New York

New York.
I was expecting to not really like New York, but within a week, I knew the subway system pretty well, knew the various boroughs, and felt almost at home. I enjoyed being in it, seeing how much more complex everything was. How much mor grafitti there was everywhere. how used and worn everything seemed. Who would have thought i would have enjoed that? In my mind, New York was the most intimidating city I could imagine, and it was, when I started out, but by the time I had to leave, I felt almost totally at home. Another city added to the list of those in which I might live in the future, though not for very long. a year or two at most.

My first real day was spend simply walking around, getting lost and finding myself again, I stumbled through the east village, along Broadway to union square, then down through the lower east side, Chinatown, the other way again on bowery street, then through Soho to Downtown proper. I was looking for a cheap day backpack, but really wanted to find a $3 thrift store jobbie. To no avail, I ended up getting one in some downtown shop, cheap, and functional, but you know, made in China. As I was leaving the shop, directly facing the site of the old World Trade Center, I got a call from Roger. He just outright said it. “Kirk is dead, man”. I couldn’t believe it, I was sure he was screwing around, joking, because I was far away and had not way of checking is information. But no. It because evident that he had died, earlier in the morning, killed on his bike. I got off the phone with him, and then the phone kept ringing, and I kept phoning people I thought should know. Tara was my first thought. Thankfully she was available to call heather, Kirk’s girlfriend, whose number no-one I had talked to had had. She called and immediately went over to heather’s place and hung out with heather as much as possible.

As many faults as my sister has (and lord know I’d be the first to point them out) she went above and beyond the call of duty of this one. Last I spoke to her, she had been by heather’s side for three days straight. Exactly what heather needs, someone to be there, hang out, not even say anything, just to be around.

After this news, I sat a while, thoughts racing. I felt dull and fatalistic, as usual. Things happen, people die. We are remarkably insulated by death these days, what with modern medicine, warning on coffee cups, the, the proliferation of cops, etc. And thus, when someone does die, we all freak out. In the old days, people would die all the time, and those left were de-sensitized, de-sensationalized. Tragic non-the-less.
The rest of my day was spend thinking about this, talking with my half-sister Jessica about it, and imagining how it had happened, how everyone was feeling.

The next day I met up with my friend Emmie, whom I’d met at the warehouse party in SF a few months earlier. She lives upstate a little, but stays in the city all the time, and was selling all her things in preparation to live in LA for the summer. We met up at her friend’s house, and headed out to Brooklyn, in an attempt to sell some clothes to vintage shops in that area. The main place we tried was Beacon’s Closet, the trendiest, hippest hipster shop in town. They took our bag of clothes and told us to come back in three hours. At this news, we decided to head over to her friend’s house with a six-pack. Brooklyn Summer Ale was the obvious choice for the day as it was rather nice out. We walked to his place (even though we were told it was much too far) got the beer and drank in his yard. Eventually, we headed back to discover that the store had selected to buy only one of her things, and she had a measly $5. Bummer. Anyhow, she was hosting a little party that night, and we had to get back to procure some booze. It was her half-birthday, and the party would be a half themed party. Everyone had to be half dressed, we would drink white Russians with half and half, and the plan was rather half-baked. We went on a wild goose chase to get the damn booze, which was amazing to me, as liquor is everywhere in SF, but in NY, there are grocery stores, beer stores, and liquor store, and the three must not be mixed. Weird. The party was hosted in the apartment of her friend who was the son of a NYU professor, who lived on the 24th floor of a NYU faculty building. With a Picasso statue in the courtyard no less. We got vodka, Kaluha, half and half, and big ol’ box of beers. The party went, we all got drunk, and I ended up outside, admiring the Picasso before deciding to WALK home, from 5th and Bleecher to 119th and Lenox. A long, long way. I had music, and I was rocking out the whole way. I stumbled through part of central park, before realizing that some would say it is a bad idea to walk drunk, at 2:30am, through central park, but I just felt like walking, so my trip home took around 2 hours.

At some point, after stumbling upon the "lower east side festival" or somesuch, i walked past a pretty mirror lined booth just of the street, with music wafting out the doors. Inside all sorts of DJ equipment, records, computers, a dj, his homie, and his guest lay scattered around. This was "east Village Radio". I stood in the open doorway for a while listening, and getting up the courage to ask for a song dedicated to kirk. The DJ shifts changed. and i asked the new guy. He played some dark, synthy thing in kirk' honour, and made and announcement on the radio. I was hoping that just maybe, someone who knew him was listening in NY at the time.

Also while in New York, I managed to see a friend that I hadn’t talked to in around 5 years. I emailed Marian a while before getting into New York, but had not heard anything back from her, so assumed that I wouldn’t get to see her. But half way through my stay, we managed to meet up, walk across the Brooklyn Bridge, hang out in Dumbo, wave at people in England through a huge underground “Telescope”. Drink more beers, eat great hamburgers at Fives guy’s, drink margaritas, hit up their local “bodega” (read sketchy corner store) and … Play Rockband. Marian’s boyfriend peter had a sweet pad in downtown Brooklyn, with the full setup; Big TV, PS3, and Rockband. I tried singing first, was demoted to drums, and further demoted to Bass Guitar. On guitar, I managed to hold it together, and actually ended up getting pretty decent for someone as musically un-inclined as myself. The sun came up, and we all went to bed. I dragged myself up of the couch that next morning with some difficulty. Peter (Marian’s boyfriend) and I went out to Junior's for breakfast and hypothetical conversations. Junior's was pretty crazy. I didn’t visit the bathrooms there myself, but was impressed to hear, that although it was an average, perhaps slightly upscale diner, there was a Bathroom Attendant, who would soap your hands for you, apply cologne, and such like, in the hopes of getting a tip. Pretty cool.


I left, and hopped on the Q train to Coney Island, where I met up with Jessica. We went on the Cyclone, which was surprisingly good, whiplash inducing, but, you know, what self-respecting, 80 year old fair ground ride doesn’t give you whiplash. Next it was bumper cars. With tongues dyed blue from the cotton candy, we laughed. We hung out on the beach, got more junk food, and finally came back in, via, (predictably for Jessica) a great Vietnamese restaurant.

My Last day in New York was me exploring central park, hanging out, listening to music, and for the last hour before I had to leave for the airport, hanging out with Marian and peter again.

There were, of course lots of other adventures and weird sightings, but for the moment, those can’t be recalled, or won’t be told.

Peter