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
Friday, December 7, 2012
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
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
E.B. and Maeve
this is a dream i have, sometimes it seems to segue from when i'm thinking about old new york, (and i fall asleep) but it is definitely something that i have dreamed for real.
it is basically me looking down an endless hallway, the kind with the cloudy window doors, with smoke seeping out and the hallway never ends. it's like a 40s detective movie and i keep thinking i am going to see eb white or maeve brennan with her wild hair. a few dreams i think i've opened the door and there is eb (who i've never really looked at closely in pictures) sweating in a miasmic airshaft.
i keep walking down the hallway for ever and ever and there is no end, i do hear a typewriter clicking sound, and a few times when i can open the door i see maeve brennan in her days of when she wasn't doing ok, when her hair was wild and she slept in the new yorker bathrooms.
i always wake up wondering where did that ny go? wasn't i just about to get a job in the typing pool and make my hands blue from carbon copies, wasn't i going to hand a handkerchief to eb to soak his sweat, wasn't i going to save the long winded lady somehow form the bathroom? wasn't i going to talk to someone when they wouldn't interrupt our conversation with looking at a cell/smartphone screen and talking on one? wasn't i going to be in some timezone when someone actually looked at me the whole time when we were talking and had some kind of mystique about them because no one was on facebook or twitter and you didn't know where someone went last night because they didn't post the event rsvp on their facebook page?
no, i wake up and that's not where i am at all and i shrink yet again.
--Anonymous
it is basically me looking down an endless hallway, the kind with the cloudy window doors, with smoke seeping out and the hallway never ends. it's like a 40s detective movie and i keep thinking i am going to see eb white or maeve brennan with her wild hair. a few dreams i think i've opened the door and there is eb (who i've never really looked at closely in pictures) sweating in a miasmic airshaft.
i keep walking down the hallway for ever and ever and there is no end, i do hear a typewriter clicking sound, and a few times when i can open the door i see maeve brennan in her days of when she wasn't doing ok, when her hair was wild and she slept in the new yorker bathrooms.
i always wake up wondering where did that ny go? wasn't i just about to get a job in the typing pool and make my hands blue from carbon copies, wasn't i going to hand a handkerchief to eb to soak his sweat, wasn't i going to save the long winded lady somehow form the bathroom? wasn't i going to talk to someone when they wouldn't interrupt our conversation with looking at a cell/smartphone screen and talking on one? wasn't i going to be in some timezone when someone actually looked at me the whole time when we were talking and had some kind of mystique about them because no one was on facebook or twitter and you didn't know where someone went last night because they didn't post the event rsvp on their facebook page?
no, i wake up and that's not where i am at all and i shrink yet again.
--Anonymous
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