New York City smells like Chinese food, patchouli incense, the cologne of delivery boys, the roses for sale on each street corner, and Jamaican nannies wafting coconut trails from perfectly woven braids.
It sounds like Hot 97 pumping from Escalades, taxis blasting, laughter on the streets, musical shopfronts from Tom Petty to Rancid to languages I’ve never heard, and people saying things to their friends like ‘What you need is a make over,’ or a girl approaching a deli counter asking, ‘Do you sell brains?’ (gross…)
New York City looks like windows and lights, every shade of person, playgrounds, street art, poetry, television shoots, gardens, parks, and markets.
It tastes like pizza… It feels like home.
Stomping around town with CJ (who grew up in Jersey) we tried to contemplate people that don’t get the city, that aren’t interested in the way it peaks your senses to heights that leave you floating down Fifth Avenue.
We contemplated the whole tri-state area thing… since we grew up within a radius culturally controlled by the city, perhaps that’s what consistently calls us.
This theory proves bunk since some people that are from a similar place don’t LOVE New York the way we do. Plus, consider all the people that come from all over the world to live here.
I think that’s why I love town so much… it’s like its own country. There are literally over ten million people from all over the world building a place that is unlike anywhere else on the planet. It actually makes me sad when I come across people that aren’t willing to try out the city, at least for a visit to appreciate what’s there. Because in my opinion, that’s like turning your back on one of the only places I know that appreciates and cultivates every culture to the extent of building an individual world.
Some other highlights of our day…
To the right (the way right) is Dennis Leary shooting some TV show I never heard of, it’s a highlight because CJ was able to tell him he hates his NFL commercials and I had a chance to throw my two cents in about how he will never top his artistic genius as reflected in The Ref… not even wearing gum boots.
Now as all of my Australian people know (and has been previously mentioned), Fosters is a shit Aussie beer, it’s actually the shittest… but a neon outline of Australia deserves mention, especially considering that it even includes Tasmania. If you look really close you can see a miniature brother and sister down there pushing a pram… (Eeeew!)
The only redeemable quality about Fosters is that it’s the only beer that comes in pint-size cans. So naturally I had to purchase one which I drank on the train traveling home, yes that’s right, for some reason you can drink beer on public transport in certain instances – how Aussie is THAT?
Final highlights include CJ distracting swarms of Middle-Eastern men so I could snap shots wearing funny glasses in St Marks Place without having to buy them and scoring new socks from The Sock Man where a scary dude worked that we’d like to cast as the psychotic mailman in the short thrasher flick I wrote & CJ’s gonna shoot… but we were scared if we asked his he would kill us both. Sigh. I heart you NYC… be back shortly…