Saturday, April 14, 2012

Cool people NYC & Outbursts in the Afternoon

There was this taxi ride today I took along then under a tunnel, I suppose beneath the Hudson River, soon through streets packed with canyon skyscrapers, and voila, Julie's place.  She's a friend of Sandra Bell's, (who was just in NYC reading poetry with a great bunch of Aotearoa NZ poets, they call us Kiwis at Phantom Posters who arranged the trip).

Go to Julie's exhibition opening if you're here in NYC May 5th, or stop in to see the work later
at Lolita Bar and have a drink some other time.

This picture shows one painting, made of glitter with cord delineation and so fine.

Paintings by Julie Tersigni

at Lolita Bar

266 Broome St. 

New York City

May 1-July 7, 2012

Opening Reception: Saturday, May 5, 6 to 8pm

Then, Julie walked me to the end of her street and when I'd seen the sad place where John Lennon was killed, (but liked how they have enormous black lamps with two flames in them outside, on the American Gothic building, The Dakota), well, Julie negotiated a good price for a rickshaw ride round the park, for me. 'Let's choose someone good-looking,' she said. He chose us too, which was fine. We discussed prices over the laminated map he held.

Soon I was being wheeled along through Central Park, I have some excellent photos on my phone and when I learn how to get them out, you'll see.

On the way back just before Prince's Street where the taxi driver was pretending he did not know the way since he knew I was a foreigner, o fun times, I saw a manicurist sign and said I'd get out there. He tried not to understand me but then had no choice since I waved money at him. Good tip too so he really had to be polite, I imagined.

The salon itself dimly lit, chic and inviting, with such helpful staff. They explained Olga could take someone at 4.30pm. I only had a half hour wait.

While I was there in the salon, so much talk and smiles. Photos shown and explanations offered. It felt like a large extended family gathering, in the best possible sense.

Turns out, Olga is Russian and has been a manicurist for around 20 years. 'She's the best you'll find. Honestly, no, I mean it.' One of her customers said while in a chair drying her nails. 'Others round here and there are not as good as this. I always come here to Olga.'

We chatted about liars, lock-ups and turns of phrase too. It was fun.

In my brief experience of manicures it was a great experience. Olga handled my cuticle cutting and massaging the hands well, then also choosing the polish was no problem. I have what looks like black glittery iron sand mixed with bronze on my nails now, it reminds me of home and is dramatic for my last days in NYC.

When I realised I'd left most of my money in the safe at the hotel Olga was also understanding, I only needed leave some ID with her then go get some from an ATM close by. (I was furious with myself but maintained a semblance of cool, somehow. Do not laugh, my friends, I did so).

In NYC, their ATM machines are inside banks by the way, people, so do not look for them along a road just in a shop frontage.

The friendly atmosphere in the salon helped me out too, people offered advice about the easiest way to get the cash. My manicure done, off I went with card in hand, (someone else had got it out of my bag for me, I couldn't with my nails still drying). It took me a short while but I was tired and panicked at one stage thinking I'd past the place, I'm not good in the afternoons and should've been relaxing, but hey, all's well that ends well.

Olga waited for me, I paid with a good tip and my nails look lovely again.

Really recommended - Olga's Nails www.JOHNDELLARIS.COM  433 West Broadway, Soho,
                                                                                                              New York 10012

I'd seen a supermarket too. I shopped.

A word of warning about catching a cab home with armfuls of groceries however, you need a cross street when you ask for a destination here and do not tell the cab driver you're from somewhere else. Again, I forgot this, (not that I know the cross street yet anyway) and the driver took me the looong way no matter what I said he would not go the way I wanted.

We looped round to the middle of Rivington, instead of going directly there from the market, (I did some grocery shopping, green grapes, pretzels filled with peanut butter, a turkey sandwich with cranberries and salad, Japanese beer, an aloe vera drink, a red bull for tomorrow morning and some chocolate Hershey bunnies on sale after Easter).

Not only that, when I said I'd get my things out from the other side of the cab, (instead of dragging them out into on-coming traffic) and he watched me push them over, he waited for me to round the boot of the car, then took off as I reached the other back door on the outside.  I slammed my hand down on his boot and shouted, 'Stop, stop you fucker.'  He cruised to a halt and muttered some blah blah when I wrenched open the door and grabbed my things, then I called him an arsehole, in this low snarl and slammed the door. I'd made it with everything intact in my arms. Most entertaining for the people opposite who are always sitting outside the shop there and often make remarks directed at me when I walk by, I'm sure. Adrenaline a wonderful thing though, I was inside and flew to my room like a supernatural being.

It felt good to kick against the pricks, too.

A woman alone is often a target for bad behaviour, when in fact we should be treated with respect not distain. It is sexist and evil to target us. Those who require care deserve it. I get this attitude far too often from certain people, they're predatory and deserve to have all the ills of their deliberate, meddlesome doings heaped back upon them threefold. O yes, indeedy deed, do.

The thing now is to try to get my eticket printed by the hotel people here at OffSoho, (glitch after glitch with their computer it seems to me). Or maybe my guide will manage a copy from his place. I've sent it to them both now.

Only a day and a bit to go. I'm crying about it already. Every place where friends live I cry to leave, but soon I am leaving America entirely and so my weeping has taken on extra strength. Ha. O I shall miss you all my wonderful, beautiful, wild, talented, entertaining, genius, wondering, insightful, kind, generous, loveable friends, I wish I could start this all over again.

Come and see me in NZ and plant some trees too.

Julie Tersigni who I met today, we may do something else tomorrow, (had such a great talk), or I could see my old friend Alistair Rabbit who was in Proud Scum years ago. They're on this album along with many of my punk friends from those days.  We've all moved on to do other innovative and exciting things now, those who survived and it's been wonderful to get back in touch with so many in Auckland, Zero from the Suburban Reptiles, her partner Kevin from the Masochists, Yvette Parsons now a famous actor, her sister Frith a singing teacher in London, and the other sister who runs James the restaurant with her husband, in Parnell, Sandra Jones the greatest minx and once singer for the Idle Idols, Peter R Hoffman who's my guitarist now for poetry projects, (I hope I can say 'my' I like the sound of it), and was Chuck Fuck in Rooter, then Peter Mesmer and so on for each new band, the most famous being The Terrorways. I wish I could get to see Nick from Spelling Mistakes about that story we wrote together, though, I keep on asking in the hope someone knows where he is. I want to put it into a book for Kindle, publish the thing at long last.

Arc weld. Here we are....

People in a bar nearby below the window of my Lower East Side room here in New York are playing, 'I want to get lost in your rock and roll, and drift away...' they're in the street laughing, lots of entertainments nearby. Cars zoom past, and time never stops slipping into the future (as another song goes)....

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