3/11/03 In which I stalk an uber-jew, test out the oyster bar, and a real Chinese restaurant, etc.:


I took 124 pictures today. Today was a full day.


It began with me waking up a little earlier than I have been. 11:00am. I had to get to Rubin Hall, my old Freshman Dorm, by noon. I lived there 4 YEARS ago. Oh my god!


I had to be there by noon to meet my brother before he went to class. He was going to give me the program for the Roslyn Middle School play. He picked one up for me while he was on Long Island. I forgot to take one the day of the show. Good brother. :)


On my way to Astor Place, I get a "redbird." Those red subway cars that are almost all gone. They're from the 50's and 60's. And they were the last ones left with some semblance of a real "straphanger" to grab a hold of when the train was moving. I'll be sad to see them go. So I took some pictures:




There is something special about the hands all lined up, on the movable metal "straps," which replaced the really old leather ones.

So I get there, and I'm waiting for Peter to come downstairs from the infamous 11th floor, where I used to hang out, and where he lives... and I took a picture of the lobby. Never will forget that great checkerboard floor.



I think black and white checkers is so New York. Maybe because of apartment building floors. Maybe because of the old cabs. In fact, when shopping for my first set of tableware, sophomore year, in Crate & Barrel, I came across earthenware plates that had a checkered strip around the rim, as their only detail. And I had to have them. We bought six. I should have gotten more. I've never seen them in Crate & Barrel since. And I still have them. And I love them. They belong in a New York City apartment. Which is what I have. Which still tickles me daily, and its been almost 3 months!


Here's a picture:


And a close up:



Anyway, I'm sitting there, with my camera up on the back of one of the chairs in the lobby. I had already taken the above photo, and I had the camera perched, ready to take a picture of my brother as he came out of the elevator. You know, to catch him.


And all of a sudden, the security guard starts barking at me to put away the camera. Before I realize he's talking to me, and then what he's saying, he's coming over, and he goes to grab it. I can understand, maybe, that he wants me to put it away. NYU security is like that. I've lived under their domain of terror for 3.5 years. But when he want to grab my camera, saying words like "take" and "confiscate..." for no good reason other than overreaction... because when you're under stimulated by signing people in and out of a building all day... this is excitement! So... I yanked the camera by its string just as he went to grab it. And I was like "Hey! Don't you touch my camera!" He didn't like this. "You weren't putting it away." So I said "I'm sorry if my reflexes aren't fast enough for you." So he's yelling at me, and I'm telling him to calm down, and he's like "No, you calm down! I am calm!" he says as he gets louder.


And I'm thinking... great. Once again, I am in somebody's face in the city. And I'm not going to back down. So I try to make him feel bad: I tell him that I used to live in the building and that I'm waiting for my good, sweet, dear brother, following in his older brother's footsteps, now living on the very same floor I used to hang out on... to come downstairs to give me something terribly important.


He didn't seem to care. Then Peter came downstairs. And I told my brother the story of what happened, loud enough for the guy to hear me. I'm still pissed. And then I told peter that even though this guy is a jerk (again, still loud enough for him to hear if he wants to), that we used to have this huge scary woman named Santiago working the desk at Rubin, when I lived there. This woman invariably yelled at every resident of the building. We used to joke, "tough love." And "she protects us by trying to stop EVERYONE from getting into the building." Peter was mildly amused, if at all. I mean, its tough to entertain at that hour. It was early in the morning. Just before noon.


Peter gives me the package, and I start on my way out. But of course, I haven't had enough yet. I point at the security guard and start shaking my head. He can't believe it. He says "You shaking your head at me?" And he was about to threaten me or something, and I cut him off and said, "You need to learn some manners," still shaking my head, sadly, and exiting. Before the revolving door stopped his voice from reaching my ears, he said "No, YOU need to learn some manners... you get over here and I'll show you..." etc...some sort of threat. An NYU security guard was all but inviting me to fight him.


And I thought. "Ahhh. Just like the good old days."


It's funny the things we do to reminisce.


So, I've had a weird morning so far. But it was about to get interesting.


First off, I get into the union square subway station. A woman is taking pictures of her hubby, who is on the other platform, on the other side of the tracks. So, I decide, I'm going to take a picture of this woman who is taking a picture. I didn't get a good one. Here it is anyway:


A lot of people looked at me very strangely as I took a picture of a person taking a picture. I don't think they appreciated the... art. Especially when I put my camera back in my little belt pouch and acted like I hadn't done anything at all.


Then I get on my downtown 5 train. One of the new ones. And I'm sitting across from this average looking 14-15 year old looking boy, and his mother. The first thing interesting I see, is that he's wearing one of those designer yarmulkes... the bald-spot coverings Jewish men wear in temple. Pronounced "Ya-ma-ka." And I see a little bit of a prayer shawl hanging out under his jacket. (See pic.) And then I look at the mother. She has thick rimmed, slightly awkward looking glasses. And a bit of a cousin-it hair cut. Plain medium-length hair, covering the face a little more than it has to. And I think, these might be those super Jews. The ones that have a culture in a vacuum, living in secular capitalist New York City.... which is something that has always fascinated me. As Louie once put it... Amish Jews. I like that.


And something I have always wondered, is what it would be like to be born into that kind of a culture, while being surrounded by fun, exciting, adolescent-enticing American capitalist consumerist culture. Do these kids freak out? Do they ever rebel? I had my question answered on the NYC subway today. It's amazing what $1.50 (soon to be $2.00) will get you sometimes.


The mother pulls a book out of her purse. She opens it, and hands it to the kid. I can see its got Hebrew writing in it. Looks prayer oriented. He is repulsed by it like he was just presented a platter of live snails. He makes a terrible face, and pushes it away. She persists, and he just gets more resistant. This is all the more interesting because he's obviously wearing the clothing of the culture under his jacket. And it's not a holiday or Shabbat. It's a Tuesday afternoon. So he's obviously not completely rebelled, but he's obviously not thrilled with his situation either. So it looks like he's discovering his distaste for the whole thing very currently. And he's just old enough to start exerting his own opinions on the matter.


She puts the book away. She takes out another thick prayer-looking book. (Mary Poppins Brand bag). And she opens it to a specific page, and begins reading it. I can tell because she's mouthing the words. Its prayers. It's what they do. And this kid is not happy to be alive. And I'm fascinated. So I took a picture:



He proceeds to pout like this, or hold his head in his hands in total disgust all the way to Wall St., where I got off, and beyond.


Am I projecting my feelings of how I would react if I were suddenly to be reborn into a super-Jew (or any religion) family, with all of the opinions and feelings about religion that I have now? Or was this a genuine personal rebellion taking place in front of my eyes?



Maybe these people would know. They were there too. Ask them.


Then I got back to my apartment, and had to go out again to mail 2 DVD's to Owen (of Owen Photography). He sent me 105 photographs and had me edit them to the tune of "Putting it Together" by Barbara Streisand. Joy of joys. After pulling my hair out about it for a day or so, I finished it, and am actually kind of pleased with how it came out, considering, and needed to ship it to him.


I figured, this would give me an opportunity to share what my post office looks like. It's incredible.


It's the Bowling Green post office, right in front of Bowling Green Park. That park was the first park in Manhattan. It's very tiny and sits behind a statue of a bull. (It's near Wall St.)



The post office is in a building that was built for the white star line ticket offices. That's the shipping line that owned and operated the Titanic. Briefly.


That's why there are nautical details on the exterior:



And when they put the post office in, they were responsible about it, only putting up temporary structures, preserving the incredible decorative elements of the turn-of-the-century trans-Atlantic ship ticket area. It's the only post office in which I don't mind waiting on line.





The map on the wall was to show all the amazing and exotic places the wealthy cruise liner patron might wish to go.









So, with that taken care of...


I went up to Grand Central. Matt Benjamin was coming into the city from Yale on the New Haven Line. He was coming to see the Boston Philharmonic perform at Carnegie Hall. He planned on getting $10 student tickets, but you can only get one per ID, so he asked if he could get his hands on my old NYU ID. I said I'd bring it to him, and we could catch some new England clam chowder at the Oyster Bar that I've been raving about before his show.


He agreed, and we went. This time I was determined to get Oysters, even if only a few.


I was early, and wandered into Vanderbilt Hall, a room to the side of the famous room with the constellations on the ceiling. There was this crazy set up in there of everything Swiss! Swiss stores, including Lindt, which is amazing chocolate, and I almost bought some... and of course, at the center, a Swiss travel propaganda machine:








And there were model trains... model Swiss trains. It was all very strange, and sort of exciting for no good reason whatsoever... which is, I guess, the idea. Good heavens... and to think, if I had accidentally gotten excited enough, I might have impulse-bought a trip to Switzerland!




Returning to the functional part of the building, I found out which platform his train was to arrive on, and I waited there. Track 16:




And I took this picture as a surprising number of people got off the inbound train on a Tuesday afternoon:




And we went to the Oyster Bar, where I took a picture of a small man sitting across from us:



And I tried one of three different kinds of Oyster. "Discovery," which is what I got when I asked for the largest one they had. "Blue Point" because it's the standard. And "Kumamoto" when I asked for a California, because my mother and I are of the opinion that West Coast oysters are better than East Coast. And it's the ONLY thing better about the West Coast. :)





What a busy plate for three little morsels of goodness.

The one of the left (only the shell remains in the picture) was huge and, as the waitress warned me, not that tasty. But it was huge. And that was fun. Here's a picture of me with a stuffed mouth, enjoying it thoroughly.



The one in the middle was standard. Blue point. Common. Average size, average taste. The one on the right, (also only a shell remaining), was TINY! And it had the best taste. And not good bite for the buck. Too tiny. So I'm looking for a large tasty oyster. I must go back!


Matt didn't want me taking any pictures of him. So I didn't. Except for this one of him looking away:



And so then Matt and I walked to 57th and 7th. I waited with him on line to get the tickets, and got my ID back. Richard, his father, showed up, and they went to get dinner and see the show. Awww.

I went back downtown to edit a little and prepare for an evening with Erin and Aaron. We decided to go to Congee Village, which is a place that Aaron's been talking about for a while. He says its real authentic Chinese food. All Chinese people there.

Keeping in mind that the last time he took me to an "authentic" restaurant (Mexican), I hated it, because it was.. too... authentic. As a stupid American, I didn't like or recognize any of the basic flavors.

But I was excited to go.



It's in the lower east side, near the J/M/Z train stop Essex-Delancey. I got on an uptown J at Broad street, near my apartment, and took it one stop to Fulton, and waited for them. Along the way I took these photos. The crazy ones are out the front of a moving train!:




This one was in the tunnel.



In this picture, this girl, who was the only other person on the platform, thought I was crazy. I was taking pictures of trains and not getting on them. Come to think of it, though, she wasn't getting on any either. Hmmmm. Crazy.

And then Erin and Aaron showed up:



And then we got on an M train.



And the following occurred:





And so we went to Congee Village on Allen at Delancey. Real Chinese.



Aaron is all about having the exotic stuff. Erin is not.



And so we got some crazy stuff. Erin ordered fried rice with a side of rice. Upon ordering this, the waitress asked her if she meant what she said. Erin emphatically reemphasized that she wanted a side of rice with her rice. The waitress went away. Erin then told us that the last time she was here, they did the same exact thing. And that they did not bring her the side of white rice last time. They didn't this time either. Apparently you just don't DO that. Erin LOVES rice. It was not a match made in heaven.



The place did score points for incredibly wild and unique interior decor. I didn't take pictures of most of it. A staircase over a water fountain pouring into a mini-pond with live fish was a highlight.



We sat for a while. I had "juicy pork balls Shanghai style," which are exactly like the soup dumplings at Joe's Shanghai, but hardly any "soup" inside. But slightly better flavor. Less fun, though. We love those soup dumplings. We're so much more American than we are Chinese. Oh well.

I also had a Shrimp soup with vermicelli, which was nice, but lacking in shrimp. Erin's Shrimp fried rice was just that. But the shrimp was nothing special. And it should have been. And boy, it could have really used a side of white rice! :)

And then Aaron got some sort of meat in some sort of sauce. It was good, but very difficult to eat off the bone with chopsticks. Kept us busy for a while. Great sauce. And it came out in one of those sizzling pans, which is always a crowd pleaser.

Then Aaron, Erin and I discussed some ideas Aaron has for a TV show, which I will not disclose here. Then we practiced "pitching." No like in baseball. Like in the TV/movie industry. Erin gave each of us one minute to get the idea of the show we had just talked about communicated effectively:






On the way out, I noticed this:


Apparently, its for umbrellas. It dries them on your way in. I have never heard of or seen anything like it in my life. I just might have to go in the rain to try it out, and then decide I'm not hungry.




On our way out.

Then we checked a subway map because we were lost in the east village:



And then Erin and Aaron and I gabbed at my apartment until 3 in the morning. Good times. This is what they looked like just before actually leaving. They were standing for the past two hours, "on their way out." You know how that can be.



And so there you have it. Zzzzz.