NYC – Living in a Pop Culture Bubble

“I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel,
you were talking so brave and so sweet,
giving me head on the unmade bed,
while the limousines wait in the street.
Those were the reasons and that was New York…”

One of the most fun things about living in New York City, is its constant connection to pop culture. I watch a lot of TV, listen to a lot of music, and see a lot of movies. It’s in part about seeing the Empire State Building on a daily basis when you’re walking to the store or coming home from work. It’s in part about riding the city's famous subway, eating its famous pizza, hot dogs, and Chinese food, or walking through its famous neighborhoods.

My favorite show, Law & Order, of which I’m slightly obsessive about, is filmed here in Manhattan, right on the streets, just as the fabulous, but now defunct, Homicide was filmed in Baltimore. I’ve been watching Law & Order since it began 13 years ago. I own the special book and DVD put out by its producer/creator, and I think I single-handedly keep up TNT’s ratings from my endless hours watching Law & Order in consecutive episodes, sometimes at five hours at a stretch. But now, when they play that famous *DUN-DUN* sound, and then flash the black screen listing the location the scene is at, I go, “Wow, that’s like right down the street from my apartment!” And, it really is.

When I watch Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, they're running down streets I know. The last Apprentice show had them trotting just steps from my place of work. It's all around me.

This kind of thing happens constantly. I just recently finished the book “Any Human Heart” about the life of a semi-famous writer, and he lives part of his life in Manhattan in the fifties. Many of the things described are still around today. And like I said, I run into this all the time. It’s like every story, every song, every tv show or movie is set in your neighborhood. It’s just so intimate and interesting. It makes living here constantly fun and interesting.

Last night, I was spending a Friday night alone. My roommate had a “special” friend over for the weekend and they were needing some quality time. Since my roommate and I have not been particularly lucky in love for the past few months, I’m happy to make myself scarce for several hours to oblige him. So, I decided to finally go see Mystic River (it was amazing!) and have a bite to eat somewhere. The movie ended around 11:30pm, and though it was a bit chilly, I felt like walking home. The theater was on 34th street and I live on 14th, so it’s not a very long walk. I began walking down 8th avenue, which was surprisingly scary. You know, I’ve walked around NYC many many times in the past few months, always trying to take different routes. Like Bangkok, each street, each neighborhood is unique – its own little world. Eighth Avenue was lined with X-rated shops (I guess this is where they relocated after they were “cleaned up” from the more touristy areas). Men were standing around everywhere. I saw very few women. Men occasionally called out to me, trying to entice me. I wrapped up my face and hid my long hair. Showing my long hair seems to be an invitation at times. When wrapped up in a scarf and winter coat, the offers are much less numerous.

Then, when I got to 23rd Street, another major street (basically all subway line streets are major streets of activity), I made a left turn and began to walk along it. Suddenly, I was in Chelsea, and immediately found a different atmosphere from the dark, slightly seedy neighborhood of 8th Avenue. Suddenly, the area was younger, hipper, and more alive. Twenty-somethings were everywhere, lined up in front of places I probably wouldn’t notice during the day.

After a short time, I saw a giant, vintage-looking neon sign, vertically displaying the word “HOTEL” and horizontally, “Chelsea.” The Hotel Chelsea, or the Chelsea Hotel. That’s something so great about NYC. You can be strolling down a street, everything seems normal, and *bam* you are confronted with something from your own mind’s history. It’s like all of the sudden coming across a storybook character ambling down the road. It’s a delightful shock. Suddenly, my mind was filled with Leonard Cohen’s “Chelsea Hotel #2” which is supposedly about getting blowjobs from Janis Joplin in that very hotel.

Like The Oriental hotel in Bangkok which boastfully shows off its “Author’s Lounge,” and charged hefty prices for their Author's Suites, the Chelsea Hotel also proudly displays the names of artists who have used its eccentric lodgings as a sort of residential muse. Just a few are (were) authors Nelson Algren, Sherwood Anderson, Brendan Behan, Arthur Miller, Vladimir Nabokov, William S. Burroughs, Sam Shepard, Dylan Thomas, Mark Twain, Arthur C. Clarke, Quentin Crisp, O. Henry; musicians Leonard Cohen, Bob Dylan, Edith Piaf, Jimi Hendrix, Sid Vicious, Joni Mitchell, and actors Dennis Hopper, Jane Fonda, Donald Sutherland, and Sarah Bernhardt. There must be some kind of nucleus of creative energy at the center of that place.

I peered through the window. It looked strangely decorated inside, part bohemian, part touristy. I’m sure a place like that has to push its tourist appeal in order to survive for so long. I wonder if going in, even renting a room for the night, in hopes of simply absorbing some of its artistic magic, would end up disappointing me and leaving jaded and resentful. I should just do the typical thing and have my photo taken in front of the sign with a cheesy grin on my face. I checked. A night would cost me $150-$250. That’s not so shocking for NYC standards. You can even order the “official” Hotel Chelsea t-shirts keytags! Maybe I should have gone inside, but what would I have done? Stood uncertainly in the lobby, the receptionist staff staring at me expectedly or perhaps with tired boredom of another person who thinks how cool it is just to BE here.

Anyway, I continued on my way home, and soon became intrigued when I saw a large church with a long and meandering line of these nightgoers outside. Numerous fuzzy blue lights lit up the church and I found myself wondering if there was some sort of haunted house thing going on. As I crossed the street to investigate, I realized that it was, in actuality, a nightclub! Seeing a church ablaze in blue light with so many partiers outside was jarring, even for this Atheist. I was dying of curiosity to see what it looked like inside, but I am not always as fearless as my mother thinks I am.

Soon, I reached my street (though several blocks still from home), and climbed tiredly onto a bus for the remaining length. I was reading Girl with a Pearl Earring, an entertaining book I was to start and finish in a 24 hour period. There’s something soothing about being on a warm bus late at night. It was one of those rare moments when you feel kind of content from small things. One of those moments when I love living in NYC.

"New York is cold, but I like where I'm living
There's music on Clinton Street all through the evening..."