Well, it's close enough to Thanksgiving, so I'm back.
Since I was a child, I've dreamed of living in New York City. As an artistically inclined, same-sex attracted individual, Manhattan was the ne plus ultra of living destinations. I lived Boston adjacent and went into that hub as often as I could. And Boston is a very cool city; but it was no New York. Ironically, Boston is rapidly turning into a kind of New England New York: with outrageously exorbitant prices to match. The cost of living in both cities has priced out the very people who flock there and give those places their character. Artists, performers, writers etc.
But New York was never very financially kind to the artistic types who were drawn there. When I graduated college, New York still beckoned; and if I'd been actively pursuing acting, I may very well have tried my hand at living there; despite the gut-churning reputation the city had of being entirely unaffordable; unless you were willing to live in squalor with rats, roaches and seedy strangers. You had to wait tables for people who had a global reputation of being mean. Maybe you could be a bell-boy at a hotel; doing more for the male lodgers then just hauling their luggage...Prostitution is a big step for most people. It's a line I couldn't cross (I tried once: more on that in another blog for another day). But it's a line that's easy to cross for some people. It's all about survival, right?
So, when I left the halls of higher academia, I got a job at a gay bar in Cambridge and worked there for three years while I dragged my feet about my future. Actually, it was more or less a three-year party, since not only did I work at the Paradise bar, I hung out there when I wasn't working. It and the people in it became my world. But then, I had friends who were moving to Los Angeles to pursue the dreams that we had all gone to college for. I knew I had to take action or that I would end up at that bar for the rest of my life.
Los Angeles.
I'd visited. There was no there, there, as someone once said. It was patently fake to me. The city nearly indistinguishable from the sets on the studio backlots that had built the town. Sunbaked in shadowless light at a constant low broil. Even in the winter, when it rained, there was never any thunder or lightning. Not once in the entire time I ended up living there did I hear the rumble of thunder. Have you ever read The Day of the Locust? It is an entirely accurate depiction of Los Angeles for someone who has moved there from the East. Of course, for some people (the British for example) L.A. is IT. They get there and they've arrived. That mechanical sunlight is just right. Who cares if it's fake. It's paradise.
Since I was a child, I've dreamed of living in New York City. As an artistically inclined, same-sex attracted individual, Manhattan was the ne plus ultra of living destinations. I lived Boston adjacent and went into that hub as often as I could. And Boston is a very cool city; but it was no New York. Ironically, Boston is rapidly turning into a kind of New England New York: with outrageously exorbitant prices to match. The cost of living in both cities has priced out the very people who flock there and give those places their character. Artists, performers, writers etc.
But New York was never very financially kind to the artistic types who were drawn there. When I graduated college, New York still beckoned; and if I'd been actively pursuing acting, I may very well have tried my hand at living there; despite the gut-churning reputation the city had of being entirely unaffordable; unless you were willing to live in squalor with rats, roaches and seedy strangers. You had to wait tables for people who had a global reputation of being mean. Maybe you could be a bell-boy at a hotel; doing more for the male lodgers then just hauling their luggage...Prostitution is a big step for most people. It's a line I couldn't cross (I tried once: more on that in another blog for another day). But it's a line that's easy to cross for some people. It's all about survival, right?
So, when I left the halls of higher academia, I got a job at a gay bar in Cambridge and worked there for three years while I dragged my feet about my future. Actually, it was more or less a three-year party, since not only did I work at the Paradise bar, I hung out there when I wasn't working. It and the people in it became my world. But then, I had friends who were moving to Los Angeles to pursue the dreams that we had all gone to college for. I knew I had to take action or that I would end up at that bar for the rest of my life.
Los Angeles.
I'd visited. There was no there, there, as someone once said. It was patently fake to me. The city nearly indistinguishable from the sets on the studio backlots that had built the town. Sunbaked in shadowless light at a constant low broil. Even in the winter, when it rained, there was never any thunder or lightning. Not once in the entire time I ended up living there did I hear the rumble of thunder. Have you ever read The Day of the Locust? It is an entirely accurate depiction of Los Angeles for someone who has moved there from the East. Of course, for some people (the British for example) L.A. is IT. They get there and they've arrived. That mechanical sunlight is just right. Who cares if it's fake. It's paradise.
But for anyone who came from a place where the weather changed, something wasn't right. That huge metropolis should not be there. It is not organic. It was grafted onto a dry, deserty landscape. It was built on sand. I remember that even the act of sex was somehow not enjoyable there. Sex is sort of a performance, isn't it? It's theatrical. You need to have it somewhere where there's like inclement weather. Cold and rainy. So that there's at least a little subtext in the undertaking: yeah, we're having sex; but we're also providing body heat for one another. Having sex in L.A.; where the ambient temperature generally hovered in the mid-70's; where the air had an unnerving stillness; where the quality of the light was flat and harsh...Having sex in L.A. was like having sex on a stage. It's no wonder it's the porn capital of the world.
However, because of its mind-boggling sprawl, Los Angeles had one thing going for it that other major metropolises didn't. Relative affordability. You could realistically afford to live there and enjoy a modest "lifestyle" without having to become a slave to the place (remember Slaves of New York?). I mean, just think of all the apartments in Los Angeles. If you couldn't find your own, you could easily find room-mates. The idea of "room-mates" was somehow more palatable in Los Angeles. I mean, we all grew up with Three's Company, right? Who wouldn't want to live with a bubbly, blonde California girl and a cute straight guy pretending to be gay? Split the rent and then have enough left over to have a drink or two at The Regal Beagle. By the way, didn't Jack Tripper seem pretty gay anyways? I never got that whole "pretending" thing.
"I just got a new roommate (wink, wink)..."
However, because of its mind-boggling sprawl, Los Angeles had one thing going for it that other major metropolises didn't. Relative affordability. You could realistically afford to live there and enjoy a modest "lifestyle" without having to become a slave to the place (remember Slaves of New York?). I mean, just think of all the apartments in Los Angeles. If you couldn't find your own, you could easily find room-mates. The idea of "room-mates" was somehow more palatable in Los Angeles. I mean, we all grew up with Three's Company, right? Who wouldn't want to live with a bubbly, blonde California girl and a cute straight guy pretending to be gay? Split the rent and then have enough left over to have a drink or two at The Regal Beagle. By the way, didn't Jack Tripper seem pretty gay anyways? I never got that whole "pretending" thing.
"I just got a new roommate (wink, wink)..."
Perhaps the stupidest commercial ever made. No, wait, this one was even dumber:
Is this supposed to be double entendre? Is the air-freshener supposed to look like a marital aid? I mean, what were they going for here? Who were they pitching this to (and who was catching?).
But, back to metropolitan living.
When one is in New York City, the most immediate impression one gets is the sheer number of human beings on the street. It's to the point of creepiness: you're nearly almost always within a half a foot of someone. Not so in Los Angeles. The streets are bereft of people. I mean, yeah, certain thoroughfares are crowded: Hollywood Blvd., Rodeo Drive, parts of Melrose, a few blocks of Sunset; but most other places you could fire a cannon and hit nothing but air. It's like the exact opposite of New York City. It's just as creepy to have no people as it is to have too many. I prefer too many people, as I'm a people watcher--however, only if you can get away from the throng when you've had enough.
My husband and I have taken up going on little jaunts to the Big Apple. Him for me, more so than vice-versa. He knows I love the place. He, however, does not. I mean, I can't say I blame him. The place is an absolute zoo. I don't think I've ever been to a place where more people have full volume conversations with themselves. Or, are they on Bluetooth calls? And umbrella etiquette is non-existent. You have to be on constant vigil for umbrella spokes to the face when it rains. I do think that NYC is starting to grow on him a bit. He's into maps and geography and the city is basically one giant map grid. For me, it's a wonderland of new experiences: at this point in my life, actually getting to know the city I always dreamed about. Definitely a case of everything old is new again: both for the city, and for my person. Who knows, maybe I'll be getting up close and personal with Paris in my 70's. You gotta stay interested in life for as long as you can, while you still have use of your legs. This last trip we went to see Hadestown. I was blown away by it. Take that Disney (what will they be giving us next, The Apple Dumpling Gang! The Musical?)
But, back to metropolitan living.
When one is in New York City, the most immediate impression one gets is the sheer number of human beings on the street. It's to the point of creepiness: you're nearly almost always within a half a foot of someone. Not so in Los Angeles. The streets are bereft of people. I mean, yeah, certain thoroughfares are crowded: Hollywood Blvd., Rodeo Drive, parts of Melrose, a few blocks of Sunset; but most other places you could fire a cannon and hit nothing but air. It's like the exact opposite of New York City. It's just as creepy to have no people as it is to have too many. I prefer too many people, as I'm a people watcher--however, only if you can get away from the throng when you've had enough.
My husband and I have taken up going on little jaunts to the Big Apple. Him for me, more so than vice-versa. He knows I love the place. He, however, does not. I mean, I can't say I blame him. The place is an absolute zoo. I don't think I've ever been to a place where more people have full volume conversations with themselves. Or, are they on Bluetooth calls? And umbrella etiquette is non-existent. You have to be on constant vigil for umbrella spokes to the face when it rains. I do think that NYC is starting to grow on him a bit. He's into maps and geography and the city is basically one giant map grid. For me, it's a wonderland of new experiences: at this point in my life, actually getting to know the city I always dreamed about. Definitely a case of everything old is new again: both for the city, and for my person. Who knows, maybe I'll be getting up close and personal with Paris in my 70's. You gotta stay interested in life for as long as you can, while you still have use of your legs. This last trip we went to see Hadestown. I was blown away by it. Take that Disney (what will they be giving us next, The Apple Dumpling Gang! The Musical?)
This last trip to NYC was garbage. Literally. The trip was fun but there were piles of garbage everywhere. I mean, like, people were dining al fresco (Who's Al Fresco? -- rimshot) next to two story high piles of see through garbage bags. Thankfully, we dined indoors. I mean, it would be all I could do to try and enjoy my meal and not examine the garbage and wonder about it. Like, hmmmm, I wonder who had lunch at Subway. What did they have? Did they eat at their desk? Are they a commuter? Where do they commute from? Weehawken? Wappingers Falls? Poughkeepsie?
Was it a he or a she? Did they get the tuna fish? Did they wonder if it was actually tuna fish? Did they care? Is that a toupee...oh, dear God, it's a SCALP!!!
My mind wanders like that. And don't even get me started on my wonderment about the volume of trash New York City generates in a single day. Where does it all go? (New Jersey!--rim shot). I mean, when I start thinking about that my head could explode. It was raining in NYC too. And there was like a creamy-white, gravy-like substance running in most of the gutters. What was that? Manhattan-milk? Would I drink it if someone offered me money? How much money would it take for me to drink Manhattan-milk?
So, in any event, I guess the point of this essay is that I wouldn't live in New York City now. I mean, if I could live the way I always fantasized, like Lois Lane in Superman, with a little Alfa Romeo Spider in the garage and on someone else's dime, sure, I'd live there. But that only happens in movies like Superman. Her penthouse was at 1 Gracie Terrace on the East Side, by the way. It was recently up for sale for a mere 3.27 million.
Was it a he or a she? Did they get the tuna fish? Did they wonder if it was actually tuna fish? Did they care? Is that a toupee...oh, dear God, it's a SCALP!!!
My mind wanders like that. And don't even get me started on my wonderment about the volume of trash New York City generates in a single day. Where does it all go? (New Jersey!--rim shot). I mean, when I start thinking about that my head could explode. It was raining in NYC too. And there was like a creamy-white, gravy-like substance running in most of the gutters. What was that? Manhattan-milk? Would I drink it if someone offered me money? How much money would it take for me to drink Manhattan-milk?
So, in any event, I guess the point of this essay is that I wouldn't live in New York City now. I mean, if I could live the way I always fantasized, like Lois Lane in Superman, with a little Alfa Romeo Spider in the garage and on someone else's dime, sure, I'd live there. But that only happens in movies like Superman. Her penthouse was at 1 Gracie Terrace on the East Side, by the way. It was recently up for sale for a mere 3.27 million.
We took the tram over to Roosevelt Island and I have to say, I was utterly shocked at how quiet it was. I was even more shocked when my husband said: "I could live here." Apparently, in the last twenty years or so it's become quite residential. A little city within the city. It used to be where they had the mental asylum and the smallpox hospital. I guess the diseases have returned to the mainland. Everything old is new again. I remember the first time I visited NYC as a child. The World Trade towers were still going up. I remember they had bright yellow tarps around the floors they were working on. We were waiting for the boat to Liberty Island. That memory is as vivid as yesterday. Maybe more so.
I remember the day they fell. All too vividly. ...The powers that be; that force us to live like we do...they'll fall to ruin one day, for making us part.
On our way to the Roosevelt Island tram, we walked right by the door to The Chrysler Building. My husband has an incredible knack for walking right up to landmarks without even knowing it. It's like he's psychically drawn to these places. I was like, "Oh...it's The Chrysler Building. Right here. Here's the door to the lobby." So we went in. A rather imperious young attendant stopped us in our tracks. "This isn't open to the public." WTF? It's a lobby. They're called "Public Lobbies" for a reason. I barely had time to glance at the stonework before he was giving us the bum's rush. "Well," I said, good naturedly, "what if I had a dental appointment?" (There is actually a dentist up in the spire! Or there used to be).
"Well," he said, a little less imperiously but not quite good-naturedly, "we'd check you in." Needless to say, I didn't have a dentist's appointment. But I know what dentist I'm going to if I ever do live in Manhattan, if he's still there, that is...
On our way to the Roosevelt Island tram, we walked right by the door to The Chrysler Building. My husband has an incredible knack for walking right up to landmarks without even knowing it. It's like he's psychically drawn to these places. I was like, "Oh...it's The Chrysler Building. Right here. Here's the door to the lobby." So we went in. A rather imperious young attendant stopped us in our tracks. "This isn't open to the public." WTF? It's a lobby. They're called "Public Lobbies" for a reason. I barely had time to glance at the stonework before he was giving us the bum's rush. "Well," I said, good naturedly, "what if I had a dental appointment?" (There is actually a dentist up in the spire! Or there used to be).
"Well," he said, a little less imperiously but not quite good-naturedly, "we'd check you in." Needless to say, I didn't have a dentist's appointment. But I know what dentist I'm going to if I ever do live in Manhattan, if he's still there, that is...
So, like, what's up Chrysler Building? Why so snobby? You're arguably twice as gorgeous as The Empire State Building and yet, you close down The Cloud Club and observatory and kick people out of your lobby who just want to admire your beauty. Do you know how much The Empire State Building pulls in, in a year? About 38 million dollars. And that's just the observatory. Why are you turning your nose up at that kind of money and publicity. People just want to admire you. Ever hear of a little something called "good will"? How about "noblesse oblige"? Bring back your observatory, bitch.
I just called the Chrysler Building a bitch.
Oops. I just read that there are plans to open a new observation deck at the Chrysler Building. Sorry Chrysler Building. But if you brought back The Cloud Club then you'd have something the other buildings don't. A sweet-ass restaurant that people would pay through the nose (even by NYC standards) to dine at. Go big or go home Chrysler Building.
I just called the Chrysler Building a bitch.
Oops. I just read that there are plans to open a new observation deck at the Chrysler Building. Sorry Chrysler Building. But if you brought back The Cloud Club then you'd have something the other buildings don't. A sweet-ass restaurant that people would pay through the nose (even by NYC standards) to dine at. Go big or go home Chrysler Building.
I also got to finally visit 601 Lexington a.k.a "The Hugh" (formerly The Citicorp Building). I've been fascinated by that skyscraper since it first hit the skyline. It has a nice plaza and a great food court area; but would it kill them to put in an observatory? Any building over thirty stories should have an observatory and a restaurant. It should be a law. And how about this: you know how like, these elevated glass walkways and slides and terraces and so forth are so popular nowadays? Like that glass balcony over The Grand Canyon? 601 Lexington should install a slide/ride on its slanted roof! Can you imagine? I get chills just thinking about it! I also get chills when I think about how that building could've toppled over in a strong wind when it was first built. BTW, why has there never been a scene in an action movie with someone sliding down that roof? I mean, I'd build an entire movie around that scene just to see that scene.
About that slide. Maybe not. I mean, I was just really trying to imagine that experience and I thought, "Hmmm. You might never be right again."
I mean would you do it? Maybe? Imagine the coin it would generate for the city. Or would you rather just take your chances dining next to a mountain of trash: just as thrilling and only slightly less dangerous.
In any event. If you're planning on seeing a show on the reopening Broadway and one of those shows is The Lion King or Aladdin; go see Hadestown instead. Support something original. And I'm telling you it will change your life.
I mean would you do it? Maybe? Imagine the coin it would generate for the city. Or would you rather just take your chances dining next to a mountain of trash: just as thrilling and only slightly less dangerous.
In any event. If you're planning on seeing a show on the reopening Broadway and one of those shows is The Lion King or Aladdin; go see Hadestown instead. Support something original. And I'm telling you it will change your life.