New York City-Minute One

New York City, just like I pictured it

What the fuck is up with the RAIN?

We must have landed in NEW JERSEY!  I mean if I wanted to DRIVE to Kennedy…
 I mean it’s pouring out, and we’re driving in the 767, mile after mile,
watching the water stream down the windows.  THIS is a picnic!

I mean I used to live on the east coast.  I reminisce about the east coast. 
But I guess I’m a true Californian, make that a SOUTHERN Californian.  It’s
not supposed to rain from Memorial Day ’til Labor Day.  Yup, OUR God, the one on
the WEST coast, the one who believes in evolution, not intelligent design,
knows that in the summer you want to be outside, so he refrains from dropping
water on us.  God, driving into Manhattan I thought I was in Manchester, I
haven’t seen this much rain since I was at In The City.

And the games begin as soon as you exit the jetway, when you go to the
bathroom.  There are no Jerry Ford football helmets in the bathroom stalls.  (Yup,
Jerry was famous for wearing one of those leather caps, the ones that didn’t
protect you AT ALL in hits, that’s why we said he was slow, and inept.)  I mean
to tell you the truth, I don’t have this shtick, I don’t need the paper
between me and the seat.  Well, at least that’s in L.A., where there seems to be a
law requiring them.  Still, I’ve started using them, because when you tell
people you don’t, you get such stares.  But, in New York, let the games BEGIN!  At
least the seat itself was intact, it was not covered in graffiti.  I parked
my ass there and then noticed…the paper dispenser was covered in stickers and
magic marker scribblings.  FURTHERMORE, even though it was only eight in the
morning, I was shocked to find out they were almost completely OUT of paper. 
I got that jolt of anxiety for a minute, you know the one, where you take a
crap and find out…but there was enough paper to do the job.  But there was no
soap in the dispenser.  And the paper towel machine was challenged, you could
get SOMETHING out of it, but not much.

After retrieving my bag from the carousel, and extracting my umbrella, we
found a cab.  I told my sister it paid to go a little higher class, that we
should get a limo, but the cab was parked right outside,
she convinced me to go for it.

And you know the cabs in New York.  They come without shock absorbers.  And
we’re stuck in rush hour traffic, still, I must admit, unlike L.A., at least
we’re MOVING!  Slowly, although we are making progress.  Finally, we exit the
tunnel, we’re in Manhattan, and the driver is in his element, he’s showing us
his Monte Carlo skills.  They took off that recording, the one done by
celebrities insisting you wear your seatbelt, but I fished down and got mine, just
because you’re in the back seat of a cab, that doesn’t mean you’re immune, that
doesn’t mean you’re SAFE!  And I’m contemplating my agenda, whether two hours
sleep is enough to function, whether my room will be available at this early
hour when…

I just went to physical therapy YESTERDAY!  I mean I take
anti-inflammatories, on a trip like this I even wear a brace, still, I didn’t think I was going on a MOON SHOT!  We’re driving cross-town, and you know cabbies, they think they can make their own lane, this guy is squeezing the Crown Victoria in a space that looks fit for a Mini Cooper and then, THANK FUCKING GOD I’M WEARING MY SEATBELT, I’m jolted into the sky, it’s turbulence far beyond anything I experienced on the flight, I’m FLYING!  But it’s worse than that, because just before I went airborne, I was thrust back into the seat, HARD!  Like I’m in the
ring at the WWE or something.  And then it happened AGAIN, almost INSTANTLY, and just as I collected my wits enough to say WHAT THE FUCK?, the cab ground to a halt, and like a driver at Indy who’s spun out and has been eliminated from
the race, the driver has his head on the steering wheel, we’re not moving.  So
now, not am I only wondering what HAPPENED, but what comes NEXT!

The driver won’t talk.  Not that I could understand him if he did.  We’re in
the back seat in shock.  I’m wondering what the fuck my back is going to feel
like in a few hours, it’s like that time at Aspen that that dude hit me from
behind, I was checking all my parts, I didn’t know to what degree I was going
to survive.

And then my brother-in-law, with his wry sense of humor, kind of chuckles and
says "I think we have a flat tire…correct that, I think we have TWO flat
tires."  Still, the driver is nonverbal, he’s still in shock.  And slowly, as
our wits return, the question arises, what are we gonna do NOW??

First, we’ve got to get OUT of the cab.  I’m not about to stiff the guy, but
no way is he getting full fare.  But then I remember, my laptop is in the
front seat!!  If I get out without paying, he’s going to drive off with my
computer, he’s going to hold it hostage, for RANSOM!

And while I’m debating all this, my sister is arguing with the guy, who can
only say we owe him $45, full fare.  My sister wants to duke it out, but my
brother-in-law whips off fifty bucks, and we get out.  Barely.  The car is
crunched to the curb.  Actually, what happened, upon inspection, was that part of
the curb was jutting into the roadway, as if an earthquake had separated the
piping and now one tectonic plate had ended up on top and ajar.  I mean no
problem if you’re in the ROADWAY, if you’re not trying to be Dale Earnhardt, Jr.,
but if you’re trying to save thirty seconds, like that train engineer in Japan,
you’re gonna have PROBLEMS!  Not only two flat tires, but two fucked up
wheels.  Oh, the cabbie TRIED to go forward, there was just NO WAY!

At first he wouldn’t give me the laptop, he wouldn’t lower the front window,
he wouldn’t open the door.  Finally, I got it.  And I find myself standing
there in the streaming rain.

Thank god I had an umbrella.  But I had a WEST COAST umbrella, one of those
things that covers your head at most, and now I’m on the sidewalk, with my
suitcase and laptop, feeling…like a fired employee who’s had his car
repossessed.  And while I’m trying to keep my stuff from getting soaked, my sister says we’re going to WALK!

I vote for a new cab, but it’s two against one.  They’re convinced the hotel
is right around the corner,  I don’t think so, but I don’t have the address. 
And then, like HILLBILLIES, in the RAIN, we start to walk the streets of New
York City with our luggage, looking like COMPLETE rubes.

My jacket’s starting to soak through, my suitcase is dripping wet…who the
fuck knows if it’s waterproof.  I STOP, we MUST get a cab!  But you know family
dynamics, she’s my OLDER sister, it’s not about doing what’s right, but going
along with the PLAN!

Finally we hit Park Avenue, the class of the clientele rises, and we look
like we walked from ARKANSAS!

Then we hit the car dealerships.  We pass the Maybach showroom.  Doesn’t Lyor
Cohen have a Maybach?  Would Lyor Cohen be walking with his suitcase in the
rain?  I’m embarrassed, even though nobody I know is looking.  I mean maybe if
I was in my twenties, but in this two-tired twenty first century, with its
winners and losers, I certainly felt like a loser.

I mean we walk into the hotel looking like something the cat dragged in.  And
my sister’s bugging the dude behind the counter for an instant room, thinking
if only she tells our story again and again, this will  make a difference,
not realizing that with every word our status is going down, I’m wondering by
time she’s through if they’ll EVER have rooms in the hotel for us.

Finally, after saying that MAYBE we can have rooms in an hour, maybe an hour
and a half, the counter guy asks us…"Smoking or non-smoking?"

My response was easy…  We’re from CALIFORNIA!  Nobody smokes in California.

But suddenly the story changed.  Suddenly there were rooms, BETTER rooms if
only we’d agree to stay on smoking floors.

Was it all a ruse?  Were they waiting for richer customers to give these
rooms to?  Had my sister’s sob story really worked?  And how bad did the smoking
rooms smell anyway, at this first class hotel?

And my sister’s negotiating.  Can we sleep and THEN change rooms?

No, we’ve got an hour.  We can exchange only within an hour.

There’s a hint of nicotine in my room.  But I got a couch I knew I wouldn’t
have gotten previously.  I’m sold.  But I’m worried about creeping regret. 
Lying in bed, inhaling fumes and wondering if I made a mistake.  Then again, I
don’t want to sit in the lobby of the hotel soaked.

So I’m gonna power through, at least until the afternoon, go up to Q Prime,
go to lunch.

Oh, I’m sure I’ll be enamored of the greatest city in the world a few hours
from now, maybe tomorrow, but now all I can think of is the Stevie Wonder song.

His hair is long, his feet are hard and gritty
He spends his life walking the streets of New York City
He’s almost dead from breathing in air pollution
He tried to vote but to him there’s no solution
Living just enough, just enough for the city…

One Response to New York City-Minute One »»


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  1. Comment by unnamed | 2005/05/23 at 22:45:55

    THERE you are!! I missed you! I was starting to jones for my Lefsetz fix… THREE WHOLE DAYS without my feisty friend’s jousting! but, AHHHHHHHHHHH, better now… one of the things I love about you, Bob, is how you take a situation, even a crummy situation–being stuck walking in the rain, carrying your gear, with a flimsy umbrella–and make it so REAL, make it something I can relate to. especially the part about going along with the program because of family. it’s also cool getting a "shirt-pocket view"–like I’m tiny and tucked along for the the ride–of the life of someone who feels things. I even get to go places I’d never dare–the guys’ bathroom with a guy–and learn answers to questions I’d never dare ask–do guys care about toilet seat covers? and the coolest part of all is, for a New York minute this rich white Jewish guy puts his finger on the alienation and disaffection we’re thrown into in this American life, capping it off brilliantly with a song from the POV of an abysmally poor black guy. and it’s seamless, natural. identifies, once again, with us, with me. race doesn’t matter, wealth doesn’t matter, gender doesn’t matter. it’s just two souls, a one-to one experience enjoyed probably by many, who’ve discovered, "there’s a pair of us!"


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  1. Comment by unnamed | 2005/05/23 at 22:45:55

    THERE you are!! I missed you! I was starting to jones for my Lefsetz fix… THREE WHOLE DAYS without my feisty friend’s jousting! but, AHHHHHHHHHHH, better now… one of the things I love about you, Bob, is how you take a situation, even a crummy situation–being stuck walking in the rain, carrying your gear, with a flimsy umbrella–and make it so REAL, make it something I can relate to. especially the part about going along with the program because of family. it’s also cool getting a "shirt-pocket view"–like I’m tiny and tucked along for the the ride–of the life of someone who feels things. I even get to go places I’d never dare–the guys’ bathroom with a guy–and learn answers to questions I’d never dare ask–do guys care about toilet seat covers? and the coolest part of all is, for a New York minute this rich white Jewish guy puts his finger on the alienation and disaffection we’re thrown into in this American life, capping it off brilliantly with a song from the POV of an abysmally poor black guy. and it’s seamless, natural. identifies, once again, with us, with me. race doesn’t matter, wealth doesn’t matter, gender doesn’t matter. it’s just two souls, a one-to one experience enjoyed probably by many, who’ve discovered, "there’s a pair of us!"

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