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Credits
Photos taken on a Sony DSC-P3 by myself, Amanda, and Kim.
At this point, I was really running out of memory. d'Oh!
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AROUND
THE WORLD V: NEW YORK CITY
Click on (most) pictures to enlarge.
It's amazing
what happens when you go from what's reputed to be one of the most
polite societies on the planet to the one that's often proud to
be the rudest. You come off with a bad first impression. Unfortunately,
that's what happened when making my first trip to New York City,
but let's just hope it was that contrast that left me with a bad
taste in my mouth.
First and foremost,
for all its international glory, John F. Kennedy Airport is an insult
to its presidential namesake. While the late JFK was a foreign policy-making,
mistress-laying international man of mystery, JFK airport
is what I'd consider the International Pit of Misery. The terminal
is more run-down and back-assward than San Jose was renovated and
got the "international" designation. The place smells
old and dilapidated. But worst of all was each airport worker's
quality of service - or lack thereof. I thought it was only in the
movies where someone in a customer service position ignores people
while filing her nails and talking on the phone. Apparently, this
is reality at JFK. Frustrated, I moved on to the next Hotel and
Transportation Information desk, only to be silently pointed at
the next one down the terminal.
At long last, I hopped on a hotel shuttle. Up front, there were
no less than three giant signs pointing to a taped-down coffee can,
reminding riders that "Tips are appreciated!" Very subtle.
Five minutes later, I was dropped off at the JFK La Quinta Inn,
situated in beeea-utiful Jamaica, New York. While waiting at the
hotel counter, a gentleman strutted up, cut in front of me, and
asked if the hotel had hourly rates. "$30 an hour," the
nice man behind the counter replied. "Cash only. Minimum of
four hours." I see I was booked the finest of acommodations!
 Fortunately,
I was spending a grand total of one hour in my room. I only had
one night in the Big Apple, so keeping my mind on catching my early
morning flight, I hopped in a cab, got jacked for about $50, and
met up with my friends Amanda and Kim in Manhattan. (They're sisters,
FYI.) I was lucky enough to meet and hang out with the pair last
year on the Vegas leg of the big Depeche Mode tour-a-thon (aka Mode
Trip, which I still haven't posted pictures of). Back when
I first learned I'd have a night in NYC, they offered to pull the
all-nighter with me and show me around. Aren't they great? The people
of New York should all write them a thank-you note - if it weren't
for their hospitality and willingness to show a jet-lagged, travel-weary,
unacclimated-to-the-freakin-humidity guy around town, I would've
really come off with a bad attitude about the place.
Our first stop?
The big pile of over-the-top crass consumerism known as Times Square.
Personally, even though I had never seen it, I pine for the pre-Giuliani
days where the place was dirty and full of peep shows and smut peddlers.
If anything, it helped define New York for me as I grew up, and
I'd always wanted to just come and see it for myself. But
now, everyone who comes seeking the charm and allure of midtown
Manhattan is greeted with a Vegas-like sensory overload of moving,
whizzing, spinning billboards. It's like Tokyo's Ginza, but with
a distinct "garbage juice" smell, as my hostesses called
it. Oh well. I'll spare you my anti-Rudy rant.
 At
any rate, Times Square is the topic of our tangent of the moment.
If you regularly visit this part of the site, you might recognize
Sarah (lower left), who is  arguably
my "cosmic twin," if you believe in such a thing. Some
people believe in the tooth fairy, so a being of parallel existence
can't be that far-fetched, can it? Anyway, the two of us have been
surrounded by freaky coincidences pretty much from day one, a list
of which we are currently compiling. (I swear, the book will be
a best-seller someday.)
So when
I came back from the trip, I showed Sarah the picture of me in Times
Square (left), when she did the usual "OMG!" and asked
if I remembered her photo from there from a year before (right).
I hadn't. In fact, although I've seen tons of her travel photos,
I didn't recall any from Times Square. So she sent this one over,
making note of the same position and the almost-same pose. We have
taken this as further proof of our freakiness.
Now when a lot
of people tour New York City - particularly Times Square and Broadway
- they like to see all the legendary entertainment venues that they've
come to know and love over the years.  Radio
City Music Hall. That place where Cats ran for 10 billion
years. MTV's giant, glassed-in TRL studio. That spot where
you can bang on the glass while Diane Sawyer shows every morning
on GMA that she's the leggiest senior citizen in America.
Fans of David
Letterman will no doubt seek out the Ed Sullivan Theatre, home of
the Late Show. I've watched Letterman for years, and no doubt
I had some interest in snapping a picture of the big Late Show
marquee. But everyone does that. Me, I had to go get a photo
of the infamous Hello Deli next door. Unfortunately, it was late,
and the place was closed. That meant no Rupert. And no egg salad
sandwich.
We continued
on our late night tour to the other major sites in the midtown area.
St. Patrick's Cathedral (below, left) is absolutely beautiful, and
it was really refreshing to see something so old and - for lack
of a better word - genuine in the middle of this concrete-and-glass
jungle. A large, bright piece of old-school symmetry in design,
it was like a metropolitan oasis. Between the buildings (and above
the piles of garbage bags) I could see the lit spire of the Chrysler
Building. I couldn't help but wonder to myself, though - "Shouldn't
it be called the Daihmler-Chrysler building now?" Next was
flag-covered Rockefeller Center. Like many other tourist attractions,
it's blocked off at night by metal barricades, as a means of keeping
the homeless from sleeping there. And here I t hought it was to
keep impromptu games of midnight ice hockey from breaking out. Finally,
I took the obligatory shot of the Empire State Building, which just
doesn't looke the same now that they turn the lights off after 11
o'clock. Or without King Kong scaling it. Bummer.
It wasn't long
before I was all Midtowned-out. Sure, there was plenty to see and
people still out and about in the wee hours, but I wanted to soak
up some culture. And a drink or two. So we hailed a cab and high-tailed
it for other parts. Now a word or two on New York cabs. Forget all
the legends about the drivers being crazy. That's a given. The most
remarkable thing about these yellow neo-rickshaws is that they have
these utterly irritating recordings of celebrities thanking you
for riding. There I was, getting in and out of cabs with ring announcer
Michael Buffer thanking me for visiting. Or for the ultimate in
grating, how about Sesame Street's Elmo reminding me in his
high-pitched voice to buckle up? Mind you, there wasn't a seatbelt
anywhere to be found in these cabs.
 We
 ended
up in the East Village. Now this is my kind of place. Getting
out of the cab, I noticed that the place wasn't littered with chain
stores. There was no giant Blockbuster Video. No brightly-lit McDonald's.
No souvenir stores with barkers out front. All of a sudden, I felt
the same sort of vibe that I did in London and San Francisco - a
feeling that something is going on here, and that it's different
from the mass culture that's cranked out a few miles up the island.
The area was charming, with all sorts of unique storefronts (see
"Religious Sex," left) and small restaurants and bars.
We opted for the Yaffa Cafe, a place I'll be sure to go back to
when I visit New York again. The food was excellent (I had the stir-fried
vegetables with tofu, yum!) and the beer flowed. I had no complaints!
On top of that, it's great for people-watching, as its 24-hour status
makes it a post-club joint for the semi-"alternative"
crowd, complete with a couple of Jean Genies, if you catch my not-so-subtle
drift. Trés cool!
Alas, with a
belly full of good grub and beer, it was time to walk off a few
calories. Because I did need to buy something of tourist
value, we returned to the Times Square area and strolled around,
taking in the sights and the smells. We dodged several types of
human waste en route, which made for quite an adventure - especially
considering Amanda was clad in thongs. (Flip-flops, that is.)
 Joy
returned to my heart as we came upon the last vestige of pre-Giuliani
smut: The block that is home to the likes of Peepworld! It was fun
just to see some people come out of one establishment and go straight
to the next, some propositioning women along the way. What a vibrant
slice of life!!
The sun was starting to crawl up, and it was time to say goodbye.
Amanda and Kim hailed a cab for me and hopped on the subway to return
home, but not before I found a reasonably priced open souvenir
store where I picked up the most fitting NYC souvenir I could -
a black t-shirt emblazoned with white lettering spelling out "NEW
YORK FUCKIN CITY."
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