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
Monday, November 12, 2012
Joe Jr's
November 12, 2012
I went to Joe Jr's diner on 3rd Ave and 16th. There was a big FOR RENT sign taped in the window underneath the word CONSUME painted on the glass. I felt devastated. I went inside and asked the man behind the counter what happened. He confirmed they'd lost their lease and would soon be closing.
Dizzy with grief, I went outside and cried, thinking, "Why? Why is it that as soon as I find a place to love, it gets taken away?" I stood outside, staring at Joe Jr's, thinking about how beautiful it was, and ruminating on this existential question about love and loss. I went over in my mind a list of all the places I had discovered and begun to love, only to lose them soon after. I thought, "Maybe I'm cursed. I shouldn't love anything in this city!"
--JM
I went to Joe Jr's diner on 3rd Ave and 16th. There was a big FOR RENT sign taped in the window underneath the word CONSUME painted on the glass. I felt devastated. I went inside and asked the man behind the counter what happened. He confirmed they'd lost their lease and would soon be closing.
Dizzy with grief, I went outside and cried, thinking, "Why? Why is it that as soon as I find a place to love, it gets taken away?" I stood outside, staring at Joe Jr's, thinking about how beautiful it was, and ruminating on this existential question about love and loss. I went over in my mind a list of all the places I had discovered and begun to love, only to lose them soon after. I thought, "Maybe I'm cursed. I shouldn't love anything in this city!"
--JM
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Jazz Records
October 4, 2012
Last night I dreamed I was opening a record shop on E. 5th St. between A and B. It seemed like a crazy idea, but my business partner was an optimistic young woman from San Francisco and she believed we could succeed. Even more economically challenging, it was a jazz record shop.
I got very excited about writing up the dividers--those white plastic sheets that alphabetize and separate the bands--and enjoyed writing the names on the tabs with a black Magic Marker. One of the bands was called Zoot Suit Lollapalooza. I spent a lot of time getting the lettering just right.
"I can't believe I'm opening a record shop," I kept thinking to myself while I wrote on the tabs. "I'd rather open a bookstore--that would be more me--but here I am with a record shop." I was very amused with the whole thing. I also amused myself by thinking about how my fellow East Village bloggers would come in to blog about the shop, and wouldn't that be ironic, since they wouldn't know that I was me. And I figured it would be weird for me to blog about it myself, sort of like a conflict of interest.
--JM
Last night I dreamed I was opening a record shop on E. 5th St. between A and B. It seemed like a crazy idea, but my business partner was an optimistic young woman from San Francisco and she believed we could succeed. Even more economically challenging, it was a jazz record shop.
I got very excited about writing up the dividers--those white plastic sheets that alphabetize and separate the bands--and enjoyed writing the names on the tabs with a black Magic Marker. One of the bands was called Zoot Suit Lollapalooza. I spent a lot of time getting the lettering just right.
"I can't believe I'm opening a record shop," I kept thinking to myself while I wrote on the tabs. "I'd rather open a bookstore--that would be more me--but here I am with a record shop." I was very amused with the whole thing. I also amused myself by thinking about how my fellow East Village bloggers would come in to blog about the shop, and wouldn't that be ironic, since they wouldn't know that I was me. And I figured it would be weird for me to blog about it myself, sort of like a conflict of interest.
--JM
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
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)