I’m enjoying the city. The last three days have been a fine mixture of busy and relaxed stuff. And writing stuff here means I’m not relaxing too much, cos I’ll spend way too much time cropping photos and re-typing sentences that make sense in my head’s own shorthand, but really are full of bad grammar. So, to sum up the last three days, here’s a bunch of notes:
Spent Sunday in Central Park and a couple of other parks on the Lower East Side with friends.
Enjoyed watching the remote control boats on a lake in Central Park; the blackbirds and robins, too.
Saw a cardinal (the bird, not the catholic bloke) for the first time in my life.
A very fat man jogging. Jaunty ponytails on female joggers. Blossom. Tiny dogs.
Women in peach-coloured clothes look lovely.
Being inside the Trump Tower is quite a horrible experience. Hurts the eyes.
I gave a homeless guy (with a beard full of potato crisps/chips crumbs in his beard) a dollar and he shook my hand and asked me, “Are you a guitar player?” I told him that I wasn’t. He said, “You must be, I’m never wrong!”
The train, from Grand Central to Dia:Beacon, has a horn that sounds like an American train in films sounds and that is good.
Oooh, there’s Yankee Stadium; ooh there’s Sing Sing.
Lovely houses in small towns.
Dia:Beacon is great. Well worth the 80-ish minute trip.
Lovely to see a Dan Flavin sculpture that I’ve always enjoyed in books, in real life. Some Sol LeWitt, Richard Serra, Donald Judd. I loved On Kawara’s ‘date paintings’. (No photography allowed, thus the sneaky photos shot from my trouser pocket.)
I asked one of the people working there if they turned off the Dan Flavor Flavin stuff at night. She confirmed that they did: “at night they’re dead sculptures.”
Two English guys were leaving at the same time as me, I heard them wondering when the train back to New York was. I told them, “Seven minutes past every hour.” They thanked me and I wandered slowly to the station. I checked my notebook: the trains were actually at ten minutes to every hour. I felt very very guilty. I would get the train, they’d be 20 minutes late and have to wait another 40 minutes. (An extra note: I have no idea why my brain thought the train was at seven minutes past the hour. Proof, I guess, that my brain is wired a bit wrong in the bits that control memory.)
Women on her mobile phone on the train: “You’re not even listening to what I’m saying! You’re not even listening to what I’m saying NOW! You’re not listening to what I’m saying!”
Every damn time I press the button for the elevator in the hotel I get an electric shock.
Saw more art today at the New Museum by Andrea Zittel, it was okay. Saw a great thing by Tara Donovan at the Pace Wildenstein gallery, a landscape made of plastic cups.
Went around the corner to go to another museum someone had recommended, but for some reason, I had a bit of a freak-out and found myself unable to go in, so went to an art shop and bought some graph paper and a handy pocket-size watercolour set.
A perfectly retro guy: thin, straight black hair; short in the front, long at the back. Silver earring, moustache. Leather jacket over midriff-exposing Motley Crue t-shirt. Skin-tight jeans and Converse. Almost too perfect.
Two women hug and saw goodbye on the street. “Love you!” shouts one, going one way. “Call me!” shouts the other walking a yard or two in front of me. Within ten seconds, she had her mobile phone up to her head and began talking loud and fast, “I just saw Marissa, she was like [loud squawking noise]! Like that!”
The American Folk Art Museum is amazing. If you’re ever in New York: fuck MOMA, go next door instead. It’s far more rewarding. Some truly magnificent work in there.
Another walk in the park, and I saw a couple in their wedding clothes having photos taken by a lake.
That was my last three days. Now it’s bedtime. When I’ve woken up, showered and breakfasted, I’ll be going to Yankee Stadium to watch New York Yankees vs. Kansas City Royals. I can’t wait.