THE BEST of the best

Everything has to be the best. Not satisfying, not good, not great, but THE BEST.
Competitive conversations are held where people engage in verbal dueling to establish where one can find THE BEST pastrami sandwich. Caron and Joel’s favourite Italian place VS Naoli and Ben’s favourite Italian place. Friends want to take us up hill and down dale to eat THE BEST pizza, and THE BEST Japanese place in Soho has a queue so long that they have set up a fairy floss machine for people who wait outside in the New York winter for a table. Every shop advertises itself as THE BEST, and it is contagious. It becomes a mental game and a topic of conversation much like the weather. There might be a place close-by that sells delicious hot chocolate, "but let’s go to that place downtown that sells silky, think, Belgian hot chocolate with homemade marshmallows."

We went to the Museum of Modern Art (MOMA) and loved it. Naoli and Ben lent us their passes, so we did not have to see everything in one hit to get our money’s worth. Charles and I went and spent a couple of hours. All good!
Now the prefacing comment to this story is that when Charles went to Italy with Tony, he came back and declared it the best holiday ever because I was not there to make him go to galleries.
Yesterday I went out with Naoli, and Charles went out with his new friend Sasha (ask me about her later). The aim of the day was that Sasha would show Charles her version of New York, she suggested skating at the Wollman Rink in Central Park, then dinner down in St Mark’s Place. But Charles did not want her to have all the moves on the day, so, armed with Ben’s pass he took her to the MOMA.

Naoli and I caught the train out to Long Island to PS1 Museum of Contemporary Art and saw a lot of angry, edgy, hostile art with lengthy descriptions about the sociological meaning of bits of stuff that really just seemed like a bunch of blurry lines to me. Some of the more political stuff was really confronting, some was just full of sound and fury.
One thing I liked was a series of emails, hand written on A5 paper documenting the correspondence between a young woman traveling the world and her friend in New York. The thing that made it interesting was the fact that she traveled the middle east and offered cutting insights into events, while her friend in New York commented from the perspective of someone "inside the belly of the beast." (That is Fidel Castro’s saying about living inside America.) Another thing I liked was a flattened silver service and flute suspended from the ceiling on wire so that each piece floated perfectly horizontal at the same level: about 20cm from the floor.

Other adventures include

• I went to a Fashion Institute exhibition on colour


• Charles and I trekked down to the meat packing district (where Samatha from Sex in the City has her apartment) to go to a French diner call Florent.


• Caron and I went to a Ukranian diner called Veselka.


• Charles and I found, and loved Zabar’s: a messy Jewish European style delicatessen.


• We found the Velvet Underground banana t-shirt.


• Charles and I accidentally got on the wrong train, then jumped off at the next station to find the platform bedecked with Tom Otterness sculptures. (The photographs don’t do them justice because the subway is so dark.)
  http://www.nycsubway.org/perl/artwork_show?21

And now the highlight: Suzie (the woman who owns the apartment) left a list of recommendations, one of these included a French/Jamaican place. I have never seen a smaller place. The kitchen is not divided from the dining area, not by a bench, nor a counter; the guy just cooks right there in amongst the tables. The menu is limited, he does not take bookings or do take out. The system is that you show up, put your name on the list, give your mobile number, go home or to a nearby bar and wait for a call when your table is ready.
Naoli, Ben and I walked back to the apartment and entertained ourselves by reading aloud definitions from The New Joys of Yiddish by Leo Rosten. Over an hour passed and then we were summoned.
The snails made my eyes roll back in my head, the duck was crispy on the outside but oh so tender, the sauce was classic French: dark, rich and peppery. Sebastian (the owner, waiter, kitchen hand, maitre de etc) was declared by Naoli and I to be the best looking man in the world and we proceeded to behave like idiots. And for Ben, the music was non-stop classic funk from the 70s and early 80s (this is Ben’s very favorite) Little Richard, Marvin Gaye, Stevie Wonder, Terrence Trent Darby and more. So, Ben is going to interview Sebastian for his hip-hop show and everyone was happy.
No sooner had we left the place that we were planning our next trip back.
Dare I say it: it was THE BEST!!!!

Begging and the right to free speech

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You can email me if you want at caruso.g@kingswoodcollege.vic.edu.au. But apparently if you persist, it is possible work through the how to comment registration procedure.

On the subway:

Some guys just come along and tell a sad story, hold out a paper cup and ask for money. Others sing a-capella style; usually a cheery number. There are also whole bands that spring up guitars and all. Today two hispanic blokes sang one of those quick tempo songs in two part harmony. They have to be quick and organised because the aim is to get on a carriage, sing a song, collect the coins and move to the next carriage at the next stop. America has a one dollar bill, then lots of coins, right down to 1 cent, so it is easy enough to handover change. I do this when I can get to my wallet easily enough.The guys in the photograph were singing on the platform, so maybe they had permission.

But these are not the most tragic stories of the subway. The most tragic stories have nothing quirky or inventive or enterprising or entertaining or musical about them.

And I need to remind myself that Manhattan has cleaned itself up and moved the real poverty off the island.

Officially begging or panhandling is illegal on the trains.

http://www.ahcuah.com/lawsuit/federal/young.htm#fn01back

Begging was defended as part of the right to free expression, after all it is a part of speech, and if free speech is meant to be constitutionally enshrined, then it should be protected. Funnily enough, the Metropolitian Transit Authroity did not see it that way.

Washington Square

Washington Square has

• a huge European style arch
• the house where the book "Washington Square" is set
• the house owned by Henry James
• the house where Louisa May Alcott wrote "Little Women"
• the house where Edith Wharton lived
• and the place where Dylan Thomas drank himself to death.

Washington Square also has

• broke black men who will pay speed chess with anyone who passes (and beat them) for a few bucks. (If you have seen the movie Fresh with Samuel Jackson you will know what I am talking about.)
• the hanging elm

And now for the stupid Australian idiot part of the story...
I did not read the guide book very carefully prior to taking myself on this literary walk of New York. I thought that the hanging elm must be some kind of special tree like a weeping willow, a tree that has hanging branches.
It was indeed a special tree but it was not the branches that were hanging. It was people who were hung from the tree.

Culture Vulture

This guy is from the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre. They really do jump like this; the hard part is taking the photograph.

Now here is my big discovery; the advice that you can thank me for later: before you come to New York get a student card. Enroll in some stupid cheap TAFE course that you are not interested in and get the student card. New York is the city of the arts and poor people simply cannot go. There is a sign out the front of every theatre saying "Poor people not allowed". Actually, the sign is at the box office and it simply says the price, but it amounts to the same thing. But, students are different to regular poor people, because they are potentially rich people. Therefore they should be allowed to participate in the cultural offerings of the city. There is a logic.

Tickets to the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre are $75 at the cheapest. But if you are a student with a photo id student card, even from Australia, then your ticket is $10. So Charles bought the ticket in the morning, the guy at the ticket office intimated that no one would check ID at the entry point and I went and saw the show.

The dance company began in Harlem, the dancers are predominantly black and the audience likewise. It was like being at a convention of beautiful, black, cool, graceful people and I had been let in by mistake. And, let me tell you no one knows how to applaud like a black audience. Everyone, grandmothers, little children, and men in bling, they all go nuts. So I joined in.

James Brown

James Brown New Year's Eve Show
Celebrate New Year's Eve with The Godfather Of Soul!
"Soul Brother Number One," "The Godfather of Soul," "The Hardest Working Man in Show Business," "Mr. Dynamite" -- those are mighty titles, but no one can question that James Brown has earned them more than any other performer. His catalog of classic recordings have made him the most sampled recording artist in history and without any doubt, the rap and hip-hop movements find their very genesis in his music. He is an American national treasure. He is James Brown!

B. B. King Blues Club and Grill 237 West 42nd StreetNew York, NY 10036Tickets: 212-352-3101

The best laid plans...!!!
Well, we almost got to see James Brown. Standing room tickets were $80, it was going to be the big New York splurge. I had actually told Charles that this was the thing we could do because there are not many of the great legends left and pretty soon he too will be dead. Then, on Christmas day we looked at the news on-line.

Today we are going to go down to the Morrison Hotel in Soho. We are pretty sure that he is safe from our curse though.

AND
New York Christmas day, middle of winter: 15 degrees Celsius. Unseasonally warm weather. Stores are overstocked with coats, hats, scarves and gloves
Melbourne Christmas day, middle of summer: 11 degrees celsius. Unseasonally cold weather. Stores are overstocked with bathers, sunscreen, hats and beach towels.

Yes: New York winter is warmer than Melbourne summer!

Beautiful and not so beautiful

The Metropolitan Museum is just one of the museums of New York that houses artworks which America has no right to have. Only the British have plundered the world more successfully to acquire other people's treasure. The British of course specialised in antiquities, whereas the USA seems to own the modern world. Still I am glad I got to see it all. It is like a walk through an art history book. Turning a corner and coming face to face with Vincent in a straw hat, or Degas and Renoir paintings, that even someone who doesn’t know one artist from another and has no interest would recognize is an awe inspiring experience. It was almost too much to absorb.
The Jackson Pollack was great. My favorites were a portrait of an art dealer Vollard by Picasso, a Paul Klee abstract and a painting by Marc Chagall. At risk of exposing myself as an ignoramus I will confess that I had not seen the Chagall painting in any art books or heard of it, but it was truly wonderful. Coming from Australia where there is one great Pollack painting, to a gallery with dozens is a sobering. We still have more galleries to go to, this is just the tip of the iceberg.

Naoli was telling me about how much art changes hands in New York. Big business indeed!. Real masterpieces that we hear about on the news change hands here. Almost everything changes hands here. If you can think of it they sell it. Today we went to the soup nazi shop a la Seinfeld. Indeed the rules were posted up and the soup was great. Later Ben took us all the way downtown to his favorite new shop: the rice pudding shop "From Rice to Riches". Rice pudding is all they sell and it is gross. They had every flavor you could imagine chocolate, coconut, banana, and then some that you just couldn’t imagine: french toast, cookies and cream etc. It looked awful!

Moving around the city

Hey Georgie, thanks for commenting. If anyone else out there is reading this please comment, just say hello so I have a sense of connection.

We are getting around by train, foot and even once a crosstown bus. Today we caught the train from 103rd and Broadway. On this trip we learned that God loves us, that Jesus is good and that Jesus' father made the water. Now I'm glad to hear it. The guy giving out the information was speaking to everyone in general and no one in particular. He looked like an ordinary guy in nice clothes, briefcase in hand standing on the subway platform. What was happening in the platform of his mind is anyone’s guess. Up to this point the story is not so far from something that you could experience in Melbourne. Charles and I moved quietly away and averted our eyes.
Then it got interesting. He went on to tell us about all the other things that God made.
"Jesus' father made the broccoli, yes the broccoli. He also made the sesame chicken." Now we are biting the inside of our cheeks and pursing our lips to seal in the laughter. It is dangerous, firstly because you do not want to raise the ire of a black man in a mainly black neighborhood (if you look on a map you will see that 103rd St is right next to Harlem). Secondly, because the person standing right next to you might look sane, but you never can tell. Anyway our self-appointed savior went on to recite a Chinese menu and tell us how God made it all, and we got on the train.

I snapped a photograph of this couple crossing the road at the intersection of Broadway, Amsterdam and 72nd St. This is where the Lincoln Centre, the Julliard School of Music, the American Library of Performing Arts, the Opera and the ballet can all be found. I liked the crossing couple because the had no entourage. No one to lift her dress off the New York pavement, no groomsmen to attend, just the two of them. The New York traffic offered them no special treatment either, and they struggled across like the rest.
On the way back uptown we witnessed our first subway rumble. It was a fight over a seat and in an instant the courteous veneer was lifted to reveal the obscene racism and violence that underscores the city. Some people told them to cool it, others moved away. I had to force myself to turn my back because idiotic-Australian-open-mouthed gawking is bound to get me into trouble.

New York Apartments

This is what the apartment looks like. The lounge room has the small table shown in the photograph and one armchair. It really is the size of a large corridor. Just as the serving size of food does not relate to Australia, the size of the apartments does not relate, except perhaps if you think about living in a caravan. The only TV shows where I have seen apartments in Manhattan that approximate real life is Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, and those apartments look quite big compared to what we have seen. The trick is not to own anything, and this is quite a paradox in the city that sells everything.

Naoli and Ben pay $500 per week. The front door opens directly into the lounge room, they have a reasonable sized bedroom, a small bathroom and a kitchen that is seriously no bigger than the average Australian linen cupboard. They have never cooked in the oven and do not intend to. Their apartment is actually bigger than the one we are staying in.

Suzie, the owner of the apartment in which we we are staying has a dog. In fact, the canine is the accesory of choice for New York. Now, there is one bit I did not understand. So I asked. "What do the dogs do all day in these tiny apartments, especially when people work 12 hours per day or more?" The answer is simple. The first thing you do is take your puppy to dog school and learn to "crate it". Now let your imagination provide you with a picture of a dog in a cage with a bowl of water and a squeeky toy and you have got the idea. Every day millions of New Yorkers get their beloved child substitutes and put them in a crate. Not just toy pomeranians and yappy lap dogs that deserve it either, but big labradors, all sorts. The people can go out to work happy in the knowledge that the dog is not running all around the apartment wrecking things. Then, of course when the humans get home the dogs are very happy to be let out of the crate, taken for a walk and patted. Well a dog might be man's best friend but I don't know if the feeling is mutual.

A Brooklyn Night

This is Paul C in Brooklyn at night. He had given up smoking and drinking which means that my memories of him ashtray at the ready, drink in hand are no longer a part of who he is. Paul is in remission and feeling good. I only spoke to Rita briefly and will try to catch up with them later. He remembers drinking with Peter W and Brett as a thoroughly good time. Not my memory. Just goes to show.

Caron and Joel came over for dinner. They seem so have sold their souls to the devil in order to keep their looks. So many people I knew were at the party on Friday night. Some who I expected to see like Helene and Rachel, George and Joan and others who I did not expect to see like Debbie and Xandra the Red Avenger. It was great fun and Charles just walked around introducing himself as Greta's son as if he was some sort of celebrity by default.

Charles has been skating at the Rockefeller Center with Ben and has found the Subway managable, so he is moving around with ease. Caron and Joel warn against getting too comfortable and letting down our guard.

We went to Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty. This trip is really worth the day. It is America splayed out. The Statue in all its glory, hope and liberal thought vs the cold reality of Ellis Island. This place was one huge detention centre, off shore, but only just. Millions of people passed through, the first and second class passengers just went straight ashore, the steerage passengers were processed on the Island. One of the most awful things was the "Separation Stairs". Here immigrants, illiterate and impoverished were segragated into those who could be useful to the USA and those who could not. Health, age, colour, politics etc were all considerations and on the stairs whole family groups were separated. Some were allowed to proceed, some were sent back and some were put in detention. Usually they had no idea of what was happening, just that they were being separated: each group for a different fate. You could almost feel the horror of it. People would have been able to hold hands and touch until the last moment. It is no different to what Australia does to day, it was just more immediate and all within about 2km of Manhattan and 1km of the Statue of Liberty.

We have also seen The Bodies exhibition from China (absolutely mesmerising), been to an Andy Warhol exhibition (huge and impressive, especially the Mao) and been interviewed for Korean television (hilarious).

Our quest is to find food that is not laden with sugar. Even the bread is sweet, and the breakfast cereal is ridiculous. So far we have found one place the makes iced-tea that is iced-tea without sugar. I have to be right on the ball when I order coffee and ready to jump in with instructions such as "no whipped cream", "hold the chocolate syrup", "make that a small". A Manhattan small is equivilent to a large in Australia, almost no matter what the product: chips, coffee, sandwiches, whatever. There simply does not seem to be such a thing as an Australian version of a regular size in food items.

Midtown comics

Ben and Charles are mid-town comics, so it is only fitting that they visit the store: Midtown Comics. Every back issue, limited edition, new release, toy and t-shirt is there to be had. The people are hilarious, they seem to just wait for someone to ask them a question about the lastest, the best, the worst etc. Superlatives abound.

Great superhero vs superhero debates are conducted. Most of these debates are built on a proposition that establishes an equivilence of powers, otherwise Superman would always win. It is just so ridiculous.

Ben is a superhero with the power of boundless energy. In the photograph he is displaying his superpower of Stevie Wonder vision! Actually we have found his kryptonite. It is the weakness that only an Australian could have found so quickly. Just 1/2 glass of alcohol and he becomes as overwrought as a toddler after a big day out. He collapses, not in the bedroom, because he can't make it that far, but right on the spot where he drank the alcohol.

The city that never sleeps

It's true!
We went out on the first night and saw Saks of 5th Ave all lit up, the giant Christmas tree, the Rockefeller Centre, the 24 hour Apple store, Tiffany's (a la Breakfast at...), Radio City Music Hall, stores selling Ben and Jerry's ice-cream and more. What's not to like?
The friendliness is overwhelming, everyone helps with everything.
Today we went on the subway to the flat that we will get in a couple of days. It's cute and Suzy, the owner is a doll. Now we are here and have seen the price of hotels the flat looks really cheap.
We have eaten bagels with lox, been for a walk through Central Park, seen people playing basketball late at night in the Fredrick Douglass housing projects concrete basketball courts, drunk bad coffee, been to a gallery and entertained the crowds with stories of cane toads, fires, the banana crisis and more.
Ben is a giant puppy. He talks to everyone, everywhere we go. He even has whole conversations with the people on the street handing out leaflets for cheap lunches in nearby cafes. The man is a party on wheels (actually rollerblades in summer and ice skates in winter.)
So, tommorow we have a party to go to and lots more.
We will slow down a little and try to absorb.

All good people

Good things that happened to me this week include

: getting the new Tom Waits CD
: nicking out of the VATE party with Germana to my car to laugh and listen to Tom Waits
: eating chicken livers and walnuts
: getting just the right books from just the right people
: finding two handsome brown-eyed boys rolling around in the Year 10 lounge; the first being Billy the 12 week old black labrador, the other being Sam E

Ten more sleeps

One image shows Kandinsky's concentric circles, the other image shows what happens in the brain when looking at Kandinsky's concentric circles.



The brain map also shows what happens in my head when I realise that I am sitting at my desk at work, at lunch time avoiding the ubiquitious pile of papers and thinking about the fact that I soon will be sitting in a cafe in New York, then, hopefully in a not-too-seedy, but just-seedy-enough bar in Mexico. The gap between the here and now, and what is to come creates the little lines from place to place that are shown on the map.

Twelve more sleeps

“Work like you don’t need the money, love like you’ve never been hurt, and dance like no one is watching.” --- Satchel Paige

Rarely am I one for comforting homolies and good willed advice, in fact I usually hear such sentiments in my head spoken in the voice of a third rate breakfast TV show presenter, but the holiday spirit is upon me. I do like the idea of the falmenco shoes though and plan to try to find some in red suede. The only problem is that my Lonely Planet guide to Mexico has references for flamingos but not flamenco.

I figure that if I concentrate on issues like the purchase of shoes, the ethics of being part of the crowd at a bull fight, and exactly which jacket will serve me best in New York; then the boring stuff will evaporate.