Category Archives: NYC: A Users Guide

You Only Live Twice: A 9/11 Story

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True story.

15 years ago…

On September 10, 2001, I was working in the graphics department of an asset management firm located in midtown Manhattan. My graphics colleague from the Atlanta office, Jose, was in town for marketing and branding strategy meetings.

As he left the office that evening, he told me about his plans to visit the observation deck of the World Trade Center the next morning before coming to work. Jose was an architecture buff. He was thrilled at the opportunity to see Manhattan from such a rare perspective. The weather forecast was for bright, blue skies.

The next morning, at 8:46 a.m., the first plane flew into the North Tower.

At 9:03 a.m., the second plane hit the South Tower. The tower with the observation deck.

Our offices were on a high floor on 6th Avenue and 46th Street. The employees gathered in the main conference room, which had sweeping, unobstructed views of the southern tip of Manhattan. We watched in stunned silence as one tower fell. Then the other.

It would be up to our manager to contact Jose’s family in Atlanta to tell them of the tragic misfortune. He was a young guy. Really bright. And so happy to be visititing New York.

At 11:00, Jose walked into our office.

He had overslept.

The hotel maid had drawn the blackout blinds—something he never does himself, preferring to rise with the sun. When his alarm went off at 6:00 a.m. the room was dark. He was delirious from being woken from a sound sleep. He thought he’d set his alarm incorrectly and that it was still the middle of the night, so he went back to sleep.

While brushing his teeth and cursing himself for having missed the chance to visit the observation deck, a special bulletin came on the TV. He sat in his hotel room, transfixed to the TV, not realizing we all thought he’d perished.

I hadn’t spoken to Jose in many years. I reached out to him this past weekend just to confirm I didn’t imagine this happening. It’s all true. He left graphic design and now works designing medical devices at M.I.T.

~~~~~~~~~~

I saw Springsteen perform earlier this year and sent a couple concert pics to my pal, Sharon Florin, an artist who specializes in New York City architecture and is a yuge Springsteen fan. She was inspired and made two fetching oil paintings based on the photos. That’s my photo on the left and her interpretation on the right.

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I like the paintings better. The photos look too stark. Too ‘real’. I prefer the implied blur of the paint.

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Lesbian baby daddy

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bins

June 19, 1992

Woke up on Sunday and there was a downpour, which I love. I was ready to enjoy a Brooklyn shut-in day with the cats, a pot of coffee and the Sunday Times when the phone rang. It was Kat. I’d forgotten that I promised to meet her for brunch. It’s her birthday. I swallowed my sour mood and got on the subway to the Upper East Side.

I paid $25 for two dozen half-dead carnations. The guy who sold them to me was an ass. Kat’s girlfriend was there so it was the three of us. Her girlfriend is a gym teacher. You wonder where these stereotypes come from. I am completely at ease around lesbians. I don’t feel threatened the way I do when I’m around a girl I want to sleep with. When you’re with a lesbian, the pressure is off. We can just enjoy each other’s company.

Kat has a big apartment but it’s right on 2nd Avenue by the Queensboro Bridge. It’s only three flights up so you get a fairly constant concert of traffic horns, bus fumes, sirens, yelling and other urban horrors.

Kat asked me if I wanted to be a sperm donor. She and her girlfriend want a child. She said I’d be free from any financial responsibilities or obligations. They can certainly afford to raise a kid. It’s very flattering but I said no. What about that poor kid? Isn’t he/she going to want to know who his/her father is? What do I say when that day comes? “Oh, your mothers said I didn’t have to have anything to do with you and I was okay with that.” That’s not right! I’d feel ashamed. Actually, the more I think about it, the more I don’t like the idea. They should look past their own selfish needs and see how these other lives would be affected.

I had planned to go back to Brooklyn after brunch but Kat insisted—INSISTED—I join them for the matinee of Man of La Mancha on Broadway. I felt kind of bullied but she bought my ticket and I ended up having a nice time despite my bad self. They already had tix so I sat alone, which was fine.

Raul Julia was Don Quixote. He’s such a good actor. And a hell of a voice, too. Sheena Easton was Aldonza. She’s so beautiful and so my type that I didn’t notice whether or not she could sing or act.

In one dance, Aldonza is beaten and raped by several men. Her hands are tied together and one guy gives her the business end of a whip. The choreography included a lot of gyrating and thrusting hips that inferred penetration. It was pretty graphic stuff, especially for Broadway. It was uncomfortable to sit through. I’m still haunted by it. There were a lot of little kids in the audience. Their parents must’ve been mortified. I don’t know how my poor Sheena does it eight time a week.

Rapper Sister Souljah said that black people should take a week off from shooting each other and only shoot white people. Isn’t that pleasant? Presidential hopeful Bill Clinton went on TV and called her a racist. There’s a huge outcry in the black community. They’re saying Clinton attacked her. Jesse Jackson called it a cheap shot. Vice President and professional idiot, Dan Quayle, was making an appearance at an elementary school. After a student wrote “potato” on a chalkboard, he walked up and added and “e” at the end, thinking it was a spelling error. What an imbecile. That guy is only one heartbeat away from the presidency. What an unexpectedly entertaining presidential campaign this is turning into.

I was alone tonight and happy for it. I went to Café Mogador on St. Mark’s Place. I had a bowl of split pea soup and a cappuccino. I watched the pretty girls come and go. I’m invisible to them.

~~~~~~

These wifi kiosks have popped up all over Manhattan. In addition to a wifi signal, they provide a touchscreen with full, free, internet access. it’s paid for by city tax dollars and advertisers.

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The problem they’re having is that homeless people are pulling up chairs and watching porn all day and night.

wifi2Fights have broken out. NYC is pretty cleaned-up as compared to when these journal entries were written, but it’s still got it’s share of grifters who game the system. In a twisted way, I find it admirable.

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Van Gogh’s ear. Schnabel’s head.

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I’ve got a ton of art to post. Not all of it is good, but it’s all interesting. That’s where the rubber meets the road. Here’s a double-dip.

Elmgreen & Dragset
Van Gogh’s Ear

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Another large-scale public piece at Rockefeller Center. It’s a 30′ upended swimming pool. It works best if you don’t know it’s there. You turn a corner and are met with this displaced object. It’s comical.

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I’m not sure how they arrived at the title. Does it look like an ear? Elmgreen & Dragset’s previous installation was Project Marfa, a Prada store located in the middle of the desert in Texas. Equally pointless. Nice contrast and angels.

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This errie giant is standing sentinel at the Whitney. It seems as pointless as the previous piece but I like it.

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Urs Fischer
Standing Julian
Wax, pigment, steel and wicks

It includes wicks because it’s a candle. This is a wax statue of Fischer’s friend, fellow artist Julian Schnabel. The idea is that the wicks are lit each morning when the museum opens. It’ll burn down and be discarded. There are two wicks; one is on his shoulder.

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The clothing is made of steel but passes convincingly as cloth.

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The cast of Schnabel is a remarkable likeness. The mold can be repurposed. Fisher should create an army of Schnabel candles. He can sell them at Pier 1 Imports.

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The second wick is inside his head. I wonder how long this has been burning?

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bins

May 18, 1992

I called Lucy and accidentally slurred a couple of words. She asked me if I was drunk and I decided to run with it and told her yes, I was. I said I had a few glasses of wine and pretend to be drunk. I continued to slur a word every now and then and say things I’d never say sober. I occasionally threw in a cuss word.

I told her I thought she should change her mind about dating me. She said she’s a nightmare to date and she’d only make me miserable in the end. That’s probably the best piece of free advice I’ve received in a long time. I sure would like to see her naked, though. I occasionally think she’s ready to crack and surrender herself to me but then I look in her eyes and I see there’s nothing there. Do you know how sometimes a girl will look right inside of you and give you a soulful, sorrowful look that tells you everything you need to know? I get the opposite from Lucy. One look and I can tell she feels nothing for me.

She asked me to come over a couple of times during the course of the conversation. I told her Kat was going to Atlantic City over Memorial Day and that I’ll be staying in her condo in Long Beach in her absence. She stamped her foot and wanted to know why I hadn’t invited her along. Is she really that stupid?

On Saturday I had comps to a Broadway show, “A Small Family Business.” It’s by Alan Ayckbourn, who’s one of my favs. I met Maureen at the theater but once we got there we decided we’d rather see something lowbrow. We tried to give the tickets away but had a hell of a time. People in New York are so full of suspicion. Nobody wanted them. We were on our fourth couple when I finally thrust them into a guy’s hand and said if he and his girlfriend didn’t want them, they should pass them on to someone else but to NOT THROW THEM OUT.

We ended up seeing “Wayne’s World” in a disgusting Times Square theater that I wouldn’t bring mom into. It smelled like cats sprayed all the seats. The plaster was cracking and there were big holes in the ceiling. It smelled bad and looked worse. [Note: this is what pre-gentrified Times Square was like. I don’t miss it.] Sinéad O’Connor sat in front of us. She was with a gigantic bodyguard.

The movie was stupid, just like everyone said, and also very amusing, just like everyone said. We ate pizza and ice cream before the show and bought popcorn at the theater, which tasted like cat urine. We were kind of sick afterwards. I got home in time to see Geraldo Rivera box Frank Stallone on Howard Stern’s TV show. Geraldo got a proper ass-whopping. His protective headgear wasn’t on secure so when Stallone punched him, it would slip a bit and he couldn’t see. Hilarious.

I’m reading a book of essays by David Mamet. He says it’s no longer a thrill to see his words in print or spoken on the stage or screen. What a dick. Even if you felt that way, why would you say such a thing?

The storm that ate Manhattan. I took these from my office window on Thursday at 4:00. This entire sequence took 30 minutes.

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My city of pretty girls

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bins

March 2, 1992

There’s a new girl here at work and, boy, is she adorable. Suzanne. She’s too young for me. Fresh out of college. Her entire life has been spent in the warm cocoon of academia. This is her first dose of reality. I don’t think we have a damn thing in common but I’m going to launch a charm offensive when I get back from Mexico. She’s Jewish. I don’t think she’ll have anything to do with me once she finds out I’m not. That’s usually how it plays out.

She lives in Cobble Hill, which is a much nicer part of Brooklyn than Fort Greene. Michele told me she’s currently dating two men and isn’t crazy about either one. What a shame. She’s got long, straight, jet black hair that I want to run my hands through. I can picture the slender threads pouring between my fingers like water. I *think* she’s flirting with me. She was sealing an envelope and licked it very slowly while looking at me through the tops of her eyes. She dipped her head slightly and that beautiful black hair cascaded over her shoulders. She licked. Our eyes locked. Time stopped dead. So I’m going to ask her out.

On Friday I rushed home and had a quick run. I was going to see Life in a Blender at Brownies on Ave A but Ann Marie called and wanted to meet me for a drink. Who am I to refuse? We met at El Teddy’s. I paid $6 for a scotch and soda that was made with very bad scotch. We split a portabella mushroom cap that was about the size of a dinner plate. I picked up the tab. I’ve got to cut down on that. It’s wiping me out.

After El Teddy’s I walked her to her sister’s loft in Tribeca. She lives in a warehouse. Access to her apartment is through a loading dock. It looks pretty grim and marvelous. The neighborhood is dirty. I like it. I was hoping to be invited up but it didn’t happen.

We were kissing in the dark amongst trucks backing-up to load deliveries. I opened my eyes mid-kiss (because I like to do that sometimes) and I saw a giant rat walking about ten feet behind her. Walking slowly, like it didn’t give a damn about us. We broke and she started to turn away, so I grabbed her and kissed her again. I think she thought I was overwhelmed with lust (which is partially true) but I didn’t want her to see the rat. It would’ve spoiled a nice moment.  I opened my eyes again and saw it walk into a shadow under the loading dock.

Kissing someone new is a real treat. Those first few sessions are a genuine thrill. You never know what you’re going to get. I live in joyful anticipation of my next new kiss. Ann Marie can kiss better than Ann, but not quite as well as Candace. I wonder if Suzanne knows what she’s doing? No two girls kiss exactly alike. They’re like snowflakes.

Candace and I are going to CBGBs on Saturday night for the Black Rock Coalition jam. Those guys always play loud. Really, really loud. Too loud. She said she might get comps. I sure hope so. I’m kinda broke-assed.

Speaking of pretty girls in New York, take a look at these beauties. She’s life-sized. You should click on this.

DurgaMa
Oil and bronze

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Isn’t she delicious? She’s by contemporary artist Carole Feuerman and she’s meditating in the window of the C24 Gallery in Chelsea. The exhibit features her new sculptures and paintings.

Leda and the Swan
Oil and resin

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Feuerman is a hyperrealist, which is a made-up word but I’m going to give ground because I think these sculptures are fetching.

Monumental Quan
Painted bronze and stainless steel

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She needs more than one pic. Right?

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I am surrounded by imbeciles

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Imbeciles in New Jersey

parked car

What nerve. That’s not even a high-end sedan that needs to be protected from dings. It’s some mid-market bucket o’ crap. Who does he think he is?

Imbeciles in New York City

I was sitting in Bryant Park reading (“A Swell-Looking Babe” by Jim Thompson. Not very good.) when, to my left, I heard a very audible:

*CLICK*
*CLICK*
*CLICK*

I was hoping it wasn’t some uncouth pig who peeled off his dirty white sock and was clipping his toenails.

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It was. In what culture is it acceptable to clip your toenails in a PUBLIC PARK? Oh, I know where. Stupidistan.

Kiki Smith
Lilith

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Look how she sits in that pool of light. She’s clinging to a wall in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The Met is often thought of as being a bit stodgy but they have some very satisfying contemporary pieces. Here’s her best feature:

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I disagree with you. She’s not creepy.

~~~~~~~~~~~

binsAugust 24, 1995

I got a call from Betsy. She’s a major hypochondriac and is always on the threshold of something catastrophic. Normally, I can only take so much of that stuff but she’s a sensual dynamo so I am pleased to offer a sympathetic ear.

Some rich dude bought her a new Mac Quadra and a PowerBook and she wants me to come over and show her how to use them. She doesn’t even know how to turn the damn things on. I’m not kidding. I said I’d be happy to give her lessons but she was going to have to PAY ME, and said it using an intonation that implied payment was to be something other than a cash transaction. She piped right up and said, “Yes! Yes! I WANT to PAY YOU!” and said it in a way that makes me think we’re on the same page.

What’s with older women? It seems sex is much more important to them than it is to younger women. While I’d love to see some sweet, young 22-year old peel her clothes off, there’s something delicious about an older woman who is so willing and so knowledgeable in the science of romance. A tight body counts for squat if you don’t know what to do with it. Or, worse, lack a certain esprit de corps.

I asked her what kind of Quadra and PowerBook and she said, “The BRAND NEW kind!” Who knows what that means? And who is this wealthy guy, anyway? Is she sleeping with him? Or does he want to sleep with her but she won’t? Does he want Betsy to wear a strap-on? I wonder if I can talk her out of the PowerBook?

That girl down the hall I want to sleep with dropped off more guerrilla theater flyers. She’s a Lower East Side cliché: an artist/activist. One show is a benefit for her legal fund. She’s a defendant in a case against the police department for unlawful arrest. The show is a performance art piece whereby members of the audience are “placed under arrest” by the “NYC Police Department.” She was arrested and thinks everyone should know what that feels like. That sounds like a terrible night out! Why would I pay to be roughed up by a bunch of malcontents who are pretending to be the NYPD? What if, once the shoe is on the other foot, they enjoy the sensation and get carried away with themselves? No, thank you.

Her living room is her art studio. There are coffee cans all over the place filled with paint, brushes and chemicals. That can’t be healthy, right? Canvases are stacked in every corner. The artwork isn’t very good. It reminds me of that ugly de Kooning crap. I’d like to make out with her, though. Can you imagine if she’s able to channel all that rage?

Knicks/Cavs later tonight at the Garden. I’m meeting John for lunch tomorrow at the World Trade Center. I’d like to see Life in a Blender at McGovern’s tomorrow night but I’d have to go alone again. Naturally.