Rich in New York
I got paid! WOOHOO! It only took them six weeks. Actually, they were meant to make this payment in January, but the contract got held up, and blah blah blah... so it was only four months late, or six weeks, depending on how you look at it.
New York was fantastic. I have to put that as things change so fast in my head, and I forget no one else knows. I spoke to someone yesterday who asked me if I was OK in NY. Was it really bad? Huh? Oh, my last post! People still keep up with me on this thing! I forget other people read it! Maybe I should put some effort into writing my blog instead of keeping it all for screenplays and journo stuff!
I was working on a piece for The Fix so the first thing I did, after crashing out all Wednesday morning from the red-eye, was wander down to Brooklyn to meet Joe Schrank and see The Loft. If you're rich and you're an addict and want to get sober, go to The Loft. If you're poor and you're an addict, you get some shit community center, styrofoam cup of coffee and an asshole with man boobs preaching the Big Book at you. Williamsburg has changed so much. I lived off Bedford, near Marcy Avenue, in the Hasidic neighborhood in 2005. Now - where are all the Jews?! Where are the Hispanics? It's just white hipsters, fancy restaurants, and clothing stores. I mean, I love it. But it's like the East Village or SoHo and the rents are ridiculous now. And I miss the Jews. Thankfully The Bagel Store still sells toasted French-Toast bagels with cream cheese ("You have eyes like a wolf" the bagel man tells me), the Sally Army is still there, and Marcy Avenue remains foul and untouched, still selling single cigarettes for 50 cents. Which reminds me, I am a month into quitting cigarettes and loving optimum yoga health again.
My four days in New York was taken up with paying off two credit cards, an outstanding plumbers bill, the major works charge on my flat in London and a variety of other enormous charges levied upon me by homeowning. Fun! I briefly considered opening a savings account for the paltry amount of ages left, rejected this idea, then wandered over to Mud for coffee, went shopping around the East Village afterwards, ate at Lucien's, hung out with gay friend and mooched around the SoHo and the West Village. I paid a pilgrimage to the studio where I did my first ever yoga teacher training, and discovered my favorite Brazilian cafe, right by my old apartment on Houston and Mott, is now closed. I rediscovered another one when drinking submarinos with my favorite travel writer and the guy who inadvertently got my ass to New York all those years ago - by making me into his intern!
It was the first time, since I've been back sober, that I felt at home in New York again. Before I guess I was haunted by something, the ghost of Mimi, something. But coming back - sober, sentient, happy, money in my pocket, four journalism articles and one screenplay commission lined up - I felt good. I think at some point I'll be back in New York for a six month - year stint again. Venice and New York have become my heartlands. I need both to feel whole.
I'm now in London, staying with the amazing Johanna, whose kindness and tolerance knows no bounds. I spent Easter Sunday eating roast lamb in the sun and walking around Kew gardens with her family, yesterday stuck at the computer for 14 glorious hours of researching an article and interviewing a bunch of amazing scientists - and about 10pm, I got a call from an agent called Bob Bookman at CAA.
And it was then that I knew everything was going to be OK.
New York was fantastic. I have to put that as things change so fast in my head, and I forget no one else knows. I spoke to someone yesterday who asked me if I was OK in NY. Was it really bad? Huh? Oh, my last post! People still keep up with me on this thing! I forget other people read it! Maybe I should put some effort into writing my blog instead of keeping it all for screenplays and journo stuff!
I was working on a piece for The Fix so the first thing I did, after crashing out all Wednesday morning from the red-eye, was wander down to Brooklyn to meet Joe Schrank and see The Loft. If you're rich and you're an addict and want to get sober, go to The Loft. If you're poor and you're an addict, you get some shit community center, styrofoam cup of coffee and an asshole with man boobs preaching the Big Book at you. Williamsburg has changed so much. I lived off Bedford, near Marcy Avenue, in the Hasidic neighborhood in 2005. Now - where are all the Jews?! Where are the Hispanics? It's just white hipsters, fancy restaurants, and clothing stores. I mean, I love it. But it's like the East Village or SoHo and the rents are ridiculous now. And I miss the Jews. Thankfully The Bagel Store still sells toasted French-Toast bagels with cream cheese ("You have eyes like a wolf" the bagel man tells me), the Sally Army is still there, and Marcy Avenue remains foul and untouched, still selling single cigarettes for 50 cents. Which reminds me, I am a month into quitting cigarettes and loving optimum yoga health again.
My four days in New York was taken up with paying off two credit cards, an outstanding plumbers bill, the major works charge on my flat in London and a variety of other enormous charges levied upon me by homeowning. Fun! I briefly considered opening a savings account for the paltry amount of ages left, rejected this idea, then wandered over to Mud for coffee, went shopping around the East Village afterwards, ate at Lucien's, hung out with gay friend and mooched around the SoHo and the West Village. I paid a pilgrimage to the studio where I did my first ever yoga teacher training, and discovered my favorite Brazilian cafe, right by my old apartment on Houston and Mott, is now closed. I rediscovered another one when drinking submarinos with my favorite travel writer and the guy who inadvertently got my ass to New York all those years ago - by making me into his intern!
It was the first time, since I've been back sober, that I felt at home in New York again. Before I guess I was haunted by something, the ghost of Mimi, something. But coming back - sober, sentient, happy, money in my pocket, four journalism articles and one screenplay commission lined up - I felt good. I think at some point I'll be back in New York for a six month - year stint again. Venice and New York have become my heartlands. I need both to feel whole.
I'm now in London, staying with the amazing Johanna, whose kindness and tolerance knows no bounds. I spent Easter Sunday eating roast lamb in the sun and walking around Kew gardens with her family, yesterday stuck at the computer for 14 glorious hours of researching an article and interviewing a bunch of amazing scientists - and about 10pm, I got a call from an agent called Bob Bookman at CAA.
And it was then that I knew everything was going to be OK.
MIMI IN NY | 7:43 AM |
