New York Stories

1. It's dusk on a Saturday. I'm waiting for my sister at Union Square, thinking I haven't been there in so long, admiring the layout of the square for the first time. A few birds can be heard in the mild February air. Skaters roll by, the Farmer's Market is wrapping up a winter appearance. The traffic is subdued, conversation quiet, in the hushed winter behavior of New York. A woman approaches me and stands quite close. She gazes at me, smiling. She takes me in, evidently liking what she sees. After a moment, she says, "Sebastian?" I can't help but cringe at the disappointment I am about to bestow upon this pretty young woman. I shake my head and say no. Her face drops and she walks away. When my sister arrives and we disappear around the corner, she is still waiting for Sebastian.

2. Friday in Chinatown. The whirl of traffic, the calls of produce sellers, the traffic of Canal Street, the shuffling of tourists, the frustrated weaving through crowds of those who live there. I'm rushing home when I hear a young woman behind me on her cell phone.
"Oh my god, I got some really good news, but I can't tell anyone but you because they'll freak out...I'm going to Krzykstan next summer to draft a constitution!" I turn around and see a young twentysomething smiling broadly. I think - my life is so pathetic. And I fear for Krzykstan.

For Millay, by request

Sludging through dreary days of January
The impulse to document the urban chaos
Dwindles to a mere responsibility.

February brings colder weather still
And the groundhog mocks us.
The city slumbers idly, grumpily.

We wait for pangs of spring.
But wait- there’s Fashion Week,
Westminster Dog Show, a play or two or three.

In the fog of winter the city
Drizzles, dazzles, fizzles,
Marching ever forward, humming even still.

Newness

The long holiday pause ends, and with it there seems- perhaps it is only my imagination- something new in the air, as if New Yorkers are having a bit more fun; as if another layer of post-9/11 gloom has been shed. Perhaps it is the unusually mild winter that puts an extra bounce in our step; perhaps it is the rejuvenation of a new year, the expectation of novelty. The sky is that wondrous January blue and the air is fresh. Women smile seemingly at nothing, and upon returning from California I remember- in the cacophony of pedestrians and taxi horns, the rush of post-Christmas sales, the rush of the morning commute, the palpable energy of the city- why I love it, why it beckons so many, why it boasts of itself, why it seems always, endlessly new.

Closing

I went to Coliseum Books (link on the right) today to buy a book of haiku for my father, his Christmas present. I had gone to several other bookstores around town in search of a good book of haiku, but had been unsuccessful. I knew that Coliseum would have what I wanted, and as expected I found an excellent book of old and contemporary Japanese verse. Upon checking out, I received 30% off my purchase. I asked the reason and learned that they are closing their doors after 32 years. Sadly, it seems an independent bookstore cannot keep pace in Midtown anymore. I bought my book and told the woman behind the cash register that I was very sorry.

As I opened the doors onto 42nd Street, the street seemed a shade muted, the city slightly less now. Stationary figures seemed paused in salute, even if unaware. They say you are a New Yorker when you begin to say, "that used to be..." and soon we will have another occasion to utter that phrase. As I walked down Fifth Avenue however, I passed the HBSC building, where a Chinese acrobat was standing on her head in the display window for no apparent reason, several people watching her intently. Well, I thought, the face of the city may change, but the spirit, madcap and effervescent, remains the same.

Multiplicities

(photo by Normko)

How to contain the multiplicities of New York in one day or one mind? How to trace the line that is New York across the verisimilitudes of its numerous urbanities? This challenge seems the endless joy of New York, which is forever giving us a city wholly and remarkably different from the one seen yesterday. New York is a state of mind as much as a place, and with it comes all of the contradictions and whims of the mind; if we begin to feel that we have ascertained it, we are fools. The city’s fluctuating realities are at times a harrowing reality that creeps into us with the residue of fear, while at other times, it is the very fact of the city’s unpredictability that makes a New Yorker feel uniquely alive, in a city without equals, its masses assembling and conspiring to once again forge greatness out of the embattled, brilliant and insistent buildings we call home.

Escape

The truth is that the city is a device for reducing stress – by giving humans a free choice of escapes from the pressure (along with the weather) of their environment.
-Brigid Brophry

Perhaps what is most perplexing when conceptualizing New York as a city- and in doing so one inevitably must come to grips with its natives’ insistence that it is the greatest city in the world, the center of the world, etc- is the fact that New York is a city that many often seek to escape from, rather than within. It is certainly, like any other major world city, a place where one can lose oneself and consistently discover new aspects, stores, streets, and the like; yet the need ‘to get away from the city’- from the winter or the noise or the population density- is more acutely felt than elsewhere. It is impossible to say that New York reduces stress, or that it gives one an escape from the pressures of one’s environment. If anything, it intensifies stress and pressure. This then seems the paradox of New York: it takes the pleasure and activities and opportunities of a metropolis but fails to deliver a metropolis’ sense of escape. New York is not an escape, but rather a refuge- from economic turmoil for many immigrants to suburban ennui for American youth. A New Yorker may object that escapes are found vertically in New York, and indeed the farther up one is, the better. There is nevertheless a sense of confinement within an apartment, no matter how large. New York (by which I really mean Manhattan because the other boroughs are much closer to other American cities) emerges as an insular entity entirely unto itself, whose reality and influence ends abruptly outside its borders. (This is different than other cities such as London or Paris whose realities have shaped and continue to influence the lives of millions outside its borders due to their central place in colonization.) It is necessary to stay within Manhattan, but also necessary to leave. Thus, to my mind it is more apt to say that rather than being the greatest city in the world, New York is simply the only city of its kind. Whether you find it the best type of city is a matter of taste.

The New City

(Image courtesy of The City Review)

The current exhibit on Rem Koolhaas’ Central Chinese Television building in Beijing (CCTV, rendering above) at the Museum of Modern Art is a breathtaking peak into what may be the most iconic building to emerge since the World Trade Center, possibly even the Eiffel Tower. Koolhaas’ bold vision is the centerpiece of the new industrial zone of Beijing that is serving to shift the center of the city away from the historic Forbidden City to the area surrounding the CCTV. The building is so large that twenty-nine 747 jet airliners could fit inside its perimeter. Additionally, the building falls outside of any current building codes or seismic measurements, calling for new seismic codes and a team of seismologists to consult as to the best time of day for the two parts of the CCTV to be joined so as to ensure the most structurally sound building (5:00 AM, apparently). The tower will be ready by the time of the 2008 Olympics.

Koolhaas’ Office for Metropolitan Architecture (OMA) has long sought to shape a new urban topography and lifestyle, creating buildings that unite urban inhabitants rather than divide them. The CCTV is their boldest venture yet, a mammoth building that unites all the aspects of a television studio and company into one edifice. The result is a seamless, astounding building astonishing in scope, scale and bravura. It is the first building in some time that people are likely to travel great distances to behold, and Koolhaas has assured them a privileged view with the inclusion of a visitors’ gallery. The construction of the CCTV leaves little doubt that the twenty-first century will be the Chinese century, and it makes one hungry for such an astounding spectacle to rise in Manhattan. Despite the vaunted talk surrounding the Freedom Tower and the Fulton Street Transit Station, Beijing has emerged along with Koolhaas as a pioneer in new urban iconography, and will serve to shape our conceptions of what the city could be.