I bought a Moleskine a while back. Pretentious little git that I am. Journos and writers carry them. And artists. Apparently Hemmingway couldn’t live without his. So I bought one. You know. So I could get all Hemmingway-esque and sit drunkenly in pubs and note profound thoughts in my moleskine notebook for all too see. Maybe with deeply meaningful doodles.
Pub person: “Oh look at her. A moleskine. She must be a serious writer. Aye. Serious”
Me: *nods sagely and ponders infinite*
Well, not so much.
Herewith some notes from NYC. Every single one thoughtfully scribbled at the time. Now, just a litany of the mundane. Which, of course, I now feel I must share with you. For the added shame.
Men in black flying saucers
No capitals might lead you to believe that men were flying saucers of a black colour around NYC. But no! I was driving past the park from the scene from Men In Black where the alien flies a flying saucer into a large metal sculpture of the globe. And felt compelled to note it. In my Moleskine.
Post-it note bums and boobs
Nope, not post-it notes made from bums and boobs. But rather the irony of a news agent in the subway selling every skin rag under the sun, but covering the saucy bits up with faded post-it notes.
Vanilla sky moment
Staring down a street and losing the perspective of the sidewalk for a moment. A flash of post-apocalyptic city. Odd.
“I am the Stig”
Slogan on a t-shirt. Worn by a man clearly not the Stig. Had to smother an unflattering giggle.
Warhol – of course.
Because there he was, in the Met, where an America artistic icon should be. Well, not him really. His art. See, I told you this stuff was profound!
Brooklyn Lager FTW
A rather delicious ale. But you’d think I could manage something more elucidating than FTW.
And my all time favourite….
Georgia O’Keef; such nice vaginas
I think I’ll leave that one unexplained. Those who’ve seen a Georgia O’Keef might understand. Or think I’m one Rorschach test away from disaster.
My literary future is somewhat uncertain. May have to rethink this Moleskine malarky.
On the plus side, I had the pleasure of meeting up with the inimitable Unbearable Banishment. I had a sneaking suspicion he’d reveal some good New York to me, since so much of his blog is such a beautiful ode to the city. And I wasn’t wrong.
Drinking wine in plastic glasses at a rooftop bar, overlooking the glorious Empire State Building and howling with laughter at the world was good for the soul. Thanks, UB, for sharing your city with me. And for explaining the temporal nuances of that damned flashing red hand. Whadda a guy (in Noo Yawk accent). Smart, funny and utterly gorgeous. No wonder Mrs. Wife keeps him tucked away in New Jersey!