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 1

Part One of my mini-series on my winter break trip to New York City, aka that time I learned that I can't read maps. Enjoy.

Also, for the complete experience, I suggest you follow the links when you can!

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It was 3:00 am, our shuttle was running ten minutes late, and I was yelling expletives on the street corner. At this point, however, there was nothing we could do, it was too late to change our minds, our trip to New York City had begun. After six more aggressive phone calls to our driver (who by the way, had passed our street two times already and kept saying was five minutes away) and twelve more embellished renderings of the f-word, I told my roommate and travel companion Joanna that it was time to surrender those 32 dollars and call a Lyft. That was how we met Edwin, our Lyft driver and hero of the day, who was far more capable than PrimeTime Shuttle driver #6262246786 and got us to the airport on time. As you can imagine, though, by this point I had already convinced myself that this entire trip was a bad idea, I was on verge of a nervous breakdown, and was about to repeat the airport meltdown I apparently had at the solemn age of three. Not sure what exactly went down, but my parents still bring it up, so it must have been bad. If you think I’m dramatic now, you can imagine what I was like 17 years ago. This was also exacerbated by the fact that there were only about $85 on my bank account at that point, as my money transfer took forever to get through (and I also might have taken a trip to Macy’s the previous day).

But it was gonna be okay, I told myself, everything was gonna be okay. We boarded our plane to Newark just fine, I got some much needed sleep, and we were in New York in no time. See! Flying is fun after all! Said no one ever. As it is, of course, around halfway through the trip, this guy ended up passing out right next to me on the plane. Just as in movies, he passed out in the middle of the aisle, and the crew was calling for “doctors, nurses, or medical professionals” to identify themselves. For the few minutes that he was unresponsive, I was honestly terrified. But then he woke up, said he was fine, didn’t comply with regulations, and ended up being very rude and dismissive to everyone, so by the end of the trip, I had lost most compassion I had felt for him. Though I still hope he got home okay. But yeah, eventually we got to Newark just fine, somehow made it to the AirTrain, then again somehow made it to the train to Penn Station, then somehow managed not to get lost on the subway and make it to Carroll Gardens. And in the meantime we had an unfortunate run-in with a pizza-less pizza rat. Because every rat in NYC is pizza rat, of course. I also had a 40-pound suitcase with me of course, which I had to drag up and down the subway stairs, but not even that could stop us.

But yeah, we eventually got to Carroll Gardens (which is BEAUTIFUL and their holiday decorations are something else!), and after a 10-minute walk, there we were at our Brooklyn AirBnB, a gorgeous building with an even more gorgeous eviction notice on it, and four flights of narrow stairs that were just waiting for aforementioned suitcase. Yay! After settling down for a bit and chatting with our host Manisha, we decided to venture into Manhattan to see the tree and ice-skate at Rockefeller Center.

Yet before we get into all this, let me tell you one thing about NYC in the winter: it’s gorgeous, yes, but it’s also cold af. And yes, I’m sure you knew that already and so did I, but like, it was cold. Like, cold cold, the kind you think you’re prepared for but really aren’t, unless you're one of those people who walk around in ski gear 24/7 of course.

So, due to the weather conditions (and the $40 admission fee), we decided we would not be ice-skating at Rockefeller Center. My “marvelous” dreams of being Sally Hayes from The Catcher in the Rye were crushed. (C’mon, we all know that Holden was an unreliable narrator, and Sally really wasn’t that bad. She’s my secret favorite.) It was a sad, sad moment. But hey, we still got to see the tree, which was pretty, but also pretty anticlimactic. It turns out it isn’t that big after all. (At least it’s still not the Montreal Christmas tree, though.) 

"'I have a marvelous idea!' She was always having a marvelous idea. [...] 'Let's go ice-skating at Radio City!'" (page 113) 

For your full enjoyment, they were also playing this song on repeat.

We were at Rockefeller Center for a while, taking pictures and all, and once we got bored of being squished in a crowd of aggressive tourists, we decided to walk around, eat a pretzel of unknown origin, and head to Times Square. This moment also marked the beginning of the “Lilla Can’t Read Maps and Decides to Head the Opposite Direction” saga. But eventually we did make it there, took some cute pictures, got a few weird comments about my USC beanie (and jacket and sweater, I went full on out) and then headed on a quest to find Krispy Kreme, because apparently you have to go all the way to the East Coast to find Krispy Kreme nowadays. While that was quite a challenge, because I can’t read maps we did end up finding it (hint: it’s in Penn Station, not inside Madison Square Garden lol) and decided to head home.

Times Square can't shine as bright as you/ I swear it's true

And that was our first day in New York.

Click here for day two (fight on!).