<\After midnight: The view down 8th Street, Take I
...All Words/Images: The Reckoner>
Now there ain't no sheets upon my bed,
just a mattress and some wine.
The rain is pouring through the night
and I'm glad my life is mine.
When Frank Carillo plays guitar
trying to get it off his chest.
He gets the words he needs tonight
on Central Park 'n' West.
Ian Hunter: "Central Park 'N' West"
<After midnight:
The view down 8th Street:
Take II>
And we all want just someone just like me
in the city we call home.
She leaves me sometimes when I write,
'cause I write better on my own.
Bag ladies take my dollars)
put my conscience to the test.
But waitresses give me coffee free
on Central Park 'n' West.
And I think, I think, I think, I think, I think it's the best,
when I'm locked in the middle of New York city
on Central Park 'n' West
and I know, I know, I know, I know, I know it's a mess,
but you've got to be crazy to live in the city,
and New York city's the best.
<Yer Humble Narrator, in silhouette...>
When we left off with these little photo collages, I had one more stop on my business trip road show, and that was New York City: The Big Apple, The City That Never Sleeps, The Naked City, and so on. (But the second label is definitely true, as the above shots tell you -- if this was the action going on after midnight, just imagine what you'd catch during the daytime, or early evening, right?)
There was a hitch, though. My partner couldn't travel with me from Washington, D.C., where we'd returned after our night in Philadelphia. He duly paid for me to catch the Bolt Bus -- one of these many no-frills companies that have entered the business, so the ticket was just $26, I think -- to meet him later.
Four hours later, I made it to New York. After a half hour crawl through the Lincoln Tunnel, I got out racross the street from the Javits Center, on 34th Street, where doomed Democratic presidential Hillary Clinton planned on hosting her victory rally -- y'know, 'cause it had a glass ceiling -- a bit of leaden symbolism that sptly describes why she didn't make it. Anyway, the above shot is down the block from the Javits Center. I snapped furiously as my partner walked ahead of me, since we had a subway to catch for our Brooklyn meeting.
As we continued down 34th Street, I had to grab this example of graffiti art -- which may feel like a cliche now, but it's easy to forget how brash and new it seemed back in the early '80s, when any tagger armed with a can of spray paint climbed a chain link fence (like this one) after dark, hunting for an empty space where he could make a name for himself. I shot numerous tag photos on this trip, because I'm still fascinated by it. As you can see, it hasn't died out.
Here's a slightly better shot of the above-mentioned photo, as we're hurrying down 34th Street. I'm not an art technician, nor a stickler for perfectionism, but if you can do it better, and it takes half the time, why not go for it?
Here's the last in this series of photos, as we're getting ready to cross 34th Street, and head for the subway. All good stuff, as far as I'm concerned, and maybe I'll break out some more of these shots when I have more free time, and dedicate a collage to them. Sounds like a good idea, actually, so I'm sure I'll get back to it.
We got out near Franklin Street, in Brooklyn, where we were supposed to meet with some folks and discuss ventures that might lead to further writing gigs -- if there's any one law that creative types should remember, it's this one: All gigs end some time. So that's why we were out there, having conducted similar business in Philly, and Washington, D.C.
And, just like in those cities, it doesn't take long to see how unpopular our commander-in-chief (so-called) is around these parts. We saw this graphic all over sidewalks on Franklin. I'm not a Spanish speaker, but I'm assuming it's inspired by the "zero tolerance" breakups of families and mass deportations dominating headlines at the time. Kids in cages, anyone? Here's how I responded.
How's this, Mr. Commander-in-Chef? Might even make a good album cover, in the grand scheme of things.
What can I say? Looks like this mailbox has definitely its share of better days. It's certainly proven an irresistible target.
This is a closeup of another graffiti-splotched box -- but this shot seemed like the big draw here, which is why I snapped it. Who knows, it might make a nice recurring graphic for this blog. We'll see.
We didn't have time to catch this event, which would have been interesting, as this book (We Are The Clash) looks into the twilight era of the self-styled Only Band That Matters, as they crash the mid-80s, minus their two "muso"-ey co-founders, "Topper" Headon (drums), and Mick Jones (guitar)...and while it's roundly ignored by the Clash franchise, it's a different story on the trading networks, where some 60-odd live shows from this era -- about half the gigs they played, I think -- continue to circulate.
Anyway, I checked out these guys online, and they have a decent pedigree: Andersen, with Dance Of Days: Two Decades Of Punk In The Nation's Capital, a history of the D.C. scene, and Heibutzki, who has one previous book with a D.C. connection (Unfinished Business: The Life & Times Of Danny Gatton), plus a sprawling website that covers both those books, plus whatever musical and spoken word stuff he's doing at the moment.
Here's a catchy bit of self-promotion in the WORD bookstore's front window, which is part and parcel of what it takes to survive in the cutthroat world of retail business -- and hosting events, like the above-mentioned one we couldn't make. I checked them out online: looks like they have a pretty full calendar. Stop by, if you're in the neighborhood.
After our meeting, and dinner at a Mexican restaurant, my partner and i went our separate ways. I caught a ride back to where I was staying, on West 23rd Street...right in the heart of Chelsea, baby...but I just couldn't resist one more midnight walk around the area. I needed a snack, so what the hell, I figured, might as well see what's happening. So let's take one last look at the traffic roaring down Eighth Street (above), shall we, and then...
Why don't you follow me, plus my sandwich, chips and two-liter pop, back down 23rd Street...and if you're in the mood to get your palm read, or your future told, here's a place where you can stop. It's not my thing, but it might be yours, right?
Here's the view from the top of the Penn Station steps, where you'll also find plenty of homeless people sleeping...if you want another sad barometer of where we're headed as a nation, the official economic narrative notwithstanding. My train was leaving at 9:47 a.m. the next day, on Saturday, so I made sure to get up around 8:00 a.m., grab a cab, and make my way down here.
The only hitch was...this isn't where Amtrak sends its trains across the USA. That's across the street from these steps, where you can Madison Square Garden, and then, to the right, the entrance I needed to take. I felt exhilarated, having gotten a lot done, seen a lot of cool sights, but now, the touring grind awaited: four hours back to D.C., then, a 17-hour ride back to the Midwest. I was ready to go home. --The Reckoner
Links To Go (The Soundtrack
Of Your Life Goes Like This...)
Ian Hunter: "Central Park 'N' West"
"Central Park 'N' West"
(A Recent Live Version):
...and I love this comment: "This would have been perfect if the show had actually BEEN in Central Park." But this version sounds good to me, anyway.
