no day but today
Apr. 4th, 2007 02:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ravenYesterday! Yesterday I went to New York City, and had a long, long, rather weird butultimately rather wonderful day. I got up at six am, for one thing, and we all piled in the car for the two-hour drive into the city, and we fought through the traffic and arrived into a glorious springlike day in Harlem.[1] Where Shubhra went off, complaining, to classes - she's my cousin at Columbia - whilst Shweta and I, equally ignorant, unleashed ourselves on Manhattan. I was last in NYC when I was thirteen, in the January before 9/11, and I can't really tell if it's me or the city that has changed since then. Probably me, to be honest: for example, I am now capable of navigating the New York subway. Which I do not like. Subway trains here are like District Line trains - big, clanky oversized sardine tins - and they're so large and dimly lit, and the stations this weird mixture between bustling and derelict, that they scare me. And they're kind of confusing, because you never know when the next train is coming and some are express and some are local and honestly, I positively missed the vast quantities of Central Line announcements. (Yes, I'm missing the BBC a bit. That really was a great experience.)
Enough of that. I managed to get us to Columbus Circle, where Shweta and I went window-shopping, took silly pictures of ourselves and ate hot dogs and ice-cream in Central Park. My first New York hot dog was a surprisingly pleasant experience. And the park itself is lovely, full of children playing and trees and birds singing and rustic bridges and all sorts of things which make it bizarre that the city was just a few hundred metres behind us. And I took pictures of things like street signs and buildings, because I am a tourist.
Following which, we successfully navigated the subway back uptown and went back to Columbia, where I sat in the back of Shubhra's class and pretended I wasn't ridiculously out of place. It was interesting, though, to see a little of how American universities work, with the system of classes and seminars, which really couldn't be more different from the lectures and tutes that I'm used to. (Of course, it's different because this is grad school I was observing, but still, an interesting experience, and given that Shubhra's field is therapy and social work, it involved talking about my feelings. At the end her professor asked me a few questions about Oxford, and said something about the one-to-one tute system being terribly valuable. She also asked if we wear sub fusc all the time, which made me giggle.)
More subway trains, and a walk through Times Square. My vivid memories of my time in Times Square are of the sheer bone-shattering cold - it was the first week of January then - and this time around, the need to shed coats and jumpers was a bit of a surprise. We had dinner and drinks with a friend of Shuhbra's called Nick, who is sweet and kind of camp, and whom I liked rather a lot. We had managed to find the only bar - and it was a nice bar, all glass and chrome and low light and ambience - in the five boroughs of New York (probably) that didn't ID. I got my glass of Chardonnay and was able to drink it in peace, feeling utterly mellow and content. There were more silly pictures.
Said bar was literally next door to the Nederlander Theatre[2], and the queue was beginning to snake round the block as we emerged into the dark, and I got tickets out my pocket and got yelled at for taking pictures and just generally got very, very excited. Because, omg, I've never seen a show on Broadway and I'd wanted to see this particular show for such a long time.
Rent. Rent, Rent, omg, RENT. It's hard to give a decent review of it which doesn't just descend into squee. I just sat there, leaning forwards with my mouth kind of hanging open, and... omg. Yes, it's a pretty spectacle, the colours and the glorious dancing - Angel! In the oh-so-high-heeled boots! - and the music is lovely... actually, let's stop and talk about just how lovely the music is. I love "Seasons of Love" with an unholy passion, especially as Pat and Ben sang it for one of their musical undertakings last term and rehearsed it constanstly whilst cooking dinner, but Ben likes "Light My Candle", and I'm a recent convert, as he tends to sing Roger's part walking to Jericho in the dark, while I try and do the other part with equal enthusiasm but significantly less musical talent. And of course we have the recording of it, but it's not the same as hearing it, as actually hearing it live and funny and sexy and romantic, and quite possibly my mouth dropped even further open than it was already. It was gorgeous.
But more than the pretty spectacle and the dancing and the music, it was real. It wasn't a piece of sugar-plum escapism, either in the fairy-story sense or in the overwrought gothic horror sense (because something like, I don't know, Les Mis isn't exactly fluffy, but it's far enough removed from real life to fulfull the escapist purpose, in a sense) - it was about real things and people and places. And the anti-corporate, against-the-grain feeling is something very palpable - and it worries me that if you replace AIDS with mental illness, these people are pretty much my friends. I don't know, I'm babbling. But I loved it. I was just blown away by it.
As it ended, I could hear Shweta sobbing in the dark next to me - no, I wasn't crying, I was just still sitting with my mouth open - and they finished with an appeal for a Broadway Cares donation to AIDS charities. I happily gave them all my change and wandered, wide-eyed, into the night. I didn't start babbling incoherently about how good it was until we'd made it onto a subway train filled with people who had also seen it, heading uptown and back to where we'd left the car.
We divided evenly, so it was just Shubhra and me driving through down dark, quiet roads at midnight back to Connecticut, and I was so tired, but chatting to keep her awake, about Rent, but then about life, and it was a lovely gentle winding-down to what had been a very long day. And that would be the appropriate point in the narrative to end this entry, the long ride through the dark towards home, were it not for the fact that four miles from home, we were pulled over by the police.
This, I suppose, was an authentic American experience - being stopped by a sour-looking, gun-toting police officer in the dead of night - but it was unnerving. It turned out that registration documents for the car had expired six months previously, and consquently it couldn't be driven any further. With frightening efficiency, they had a tow truck appear. (I resisted the tempation to ask if they have tow trucks standing by at one am just for this purpose.) I suppose we would have been stranded on the side of the road - certainly it didn't bother the cops one whit that we were being thrown out of the car in the middle of the night on a deserted road miles from anywhere - if it weren't for Nick and Shweta, who came to get us with minimal shrieking down the phone.
So, it was about two o'clock before I got to bed, but it was a lovely day nevertheless. I got up late and am still sleeepy. But yes. Lovely day, and today has so far been spent wondering how you get a car registered when you don't have a car to drive to the place where cars get registered. Hmmm.
[1]I keep trying to spell it as "Haarlem".
[2] Which is, indeed, spelt "theatre" and not "theater" - I wonder why?
Enough of that. I managed to get us to Columbus Circle, where Shweta and I went window-shopping, took silly pictures of ourselves and ate hot dogs and ice-cream in Central Park. My first New York hot dog was a surprisingly pleasant experience. And the park itself is lovely, full of children playing and trees and birds singing and rustic bridges and all sorts of things which make it bizarre that the city was just a few hundred metres behind us. And I took pictures of things like street signs and buildings, because I am a tourist.
Following which, we successfully navigated the subway back uptown and went back to Columbia, where I sat in the back of Shubhra's class and pretended I wasn't ridiculously out of place. It was interesting, though, to see a little of how American universities work, with the system of classes and seminars, which really couldn't be more different from the lectures and tutes that I'm used to. (Of course, it's different because this is grad school I was observing, but still, an interesting experience, and given that Shubhra's field is therapy and social work, it involved talking about my feelings. At the end her professor asked me a few questions about Oxford, and said something about the one-to-one tute system being terribly valuable. She also asked if we wear sub fusc all the time, which made me giggle.)
More subway trains, and a walk through Times Square. My vivid memories of my time in Times Square are of the sheer bone-shattering cold - it was the first week of January then - and this time around, the need to shed coats and jumpers was a bit of a surprise. We had dinner and drinks with a friend of Shuhbra's called Nick, who is sweet and kind of camp, and whom I liked rather a lot. We had managed to find the only bar - and it was a nice bar, all glass and chrome and low light and ambience - in the five boroughs of New York (probably) that didn't ID. I got my glass of Chardonnay and was able to drink it in peace, feeling utterly mellow and content. There were more silly pictures.
Said bar was literally next door to the Nederlander Theatre[2], and the queue was beginning to snake round the block as we emerged into the dark, and I got tickets out my pocket and got yelled at for taking pictures and just generally got very, very excited. Because, omg, I've never seen a show on Broadway and I'd wanted to see this particular show for such a long time.
Rent. Rent, Rent, omg, RENT. It's hard to give a decent review of it which doesn't just descend into squee. I just sat there, leaning forwards with my mouth kind of hanging open, and... omg. Yes, it's a pretty spectacle, the colours and the glorious dancing - Angel! In the oh-so-high-heeled boots! - and the music is lovely... actually, let's stop and talk about just how lovely the music is. I love "Seasons of Love" with an unholy passion, especially as Pat and Ben sang it for one of their musical undertakings last term and rehearsed it constanstly whilst cooking dinner, but Ben likes "Light My Candle", and I'm a recent convert, as he tends to sing Roger's part walking to Jericho in the dark, while I try and do the other part with equal enthusiasm but significantly less musical talent. And of course we have the recording of it, but it's not the same as hearing it, as actually hearing it live and funny and sexy and romantic, and quite possibly my mouth dropped even further open than it was already. It was gorgeous.
But more than the pretty spectacle and the dancing and the music, it was real. It wasn't a piece of sugar-plum escapism, either in the fairy-story sense or in the overwrought gothic horror sense (because something like, I don't know, Les Mis isn't exactly fluffy, but it's far enough removed from real life to fulfull the escapist purpose, in a sense) - it was about real things and people and places. And the anti-corporate, against-the-grain feeling is something very palpable - and it worries me that if you replace AIDS with mental illness, these people are pretty much my friends. I don't know, I'm babbling. But I loved it. I was just blown away by it.
As it ended, I could hear Shweta sobbing in the dark next to me - no, I wasn't crying, I was just still sitting with my mouth open - and they finished with an appeal for a Broadway Cares donation to AIDS charities. I happily gave them all my change and wandered, wide-eyed, into the night. I didn't start babbling incoherently about how good it was until we'd made it onto a subway train filled with people who had also seen it, heading uptown and back to where we'd left the car.
We divided evenly, so it was just Shubhra and me driving through down dark, quiet roads at midnight back to Connecticut, and I was so tired, but chatting to keep her awake, about Rent, but then about life, and it was a lovely gentle winding-down to what had been a very long day. And that would be the appropriate point in the narrative to end this entry, the long ride through the dark towards home, were it not for the fact that four miles from home, we were pulled over by the police.
This, I suppose, was an authentic American experience - being stopped by a sour-looking, gun-toting police officer in the dead of night - but it was unnerving. It turned out that registration documents for the car had expired six months previously, and consquently it couldn't be driven any further. With frightening efficiency, they had a tow truck appear. (I resisted the tempation to ask if they have tow trucks standing by at one am just for this purpose.) I suppose we would have been stranded on the side of the road - certainly it didn't bother the cops one whit that we were being thrown out of the car in the middle of the night on a deserted road miles from anywhere - if it weren't for Nick and Shweta, who came to get us with minimal shrieking down the phone.
So, it was about two o'clock before I got to bed, but it was a lovely day nevertheless. I got up late and am still sleeepy. But yes. Lovely day, and today has so far been spent wondering how you get a car registered when you don't have a car to drive to the place where cars get registered. Hmmm.
[1]I keep trying to spell it as "Haarlem".
[2] Which is, indeed, spelt "theatre" and not "theater" - I wonder why?
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
on 2007-04-04 08:07 pm (UTC)Although I can't say that this has ever happened to me or my parents. Do you think it was a Driving While Non-White type experience, or maybe it's just the Connecticut cops? Because I'm thinking it would be pretty hard to spot the registration stickers from another car in the dead of night...
no subject
on 2007-04-06 02:55 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2007-04-04 08:08 pm (UTC)My guess would be for reasons of pretentiousness.
no subject
on 2007-04-06 02:56 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2007-04-04 08:51 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2007-04-06 02:57 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2007-04-05 01:21 am (UTC)Pretty much. Glad to hear you had a good time otherwise.
no subject
on 2007-04-06 02:58 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2007-04-05 01:32 am (UTC)Yes. :)
This, I suppose, was an authentic American experience - being stopped by a sour-looking, gun-toting police officer in the dead of night - but it was unnerving.
I was once driving through a rural area in the southern US at about 3am when I passed a police car sitting on the side of the road. I wasn't speeding or breaking any laws, so I didn't really think twice about it, until it pulled onto the road and started following me.
It didn't have its flashing lights or siren going, but it kept right behind me, taking the same turns that I was.
After several minutes of this (I'm not sure how long really. It felt like hours, but I doubt if it was longer than 15-20 minutes, if that long), the blue lights came on and the siren sounded briefly, so I pulled over, and the police car pulled in behind me.
After a few minutes, a police officer got out and walked up to my car. He looked like the stereotypical American policeman, and he had a really angry expression on his face, as if maybe I had personally wronged him in some terrible and unforgivable way.
He walked very slowly, shining his flashlight the back windows, before saying anything to me at all. Finally, he frowned (or rather, increased the intensity of his already-existing frown) and said, "Do you realise it's 3 o'clock in the morning?"
"Yes, sir," I said, nodding (but confused).
He just stood there for a few minutes, saying nothing, and finally I found myself uttering the classic cliche' line for such situations, "Is there problem, officer?"
"It's 3 o'clock in the morning," he repeated, as if that actually explained anything.
I had no idea what to say to that.
After a few more minutes, he asked for my driving licence and registration.
"It's kinda late to be out, ain't it?" he asked, still looking at my documents.
"Uh, I guess..." I answered.
"People around here don't go drivin' around at 3 o'clock in the morning," he said, still holding my papers.
I wasn't sure what to say to that either, and the policeman just continued to stand there, saying nothing.
"Did I do something wrong?" I asked, after a few minutes of silence.
"Where exactly are you headed at 3 o'clock in the morning anyway?" he asked, shining his flashlight into back seat of the car again.
"I'm going to visit some friends."
"At 3 o'clock in the morning?" he said, looking dubious (and bumping his frown level up another notch, as well).
"No," I said, "I'm still several hours away."
"Oh," he said.
At this point my increasing annoyance was waging war with my fear of being here alone with this angry man and his gun. When he continued to just stand there, I finally spoke up, trying not to let my frustration show in my voice. "Did I do something wrong?" I asked again.
He shook his head no.
"Can I go then? I still have a long drive ahead of me."
He looked as if he was trying to make up his mind about whether to let me leave or just shoot me on the spot, but then he finally nodded and handed me back my licence and registration.
"Next time you might not wanna be drivin' around so late though," he said, and then walked back to his police car.
no subject
on 2007-04-06 02:59 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2007-04-05 01:44 am (UTC)And YOU, my friend, are looking gorgeous.
I totally agree on the subway thing... I found the Chicago subway very loud as well but the New York one was just odd... clanky. Decrepit. I don't know.
They have *lectures* in grad school at Columbia? Is this a social sciences thing? Enquiring minds need to know...
Aaaanyway...
no subject
on 2007-04-06 03:01 pm (UTC)Argh. Miss you. x
no subject
on 2007-04-06 03:24 pm (UTC)They don't have lectures, but I do; I was trying to enumerate the differences.
Yes, I think that was actually me misreading horribly as I typed a response quickly. Me = not all there, most of the time... Classes and seminars, lectures and tutes. I suspect that what we call "lectures" & "tutorials" might actually be "classes" & "seminars". It was the "classes" that startled me (and that I swapped for "lectures") because grad school here is basically made up of "seminars" in which anywhere between 1 and 7 students are crammed into an office or seminar room with a professor and hash out a bunch of texts for anywhere from 3-4 hours depending on whether or not we go overtime and/or retire to the pub to finish up. I tend to fall asleep in lectures unless the speaker and/or the material is very engaging, so I was just fretting a little bit about what sort of torture the US university system will inflict upon me if I end up going there for my doctorate. ;)
no subject
on 2007-04-05 02:56 am (UTC)Yes, The London Underground is much better organized than the NYC subway system!! The Tube stations are nicer and easier to navigate, and the map is far less confusing, and they kindly tell you how long until the next train arrives (something they're just beginning to "experimentally" implement here...WTF). I don't blame you for being confused. Our subway seriously needs to be revamped.
Haha Times Square...that's where I work! I deal with tourists all day long in fact. Too bad we couldn't meet :( Yeah many American theatres go by the original spelling, although I'm not sure why. I don't complain though, I like "theatre" much more than "theater". Maybe it looks classier?
I'm sorry about the cop pulling you over though, that sounds ridiculous. That's not an "authentic American experience" I would wish on any tourist. That was in Connecticut? Remind me not to ever drive there! :D Luckily I don't have a car.
Glad you had a good time!!
no subject
on 2007-04-06 03:03 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2007-04-05 01:43 pm (UTC)Just, you know, to show a little bit of obsession and all...
no subject
on 2007-04-06 03:04 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2007-04-05 04:46 pm (UTC)(because something like, I don't know, Les Mis isn't exactly fluffy, but it's far enough removed from real life to fulfull the escapist purpose, in a sense) - it was about real things and people and places.
It's funny--I grew up on musical theater, but it wasn't until I first saw Rent as a young teenager that I became full-blown obsessed with the medium. And I think you've put your finger on why. For all that I do think Rent has its flaws, it's a eye-opener for a lot of people, because it's the first musical they ever see that they feel is, if not explicitly about them, at least about issues relevant to them. There's a lot of great contemporary musical theater that is, similarly, about "real" things, but it isn't as well publicized, and that's what I most appreciate about Rent--that it can be a gateway drug. :)
Anyway, sorry, tangent, but I was struck by this response, because it was exactly the same as my response when I first saw Rent. I'm so glad you enjoyed it. Live theater is really a magical thing.
Please do not get stranded in New England any more! I want to see you!
no subject
on 2007-04-05 04:55 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2007-04-06 03:06 pm (UTC)See you soon! x
no subject
on 2007-04-06 03:38 pm (UTC)Oh, totally unrelated--can I perhaps foist off an episode of Slings and Arrows on you at some point over the weekend, assuming we have semi-privacy in the hostel? Because I've been mainlining it this week, and it is SO MUCH LOVE that I will explode if I don't share it soon. And you would love it. It has a Hawkeye figure; nuff said. :D
no subject
on 2007-04-06 03:56 pm (UTC)