Last night I dreamed that I was standing on the corner of 12th & Ave A to take photos of the four corners for my blog, which I had been documenting several years ago when the stores were empty or in varying stages of construction. However, 12th Street west of Avenue A was no longer a street -- the buildings extended across 12th Street on Avenue A continuously, and in the same 5-6 story tenement style as the other buildings along the avenue.
I was confused, wondering which stores I had been photographing since there were no corners, and I chose two stores to photograph that would have been on the corners if there were corners. All of the stores were very colorful and bustling and it was a bright, sunny day. A store had opened where Table 12 is now, a dress shop called Vera with loud, colorful long flowing flowery dresses in the window. I thought it was all too fancy and expensive, but was pleased with the diversity and excited to show the contrast of the old and the new.
Then I looked up and saw that all the apartments above the stores were completely burned out and empty. No glass in the windows, decaying brick, abandoned. Discouraged, I walked east toward the river and then I was in Long Beach California (though it looked nothing like any beach in any part of California). I don't know how I knew it was Long Beach. There was a giant, empty, sandy beach on a bay with only one building in the distance, a huge red-brick and sandstone movie theater in the 1920s RKO style facing the beach at a jaunty angle. The architecture was beautiful and dramatic, but the bottom part of the building was all big glass windows. I was happy they had saved the original building despite the modern windows, and thought I would move to Long Beach because that building indicated to me that this was a town that cared about its heritage, unlike New York.
Then, in my dream, I woke up and thought about the dream and rushed to turn on the computer to write this email because I was so happy to have finally had a dream about New York. I fumbled around and couldn't get the computer on and got frustrated and could no longer remember the dream. Then I woke up for real.
--Jill
Friday, May 17, 2013
The Pits
I had a dream that I was walking around the West Village in Manhattan, and on every block of beautiful old brownstones, there was at least one large pit in the ground where a highrise would soon be built.
On Morton Street between 7th Avenue and Hudson (in the dream), I was shocked... and I looked towards the brownstones where I saw people standing, thinking they were the residents and I would send them looks of condolence, but they were all men (white men) wearing uniforms... protecting the development site. I was yelling in outrage.
--Randi Cecchine April 22, 2013
--Randi Cecchine April 22, 2013
Friday, December 7, 2012
The Holland
Last night I dreamed there was another newsstand on the second floor above Gem Spa on the corner of 2nd and St. Mark's. It was called The Holland. Possibly The Holland Spa. It was crummy looking in all the right ways.
To get to it, you climbed a flight of stairs on the outside of the building. A crusty young man slept outside the door with his pit bull. Inside, it was a hidden treasure--the walls covered in dusty VHS movies for sale, comic books, and photographic memorabilia from the long life of the newsstand. I started taking pictures for the blog, worried that, now that I'd found this wonderful place, it would vanish.
The owner was a older Greek man. His name might have been Stavros. He was lively and loud and friendly in a brusque way. He served coffee and breakfast sandwiches. A few guys hung around, but otherwise the place was empty. It was early Sunday morning. The Greek complained to me about the unseasonal warmth, "It's too hot for December! It's almost Christmas and I'm sweating!" I said, "I know, it's crazy. I might have to turn my air conditioner on tonight." He laughed, "It's ridiculous, this heat!" Then he told me to stick around for the party.
Very soon, crowds appeared at the door. People were lining up along the tops of the awnings along 2nd Avenue to get into the Holland for their coffee and breakfast sandwiches and newspapers. They all loved Stavros, and their mutual love created a bouncy, jovial atmosphere. I was amazed. How had I walked passed this place a million times and never gone inside?
--JM
To get to it, you climbed a flight of stairs on the outside of the building. A crusty young man slept outside the door with his pit bull. Inside, it was a hidden treasure--the walls covered in dusty VHS movies for sale, comic books, and photographic memorabilia from the long life of the newsstand. I started taking pictures for the blog, worried that, now that I'd found this wonderful place, it would vanish.
The owner was a older Greek man. His name might have been Stavros. He was lively and loud and friendly in a brusque way. He served coffee and breakfast sandwiches. A few guys hung around, but otherwise the place was empty. It was early Sunday morning. The Greek complained to me about the unseasonal warmth, "It's too hot for December! It's almost Christmas and I'm sweating!" I said, "I know, it's crazy. I might have to turn my air conditioner on tonight." He laughed, "It's ridiculous, this heat!" Then he told me to stick around for the party.
Very soon, crowds appeared at the door. People were lining up along the tops of the awnings along 2nd Avenue to get into the Holland for their coffee and breakfast sandwiches and newspapers. They all loved Stavros, and their mutual love created a bouncy, jovial atmosphere. I was amazed. How had I walked passed this place a million times and never gone inside?
--JM
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Manganaro's Fedora
Last night I dreamed that I was walking through the Village and saw that the Fedora restaurant had been reopened--by the Manganaro's ladies. How perfect! My two favorite vanished places reunited into one!
I went inside and looked at the menu. Seline, true to form, asked me, "Whaddaya want?" I told her I just wanted a snack and she suggested prosciutto on bread (she pronounced it "prosciutt," without the "o"), and said, "This prosciutt' won't rip," as if toughness were a virtue. I ordered it.
While waiting for my order I watched people dancing in the restaurant. In the back, three young women danced on a table. They were all nerdy, wearing interesting hats and dancing in a marching, military style. On the side of the room was an upright piano. A man was playing out a pounding rhythm while a group of svelte men of color danced all over it. The men were half naked, in thongs, and they ate each other's asses while they danced.
Then the real show was about to begin on a stage at the back of the restaurant. All the dancers went up, and I joined them. We got into a line and were going to tap, but I did not know how. I watched one dancer and caught on as best I could, counting out the steps. We each did our own dance, playing different characters, and I improvised playing a lonely, depressed woman waiting for the bus while she looks for a job.
I did alright, but I soon got bored with being onstage and my prosciutto snack was ready. I wanted to quit the show, but didn't want to abandon the other players. I couldn't decide what to do.
--JM (8/28/12)
I went inside and looked at the menu. Seline, true to form, asked me, "Whaddaya want?" I told her I just wanted a snack and she suggested prosciutto on bread (she pronounced it "prosciutt," without the "o"), and said, "This prosciutt' won't rip," as if toughness were a virtue. I ordered it.
While waiting for my order I watched people dancing in the restaurant. In the back, three young women danced on a table. They were all nerdy, wearing interesting hats and dancing in a marching, military style. On the side of the room was an upright piano. A man was playing out a pounding rhythm while a group of svelte men of color danced all over it. The men were half naked, in thongs, and they ate each other's asses while they danced.
Then the real show was about to begin on a stage at the back of the restaurant. All the dancers went up, and I joined them. We got into a line and were going to tap, but I did not know how. I watched one dancer and caught on as best I could, counting out the steps. We each did our own dance, playing different characters, and I improvised playing a lonely, depressed woman waiting for the bus while she looks for a job.
I did alright, but I soon got bored with being onstage and my prosciutto snack was ready. I wanted to quit the show, but didn't want to abandon the other players. I couldn't decide what to do.
--JM (8/28/12)
Seaport Dream #2
I was at the old fish market building, but it was a big gold-colored stone warehouse. It was present-day and the building had been abandoned for 30-40 years. I broke in with a male friend (can't remember who he was, but he was my age) and discovered the place had been preserved all that time.
On the second floor, at the south end, was Joseph Mitchell's old office. Instead of a writer, he'd been known as a photographer. And, instead of being a nice guy, he was famous for being a big jerk (sorry, Joe!). I'd also had a long-standing affair with him. This doesn't really make sense as far as time goes because I was younger in the dream (early 20s) and he had been in his 60s when he died at least 30-40 years before (when the building was closed up).
I was feeling very sentimental as I poked around the office, looking in boxes, opening drawers and closets, sitting on the big leather couch. I remembered spending time there with JM--he wore a dark gray suit, white shirt, black tie, tan overcoat and dark felt fedora. He'd yell a lot and be angry, but he was also brilliant. I opened a cabinet and found three of his cameras. One was a dull gold color and the other two were black. Not sure what types of cameras they were, but they were big, cumbersome, and covered in dust. I looked through the lens of the gold one, pointing it out the window at the seaport. That's when I knew I was seeing the same vision of the city JM had seen, and that with that camera, any picture I took would look exactly like his. I'd discovered his "eye" so to speak.
I took the camera and my friend and I left the office and went down the stairs. When we went outside, I turned and looked back and the building and felt extremely sad because I knew that since I'd re-discovered the building, new people would, too, and they'd ruin it. So I went back in and took the remaining two cameras. That's when I found a note underneath them. The note was addressed to me and was from JM's widow. She'd known I would eventually find his things and she wanted me to have the cameras. The realization made me cry because I knew she wanted me to carry on his work. I left the office and everything else behind, but I knew I took away a treasure.
--Goggla
On the second floor, at the south end, was Joseph Mitchell's old office. Instead of a writer, he'd been known as a photographer. And, instead of being a nice guy, he was famous for being a big jerk (sorry, Joe!). I'd also had a long-standing affair with him. This doesn't really make sense as far as time goes because I was younger in the dream (early 20s) and he had been in his 60s when he died at least 30-40 years before (when the building was closed up).
I was feeling very sentimental as I poked around the office, looking in boxes, opening drawers and closets, sitting on the big leather couch. I remembered spending time there with JM--he wore a dark gray suit, white shirt, black tie, tan overcoat and dark felt fedora. He'd yell a lot and be angry, but he was also brilliant. I opened a cabinet and found three of his cameras. One was a dull gold color and the other two were black. Not sure what types of cameras they were, but they were big, cumbersome, and covered in dust. I looked through the lens of the gold one, pointing it out the window at the seaport. That's when I knew I was seeing the same vision of the city JM had seen, and that with that camera, any picture I took would look exactly like his. I'd discovered his "eye" so to speak.
I took the camera and my friend and I left the office and went down the stairs. When we went outside, I turned and looked back and the building and felt extremely sad because I knew that since I'd re-discovered the building, new people would, too, and they'd ruin it. So I went back in and took the remaining two cameras. That's when I found a note underneath them. The note was addressed to me and was from JM's widow. She'd known I would eventually find his things and she wanted me to have the cameras. The realization made me cry because I knew she wanted me to carry on his work. I left the office and everything else behind, but I knew I took away a treasure.
--Goggla
Vanishing Ray's
I walked into Ray's. There were several men in there taking things down. Ray wasn't around. A man unfamiliar to me was behind the counter. Oh, don't worry, he said, we're just closing for a few weeks for upgrades. He smiled.
I left, wondering what to do. I knew one person who could help. I went to Bob Arihood's apartment. The metallic gate covered the entryway, but the door was open. Nothing was inside his storefront apartment. Then I remembered.
--E.V. Grieve
I left, wondering what to do. I knew one person who could help. I went to Bob Arihood's apartment. The metallic gate covered the entryway, but the door was open. Nothing was inside his storefront apartment. Then I remembered.
--E.V. Grieve
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Thong
I am walking along W.14th with my husband, surrounded by the still largely present (yay!) cheesy discount stores. I notice, to my horror, that one of the crummy electronics places is struggling to survive and trying a new tactic to draw in the masses. I see a buddy of mine, wearing a thong and in bare feet, prancing foolishly, Chippendale's-style, in front of the shop to lure in the customers.
I am mortified for him and want SO badly to cross to the other side of the street. But he spots me first and begins jokingly amping UP the bumping & grinding nonsense, then spots my husband and sheepishly retreats back into the store. It's too late to cross the street, my husband curiously asks, "Who is THAT?" and am forced to 'fess up that I know this absurd-seeming person.
--Ellen Fagan
I am mortified for him and want SO badly to cross to the other side of the street. But he spots me first and begins jokingly amping UP the bumping & grinding nonsense, then spots my husband and sheepishly retreats back into the store. It's too late to cross the street, my husband curiously asks, "Who is THAT?" and am forced to 'fess up that I know this absurd-seeming person.
--Ellen Fagan
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