God, I love my hometown. Here are some eccentric but nonetheless valid reasons why.
1) About to sit on a park bench near NYU, I stopped to ask the "sitting waaaay on the other side of the bench" only other occupant if it would bother him if I had a cigarette. [Yup. I am a Nicotine Pariah.]
Thi being New York, he said it would, so I went and perched on a step nearby.
A few minutes later, the old gentleman to whom I had addressed my question, got up and joined me. He was-not kidding- about 90, in possession of many more shopping bags than personal teeth, but also very chipper.
"You know, smoking is stupid, my dear," he remarked.
I answered, smiling, "I think I read somewhere that it might be bad for me. Not sure though."
He smiled, and continued. "I have always thought that smoking's bad effects were a karmic retribution for what the white man did to the Indians. You know: it's the karmic aftermath of violent colonialism."
I was a bit taken aback.
"Um...now that you put it that way...yes. I suppose that's a distinct possibility," I said. I mean, it's hard to come up with a snappy comeback to unexpected meditations on karma. Try it sometime.
He sat down. "On the other hand you're very young, so this might just be youthful folly."
I laughed. "Sir, I like to think of my folly as timeless. But thanks for the loophole."
We introduced ourselves, and -I forget how- started talking about the Spanish Civil War, the Lincoln Brigade the history of anti-technology movements [sparked by his abhorrence of my laptop], and the folk movement. -You know. As one does. - He asked my name- his was Bill- and upon being told my name he asked "Oh, you mean as in Katy Perry?"
I said, yes, spelled differently but yes. I thought, sheesh- here I am just catching up on my Lady gaga and a 90 year old knows Katy Perry's work.
He looked at me appraisingly. "You know, if you had dark hair, you'd look like her. She's a goodlooking lady, that one."
I thanked him--us ladies likes compliments, no matter how untrue-- and we spent a little more time talking about music, the history of jazz in the Village, and the corrupt nature of NYC politics in the 1890's, which i'd read about, and i suspected he'd experienced firsthand.
"Well, I really have to go " he finally said, pulling himself to his feet and gathering up what seemed to be a hundred and fifty Gristede's bags. "Lovely talking to you. You should come visit me. My girlfriend and I live at that old people's home on Washington Square North."
So I will swing by tmw. Because good company is good company, and someday -with luck-I might be 90; and because once again, the Universe was teaching me that everyone everyone everyone is a gold mine.
******
After meeting Bill, walked to meet my lovely brother Mark at the home of Genuine Literary Lions he introduced me to when I was 16, and who -now in their 70's- have remained ageless, due to their complete commitment to art, life and each other. (If you are at all interested in Asian Art, Literature and culture, you'll know who they are, especially if you follow the extraodinary Asia Society and it's incredible work with poets, artists, writers and musicians over the years.) We had tea, and Jim and I sang Cole Porter songs to each other in a "can you top how obscure THIS one is/" way, while Mark and Bonnie murmured together about things too smart for me to understand.
-oops-just as I'm typing this while sitting on a stoop in the West Village, an amped up 7 year olf boy came running up to me and waved a pice of paper in my face, while yelling "I'M CONDUCTING A SURVEY!! ", three times in a row. His mommy stood by beaming, while Junior chanted "Doyoulikestrawberries [breathe] or do you like bananas pineapples grapefuitorwatermelon"?
I thought to myself, "I like children who have manners, frankly...is that on the list?", but decided against saying that out loud, as the kid was about a molecule away from having a "Lord of the Flies" moment, and instead I said "strawberries". He raced to the wall next to me, propped up the paper, and painstaking wote my now immortal fruit preference on it, and dashed away. His mom smiled at me and turned to go inside.
I thought "Nunh-huh, babycakes. You're not getting off that easy..." and said "Excuse me,but can you tell me which fruit is winning so far?'
The kid ran back out of the door he'd just run through, yelled "STRAWBERRIES!" and vansihed.
His mom smiled. "Strawberries," she explained to obviously-not-that-swift-on-the-upstake me, and followed him into the building.-Thankfully.
So. The kid was a pain, but he was a specifically New York City pain. He was-as everyone here is-all about the Virtue of Opinion. In it's most single-vell-life-form kind of way, but still-he's my kind of people. Or will be, eventually, when he grows some front teeth and learns voice modulation. 90 year old Bill is my kind of people, too...his opinions are important to him--and therefore MUST be important to me--and, in a direct way, keep him involved in life and vital, and connected. His opinions make him important to me too. Jim and Bonnie have shaped a magnificent life trajectory around their opinions that Asian art is enormously beautiful, and that one stays with the person one has chosen, as a joy and an art form.
And my opinion?
I like people with opinions/
Also?
I like strawberries.
love to you. Really!
xo p
