And with this one you do nothing, nothing, but turn to the left.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
some elucidations to the previous text 2: cock in our bathroom
And with this one you do nothing, nothing, but turn to the left.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
dry water and soft air
Water from the faucet smells like a swimming pool. You can get used to it even when you drink it, but it can sometimes surprise you when you take a glass of water or open the shower. With shower there is also something else. You cannot control the stream force. You are not supposed to use both of your hands so there is only one cock and it gives you the possibility to decide if you want to open or not, and then the temperature. And that's all. So simple.
Yesterday we found out next surprising feature of our flat. Apparently the heating season began because in the morning our so far silent and inconspicuous radiator woke us up by loud spit of hot air, and repeated it once in a while. Nice.
Before I leave the apartement there is one more challenge, with which I still can't cope. When I'm about to leave I have this habit that I look out from the window to check the weather. I'm used to decide what to put on me by looking what the pedestrians wear. And from here you can see quite a lot of them. The problem is just that there are always some of them only in t-shirts and shorts, in summer dresses, in sandals, and then just beside them the others in winter coats, hats and so on without mentioning all those how are in between. The weather forecast doesn't help either with all those fahrenheits and miles per hour. So usually I wear too much, but recognize it after a few hundred meters of biking when I'm already totally sweaty. Or then not enough, and that I discover freezing too far away from home.
Yes, but when I finally succeed to go out it's fine. I really like the place. The air is very soft and pleasant, even when there is a cool or wet wind. There is noticeable proximity of the rivers and the ocean is somewhere near with its fishy mood. And there are all those strange shadows and refractions and reflexes on the walls and the streets. Smells, voices and noices, quite often unpleasant but well. With the pedestrians and passers-through I have still this feeling of new place, that I cannot imagine their life, what they will do in three hours or how they woke up last morning. Of course in the places where I'm used to, I don't know about them either but I have this maybe dangerous facility to imagine. Or even better I'm so used to those people that I don't need to imagine. I can recognize their smell, their clothes, their directions. Here it's still a new place, and in addition it seems that here is more diversity than usually is.
One thing that makes this place surprisingly familiar are the plane-trees. There are plenty of them in parks, on the streets and in house yards. They made the splendid alleies with rhythmical line of fanciful columns and spectacular sunshade full of gold and greenish spots. On the narrow one-way streets between amazingly tall brick walls they seem to share out more of the light then of shadow with their illuminated yellowish treetop. There are also shadowy acacias with their funny sprined pod under the branches, oaks and the others well known to me. I don't know why plane-trees made the biggest effect. And why I feel so cozy with them, a bit defiantly to all strangeness. Parisian nostalgia? Or just light?
L
Yesterday we found out next surprising feature of our flat. Apparently the heating season began because in the morning our so far silent and inconspicuous radiator woke us up by loud spit of hot air, and repeated it once in a while. Nice.
Before I leave the apartement there is one more challenge, with which I still can't cope. When I'm about to leave I have this habit that I look out from the window to check the weather. I'm used to decide what to put on me by looking what the pedestrians wear. And from here you can see quite a lot of them. The problem is just that there are always some of them only in t-shirts and shorts, in summer dresses, in sandals, and then just beside them the others in winter coats, hats and so on without mentioning all those how are in between. The weather forecast doesn't help either with all those fahrenheits and miles per hour. So usually I wear too much, but recognize it after a few hundred meters of biking when I'm already totally sweaty. Or then not enough, and that I discover freezing too far away from home.
Yes, but when I finally succeed to go out it's fine. I really like the place. The air is very soft and pleasant, even when there is a cool or wet wind. There is noticeable proximity of the rivers and the ocean is somewhere near with its fishy mood. And there are all those strange shadows and refractions and reflexes on the walls and the streets. Smells, voices and noices, quite often unpleasant but well. With the pedestrians and passers-through I have still this feeling of new place, that I cannot imagine their life, what they will do in three hours or how they woke up last morning. Of course in the places where I'm used to, I don't know about them either but I have this maybe dangerous facility to imagine. Or even better I'm so used to those people that I don't need to imagine. I can recognize their smell, their clothes, their directions. Here it's still a new place, and in addition it seems that here is more diversity than usually is.
One thing that makes this place surprisingly familiar are the plane-trees. There are plenty of them in parks, on the streets and in house yards. They made the splendid alleies with rhythmical line of fanciful columns and spectacular sunshade full of gold and greenish spots. On the narrow one-way streets between amazingly tall brick walls they seem to share out more of the light then of shadow with their illuminated yellowish treetop. There are also shadowy acacias with their funny sprined pod under the branches, oaks and the others well known to me. I don't know why plane-trees made the biggest effect. And why I feel so cozy with them, a bit defiantly to all strangeness. Parisian nostalgia? Or just light?
L
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Floria Tosca on my mind
So let's go back in time to Tuesday. I had read the summary of the Puccini's opera just before leaving the house. It seemed to me that the plot is, well, not too complicated to follow. I was expecting a love/criminal story with of course the Finnish star in the main role, Karita Mattila as Tosca, of whom the posters have taken over the billboards in the entire city of NY.
As we arrived to the opera, my toes all crushed by my new shoes, I was feeling curious but not overexcited by the upcoming event (I've always wondered what is it that makes ladies cry in the opera, at least the ladies in films). The critics have blamed the director of the opera, Luc Bondy, of having made the stage and settings look cold and too lame for a big opera like this... Hmm, I found, as the show started, that there was nothing bothering me. Because when the music started, it didn't need anything to be added! I hope the strong emotions evoked by the singing of Mattila didn't have anything to do with patriotisme. Maybe not, because I wasn't the only one to adore it.
So as the opera continued, I melt. The arias were really beautiful and well sung. The jealousy, the murder and the despair were credibly played in all it's dramatization. The final scene even caused me some kind of an after shock, so I was a bit dizzy leaving the seat. The only thing I didn't like in the evening, were the long intermissions. Opera is apparently not only the place to listen to music but also to meet people. Or drink or spend time in a restroom. Or whatever people do on so long pauses. With all that time I got bored and noticed that the new shoes not only caused me ache but also wholes in my tights.
Luckily the performance was so good that I forgot all the discomfort. Instead, "Vissi d'arte, vissi d'amore" doesn't seem to leave me even after one week. I'm really happy about seing Tosca here.
E
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Sunday, October 4, 2009
first of October
I'm here since 4 days, E since a bit longer, lets say one month. E is already more or less settled, I'm new. Enthusiastic, ridiculous. I didn't saw too much, any touristic places beside biking down Broadway and Times Square or some paths in CP. But I'm impressed even when I go to the closest grocery. Well I'm excited. And there is so many things everywhere around and they all try to attract me. Apparently with a good effect.
Thursday I met the first Polish. On the Broadway and 111th street. An ageless lady with a remarkable composition of ribbons on her head. She was standing on a walkway damning and blessing the pedestrians: I wish your legs will burn in the eternal fire of Hell, shall your asses go straight to the most wet part of Heaven and so on. She asked also for the distruction of the Columbia University and other institutions nearby. Of course she didn't forget about blaming all passers-by for the degeneration of the world. And all that in a really impressive Polish, mixing the biblical and krebstone dicourse with a kind of dadaist poetics and a lot of succesfull bitter invocations. A Polish witch. Welcome on board!
Yesterday looking for a store (mysteriously become evanescent) we found out that our neighborhood is, or at least was at some point, the "little Hungary". Good to know. To celebrate that we made an investment in a Hungarian bakery. Surprisingly big investment but after all the cherry and cheese strudels were enough gorgeous for their price.
L
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)