Greenwich Village on Saturday morning. Post coffee, pre walk around the ‘hood, and a few hours before photography class (hoping that by then I feel like going)
The stash of the homeless woman, who is sleeping alongside her wall.
A rough Hudson.
The home of Mark Twain, West 10th Street, Greenwich Village. It’s entirely unassuming, even though the ghosts of 22 people who have died in it are still there (I know that because the internet told me). One of them is Mark’s. It’s true. It was a single family home when he was in it, but is 10 apartments now.
I do like an unoppressive non-imperialist book. Especially when it’s a bargain. And open later than you think!
These are on street corners in Greenwich Village; I don’t know about other ‘hoods, I haven’t noticed. They are a bit like public phone boxes, but only for emergency services. You press a button to get 911. Then you hope they work.
House Of Oldies, with the largest collection of Beatles records in NYC. I wonder how they know.
Jekyll and Hyde Restaurant and Social Club for Explorers and Mad Scientists.
Double decker parking on Seventh Ave. Sometimes it’s triple.
And from my balcony.
This man sat here all day. He was in shade for most of it, and didn’t move to the sun. He just sat.
The heater, now that it’s on (far right, white, under the window, full of steam produced by the oil heater in the basement, controlled by the Super, hissy and squeally (the heater, not the Super, though now that I think of it…) depending on how much steam is trying to turn into water to run back down and how much can’t, and needs to escape; pumpin’ out heat in quantities I’ve never had anything to do with before (it’s burn your bum hot, burn your thighs as you open the window over it hot) (that’s brackets inside brackets; not allowed last time I asked)), combined with the sun, now that it’s on (um) give a very false sense of ones garment requirements for the day. The apartment is hot, and the sun is very bright, but I have to wear a lot of clothes to go out. I have a scarf around my neck that I pull up over my mouth and nose and tuck over my ears. My eyes show.
So that when I get to uni, they look like this. Once I’ve been there for a little they revert to a regular colour, and once I’ve been there for a while I’m hot again, so take lots of garments off. Noo Yoikers are very used to this, though they still talk about it as though it’s fascinating. A bit like Australians do, come to think of it; the weather. A bit like I am, now…
We were supposed to be in the lab (for Photography), but it was sunny and too many people were having techno fails, or pre-finals fails, or what is it all about anyway fails so the Prof. got us all up and out;
The Strand Book Store. Cnr Broadway and East 12th Street. It has tables of books outside, along both its frontages, for $1, $2, etc.
At Union Square
Union Square subway ticket vending machine.
At night I went to The Apollo Theatre in Harlem to see a concert. I was a big Damien Rice fan once, but we drifted apart. He popped up in a search I did, in my early days here, playing right here, so I booked him.
I took the A line to 125th Street and watched this, on the subway (spoiler alert – there’s shoulder dislocation happening. Don’t watch it if you don’t like seeing that…)
Downtown Harlem, Saturday night, and the crowd outside the Apollo.
The queue to get in.
I stood in it for a while before I figured out there was a separate one, to collect pre-paid tickets; it went along the street in the other direction.
When I got to the front of it, they asked for the credit card that I’d bought the ticket with. I showed them, they swiped it and handed it back saying there was no transaction on it (look away, bored, finished). I gaped a bit and asked them to please try again, I was sure there was, I had received emails… (sigh, really? swipe again, nothing). I went to the back of my wallet and fished out my secondary card; that one that security conscious travellers are supposed to have, and that perhaps I’d used to buy the ticket (big sigh, you’re pushing it lady, swipe, nothing, very finished). I stepped aside.
I wandered around for a little while, looking at my credit cards… and then queued again.
When I got to the window this time, and had dodged the lofty and flamboyant gesticulations of wonder at my time wasting determination, I asked them to please search on my name, as I was sure I had a ticket, but would need their help locating it (eye roll with full body follow up, and a trip to the back room). They found it. It wasn’t bought on either of the cards in my wallet, they were quite right; it was bought on a third, which had since had a fraud attempt on it, and so had been closed by the bank, and thrown away by me. I hadn’t bought it on my regular card because it was locked, at the time, by Blue Bike Headquarters…
This is my third attempted credit card fraud, in life (one gets used to it, and its ramifications, though I’ll have to add ‘check for purchases made but not yet redeemed’ if it happens a forth time), and the bank tell me it’s just bad luck, part of modern on-line life, and will have stemmed from an online purchase, some time in the past. Say, perhaps, buying Apollo Theatre tickets…
I went to the back of the other queue then, the one to get in the door.
Waiting in it was busy. Theatre staff cruised up and down, checking ID (it’s very regular in Noo Yoik. It’s not about age, clearly, I think, as they look at me to see that I match, but about identity, they say. I don’t know what that means). More theatre staff cruised by, stamping hands (that means gloves off, momentarily). Other non-theatre bods cruised by, asking for a dollar or a cigarette.
And scalpers cruised by, asking for spare tickets. Scalping is a big deal here, very lucrative, very active, very large sums seem to be paid for tickets at the last moment. I don’t understand it but clearly it happens.
Once I was in and had begun negotiating with ushers (there are many, you show you’re ticket a lot of times) I was stopped by a loud woman who asked if I was there alone. I was. She asked if I had a good ticket. I didn’t know, I was just pleased to have one. She said she had a second row ticket here and someone hadn’t come and she didn’t want those scheming scalpers makin a fortune outta her so here, take it, it’s good, right, it’s second front row, right? I gaped and looked at her and looked at it and eventually said thank you and we hugged and she said my pleasure, and you enjoy and grinned and went off…
So I had two tickets.
And I sat in the second front row!
The theatre is beautiful.
A long video of the show. Taken by a fan, just in case another fan is reading. XX
Afterwards everyone stands outside, waiting for the dicky billboard to scroll to the show we’ve just seen, so we can roar. They’re completely mad. Imagine being as mad as that.
125th Street station.
A quiet train.