New York City: Day 5

This was it. Our last day in New York City. And once again, we wasted half of it sleeping. There was change in the air though, and by this I mean literally in the air, as it turned out to be a lot warmer than it had been the previous days. It was almost bearable. And contrary to the rumors, it wasn’t even raining, so it was the perfect time to visit Washington Square Park and spend money at the NYU Bookstore on NYU merch that I would never even be able to wear at USC. Oh well. It’s no secret that I want to go to NYU for grad school, though, so you know what, I feel like I can get away with it. After months weeks hours just one hour of deliberation, I picked out a sweater and a magnet, both of which were surprisingly cheap, and we continued our journey to MoMA. Also, let me say, USC SCA is so much prettier and more collegiate looking than NYU Tisch. Now I get what people mean when they say NYU doesn’t have a campus.

Washington Square Park

When you're waiting for Selena Gomez on Waverly Pl, but she lets you down.

I'm a traitor.

On our way to MoMA, we happened to encounter one of the famous LOVE sculptures, and so naturally I had to stand in line to take a picture of it. Also, seriously, there was an actual line of people waiting to take selfies 🙄🙄. We also got lost once again, but this shouldn't be news to anyone.

But then, once at MoMA, something crazy happened. As I was waiting to check my coat, I heard a familiar voice. It couldn’t be, but it was. As a person who’s literally known for her anecdotes of her misfortunes, who’s famous for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, I couldn’t possibly – for once – be at the right place AND at the right time. But alas, it was true. After checking my coat, right in front of me, it was her. In front of me was standing the one and only Patti Smith*. Reading a poem casually for a crowd that had assembled around her and with a guitar placed next to her, she was holding what later turned out to be a surprise performance. I mean, it couldn't have been that much of a surprise, since The New York Times was covering it. But there were all these people, gathered around her and listening attentively, silently absorbing her words. And me? Nah, I was high-key fangirling. I was crying. I’d seen Patti before, last January at a concert at The Wiltern. She was far away and the ticket was expensive and it was a weird day anyway, but I though it would be my only chance to see her. But now, here she was, right in front of me, just like that.

Yet we only had a limited time at MoMA, so even though it broke my heart into ten million pieces, I couldn’t stay for the entire performance. After all, I had an entire museum to see, and I didn’t want to skip any of it, because let me tell you, MoMA is AMAZING. It’s probably my favorite museum ever. Especially the 3^rd and 4^th floors. They have the soup cans. They have the gold Marilyn Monroe print. They have Van Gogh’s Starry Night. Their 60s section is the best exhibit you’ll ever see. It’s perfect. And if you’re one of those people who’s into them consumer goods, their gift shop will have you shell out some serious money. Not that I spent like over $40 on a single print or anything… But seriously, museum gift shops have the most adorable but useless shit. Like the New York skyline as page markers. Or a magnetic wishbone. Who even needs any of these things?

Fun fact: In her memoir Just Kids, Patti said that she didn't like Andy Warhol, because she "preferred an artist who transformed his time, not mirrored it."

Patti "hated the soup and felt little for the can." Yet here she was, two floors below Warhol's famous Campbell's Soup Cans. However, the very fact that Warhol's subject was something of his own time made it transformative. He took the world as it was and transfigured it into art that represented the world as it was, something nobody had done before. In this sense, therefore, he did mirror his own time, but he transformed it as well. Can you tell I just wrote a final on Andy Warhol?

A reproduction of Van Gogh's Starry Night. "The camera, by making the work of art transmittable, has multiplied its possible meanings and destroyed its unique original meaning. [...] The uniqueness of the original now lies in it being the original of the reproduction." ~John Berger, Ways of Seeing

*Side note: I feel a little weird taking photos at museums. I can't explain it that well (if you follow the link above, you might get it a little better), but essentially, you go to museums for a reason. To see original works of art. By taking photos, I'm sort of defeating the purpose of going to a museum by showing you what's there. Photos, however, are only reproductions that can never do the originals justice, and are only destroying the uniqueness of these works. So yeah, go to museums, side note over.*

I would have loved to stay at MoMA for the rest of the day, but we had tickets to the Natural History Museum, and we weren’t going to let those go to waste. Also, Holden loved that museum, and after all, he said that his favorite thing about the museum was that nothing changed there and based on that, the museum I was going to see would be the exact same museum that he saw in the 1940s. (I mean I know he didn’t really see it, because he doesn’t exist and all, but you know what I mean. “I can’t explain what I mean. And even if I could, I’m not sure I’d feel like it.” (page 110))

At the Natural History Museum, we were greeted by two bushes shaped like dinosaurs holding wreaths (I bet those weren’t around in the 40s. Holden would have thought they’re phony) and a long af line that we spent over half an hour in. By the time we got inside and made an unsuccessful attempt to check in our coats, it was time for our dark universe planetarium show, which was amazing, except once again, I fell asleep. It was a 25-minute show, and I fell asleep. I think I have a problem. The rest of the night was a frantic attempt to get through the planetary science section and then try to see everything else that Holden talked about, because, y’know, a 65-year-old book about a teenager who thinks everything is phony should be your ultimate museum guide. Needless to say, this attempt quickly failed, so somehow I once again ended up being a victim of consumer culture and browsing the Christmas tree decorations in the museum shop. Also, I’m so glad that I don’t have a Christmas tree (the tiny one from Target that looks like a copper toilet brush does not count), because the amount of adorable Christmas tree ornaments I saw during these five days is insane. There was a jellyfish ornament that I almost couldn’t resist, though (along with that mini-Guggenheim one I saw the previous day).

Phony dinosaurs.

"The best thing, though, at that museum was that everything always stayed right where it was. Nobody'd move. [...] Nobody'd be different. The only thing that would be different would be you." ~Holden Caulfield, obviously

After the museum closed, we went back to Times Square to do some last-minute souvenir shopping (hint: Hershey’s chocolate was purchased. And a Hershey’s Christmas tree ornament was also purchased, although by Joanna. Also, I may or may not have already have eaten all that chocolate). Then, once we were out of money and had realized it had gotten cold again, we I decided to ignore both of these facts and head over to the Flatiron Building. While this might not have been an objectively smart idea, it was worth it, because you have to see that building up close. Just trust me. The last thing we did in New York was get dinner at Joe’s Pizza, recommended by my co-RA Maddie, which – again – did not disappoint. It turned out to be a pretty famous place, so I’m upset I’d never heard of it before, and it was also right next to NYU dorms, which made NYU even more appealing to me. Now I’m even more serious about going there for grad school.

More Hershey's lol. I don't even like Hershey's tbh.

Sadly, however, Joe’s Pizza marked the end of these beautiful five (4 ½) days we got to spend in New York City. It was a melancholy subway ride back to Carroll Gardens, where we packed our stuff, took a quick nap, took one last glimpse at the New York City skyline, and called an Uber to the airport, once again, at 3 am. As you can assume, we were done with shuttles for good.

Our trip home was its own adventure, with us frantically running across the Chicago airport during our 40-minute layover and me leaving my phone in my check-in suitcase, but that is a story for another time.

I hope you enjoyed reading about our NYC adventures. Stay tuned for more posts.

*If you, at this point, don’t know how obsessed I am with Patti Smith, shame on you.

New York City: Day 4

I woke up to the most beautiful snowfall I had seen in years. Well, mostly because I live in California and all, but that’s a minor and insignificant detail here. People were building snowmen on our way to the subway station, Joanna was throwing snowballs at me (lol) and it was almost perfect.

We headed straight to the Guggenheim, which was…well, it was what it was. The building itself was beautiful. The Agnes Martin exhibit was a little too abstract for me (and, like, if it’s abstract even for me, that’s saying a lot), but I really enjoyed Sun Yuan & Peng Yu’s Can’t Help Myself and Maurizio Cattelan’s America, aka the well-known 18-karat gold toilet. (Side note: this toilet stood for everything that we learned about in my Icons class. It is a readymade that makes art accessible to the general public by showing them something they are familiar with. It is making a collective experience into art: everyone uses the restroom, the way everyone drinks Coke, which is what Andy Warhol attempted to depict in his Coke bottle painting. You see, not everything you learn is useless.) The best thing about this toilet is that it’s not even in a glass case or anything, and as long as you wait in line, you can go ahead and use it. I’m pretty sure no one did, though, they all just went in, took a picture, and flushed it.  

If all of my dreams turn to shit, at least they should go down an 18-karat gold toilet. (yes, reusing my Instagram caption, but you know what?)

It's a work of art containing works of art. It's artception!!!

After the Guggenheim, we went back to Central Park for a bit (we found a duck!) and then headed straight to Broadway to pick up our tickets to see Chicago. We had lunch at the Starbucks on Times Square (because we just love exploring local food) and then found our way to our seats in the second-f@#%ing-row! It turns out Joanna did a good job with the tickets. Now, I'm not too keen on musicals myself, but Chicago was great. I had seen the movie version before, but I still enjoyed it, except for the part when I fell asleep and woke up to find one of the dancers staring straight at me. Whoops. But it’s all good, as in the end, I was one of the people to catch those roses they throw into the audience, which had always been one of my life goals. Well, not really, but anyway. It was nice.

It's a little ironic that we went to New York to see Chicago.

Once we were done with the play, we headed straight to the 9/11 Memorial and Museum, and stayed there all the way until closing. Now, the museum itself is really good, and you can expect to spend quite a bit of time there, but it really emotionally exhausting and definitely not for everyone. 

After the museum, we walked around for a bit, went into the Westfield World Trade Center, which is a mall that looks pretty much like a Venus flytrap, although Joanna couldn’t really see the resemblance. Then we went to Burger King and had chicken fries, because – once again – we just love local food.

See what I mean about it looking like a carnivorous plant??

But I honestly wish we had malls like this in LA.

Following that, I had the sudden urge to go see the iconic Hotel Chelsea, the “informal artists’ colony” of 20^th century New York that was once home to the one and only Patti Smith, Robert Mapplethorpe, Andy Warhol, Arthur Miller, Jackson Pollock, and many other people you should really have heard of. So we took the subway all the way to the Chelsea, got lost in the process after turning on the wrong street corner three separate times, and after that entire venture, got to the Chelsea only to find the neon sign completely dark and the hotel cloaked in darkness with scaffolding all around it. I mean, I should have expected that tbh, since the hotel officially closed in 2011, but still. It was truly tragic (well, not really, because a tragedy implies an irreplaceable loss and all that, but you know what I mean). In all my sadness, I snapped a few photos, and returned to the subway station, defeated.

"Dystopias always begin as utopias, and the Chelsea is no different."
(I highly recommend you follow that link)

On the way back, Joanna convinced me that our stuff wouldn’t be there by the time we got home, so that subway ride was somewhat stressful, but it turned out to be a false alarm. And that’s it for our penultimate day in New York.

Click here for day five.