I'm Loving New York

I found myself in a variety of different areas of life… all of them edged with a different colour and taste.

Over the last two days, a number of things have touched my daily life, each of them something to remember, something to talk about...

• an internet film, with my clothes on (smart move on their part)
• a hoot of a time walking the dogs, in which I actually was rendered immobile by the leashes.
• each train station is unique, with ornate tile work showing where you are. The work is better as you move downtown; the Museum of Natural History is tiled even into the alcoves with bright colours, animals and fish worked into the tiles. It comes to a crescendo of master tile work at Grand Central. As you move downtown, the work gets less intense, less lovely to look at. When I arrived at the Bowery, having missed my train stop, the station name was spelled out in dead roaches and cigarette butts stuck to the walls with old gum.
• I sank my teeth into organising a room, finishing it to my satisfaction. I’ve the closet to do, but, I have to wait until my heart can take the excitement.
• I finally retrieved my piece of luggage from JFK. They opened a door just as I was saying, “Well, it’s blac..” and there I was, faced with 4,762 pieces of unmarked black luggage. Mine was the second to the last piece. Still, now I have shoes.
• I discovered the best pizza place around. George’s. I love George. I do, really.
• I met Tracey Smith and Meghan McClenaghan, who are the playwright/star and production manager, respectively, of The Burning Bush, a one person play showing at 94 St Mark’s Place in the East Village this weekend and next. We were trying on hats and judging them on each other. I was invited to come see the show and have tea and gossip afterwards.
• I also met Goldie and her mother, Bertha, who broke her foot. They have a little dog, that Bertha fell over. Goldie lives with her mother, and I think she wishes Bertha had fallen down the stairs.
• On the A train tonight, were two men who were discussing their rent controlled apartments. One paid $125 a month for a two bedroom place he had from his parents. The other had six big rooms in a pre-war building from his grandparents. He paid $100 a month. These days, they’d break it into three apartments, and the landlord keeps offering him large amounts of money to move out. He refuses. Both of them offered me a room to live in. I politely refused.
• I looked at a room in the East Village in a rent controlled place for $250 a month. It’s not great, but, it’s not bad.
• I was accepted into a script supervisor program. I’ve always thought this would be a great career, and I’m thrilled they took me after my resume and interview. The class is limited to 10 people, I’m looking forward to it…continuity stays something I always think about in films…I’m hoping to use my OCD to help me in this move in life. Or, I’ll drive some director to murder.
• We’ve walked around 15 miles. It’s snowed, it’s blown cold wind. The terrier has had a bath two days in a row, and collapses when we get home.
• I discovered Chinatown the same way I discover everything, I get off two stops before my planned stop, and walk. Amazing what you find that way.
  

I simply cannot get enough of this city. Everywhere I look, there is more to see, more to take in, more to want to see. Trains packed to the brim, languages rippling over the heads, I lean into the track when I wait for the train, to catch the cold air, it’s so heated at times on the platform.

I'm nothing special, nor is my life... it's the keeping track of these things that are important for me... to remember them later on. I keep it here, to look back on... and the thing I really find amazing is, it’s just begun.

And, it’s just begun.