January 9, 2014

January 9, 2014

When I went to New York City this past month I visited Margret who I haven't seen for ten or so years.  She looked great, in fact beautiful. We met at the Strand Bookstore at 7PM.  I was kind of nervous to meet her, and we agreed to meet at the TASCHEN floor, because its small and compact and would have been impossible to miss each other.  While waiting I looked at the Jane & Serge book that just came out, and it struck me how sad photo albums are -even in the happiest times, there is a sense of tragedy around the corner.  It is one of the reasons why I don't keep photo albums in my home.  To look at the good times just reminds one of the bad times, and that is often too painful for me.

Margret showed up, we hugged, and I almost (I say 'almost') forgot how great she feels when you have your arms around her.   She has aged like me, but is and will always be an attractive woman.  I never understood why we didn't take our relationship one step further, but sometimes these things are not in the cards, and it is what it is.

We walked down to Canal Street, to have some Chinese food, which to be honest wasn't so good, but I ate very little because I really wanted to dwell into Margret, and everything she stands for.  Or to put it more honestly, what I think Margret stands for.  Often we project our desires that seem real to us, but alas, it is just a photoshop image of what we think we want.

One of our most lasting (and never ending) conversations is our argument regarding the early years of Scott Walker's music comparing to the music he's making now.   It seems everyone loves Scott's music, but never the same period.  So many of my friends love the early material, but really have a hard time with his later music.  Margret and I, when we get together, have heated discussions regarding the career of our Scott.  I actually feel that there is no difference between his early music and his later stuff.   It is one long thread between the ages, and you can't ignore one aspect of his work, because it is really 'one' long piece of music.   She, like others, doesn't see it that way.

We walked up Broadway, to window shop, and usually we don't touch each other, but for some reason we found ourselves holding hands and even though we didn't say anything, it was kind of a shocking moment for the both of us.

I think we love each other, but the thought of love was much more powerful than the everyday version of it.  When we departed, we just waved goodbye to each other.

January 5, 2014

January 5, 2014

I read on Facebook that it was going to snow in NYC and I never ever been in the snow before.   I booked a red-eye on JetBlue to make sure that I arrive at the height of the snow storm.  Luckily I had no trouble with the flight into JFK.  The great thing is when I went to the taxi stand, that was the moment where I experienced my first time under a snow flake.  Except it wasn't one flake but a super lot.

   I had the taxi driver take me to the Jefferson Station in Bushwick, Brooklyn.  i wanted to go somewhere that was totally industrial, yet in the snow.  It took awhile and cost around $70 to get there, but once there after I paid the driver, I jumped out of the taxi, and experienced my first time walking in the snow.  It was odd because due to the heavy snow, I couldn't see where the curb off the street was.  I kept stepping on a pile of snow where it seemed that there was no ground underneath the white stuff.  I imagine to find an international market that was open that early in the morning. I bought an apple muffin and a large cup of hot coffee.

 I sat as close as I can to the door, so when it opens I can feel the freezing temperature  come in.  Strange enough when I am in Los Angeles, and its cold, I really feel it.  Here when it is around 17 degrees, the cold almost becomes abstract.  I hung out there with my large coffee being kind of scared because I thought there was a good change I would die on this trip.

   Around 10:am I got up and headed towards back to the Jefferson St station.  It was really difficult for me to walk on the snow for some reason.  Plus the fact that I never experienced the sensation of the snow hitting my face.  I really didn't like that feeling.  I made it to the station, and I was extra careful not to go face down the stairs.  My sixth sense told me that the stairs could be slippery.  I bought a MTA card and used it with no problem.  The L Line took me to Union Square Manhattan.  That is where I got off and I walked down Broadway to the Strand Bookstore.

 I went in, and I was so thankful to be in a warm store.  Almost too warm, but nevertheless I felt that since I made it here, there is a good chance I won't die on this trip.  I looked around for a book to read on my way back home later that day.  I found a hardcopy of "The Boy Detective: A New York Childhood" by Roger Rosenblatt.  I never heard of this book, but it seems to be about a writer who pretended to be a boy detective among other things, and  it covers two subject matters of my interest.  Childhood and detective fiction.  Also, even though it was a hardcover book, the size was perfect for a plane trip.

  I bought it, refused the bag, and stuff it into my coat pocket.  I found a taxi around the Strand area and went back to JFK.  Luckily there was no cancellation of the plane trip going back to Los Angeles.