The New York Experience

I took a quick trip over to the distant island of “Manhattan” last week for a writing class. I arrived Friday morning and immediately took advantage of the local transit system (did you know their trains go both above the streets and below ground? Fascinating.) I found myself in the middle of the city, which they call “Midtown” for some reason, grabbed a decent cup of coffee, when suddenly it struck me, maybe I should plan something to do. But, what is there even to do in this city, aside from transfer between train lines that they could only bother to identify by single numbers and letters?

I searched for museums, because apparently, this particular city offers quite a few halfway decent spots for museum-ing. But, I balked at this notion. I couldn’t imagine what I would do at such a place. What? Wander and gaze at... what? What do they even keep in museums? Old jugs? Stacks of paper for the copy machine? Is it people? Are museums made of people!?

So much time has passed since I last visited any museum, that I completely lost my sense of what to expect. If I really wanted to see a painting, couldn’t I head over to any corporate office building? I’ve seen those paintings. They only reveal the artist’s general search for meaning in the living of life and the paying of bills. At this point, I realized just how disconnected I felt from everything and everyone, including myself. I had no expectations when I booked the trip, but now that I had arrived, I didn’t want to miss out on experiencing some aspect of New York. So, I went to Central Park to get started.

Parks

I explored the winding paths, along with many other people, taking in the changing colors of the leaves. So many humans, all engaged in pleasant, park-appropriate activities. I’m talking about dogs playing fetch, dads playing catch, kids climbing the rocks, and so many couples of all ages strolling. Literal strolling. The kind you only read about in movies. Some even had strollers. Showing a true commitment to strolling. All these people spending time separately but together. In the middle of the day!

I had a similar experience at Washington Square Park the next day, with its mix of families and NYU students. This park had the bonus of live entertainment in many forms, including two different jazz groups playing simultaneously on opposite sides of the park, chalk drawings on the sidewalk, even a hipster typing up impromptu “okay” poems for strangers. One dude wheeled an upright piano over to the fountain to play some classical-adjacent music. As I enjoyed a perfect bagel breakfast sandwich, the squirrels and birds surrounded me, closing in on my like I was some sort of Disney princess, scheming for my crumbs. Nearby, a family recorded an ice-bucket challenge of some sort, which apparently still happens?

Museums

After Central Park, I finally headed off for some culture at MoMA. I worried I would simply discover I can’t possibly understand what experts consider true works of art. I thought about the movie UNTITLED, a fun, under-appreciated satirical film, in which one artist slaps a card on the wall, titling it “Wall surrounding space”.

I finally took the leap, a decision I did not regret. Okay, I did see one piece that seemed to take itself a bit too seriously -- a plain white t-shirt hanging on a hanger. The placard indicated the item was donated by Hanes? Really MoMA? Not brave enough to feature briefs? I suppose a donation is a donation.

For the most part, the museum houses quite a mix of breath-taking images, as well as those that made me shrug, some profound, some harsh, some bland, all in a wide range of medium, including paint, video, photos, plastic, straw, rocks, wood, dead flowers, metals, paper, even human hair and nails -- so many variations and styles that I’m not edu-ma-cated or quali-fi-cated to analyze. However, I believe I still possess a human heart, last time I checked, when I cut myself open for some self-administered open-heart surgery. Also, commercials make me cry sometimes. That’s human, right?

After the experience of reconnecting with myself, energized by artists empowered to express themselves, I wanted to keep the feeling going with one more museum. I headed over to the next closest option -- the ACK Dog Museum. Happy to support all things dogs. This museum experience was... fine? Paintings, sculptures, and some interactive presentations that let you explore in depth aspects of any breed. I did enjoy seeing all the books in the dog library about chows, including Basie and Steffi’s favorite tome, “The Proper Care of Chow Chows.”

The Neighborhood

Outside of a delightful dinner on the Island of “Long” with an old college buddy and his lovely family, I spent much of my remaining time wandering the various neighborhoods on the Lower West Side. I felt a Zen-like comfort floating around aimlessly for hours, among many other strangers, all enjoying the weekend in their own way. Where was the angry, combative, or shocking behavior I had remembered from past visits to New York? Instead, everyone seemed polite and happy-go-lucky. Maybe it was because they were delighted they could still afford to live in Manhattan. Or, maybe the pandemic made everyone appreciate the outdoors. Everyone seemed perfectly happy just minding their own business.

Lucky for me, my hotel was located right at the entrance to the Holland Tunnel, which I discovered kept the memory of many past New Jersey commuters alive with the famous eternal car horn. Oh, how that majestic single “beep-beep” triumphed through the night, sounding out like clockwork every three minutes. I truly felt honored to “sleep” so close to this monument to impatient drivers.

The incessant horn meant I would not have to worry about oversleeping, or even sleeping for that matter, so I had no problem making my final subway trip. As I waited over thirty minutes for a delayed “E” train that would never arrive, I headed over to the “1” station. There, we all waited patiently, as one man cursed and shouted nonsense for a full five minutes before taking off his jacket and shirt, and boarding the train. Now, that’s the New York I remember.