"i'm an english-man in new york"

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  High Above Atlantic Ocean, International
Thursday, March 25, 2010

owing to physics or some higher mathematical knowledge, it is accepted that when given a rectangular card and told to slide it through a scanner, there are only eight directional  choices, thus it was somewhat disconcerting for the subway worker to watch helplessly as lulu and I went through the standard four on the front and four swipes on the back, the ever tricky cardinal-diagonals, sideways, upways, squareways, thatways and thisways- we even folded that mo'fo in half greasing it with some spit to try and get it to read; all the while, the dude firmly settled in his glassbox, microphone swallowed deep in his trachea, garbled inaudible obscenities until finally we gave up and crashed through the emergency door, tripping down the stairs and strollersqueezed on the 1 uptown apologizing to the distinguished manhattan matron with a stroller now up her ass.   sardined in a car reminiscent of some terrible winter bus rides in seoul,korea, we got to 95th before papa realized that the village and its glorious funk were downtown and we were now middled in a car filled with the grumpiness of homewardbound commuters  .   doors beginning to shut,  electrified by an unplumbed power known only to cavedwelling mystics and mothers, lu burst into action.  barking in a clipped cadence and employing the full reserve  of her Asiatic goodnatured badmannerisms, she got us doorwise where we stumbled onto a urine perfumed platform the width of which had me bearhugging marley for fear that on the first step off our train, she would topple over the precipice belonging to tracks heading in the opposite direction.  once properly directionalized, we pleasantly noted that our downtowner was lightly seasoned with a few wall street types, artists, and old Russian grandmas.  this quietude was quickly disturbed  as a salty looking dame burst the car haranguing for handouts; she was giving it her 'a’ game but as commented on by sweetlu, could not have picked a worse train.   remembering that phil collins song (or was it bruce hornsby & the range), i was determined not to react as did the wall streeters, ignoring her as one would a passing shadow, but instead squared up to her reddened orbits with a rejection she would accept as compassionate and empathetic…

’who the f**k you looking at, you queer looking motherf**ker!’ 
she then heeled and gapped the closing doors leaving in her wake a car full of laughter and one properly placed idiot.

new york!  it took seven minutes forty three seconds for lulu to decide that this is where she wants to lay her hat come next year…five story walkups be damned!  after our daytripping in washington d.c., where swaddled in dollarstore parkas, we ranged the obama residence, washington monolith, and lincoln memorial beneath a sky bleak and rainswollen, the rain god taki-tsu-hiku smiled fondly upon we four interlopers blessing us  with skies of cobalt and azure.  offees and bagels and chocolate croissants bought from roadside vendors, we tramped through soho, crisscrossed the village, squintyeyed the statue of liberty, and shuddered at ground zero.   cousin jennie gave up the goods, ensconsing us in her  groovy walkup smack dab in the middle of cool neighborhood #477;  cousin jill received our  one thousand and one phone calls with a southernsweetness that not even the gritty gotham city could sour.




I recall central park in fall

How you tore your dress

What a mess

I confess…

               ferris bueller

came in on the south west corner of the park to a three-piecer busking through a rare ornette coleman riff ; lunchbreakers soaking up the sun beside the statuary and fountains;  cyclists; joggers; redplumed horses taxing lovers and tourists deep into the wonderous bowels of this municipal marvel.   we stared skywise at the edifices lining the park and lost a moment spinning dreamyarns, dreams of newyork riches which were quickly erased by zen’like howls of wonder for the present: playground!   marley and i played at  collecting ‘miracles’ while we bounced amongst the climbing rocks  peopled by  poets and students and  sunbathers lazily sharing  the midafternoon loveliness in a city often misrepresented as feral and bombastic . 



amazing birthday dinner in the village: cuban food, or at least i was told we ate food, as early on, i made the wise decision of manning the mojito end of the bargain.  a boatload of belly laughs ; chilled out c’trane being passed around the table and multiplying the cuteness quotient of this hip manhattan eatery;  marley swinging  from the limbs belonging to a tree of an Irishman who went by the handle of jed and i think was at the table cuz he’s married to one of my cousins, but that’s just a guess (again, refer to mojitos).  we were that table.   the one that you got stuck next to while dining through first date jitters, you in your armani, she dolled up in a stella mccartney she saw in vogue; a table full of mojito drinkers, johnny-loud-talkers, unrestrained kids (where the hell were their parents?) and picture-taking requests thrust upon your able fingers due to the (un)fortunate table at which you were seated by the waiter who now ignores you thanks to the boisterousness and potentially large tip he sees in us.  thank god your plates were all ready cleared when jed bodyslammed the fiveyearold  onto your table, her shoeless stink of a foot slapping your date in the face followed by a drunken apology from the birthday boy of a father…

good times had by all...


apropos to absolutely nada, I’d like to digress from the normally straightforward  scribblings that define this blog and lay pen to paper commenting on the coolness of my newyork cousins; seriously, this is no joke.   the henderson duo, jennie and jill-don’t-call-me-becky:  smart, funny, fabulously dressed, smoking hot; annie rags:  tall, gorgeous, wacky, talented…lu and I couldn’t wrap our minds round how incredible it was to be in the presence of such sublime awesomeness…ragsdale genes rock!

presently cloudcroozing on jet airways; the team sleeps and I write away any fears of flying…

good night

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