"What time do the trains stop running?"

And then there was New York, big city full of trash, great museums, expensive cigarettes and good food. I spent a great week there, attending book parties with the hiperatti, riding the metro with the smelleratti, haggling over perogis with Polacks, and conducting an informal survey on the birthplace of hip-hop and graff writing. It's crazy just how much you absorb about New York geography through music, television and film without any actual knowledge of the city. And then you find yourself riding through Bed-Stuy, Brownsville, Red Hook, South Bronx and Queensbridge (actually I tried to stay away from all of those places because I'm afraid the perception might be the reality) and you're knee deep in the amniotic fluids of hip-hop. Then you watch a Woody Allen movie or two, catch the season finale of Sex and the City, and all of sudden you feel like you've been there when you cross 5th avenue for the first time, or walk along Central Park and wonder what the hell the goats are doing there in the middle of the winter. Ah, to be a product of this media-saturated generation is truly a blessing. It's like I've already been everywhere I've always wanted to go before I've actually gone, and then when I actually go, it's a little disappointing, because I feel like it's not as exciting as the first time I went, which wasn't actually a real trip at all. No, I exaggerate a little, because it was still quite the adventure, and Manhattan is quite the island, and our forefathers did well to liberate it from those shiftless Native Americans who weren't using it to it's full capacity. Well done, America. I daresay New York is one of those cities that I could easily live in, should the housing market completely collapse and usher in a new era of prosperity for entry level English teachers with bachelor's degrees. Here's to wishful thinking. In the meantime, I suppose I must be content to visit my friends there, who all deserve major kudos and props for their hospitality. And especially to Cia, who I promised would figure prominently in any subsequent blog entries which may arise. Cia has a great place (though one soon learns that any place in Manhattan is great) in one of the villages (the one that has gay people, but isn't famous for it) in which I slept for several days, and even folded up the bed afterwards, I might add. Through her I caught up with Colin, whom I haven't seen since high school, who one day met an old lady on a tennis court soon after parlayed his way into a job as an investment banker which requires that he carry a card with security clearance on it. I found that remarkable. Almost as remarkable as the Greek restaurant in Queens which doesn't have menus. You simply ask a Greek lady for delicious fish, and then she obliges you. I'm a big fan of these ethnic pockets even moreso than hotpockets. Sure we have a few in San Francisco, but nothing like New York, where the smells wafting through the streets signal not only the marked lack of sanitation but also your arrival into a micro-universe. I stayed a few days in Little Krakow, where the Polish people make jokes about other people in an attempt to take back the dignity they are denied in old jokebooks everywhere. I had a chance to visit the Indian neighborhood as well (in Queens), and a little Czech outpost in Astoria, but sadly I missed little Italy and even worse, Chinatown. But hey, forget about it, it's Chinatown. We have one of those too, and if I want to see inside-out ducks suspended from metal hooks in a shop window, I know where to go. I also missed the Statue of Liberty, but apparently there's one in France in a river somewhere, so I'll get to it eventually. And speaking of ethnic pockets, I did get a chance to visit the United Nations, courtesy of my friend Emily, who secured me a day pass which allowed me enough clearance to eat at the cafeteria. I think the UN is the only place in New York where you can smoke inside, unlike Paris, where you can probably smoke in hospitals. I wouldn't be surprised to find ash trays at gas stations here. The UN was definitely cool, and I even got to use those bizarre earpieces that translate the speaker's words automatically when I sat in on a meeting. To be honest, I kind of wanted to buzz in and ask a question, but as the meeting was some sort discussion on gender equity and AIDS education, I decided that it wasn't the time for my unique brand of brazen social ineptitude and impertinence; there would be time for that later. I managed to catch up with some college friends as well, David, Susan and Vince, who drove up from Philadelphia for a couple of hours just to hang. Greatly appreciated that. Also had my hair cut by a non-native speaker, who spent a good hour perfecting my coif, which is quite a task considering how little hair I actually have (on my head. I'm well aware of how hairy I am). This provided me with a good opportunity to speak a little Spanish, which he seemed to understand, which was encouraging. I only mention this incident because the situation was a little funny. I was mentally conjugating the verb to cut, meanwhile concentrating on not dropping my I-pod and at the same time answering Cia's cell phone, all the while wondering just how long this interminable haircut would last. Finally he let me go, and I think he wanted to shake my hand afterwards, or even give me dap (in the parlance of our times) but I ignored his noble gesture, gave him his money and went on my merry way. Finally I said goodbye to New York with one last trip on the subway, an epic journey that took me from Greenpoint in Brooklyn all the way to Far Rockaway and JFK international, and this was to say the least, apart from a prop plane I once took from Bangkok to Krabi, the sketchiest voyage that I have ever taken. I had to transfer trains four times with two suitcases, my precious I-pod and numerous hand-written instructions on how to get to the airport. Thankfully, a gruff New Yorker told me in his inimitable accent where to get out before laughing at me in a Soprano-like manner. I made it in New York without either chuds or pimps chasing me, which puts me one up on Homer Simpson, which is, in the end, the only thing I care about. So in answer to the question at the top of this post, which I posed naively on my first day in NYC, the trains don't stop running.
Cheers to New York. Had a great time, hope to be back, etc. Now we attempt to better understand Paris, about which I've seen far fewer films, so it will be a bit more difficult.

photos are up.