that they miss.
I walked to a bar to check out some music. It was a cheap man's dream. I got there before there was a cover and at the end of happy hour, two for one. I sat down with my beers on a velvet couch and watched all the people and the bands. The second one was sucking and then someone spilled half of my beer into my lap. I moved over from the wet spot and waited out the next song. I wandered by a pizza placed and asked one of the employees out side if they sold pizza by the slice. "No, we only sell whole pies." I've been away too long because he was shitting me and I believed him. It was huge and good.
The wedding was fun. Manhattan with Travis and Misha the next day, we walked her ragged. Another day with Travis followed in Long Island; parents, bagels, beach.
Drinking hot coffee on a balmy August Manhattan morning isn't so easy, unless it's from Dunkin Donuts. I got my coffee and wandered for a few blocks, walking and gawking. This is the my first time arriving in NY alone. Accompanied or not, I usually am met by parents at the airport and Long Island is the first stop. This time I am free to soak it all in, the familarity of New York and the city are both happening at once now.
I'm now on the Metro North train. Riding along the Hudson river. I'm taking in the sites, watching the old world river side industry remains, wishing the train was half as fast.
I got off the train at Beacon, my first destination/detour. Is it wrong to photograph a building you consider to be a work of art if the building houses a museum that forbits photography of the art? If it is, then I don't want to be right. I visited Dia: Beacon, an amazing museum housed in an old factory. Two hundred and forty thousand square feet of magical naturally lit generously spaced modern art. It was a feast.
I waited at the train with an anarchist kid. He said he wanted to get a paper but couldn't find a machine on the platform, in that complaining way. I don't have a whole lot against anarchist kids, we have a lot of beliefs in common but they complain a lot. Confused by his choice of equipment, I told him papers are free right there. One of the greatest innovations of the Metro Transit Authority are bins solely for newspaper. Why buy old news in the middle of the afternoon, it's already been consumed fresh by the morning commuters. He offered me some, I read an article on public art, it mentioned an exhibit that I forgot to go see. He was smoking a tobacco pipe to see how socially acceptable it would to light up a pipe in public. Apparently he's never seen an old man, or Popeye.
After I got to my hostel, I caught up on some sleep. I woke up and ate some rice that was left over from dinner, I just wanted something hot. I met the hostel owner's parents. They needed to check ebay real bad and the hostel computer was angry at the network. My powerbook victorious, I offered the use of it's browser. The second his fingers touched the keys he was gone. I talked to his wife while he surfed, old lady's love me. It must be all the dark hair that they miss.
I walked to a bar to check out some music. It was a cheap man's dream. I got there before there was a cover and at the end of happy hour, two for one. I sat down with my beers on a velvet couch and watched all the people and the bands. The second one was sucking and then someone spilled half of my beer into my lap. I moved over from the wet spot and waited out the next song. I wandered by a pizza placed and asked one of the employees out side if they sold pizza by the slice. "No, we only sell whole pies." I've been away too long because he was shitting me and I believed him. It was huge and good.
The wedding was fun. Manhattan with Travis and Misha the next day, we walked her ragged. Another day with Travis followed in Long Island; parents, bagels, beach.
