Or I should say home for the first time. It's been a year and a half since I last moved all my gear up to New York. Several residences later, I finally trucked it all back home. Dadoo did a marvelous job cramming the Buick full of stuff. Moving day really makes me feel very sad and materialistic. Unpacking day makes me even more sad. But I think about how nice it is to have stuff, and I don't feel so bad.
I am sad about leaving New York, although it's good to be home, and I'm excited for London (such a cornucopia of emotions!).
Okay, back to unloading boxes. How such a little person accumulates so much stuff is a mystery to me. Ah well.
Robyn
Tuesday, December 18, 2001
Wednesday, December 12, 2001
E.B. White
"The city, for the first time in its long history, is destructible. A single flight of planes no bigger than a wedge of geese can quickly end this island fantasy, burn the towers, crumble the bridges...The intimation of mortality is part of New York now: in the sound of jets overhead, the black headlines of the latest edition...In the mind of whatever perverted dreamer who might loose the lightning, New York must hold a steady, irresistible charm."
-- E.B. White, Here Is New York, 1949
-- E.B. White, Here Is New York, 1949
Sunday, December 9, 2001
Philistines 'R Us
I finally went to the Museum of Modern Art today. Maybe I'm ignorant, though I like to think I'm a fairly well-educated person. I just didn't get it.
I think I may be spoiled by the Met. The Met is fairly cheap ($5 for students), extremely large, and consequently, guaranteed to have something for everyone. It is also the museum that I visit the most.
The MOMA, by contrast, is $8.50 for students (that's a lot of Ramen Noodles, friends), three floors high (one of which is entirely dedicated to a single exhibit), and can be torn through in well under an hour. The most famous painting in the collection, Van Gogh's The Starry Night is on loan. Plus, I'm afraid modern art just doesn't thrill me.
I'm sure I'm missing something. Modern art comprises so very many movements and genres that it seems unfair to toss off the lot of it. But golly gee, if I'm already paying so much to get in, I'm not about to shell out another $4 for the headset that will explain it all to me. I'm all for letting the viewer draw their own conclusions, but if you're gonna present me with a plain white canvas as a finished work, may I please have a dinky little write-up of some kind by the artist's name telling me why? Just a clue? No? Okay. I'm obviously a flaming philistine.
If anyone feels like they could take me to the MOMA and help me try to see what I'm missing, I'm completely game. Let's just please go on Pay-What-You-Wish Night.
Ignorantly Yours,
Robyn
I think I may be spoiled by the Met. The Met is fairly cheap ($5 for students), extremely large, and consequently, guaranteed to have something for everyone. It is also the museum that I visit the most.
The MOMA, by contrast, is $8.50 for students (that's a lot of Ramen Noodles, friends), three floors high (one of which is entirely dedicated to a single exhibit), and can be torn through in well under an hour. The most famous painting in the collection, Van Gogh's The Starry Night is on loan. Plus, I'm afraid modern art just doesn't thrill me.
I'm sure I'm missing something. Modern art comprises so very many movements and genres that it seems unfair to toss off the lot of it. But golly gee, if I'm already paying so much to get in, I'm not about to shell out another $4 for the headset that will explain it all to me. I'm all for letting the viewer draw their own conclusions, but if you're gonna present me with a plain white canvas as a finished work, may I please have a dinky little write-up of some kind by the artist's name telling me why? Just a clue? No? Okay. I'm obviously a flaming philistine.
If anyone feels like they could take me to the MOMA and help me try to see what I'm missing, I'm completely game. Let's just please go on Pay-What-You-Wish Night.
Ignorantly Yours,
Robyn
Thursday, December 6, 2001
Sushi Fever
This week I've been seized with a mad craving for sushi.
Which is odd, because I could probably count the number of times that I've had sushi in my whole life on one hand. But this week I've had it twice, and darned if I don't want more.
Our supermarket has a fine sushi section; cheap and fresh. Sushi is really quite pretty, although I'm a bit afraid of the stuff that looks like a big ol' whole shrimp. I much prefer the rolls of stuff.
They look so cute in those little plastic packages, all lined up nice and orderly, with such brightly colored fillings. Like tempting pieces of candy. Delicious, fishy candy.
Banzai to all.
Robyn
Which is odd, because I could probably count the number of times that I've had sushi in my whole life on one hand. But this week I've had it twice, and darned if I don't want more.
Our supermarket has a fine sushi section; cheap and fresh. Sushi is really quite pretty, although I'm a bit afraid of the stuff that looks like a big ol' whole shrimp. I much prefer the rolls of stuff.
They look so cute in those little plastic packages, all lined up nice and orderly, with such brightly colored fillings. Like tempting pieces of candy. Delicious, fishy candy.
Banzai to all.
Robyn
Sunday, December 2, 2001
A Tasty Place to Live
Blarf
Blarf is how I feel after what I have consumed in the past 30 hours.
Now, I'm not one of those chickies that obsesses over what I eat, but consider this rather unladylike list:
A whole bag of popcorn (mind you, it was light)
A bacon burger
A taquito sandwich (sausage and scrambled egg on bread)
Popcorn chicken and obligatory biscuit
Cheesecake (from East Village pastry mecca, Venierio's)
Nog, sweet nog
Blarf
It doesn't help that New York is such a tasty place in which to live. On our walk this evening around a healthy portion of the Village, Jeffrey and I passed so very many interesting restaurants. Thai, vegetarian Indian, Ukrainian, Belgian fries, diners a-plenty, etc.
One of our favorite places is Bamiyan, an Afghani place up on 26th Street. We were patronizing Bamiyan before helping out your local Afghani neighbors in times of crisis was the cool thing to do. They don't seem to be suffering there, although they have covered all mention of "Afghan" outside their restaurant with American flags.
They have a drink there called doogh, which I find delightful, but others find repulsive. It's yogurt and mint leaves and seltzer water. It sorta tastes like carbonated sour cream. You'd think that would be a bad thing, but it's not. It goes great with a kebab.
I must away to the lavatory, for to swig some Pepto now. Farewell.
Robyn
Blarf is how I feel after what I have consumed in the past 30 hours.
Now, I'm not one of those chickies that obsesses over what I eat, but consider this rather unladylike list:
A whole bag of popcorn (mind you, it was light)
A bacon burger
A taquito sandwich (sausage and scrambled egg on bread)
Popcorn chicken and obligatory biscuit
Cheesecake (from East Village pastry mecca, Venierio's)
Nog, sweet nog
Blarf
It doesn't help that New York is such a tasty place in which to live. On our walk this evening around a healthy portion of the Village, Jeffrey and I passed so very many interesting restaurants. Thai, vegetarian Indian, Ukrainian, Belgian fries, diners a-plenty, etc.
One of our favorite places is Bamiyan, an Afghani place up on 26th Street. We were patronizing Bamiyan before helping out your local Afghani neighbors in times of crisis was the cool thing to do. They don't seem to be suffering there, although they have covered all mention of "Afghan" outside their restaurant with American flags.
They have a drink there called doogh, which I find delightful, but others find repulsive. It's yogurt and mint leaves and seltzer water. It sorta tastes like carbonated sour cream. You'd think that would be a bad thing, but it's not. It goes great with a kebab.
I must away to the lavatory, for to swig some Pepto now. Farewell.
Robyn
Tuesday, November 20, 2001
Ground Zero
So I finally went to Ground Zero this weekend. I had thought that I had let a sufficient amount of time pass since September 11 to mitigate the awfulness of that visit. It didn't work as well as I hoped.
I was surprised how close we could get to the wreckage. At some points we were only about two blocks away. I was also surprised at how it just, well, sneaks up on you. We got out of the Wall Street 4/5 subway stop near Trinity Church, and could see crowds of people along Broadway gathered at each intersection. So it wasn't so much a surprise in that you knew you were about to see something when you got close to the crowds.
I think I was at Liberty Street when I first saw the wreckage up close. I believe it was what was left of 4 WTC, but it could have been the South Tower. What I do know was that it was a brown, twisted, burned out, massive piece of destruction. It was the visual manifestation of Violence, if that makes any sense at all. You look at it, and that's the only word that comes to mind, repeating itself over and over. Violence, Violence, Violence. It's breathtaking. Jeffrey said I had a visible physical reaction, that I recoiled upon first seeing it. It was one of the few times during this whole thing that I wanted to cry. I guess my Shepherdian revulsion of crying in public won out, because I didn't.
We also saw 5 WTC, where my roommate Christine worked until September 10. It's still standing, but it's not worth much as a building now. It too is burned out and devoid of most of its exterior. They'll have to tear it down. The sign from the Borders bookstore is still in the blown-out window.
We got ourselves good and lost while down there, as any sense of geography that Jeffrey and I had of the area isn't worth much of anything now. So we spent two hours or so there. If you're planning a trip there, I wouldn't recommend staying that long. You don't need to. Walk down Broadway, maybe down Rector. Maybe take a picture or two (yes, it feels morbid and tasteless to snap photos, but I figured that 20 years down the line, I'll have something poignant and real to show the progeny). Then go home.
It occurs to me that anyone reading these Updates would think I'm completely obsessed with death and destruction. I do think about other things. Today I spent a lovely sick day reading for class, watching Jeopardy! and perusing silly rock-band websites.
Of course, the book I was reading was Hiroshima, but I suppose that can't be helped.
Robyn
I was surprised how close we could get to the wreckage. At some points we were only about two blocks away. I was also surprised at how it just, well, sneaks up on you. We got out of the Wall Street 4/5 subway stop near Trinity Church, and could see crowds of people along Broadway gathered at each intersection. So it wasn't so much a surprise in that you knew you were about to see something when you got close to the crowds.
I think I was at Liberty Street when I first saw the wreckage up close. I believe it was what was left of 4 WTC, but it could have been the South Tower. What I do know was that it was a brown, twisted, burned out, massive piece of destruction. It was the visual manifestation of Violence, if that makes any sense at all. You look at it, and that's the only word that comes to mind, repeating itself over and over. Violence, Violence, Violence. It's breathtaking. Jeffrey said I had a visible physical reaction, that I recoiled upon first seeing it. It was one of the few times during this whole thing that I wanted to cry. I guess my Shepherdian revulsion of crying in public won out, because I didn't.
We also saw 5 WTC, where my roommate Christine worked until September 10. It's still standing, but it's not worth much as a building now. It too is burned out and devoid of most of its exterior. They'll have to tear it down. The sign from the Borders bookstore is still in the blown-out window.
We got ourselves good and lost while down there, as any sense of geography that Jeffrey and I had of the area isn't worth much of anything now. So we spent two hours or so there. If you're planning a trip there, I wouldn't recommend staying that long. You don't need to. Walk down Broadway, maybe down Rector. Maybe take a picture or two (yes, it feels morbid and tasteless to snap photos, but I figured that 20 years down the line, I'll have something poignant and real to show the progeny). Then go home.
It occurs to me that anyone reading these Updates would think I'm completely obsessed with death and destruction. I do think about other things. Today I spent a lovely sick day reading for class, watching Jeopardy! and perusing silly rock-band websites.
Of course, the book I was reading was Hiroshima, but I suppose that can't be helped.
Robyn
Friday, November 16, 2001
If the economy of New York City is flagging, it sure as hay ain't my fault.
Today was a bona fide tourist day. It's good to have such a day once in a while, because it reminds me what a neato place I live in. But it's tough on the wallet.
First, it was off to the Met for my Painting and Sculpture in New York class. Today was 19th Century European Paintings Day, which in art-nerd-speak translates to Super Fun Happy Good Day. After viewing many a Degas and Monet, I was delighted to discover that my professor and I share the same favorite painting -- Jules Bastien-LePage's Joan of Arc. We both agreed that it was one of the most overlooked, underrated, and downright purtiest things in that wonderful building, and then we giggled, because that's what art nerds do.
Jeffrey's mom is in town, and they explored the American wing while my professor and I were giggling over French impressionists. Then we dined on overpriced Indian food that did ridiculous things to my stomach.
I went to the top of the Empire State Building tonight, which is something that I haven't done since junior high. I had tried a couple of times over the summer, but wasn't too keen on waiting in line for an hour.
But tonight, after going through the newly-installed metal detectors, we saw that there was NOBODY there. Deserted. We went right up to the window, right to the elevator, and right up to the observation deck, where we finally found other people, although not much. Prior to September 11, a nice Friday night like this would have found the place thronged with people.
And the southern view...
I read a lot of magazines after The Thing That Was Bad, and I remember one quote by a little boy who said that it looked like New York had lost it's two front teeth. I haven't had many opportunities since then to see the skyline from afar. Sure enough, there's a gaping hole in the southern skyline. In the dark, the space is filled with an ethereal glow from the lights at Ground Zero. It's a sad, sad sight.
But the rest of the city looks fabulous. I was very happy to see that the northern view is dominated by my favorite building, 30 Rockefeller Plaza (or the Big Pretty Building). Big, white pretty building with millions of orange lights as a backdrop, blue bridges, light vestiges of clouds beneath you. It's a lovely place. I'll miss it a lot come spring.
Time to write a paper and play with my new, pretty, overpriced snowglobe.
It's fun to be a tourist sometimes.
Robyn
Today was a bona fide tourist day. It's good to have such a day once in a while, because it reminds me what a neato place I live in. But it's tough on the wallet.
First, it was off to the Met for my Painting and Sculpture in New York class. Today was 19th Century European Paintings Day, which in art-nerd-speak translates to Super Fun Happy Good Day. After viewing many a Degas and Monet, I was delighted to discover that my professor and I share the same favorite painting -- Jules Bastien-LePage's Joan of Arc. We both agreed that it was one of the most overlooked, underrated, and downright purtiest things in that wonderful building, and then we giggled, because that's what art nerds do.
Jeffrey's mom is in town, and they explored the American wing while my professor and I were giggling over French impressionists. Then we dined on overpriced Indian food that did ridiculous things to my stomach.
I went to the top of the Empire State Building tonight, which is something that I haven't done since junior high. I had tried a couple of times over the summer, but wasn't too keen on waiting in line for an hour.
But tonight, after going through the newly-installed metal detectors, we saw that there was NOBODY there. Deserted. We went right up to the window, right to the elevator, and right up to the observation deck, where we finally found other people, although not much. Prior to September 11, a nice Friday night like this would have found the place thronged with people.
And the southern view...
I read a lot of magazines after The Thing That Was Bad, and I remember one quote by a little boy who said that it looked like New York had lost it's two front teeth. I haven't had many opportunities since then to see the skyline from afar. Sure enough, there's a gaping hole in the southern skyline. In the dark, the space is filled with an ethereal glow from the lights at Ground Zero. It's a sad, sad sight.
But the rest of the city looks fabulous. I was very happy to see that the northern view is dominated by my favorite building, 30 Rockefeller Plaza (or the Big Pretty Building). Big, white pretty building with millions of orange lights as a backdrop, blue bridges, light vestiges of clouds beneath you. It's a lovely place. I'll miss it a lot come spring.
Time to write a paper and play with my new, pretty, overpriced snowglobe.
It's fun to be a tourist sometimes.
Robyn
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