On the Beat

The rain had stopped. I walked around the Village, down Bleecker Street, looking at the buildings – mostly brick, full of architectural detail. I love walking through New York streets: there is so much to look at. I walked down into SoHo, zigzagging across the lattice of streets, watching people, looking at the buildings.

( A few more words, lots more pictures... )

I woke early, and snuck out into dawn streets. I caught the subway down to City Hall, the downtown local, and stepped over the water. I realise that, perhaps, the Chrysler Building may not be my favourite structure in New York. (Favourite is a very flexible word for me; it changes with the weather.) The Brooklyn Bridge is, or just then, early on a Saturday morning, it was. Few people were about: some joggers. A line of cormorants flew under the bridge, skimming the water. A fleet of police cars, lights flashing, sirens stuttering, sped into the city on the car deck. (I later learned this was, I think, a ceremonial affair: it was the day a memorial to dead policemen was being dedicated.)

( More words; more pictures )

Landing at Newark Airport into the long lines that characterise every US airport I have been to is a strange, disorientating experience. The queue is badly organised, being broken into mini-queues which mean that you pray you don't get stuck behind the Muslim (or the Hindu or the Sikh; I don't believe US immigration officials are targeting Muslims; they seem to hate everyone) who will undoubtedly be given a long going over, or anyone who can't speak English or Spanish, or the many, many of us who have filled in the incomprehensible forms incorrectly.

I get through and manage to pick up my luggage quickly, and I leave the sanity of the baggage reclaim into the mayhem of arrivals. It is hot, a June day, summer-hot after the cool spring of Edinburgh. I try my mobile phone but it doesn't get a signal (due perhaps to the building, or some strange Newark-sized whole in the coverage I later found I could use my phone in Manhattan), so I queue at a Starbucks to get some change to use a payphone; I buy a bottle of water which I needed anyway, dehydrated after the seven hour flight direct from Edinburgh – it felt rather luxurious not having to change.

I call my hosts and let them know I have arrived; and I leave the clinical safety of the airport.

I decide to get a cab, which I rationalise by the need to get uptown with luggage and the need to acclimatise. The queue for cabs is a badly organised as the queue for immigration. There are officials who ask where you're going, write it down, and tell you how much it should cost; I am not sure why, since they don't pass this information on to the driver who cuts in front of others to get my fare. He has trouble understanding my accent; he asks me what bridges or tunnels I prefer, a question that highlights my ignorance, my out-of-townedness.
( Lots of words; lots of photographs... )

Whilst I was looking for the dance scene from the Fisher King, I found this lovely video of a kind of flash mob in Grand Central. Again, kind of magical in it own way!

Just last week, I was telling a friend how much I liked Brazil, Tery Gilliam’s dystopian movie which features Robert de Niro in a cameo as a terrorist plumber (contains spoilers). It is one of my favourite films – full of splendid ideas and an amazing vision.

I have just heard that Terry Gilliam has been awarded a BAFTA fellowship, in recognition to his contribution to film.

One of my favourite scenes from a Terry Gilliam movie – actually, any movie - is the Grand Central dance scene from the Fisher King – it is just so magical.


(Edit: I thought this video was silent - but actually somehow I had managed to unplug my speakers...!)

I’ve recently seen two movies which were about New York – more or less.
( The Dark Knight )

( Man On Wire )

You may have seen this ad; I saw it a couple of weeks ago in the cinema, and loved it, and it was on during the rugby world cup on British tv on Saturday.

But fiendish_cat and frankie_ecap haven't seen it.



This story in the Independent describes how it was made.

Myself, I really love the whale.

You may already know that I am a fan of Patti Smith, and in particular Horses. Her first three records - Horses, Radio Ethiopia and Easter - are amongst my favourites,

I recently read Break It Up: Patti Smith’s Horses and the remaking of rock and roll. A biography of the album in much the same way that Ashley Kahn’s books on A Love Supreme and Kind of Blue are, this was a very interesting - and rather exciting - book.

( the days of love and torment - the nights of rock and roll... )

I am just back from a five day trip to New York.

I had a great time. (I shall write about it at length later. Probably.)

Whilst there I took three hundred and sixty two photographs that I felt worth keeping (and another thirty three that I deleted before I got back).

Of these, forty seven (13%) feature the Chrysler Building. And thirty two (9%) feature the Empire State Building.

That means more than a fifth of my pictures are of two buildings...

Another thirty one feature the Rockefeller Centre - inside and out. And twenty nine, Grand Central Station.

So that means nearly 40% of the photographs I took are of just four buildings...

When I was scanning the pictures from my visit to New York in 1980, there was one missing; one of my favourites. It wasn't with any of the other New York pictures, and I thought I must have lost it over the years.

It turned up in the box of Grand Canyon slides; so I have found it again.

Here it is:

It is the view from the apartment we wewre staying in, early one morning.

I have often taken views from windows where I have been staying; I should make a series of them.