Then again, when has the power of sight ever failed in painting the more resonant picture? Top of Rockefeller Center in New York City…the newly opened suicide dreamer’s Candyland.
http://homepage.mac.com/winburnsmith/PhotoAlbum10.html
Some things, I’ll never understand. Like heights, for example. Or Vertigo…and why the fuck I put myself through it.
My fingers need to touch foundation, no wandering.
Short, quick breaths…constant shivers.
Testicles retreat into my lower intestines.
People think I’m a 24-year-old crack baby.
I make unsettling, involuntary noises.
I close my eyes and dart through narrow passages with the bravado of John Bobbit moments before his second, “first” sexual encounter.
I laugh to myself…a calming of the nerves.
The alarm in my stomach calls for vomit…but nothing is locked or loaded.
Bitter, freezing wind. Every moment, I waited for it to blow hard enough to dust me off the landing, foster my date with destiny. That never happened.
There were three platforms...and stairs leading to those platforms. This means one could elect to see just one platform and head down…or elect to see all three.
In spite of the buckets of personal anguish I share…I elected to be an idiot. I elected to eliminate the potential regret of not making it to the top.
It’s that same trigger that likes to selectively fire. Tell me what to do? Go fuck yourself. Don’t eat arsenic, it’s bad for you? Yourself, go fuck. The same stubborn shit applies to my own instincts.
My heart beats 54 times every minute. For those 8 minutes I spent on top of the world… double that. And when I walked past an engineer speaking quietly with one of the security officers…
“Not super smooth. The main elevator just crapped out.”
Triple it.
My insides shook something fierce. When I finally made it back down, bet your cabinet of illegal prescription drugs that my hand ran across the marble on floor one. Trust me, it’s not cliché when you feel shit like that.
…
Of course the city was great. There was a distinct sweetness I was hoping to find. Spirits were high…crowds rampant. Everyone follows “The New Yorker’s Guide to Mastering the Holiday Dating Trifecta: The Scarf-Wrap, Arm Brace and Sidewalk Strut.” I passed dozens if not hundreds of couples with a smirk, freezing my naked face off…knowing they would have a place in my Blogville. Usually…the uniformity would tempt my desire to dish swift facial roundhouses. But in sincerity, I dug it. What else are the holidays about?
But wait…
Breed that, the reflection of another great and wandering trip to our country’s great city…confusion, wonder, exhaustion…and the ache of my desire to return home, to my city of angels…and I’ve earned allowance to drop something a little more profound…
What else is life about?
Showing posts with label New York. Show all posts
Showing posts with label New York. Show all posts
December 14, 2005
September 14, 2005
Home...
I'm back. I don't know where I have just been...or what I did the past two days, but I'm back.
I left town after work on Saturday night. I slept on the plane, sure. But how much can you count sleeping on the plane as actual "sleeping?" So anyway, I flew through the night and got to New York by 10AM on Sunday the 11th. As in Sunday, September 11th. New York City. So, that was a little difficult...but what can you do.
I checked into my hotel and hit the streets by 11. Nothing was set in stone other than the idea that I had to see everything. Every corner, every neighborhood, every person. Two days later, back in LA, with feet that honestly border on Gangrenous...I got it done. And I'll have scars to prove it.
See, my process is such that I have the emotions and scenes in my head. Floating. Going to New York was my anchor. It means that I know the where...and well. Suddenly, I own every word I write. And that's everything.
The trip was insane. I didn't sleep Saturday or Monday night...at all. Right now, I'm either dreaming or delirious. Or...maybe I'm just being dramatic. No matter where I fall, the only thing for certain is that I should be in bed. Instead, I opt to rant.
New York is fucking crazy, seriously. It's just so different. A New Yorker may say the same about my City of Angels, but I don't see why. Los Angeles is just...softer. I don't remember seeing people smile in New York. I don't remember seeing people laughing. In LA, cars obnoxiously stop for pedestrians in crosswalks. In New York, it's hit and run derby. I was in New York and I missed LA. Now that I'm back in LA, I miss New York...even though I was only there for what felt like hours. You could say it's a grass is greener thing, but I don't think it's that simple.
My last night...last night was great. Just so you know, I don't believe in drinking and dreaming. It's cheap...and so false. I've seen one too many three beer Napoleon's to ever allow myself a fraction of the same freedom. But I had seen it all. Shoot me a neighborhood, any neighborhood...hell, shoot me a cross street and I could shoot back a 300 word impression, dead on. And that was one of my priorities. The rest was to be improv.
For instance, I saw the saddest woman I have seen in my life coming off the subway at Broadway and 14th. She stood in the middle of the crowd, parting them like the sea as she stood there, unmoving. Her eyes were glossed...and the bags underneath said a gloss was the driest they had been in some time. It was so moving. She was a white woman, mid 40's...and there was something so devastating living inside her. And you could feel it in her presence. Or maybe my pity stole some of her grief, if only in passing. Maybe that's how it works. I wanted so badly to know what it was. And it may sound strange, but I wanted to feel it...
I headed out alone with adrenaline on my side at about 10:30 last night. I've never had a problem flying solo, but for reasons only known to the author, last night I knew I was alone. A take a deep breath and blow it out, feeling. It was worth it though. It always is. I hadn't seen Alphabet City and told one of our chefs I would stop in at a late night Soho stop for a bite. So, I had somewhat of a plan. I started hopping. Bottle and shot became the name of the game. Jack/Guinness, Patron/Stella, Jaeger/Red Stripe...
And I'm not an alkie, I was just in good...spirits, happy to be doing what I love to do. Dreamrunning.
A few stops later, I wandered into Soho. One stop before my last destination, Blue Ribbon, old school G&R pulled me into a nice little side street bar. I was understandably weathered...but always hide it well. There was this sweet bartender who was named after that children's book publishing house...or something from my years in the third grade. I think it was...Scholastica? How one introduces oneself with a straight face when touting such a gem is beyond me, but she managed. I don't know when it happened, but it was just the two of us. She was buying my drinks and putting that best foot forward smile on the table. What could have happened next…well, use your imagination. Hot. But then she did it...she pulled out a book of astrology from behind the bar. Strike one, two and three. Scholastica didn't know it, but she was done. You see, I have issues. Issues that look to put a face through a brick wall when listening to my sign’s tendencies as defined by a book. How eat my own vomit, sweet. I left, promising (fingers crossed) to return after a quick bite next door. Maybe she waited, maybe not. I never made it back. Some blunders go beyond recovery.
I went to Blue Ribbon, had a couple glasses of red to go with my steamed Calamari, which was amazing. Pretty impressive bite to pick up at 3:45 in the morning. I can still taste it…all the satisfaction I would need that night.
I remember heading back to the hotel. Mid-town, right at Madison Square Park. The streets were naked and empty, which looking back was as good a sign as any that I should have probably been inside a cab. Instead, I Magellaned my way through the streets of New York in search of golden arches...where I unearthed a great conspiracy that NO McDonalds have working ice cream machines to facilitate the manufacturing of an Oreo McFlurry at 4:45 in the morning. Seriously...like 0-3. Maybe it was just a sign...no man should be ordering Oreo McFlurry's at 4:45 in the morning. That's like pre-breakfast. Just ain't right.
Exhausted from my explorations, I stumbled into my hotel room at a quarter past 5. With a flight to catch at 9, I jumped a cab and caught a plane. I don't remember navigating my way through the airport, mostly from exhaustion. I wasn't THAT under the bottle. I don't remember my two flights, or my stop over in Detroit. I don't remember getting back to LA, or rushing home to get changed, or the 3-minute shower. But I do remember getting back to work, where I finally had a moment to breathe. I didn't have an infinite agenda, or pumping energy. I didn't have a thousand things I wanted to do at once. It was like going through a time warp, and the last two days of my life had finally caught up after chasing me down all this time. If I were the crying type, they would have fallen right then. I don't know where this feeling came from, but it came...hard and fast. And it was crushing. I would have given anything to go home and be alone. Maybe I was getting my wish, to feel what the woman on the subway was feeling. That pain in her eyes. I wish it were that simple, to say it's not me...just some intervening force waltzing into my life, but it was obvious.
New York is a city of gravity. It can pull you down if you let it, and I can honestly say that I let it strangle me for those two days. I got everything that I went for, and almost got everything I needed...but for an hour when I got back, I paid the price. I'm exhausted...yeah. I was hung-over and hate traveling...yeah. I now have to deliver a script that has no excuse to be something other than remarkable...yeah. There's all that. But I know none are the culprit. What else can I say?
...
I left town after work on Saturday night. I slept on the plane, sure. But how much can you count sleeping on the plane as actual "sleeping?" So anyway, I flew through the night and got to New York by 10AM on Sunday the 11th. As in Sunday, September 11th. New York City. So, that was a little difficult...but what can you do.
I checked into my hotel and hit the streets by 11. Nothing was set in stone other than the idea that I had to see everything. Every corner, every neighborhood, every person. Two days later, back in LA, with feet that honestly border on Gangrenous...I got it done. And I'll have scars to prove it.
See, my process is such that I have the emotions and scenes in my head. Floating. Going to New York was my anchor. It means that I know the where...and well. Suddenly, I own every word I write. And that's everything.
The trip was insane. I didn't sleep Saturday or Monday night...at all. Right now, I'm either dreaming or delirious. Or...maybe I'm just being dramatic. No matter where I fall, the only thing for certain is that I should be in bed. Instead, I opt to rant.
New York is fucking crazy, seriously. It's just so different. A New Yorker may say the same about my City of Angels, but I don't see why. Los Angeles is just...softer. I don't remember seeing people smile in New York. I don't remember seeing people laughing. In LA, cars obnoxiously stop for pedestrians in crosswalks. In New York, it's hit and run derby. I was in New York and I missed LA. Now that I'm back in LA, I miss New York...even though I was only there for what felt like hours. You could say it's a grass is greener thing, but I don't think it's that simple.
My last night...last night was great. Just so you know, I don't believe in drinking and dreaming. It's cheap...and so false. I've seen one too many three beer Napoleon's to ever allow myself a fraction of the same freedom. But I had seen it all. Shoot me a neighborhood, any neighborhood...hell, shoot me a cross street and I could shoot back a 300 word impression, dead on. And that was one of my priorities. The rest was to be improv.
For instance, I saw the saddest woman I have seen in my life coming off the subway at Broadway and 14th. She stood in the middle of the crowd, parting them like the sea as she stood there, unmoving. Her eyes were glossed...and the bags underneath said a gloss was the driest they had been in some time. It was so moving. She was a white woman, mid 40's...and there was something so devastating living inside her. And you could feel it in her presence. Or maybe my pity stole some of her grief, if only in passing. Maybe that's how it works. I wanted so badly to know what it was. And it may sound strange, but I wanted to feel it...
I headed out alone with adrenaline on my side at about 10:30 last night. I've never had a problem flying solo, but for reasons only known to the author, last night I knew I was alone. A take a deep breath and blow it out, feeling. It was worth it though. It always is. I hadn't seen Alphabet City and told one of our chefs I would stop in at a late night Soho stop for a bite. So, I had somewhat of a plan. I started hopping. Bottle and shot became the name of the game. Jack/Guinness, Patron/Stella, Jaeger/Red Stripe...
And I'm not an alkie, I was just in good...spirits, happy to be doing what I love to do. Dreamrunning.
A few stops later, I wandered into Soho. One stop before my last destination, Blue Ribbon, old school G&R pulled me into a nice little side street bar. I was understandably weathered...but always hide it well. There was this sweet bartender who was named after that children's book publishing house...or something from my years in the third grade. I think it was...Scholastica? How one introduces oneself with a straight face when touting such a gem is beyond me, but she managed. I don't know when it happened, but it was just the two of us. She was buying my drinks and putting that best foot forward smile on the table. What could have happened next…well, use your imagination. Hot. But then she did it...she pulled out a book of astrology from behind the bar. Strike one, two and three. Scholastica didn't know it, but she was done. You see, I have issues. Issues that look to put a face through a brick wall when listening to my sign’s tendencies as defined by a book. How eat my own vomit, sweet. I left, promising (fingers crossed) to return after a quick bite next door. Maybe she waited, maybe not. I never made it back. Some blunders go beyond recovery.
I went to Blue Ribbon, had a couple glasses of red to go with my steamed Calamari, which was amazing. Pretty impressive bite to pick up at 3:45 in the morning. I can still taste it…all the satisfaction I would need that night.
I remember heading back to the hotel. Mid-town, right at Madison Square Park. The streets were naked and empty, which looking back was as good a sign as any that I should have probably been inside a cab. Instead, I Magellaned my way through the streets of New York in search of golden arches...where I unearthed a great conspiracy that NO McDonalds have working ice cream machines to facilitate the manufacturing of an Oreo McFlurry at 4:45 in the morning. Seriously...like 0-3. Maybe it was just a sign...no man should be ordering Oreo McFlurry's at 4:45 in the morning. That's like pre-breakfast. Just ain't right.
Exhausted from my explorations, I stumbled into my hotel room at a quarter past 5. With a flight to catch at 9, I jumped a cab and caught a plane. I don't remember navigating my way through the airport, mostly from exhaustion. I wasn't THAT under the bottle. I don't remember my two flights, or my stop over in Detroit. I don't remember getting back to LA, or rushing home to get changed, or the 3-minute shower. But I do remember getting back to work, where I finally had a moment to breathe. I didn't have an infinite agenda, or pumping energy. I didn't have a thousand things I wanted to do at once. It was like going through a time warp, and the last two days of my life had finally caught up after chasing me down all this time. If I were the crying type, they would have fallen right then. I don't know where this feeling came from, but it came...hard and fast. And it was crushing. I would have given anything to go home and be alone. Maybe I was getting my wish, to feel what the woman on the subway was feeling. That pain in her eyes. I wish it were that simple, to say it's not me...just some intervening force waltzing into my life, but it was obvious.
New York is a city of gravity. It can pull you down if you let it, and I can honestly say that I let it strangle me for those two days. I got everything that I went for, and almost got everything I needed...but for an hour when I got back, I paid the price. I'm exhausted...yeah. I was hung-over and hate traveling...yeah. I now have to deliver a script that has no excuse to be something other than remarkable...yeah. There's all that. But I know none are the culprit. What else can I say?
...
September 10, 2005
Big Apple Jaunt...and likely tangents.
Tomorrow, I leave for New York City. I'd like to say I'm spending a relaxing Saturday in the sun before jumping a leisurely non-stop that puts me into the city just in time for a late dinner. No. I'm working. Which means I'm ducking out from the busiest night ever to hit LAX in time for my 1:34 AM flight. I'm not exactly sure about the time, just that it's REALLY LATE. I come back on Tuesday night. Just in time for...you guessed it, work.
I have all day Sunday and all day Monday. Hopefully, I can implement the, "sleep when you're dead" motto and extend this trip late into both nights. You see, it's time to start a new script. The truth is: I know no happiness greater than the 8-12 weeks of torture it takes to come up with a polished beauty. This one, of course...is far and away the most ambitious I’ve done. Far and away. It's been festering like a disease. If I could somehow explain how difficult it was to push through 8-12 weeks of my last re-write, knowing this one was next in line...or if I could explain what it was like reading through Sophy Burnham, Matthew Bunson (yeah, I know...who?) Then Milton and Dante, knowing I had to have the patience to get through it all to shed my ignorance...then, knowing that I wouldn't let myself start until I went to New York, and now it's here...times are good.
What's it about? Sorry. I would have shared...but I don't like to talk about it anymore. Too close to starting. You understand. Of course, there are certainly clues above. I will say this...this is THE one. I don't know what will come of my ambitions tomorrow...2 weeks from now or ten years from now. I would like to say that I have things figured out for good. I don't. But I have them figured out now. People I meet often ask me why I came to LA. It's a fun question, especially in this city. In fact, you could be at a party and ask that very same question 31 times to 31 different people and never get bored. Trust Papa Bear on this one. But go past 31 and things get messy. To be honest...cause that's what I am sometimes, I have learned that it’s better to be all ears. Always. Because realization hits that if you sound like THAT...if that is actually what you sound like, then perhaps it's time to pick up a pawnshop shotty and take the one-way ticket, Hunter S. Thompson style.
I told you. Tangents. Shit. Listen, to succeed in what I am trying to do...being on the outside looking in, you yearn so much to be a name. To have something to back up this, "all my eggs into one basket wave goodbye, never look back mentality." You see...that common theme. Searching for validation. It becomes so important until...I guess right up until the moment when you ARE validated. When that happens, I'll let you know what it feels like. Right now, all I know is THAT'S what I want. I'm young and green and don't know anything about anything...but I know this script will mean the end of my night job. It will mean that I will be exactly what I came out here to be...and I will begin to start the climb. The long, long climb. That's what I think...it's what I know. Don't confuse confidence with arrogance. There may be a touch of both in my speech. Neither is founded. Seriously, why would I have reason for abundance of either? Hell, I'm a stranger in a strange land, right? It's just one of those things.
I should really get back to New York. I'm staying near Union Square...near mid-town. I have a digital Elph and a mini DV camcorder to get everything I need. I can't explain. It's more of a -- know what you need when you get it. More than anything, it's the breathe the air and wander...which by the way, I'm outstanding at. Being aimless. Damn good. During my two days, I have one thing to do for sure...see THE ex girlfriend. Be forewarned. This is going to be a long and telling blog. No one is free from the arbitrary mention. ESPECIALLY ex-girlfriends. By the way, hate CAPS? For this post -- tough shit, my dears.
So the ex-girlfriend. It's funny. We all have lots of exes...but when you think about it...there's really only one. Everyone else is just...well, they’re part of the game for a bit. Sometimes, if it’s a really good team, you might make the playoffs and stretch it into a nice little run...but in the end, every season has to end. Blame it on weather or injury, that's what I do. They're never too happy...but there's always re-hab. Believe me, I know.
Anyway, it's good to get out of LA. Get into a new city and miss this city I love to hate. Wait, I don't mean that. Other people say that…other assholes. One thing I know for sure is that I don’t want to be that…an asshole.
I can't believe it’s been 15 months and counting since I landed in this town. I wonder what this place has done to me. One of my rare moments of reflection. They don't come often, certainly falling low on my belief barometer…thermometer? Odometer? I don’t know. But maybe 15 years from now, I'll let another one slide and look back...it's amazing, what I've done to this town.
There it is again. Seriously, I belong on a leash.
I have all day Sunday and all day Monday. Hopefully, I can implement the, "sleep when you're dead" motto and extend this trip late into both nights. You see, it's time to start a new script. The truth is: I know no happiness greater than the 8-12 weeks of torture it takes to come up with a polished beauty. This one, of course...is far and away the most ambitious I’ve done. Far and away. It's been festering like a disease. If I could somehow explain how difficult it was to push through 8-12 weeks of my last re-write, knowing this one was next in line...or if I could explain what it was like reading through Sophy Burnham, Matthew Bunson (yeah, I know...who?) Then Milton and Dante, knowing I had to have the patience to get through it all to shed my ignorance...then, knowing that I wouldn't let myself start until I went to New York, and now it's here...times are good.
What's it about? Sorry. I would have shared...but I don't like to talk about it anymore. Too close to starting. You understand. Of course, there are certainly clues above. I will say this...this is THE one. I don't know what will come of my ambitions tomorrow...2 weeks from now or ten years from now. I would like to say that I have things figured out for good. I don't. But I have them figured out now. People I meet often ask me why I came to LA. It's a fun question, especially in this city. In fact, you could be at a party and ask that very same question 31 times to 31 different people and never get bored. Trust Papa Bear on this one. But go past 31 and things get messy. To be honest...cause that's what I am sometimes, I have learned that it’s better to be all ears. Always. Because realization hits that if you sound like THAT...if that is actually what you sound like, then perhaps it's time to pick up a pawnshop shotty and take the one-way ticket, Hunter S. Thompson style.
I told you. Tangents. Shit. Listen, to succeed in what I am trying to do...being on the outside looking in, you yearn so much to be a name. To have something to back up this, "all my eggs into one basket wave goodbye, never look back mentality." You see...that common theme. Searching for validation. It becomes so important until...I guess right up until the moment when you ARE validated. When that happens, I'll let you know what it feels like. Right now, all I know is THAT'S what I want. I'm young and green and don't know anything about anything...but I know this script will mean the end of my night job. It will mean that I will be exactly what I came out here to be...and I will begin to start the climb. The long, long climb. That's what I think...it's what I know. Don't confuse confidence with arrogance. There may be a touch of both in my speech. Neither is founded. Seriously, why would I have reason for abundance of either? Hell, I'm a stranger in a strange land, right? It's just one of those things.
I should really get back to New York. I'm staying near Union Square...near mid-town. I have a digital Elph and a mini DV camcorder to get everything I need. I can't explain. It's more of a -- know what you need when you get it. More than anything, it's the breathe the air and wander...which by the way, I'm outstanding at. Being aimless. Damn good. During my two days, I have one thing to do for sure...see THE ex girlfriend. Be forewarned. This is going to be a long and telling blog. No one is free from the arbitrary mention. ESPECIALLY ex-girlfriends. By the way, hate CAPS? For this post -- tough shit, my dears.
So the ex-girlfriend. It's funny. We all have lots of exes...but when you think about it...there's really only one. Everyone else is just...well, they’re part of the game for a bit. Sometimes, if it’s a really good team, you might make the playoffs and stretch it into a nice little run...but in the end, every season has to end. Blame it on weather or injury, that's what I do. They're never too happy...but there's always re-hab. Believe me, I know.
Anyway, it's good to get out of LA. Get into a new city and miss this city I love to hate. Wait, I don't mean that. Other people say that…other assholes. One thing I know for sure is that I don’t want to be that…an asshole.
I can't believe it’s been 15 months and counting since I landed in this town. I wonder what this place has done to me. One of my rare moments of reflection. They don't come often, certainly falling low on my belief barometer…thermometer? Odometer? I don’t know. But maybe 15 years from now, I'll let another one slide and look back...it's amazing, what I've done to this town.
There it is again. Seriously, I belong on a leash.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
