Into the Groovy

Things haven’t been going so well since I returned from Hong Kong. This is going to sound absurd, but the night I arrived home and was looking out the window at the incident on the street, trying to figure out if someone got shot or stabbed outside the club down below, I leaned hard into the edge of the window sill for a better view and bruised my ribs. A sharp pop and I keeled over in pain. It’s been killing me ever since and makes it hard to sleep — which I haven’t been able to do anyway due to residual jet lag.

I’m still trying to find the best option for commuting into Manhattan from our new apartment. I have several options, but they all suck.

Yesterday it took me two hours to get home. The A train to Brooklyn stopped at the last stop in Manhattan due to “train traffic ahead.” Train traffic ahead is a catch all for when the trains are fucked up. “Please be patient” the train operator says. He said it several times over the course of a half hour. I was standing in the middle of the car, which made it difficult to get off, but I couldn’t stand there any longer with my bruised rib, exhausted from lack of sleep.

Excuse me, pardon me, excuse me…” I eased my way through the packed car towards the door.

“Dis is when da bullshit starts,” said one woman as I squeezed past her.

“No, the bullshit started a half hour ago,” I mumbled in response.

When I got to the top of the stairs and onto the street, I realized I was in the middle of Wall Street and wasn’t anywhere near another useful subway train. I decided to head back to the A train and wait it out, but soon realized I didn’t have any money left on my Metrocard. I’ve been living on a shoestring since losing my wallet and only had thirteen dollars on me. The Metrocard vending machine would only accept my ten dollar bill. By the time I got through the turnstile and down to the platform, the train was out of service and I found myself fighting a sea of people.

Back on the street, I started walking to the nearest F train — a good twenty minutes away, including a trip through Chinatown which, after just returning from Hong Kong, felt a little surreal. I’m sure if I took time to think about it, I might’ve found another option, but at the time it’s all I could come up with. In any case, with only three dollars in my pocket, the most desirable option — a taxicab — was out of the question.

Twenty minute walk to the F, fifteen minute wait for the train, transfer to the G and another 15 minute wait, then a fifteen minute ride and a ten minute walk home from my stop, it adds up.

I made it home and collapsed on the bed.

As soon as I get my new bank card and can take some cash out of the bank, I’m going to buy a new inner tube for my bicycle and give that a whirl.

Everyone I emailed this link to yesterday emailed back to say they’d already seen it, so maybe this is old news, but yesterday’s New York Times had an article about the Hong Kong show featuring a photo of the Stephen Sprouse installation.

Nice.