new york diary part seven

The first of two long posts covering the remainder of the last day in New York, the flight back, and Saturday in Manchester.

Edits and omissions in square brackets.

The other parts

http://santiagosdeadwasp.blogspot.com/2010/10/new-york-diary-part-one.html

http://santiagosdeadwasp.blogspot.com/2010/10/new-york-diary-part-two.html

http://santiagosdeadwasp.blogspot.com/2010/10/new-york-diary-part-three.html

http://santiagosdeadwasp.blogspot.com/2010/10/new-york-diary-part-four.html

http://santiagosdeadwasp.blogspot.com/2010/10/new-york-diary-part-five.html

http://santiagosdeadwasp.blogspot.com/2010/10/new-york-diary-part-six.html

http://santiagosdeadwasp.blogspot.com/2010/10/new-york-diary-part-eight.html

[15/10/10 Afternoon]

Later on walked around to kill time because I don't want to sit in the airport forever. Somewhere on Fulton and I think Rogers a lot of MUslim Americans on the street after Friday prayers. Lots of stalls selling CDs and DVDs. People speaking English and their mother tongues. A mix of races. Muslims talking to non-muslim friends and neighbours.

Non of which alters in the least my absolute distaste for religion. But it shows people at their best don't have to be defined by ideology. Or that I'm just interpreting stuff to suit myself.

Didn't write about the singer I heard either yesterday or the day before. Was most likely at 42nd or W23 although it could have been W34. I was waiting for the C train to Brooklyn and another train pulled in - maybe the E.

A man with what was noticeably a very good voice was singing some kind of swing/big band tune at great volume. I didn't much like the song but the execution was flawless. So much so I started to doubt it was actually someone on the train. But it was unaccompanied. Even better when the doors closed the volume of his voice was greatly reduced. The doors closed then reopened perhaps twice before the train left.

He was certainly better than the busker on the street somewhere in the same area. He was playing guitar and at first I thought he was good. Then I realised I was being fooled by the amplification and the other noises. In actual fact he was playing a relatively simple tune and making a complete hash of it. His tempo was all over and he kept stopping, and hitting bum notes.

I meant to comment last night on the three tv screens over the bar in BillyMarks. One was playing regular dramas, one commercials, and one a sports channel I think. The regular dramas included Shit My Dad Says and CSI. Apart from the casting of William Shatner Shit My Day Says looked awful even without the sound - stick with the twitter. CSI was no better and looked like a show that jumped the shark long ago.

That said put next to CSI: New York it looks like a work of sober realism.

Another curious thing across my stay here has been how relatively few people here in contrast to the UK I've seen eating in the street. Very few with soft drinks or coffee either. Except in the morning when most people have coffee from the Grocery Delis.

In parts of Manhattan there appeared to be more unselfconscious same-sex handholding than I've seen anywhere outside the village in Manchester.

There are a few things glaringly different that I've stopped noticing very quickly. The calling out to women became invisible to me very soon which I can't say I'm happy about. Traffic on the other side of the road. The huge number of food carts. The pedestrian signals. The very high number of medical insurance, pharmaceutical products and other healthcare related adverts.

Still carrying vestiges of the cold somehow. It hasn't got in the way of anything I wanted to do though.

A little earlier than I wanted I'm on the Far Rockaway A train which I hope will get me to JFK around 16:30 or later. I probably should have planned my day better. Never mind I can sit down and write some, use the toilet, have a drink and generally chill for 90 minutes before I have to start the check-in process.

Some cool things about the subway journey. Riding alongside other trains and able to see in through the windows. Riding in the central tracks through stations we don't stop at. Between Grant St and 80 St emerging above ground into the light. The amount of greenery and the attractive graveyard around 80 St. The tracks curving dipping and rising again over the street on a minimal metal framework like a fairground ride.

At Howard Beach where I change to the JFK AirTrain a beautiful section of waterpark.

The clouds are high and not threatening. It seems sunnier than it actually is. It looks like a fine summer or autumn day.

Now the terminals come into sight. I guess there really isn't much more holiday left. That makes me much sadder than I ever imagined it would.

Not even the thought of take of and landing, a leisurely bath and breakfast at home, and seeing my friends again is doing anything to make me happy. I just have to find a way of making the best of it.

Got over that by reading some of Junichiro Tanizaki's The Secret History of Lord Musashi again. It's as good as I remember and funnier. Then 45 minutes to check in, drop my baggage, go through security, use the toilet and buy a drink.

Small birds, maybe sparrows flying about inside the terminal.

[Omitted]

Around 16:40 now. Dark outside. Just over two hours till the flight leaves. Just over nine hours till I'm in Manchester Airport. It's a long time but I intend to sleep most of it if I can.

Yesterday I think on my way to the AC Institute for the first time - not it was Wednesday evening at 42 St when I was thinking of catching a film - two big stalls of Scientologists peddling their bullshit. Free stress tests and huge heaps of one or other of L Ron's books. I'm guessing not his explicit science fiction. A couple of people were taking the test.

That evening there were long lines outside a few shows. Most noticeably Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson. But it's interesting how certainly during the day places like 42 St and Broadway seem to exist more as an idea of themselves rather than what they once were.

At times I've had recollections of what it was like when I moved to London for my Print and Publishing course. The two aren't really comparable except in each case it was a new city, larger than I'm used to. The reason it came up was that I kept thinking how alienating and frightening I would have found [this] trip back then.

Almost immediately I disliked London. The people seemed largely unfriendly and unhelpful. It was cold. I hated being away from my family and knowing they were doing nice things without me. I saw a couple of serious road accidents early on. There were a lot of homeless people. I had nothing much in common with anyone on the course [or in my halls of residence].

Really though I was anxious, immature and not prepared to be away from home. I took any excuse to go home.

It took a long time to realise that I was the problem not London. And I mean years after I left. Moving to Cardiff and staying away from home for around 18 months was an important step.

At the time I felt it annoyed my father and slightly alienated us. It felt like we were more distant for a few years. But it was necessary and not something I can regret. [Omitted] And without Manchester I don't know where I'd be now. Not the same person for sure, and quite likely not as happy.

These are largely the ideas that brushed my brain when the comparison of London then and New York now happened. And also the thought of how far I've changed. How now I'd cope better with a move to London, New York, or anywhere else.

But the thoughts plainly lasted a fraction of a second and were never articulated. Writing them down has been the longest sustained period of reflection on the trip. Somewhere around 20-30 minutes if you really cared.

Setting down the recollections was also a conscious echo of what Derek Jarman does in Modern Nature and elsewhere. It might be argued that Modern Nature, reading it prior to and during the trip was a catalyst for this journal. I'm not certain about that and suspect I might have kept notes anyway. There's no way to tell for sure.

More from today. On a quiet and very neat and well kept street a large squirrel ran in front of me into a front yard. As I came level it ran across the yard and down some steps to a sunken front door. Maybe a separate apartment maybe part of the same [home].

Announcer struggling badly with names for a flight to Oman.

A small bird maybe a thrush or starling or something similar swoops down. Unless it's the sparrow that just hopped into sight round the bank of seats opposite, looked around and then took off flying low right over my head.

Boarding in around 15 minutes.

The sparrow lands back on the partition it swooped down from before.