That’s what some few of we Brooklynites call Manhattan— the ‘Hatters*. Also, Work Island, The Big Town. Often accompanied by a groan (implying the MTA, etc)
I’ve been spending a fair amount of time there the past few weeks, and it’s been brilliant. I’ve had to re-calibrate my perspective; always a healthy pursuit. Seeing my town with fresh eyes. Remembering why I’m here.
I missed my accustomed, promised Thursday post yesterday, but I was okay with it, fine with it, as I’ve been posting nearly every day for a month. Hope you feel soft towards my remiss as well.
For now, enjoy this dynamic of skyscrapers and rhythmic windows in the perceived (and sometimes actual) heart of NYC on a fine sunny day. Looka’ that crane, building more UP!
If you’ve never done, check out This is New York, by
. . .
*This is a Tara Lynne-ism.
As we walked to the train a fine mist began to fall. We’d not brought umbrellas; the rain was meant to wait until Sunday.
Saturday night on the train into town; people dressed to go out, to join the weekend throngs. An unaccustomed moment, as we tend to stay local.
The mist had become rain proper by the time we emerged island-side to East Village sidewalks full of hopefuls. Both establishments we visited for a rainy November birthday gathering were noisy, crowded— brimming with an optimism born in a cul-de-sac of Illogic. (An aspect of youth only fathomable in hindsight.)
I rendered some observations in the Moleskine. Realized too late that I’d only two blank pages left in it; had to retrace steps to the start of the book to find a third. (The filling of this book snuck up on me, despite or because of it being long in the tooth— I started it in June.)
Made our way home through twin deluges— to the train then from it, Brooklynside. Zac somehow beat us to my apartment, his suitcase filling the space between doors of the entryway. Reunion.
Work took me to the isle of Manhattan today. As the meeting was in Chelsea, I availed myself of the opportunity to walk the High Line. A fine afternoon for it, though I wished awfully I had dressed more appropriately for the [delightful] heat. Happy tourists; many languages overheard.
I took a lot of photos. It’s what I do anyway, but at this point I’m practically a tourist myself in the big town. I tend to stick around Brooklyn a lot.
Everywhere is under construction. This city is forever shedding its skin.
A long stroll south on Hudson Street, then inland, and through TriBeCa. (Avoid the hydra of traffic all round the Holland tunnel; 3:30 is rush hour on a summery Friday; mass exodus.)
City Hall. A tangle of angry motorists with their fists on their horns. Cacophony! A thousand arguments for public transport right there.
The perennial wind crossing Whitman’s beloved bridge is welcome today. And, observe: this curious Parisian custom has followed Lady Liberty across the Atlantic.
Ten or so miles to arrive back in my neighborhood, with slightly aching feet. (Why spend 45 minutes on the train when you could spend three hours on foot, seeing so many neighborhoods and people out and about?)
For any Brooklynites out there who feel an occasional pang of disdain toward that slender, sometimes tiresome island across the river, this one‘s for you; it’s a gicleé print on 8″ x 10″— ready to go into a frame immediately. I’ve also reprised my darling, dear, disaffected Mythologicals series from 2005 into 8″ x 10″ prints, and they are for sale on Etsy now. Go buy some art!