Jennypennylane's blog

Steve, TruthNugget, et Moi

I do not know where to begin. I guess that’s always hard when you’re at the end. This is my last assignment unchecked on my to do list for college. The last thing to write before I pick up my cap and gown and head to Avery Fisher Hall to graduate. This post is also my final post for five classes with Steve Hutkins, the last post of four different blogged courses over the course of my academic career.

I have enjoyed blogging for these classes because I love writing, and this site has given me the perfect forum to reflect on both readings and my personal experiences of place, space, Manhattan, and Paris. I have tried to use this space as an academic and intellectual journal to document what I have learned, to capture ephemeral experiential knowledge I have gained over the years so that I may look back on it and remember. The act of blogging proved most useful for me for the abroad tutorial The Art of Travel. When preparing for my Colloquium, I looked back to my thoughts on books and films I covered in past blog posts. I was also able to remember the nearly indescribable feeling of living in Paris for four months, to remember how turned on I was by life and learning. All of these courses have enabled me to think and keep track on a serious academic level as well as a very personal, creative level. And already looking back on my time in college, I know these five classes have changed me and shaped me into who I am today.

As I have probably said many times before, I want to be a film editor. As I head out into an unscheduled, unplanned life of opportunity – the real world- I am taking my understanding of place, the concept of the city, and the artist within his or her surroundings with me. For now, I will edit anything, I just want to be better, to have this key filmmaking skill down. But in the end, or hopefully the middle, I hope to work on features that capture the essence of the city, just as Jean-Luc Godard’s “A Bout de Souffle” and John Schlesinger’s “Midnight Cowboy” and so so many others managed to do. I have always loved to travel and experience new cities, but studying with Steve enabled me to hone in on my true passion for cities, and living in Manhattan and Paris during my time at NYU showed me how I wanted to process my passion and turn it into a career and life goal.

I am inspired and eternally grateful.

MY SUNSET

Maybe we really do become New Yorkers. In my FINAL post, I covered many of the poignant aspects of Colson Whitehead’s “The Colossus of New York,” at least moments that moved me. He writes so candidly and honestly, it is as if he’s following YOU around and reading YOUR thoughts. Then you realize it is because as New Yorkers we have the same thoughts, experiences, etc. Even though we will not make eye contact with anyone on the subway, everyone around us is thinking, “if (I) had acted differently everything would be better,” and the train would be here already, whereas “on the opposite track, you gotta beat off trains with a stick,” (49). Once on the train, we all move to the same beat together, never acknowledging our synchronicity (57). We are a disjointed community, but in the end, we are a cohesive group with our little big city. We have the same little joys as well as the same great sadness, such as: “Forming an attachment to an umbrella is the shortest route to heartbreak in this town… We learn loss from umbrellas” (62). Sure this line may sound silly to others from elsewhere who have not experienced a wet downpour/windstorm with 300% humidity and a chance of hail. Just another day in old New York.

As Whitehead begins the book, “I’m here because I was born here and thus ruined for anywhere else, but I don’t know about you.… Maybe you came here for school… The city has spent a considerable amount of time and money putting the brochure together, what with all the movies, TV shows and songs—the whole If You Can Make It There Business” (3). So yes, I came here for school. I am finishing school today, right now; these blogs are all I have left before graduations tonight and tomorrow. While I’ve been here I have studied the movies and literature of New York, among other things, and helped create my own mythic Manhattan, rooted in reality as well as artistic renderings. I have my own New York, but I am not ready to leave and perhaps New York is the one that has me. I keep quoting Whitehead’s line, “maybe we become New Yorkers the day we realize that New York will go on without us” and maybe I am just trying to hammer into my own head that despite my best efforts to capture New York for myself, I am the one captivated and not wanting to say goodbye (10). No matter why you come, if you stay long enough, you become a part of it. You become just like the rest of the people you don’t say HI to on the train; like the broken, twisted rainbow of umbrellas littering the sidewalk on a damp and gray afternoon. New York is a mighty metropolis and I am hoping to take some of it with me, but even more so wishing that I could leave some of myself behind.

SPINterviewed by Z: my 15 seconds of fame

What inspired your written project?

I’m sill developing a writing style, and it was fun to play around with elements from both Frazier and Whitehead. Also, using digits instead of numbers written out (13 vs. thirteen) was an homage to Auster’s City of Glass. I wanted to paint a picture of a whole little world, similar to Ian Frazier’s essay “Canal Street.” You see all these different people but they are just in the background until an insider creates a moving picture of a location. Like Frazier regarding his immediate neighbors, I wanted to share a little background information on some people on my block, mixed with a little Whitehead flare- we are all experiencing the same things, why don’t we know each other? The way that people responded to the fire made us feel like maybe people DO care—kind of like Daniel Quinn in City of Glass.

Why did you decide to make a video?

As an aspiring film editor, I thought it would be great to play around with editing all these little Manhattan moments into one larger one, as all these small events are occurring at the same time. Yi-Fu Tuan discusses writers and artists evoking a sense of place more accurately than anyone. I guess I was trying to be an artist and portray MY New York.

What program did you use to edit the video?

Final Cut Pro

Where can I find the video?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xpHx5qH4Ls4

or

http://www.placestudies.com/blog/a-manhattan-moment

Where did you get the footage for the video?

I decided I wanted to use “found “ footage instead of shooting a whole new project so that it would be more organic. I used videos from my Sony Cybershot digital camera as well as some footage from my class in Tisch Open Arts – Fundamentals of Filmmaking 1. Since I’ve only had my current computer since late June 2008, the videos are pretty representative of my final year in Gallatin. I only used footage from Manhattan, but you see everything from Rockefeller Center to my house in Chelsea to Tompkins Square Park and the East River. It is certainly not a portrait of all of Manhattan, or even all of my Manhattan, but I feel that it evokes a sense of MY MANHATTAN, the feeling of my life here in some way. Or maybe in more than one way. I was hoping for it to be a cohesive montage.

Why did you use such a long Pearl Jam clip at the end?

Last summer my old friend Zack Newman followed Pearl Jam’s east coast tour for SPIN Magazine. I joined him for the Madison Square Garden shows. When Eddie Vedder began to sing “Better Man,” the energy and voices of the crowd overpowered him to the extent that he messed up the words and asking, “With your permission…” started the song from the beginning. It was a very powerful moment for me, and I felt that it best captured thousands of New Yorkers coming together in one common mindset, even for only a few too-short minutes. Click here for my embarassing video commentary shortly after the concert.

Pearl Jam @ MSG

Here is the video portion of my final project:

Firemen: by Liz M.

(Click here or on the photos to see my video project!)

The other night I was watching the latest James Bond flick, Quantum of Solace, with some of my roommates. Five of us total, four still awake. The new London import (“I just tried Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups for the first time. They’re brilliant!”) left the room. I thought he’d turned in. We struggled to focus…

“Is she the bond girl?”

“Wait who’s that guy?”

“I have no idea what’s going on…”

“Yeah I’m lost.”

“Maybe if you’d stop talking…”

“I’ll rewind.”

Our Brit had gone out for air. Usually around 2am on west 22nd the only company you’ll keep are some mice having a late night feast on your garbage. I guess the mice were not alone. Bounding up the stairs,

“Look out the window!”

Gathering around the windows facing the street. Two per window. Guy girl, guy girl. A cardboard box on fire. Presumably started by the homeless dude fanning the flames.

“Is that a 40?”

“Oh, don’t pour it—”

“Awww, duuude.”

Funny how emptying your booze on your fire doesn’t work out quite the same as a hose, eh? So yes, walk away, walk away… Down the driveway of THAT building? Really?? Hard to be surprised at this point, but come on buddy!

“Not a bad turnout –maybe people DO care.”

“Cops, firemen. Not a bad response time actually.”

“Okay, outside.”

“Quick! Get your camera!”

“I don’t wanna miss the show…”

Cops v. Perp, @ Our stoop: from my Blackberry

Just in time to watch six or so cops pick up the guy, slam him against the car in front of our house. The fire was across the street, in front of the dentist’s office, but suddenly our stoop is the best seat in the house. This is apparently a great way to meet the people you pass on the street every day without acknowledgement. The Israeli from a few doors down, all tight blue t-shirt and muscles. Cigarette and silver spoon in one hand, bowl of fruit-loaded cereal in the other.

“Do you want some? It’s soy milk!”

“Um, no thank you?”

“Can I use your phone to call the dentist?”

“Sure…”

“He said Eysh, that means fire!”

Apparently no one cares that I understand a bit of Hebrew. Oh well. Look away for one second, and now the Israeli is across the street, holding the smoke, cereal, spoon, and the borrowed phone. He allegedly “runs” our block, Mr. 22nd Street. Naturally, he is talking to the firemen as they attempt to break into the dentist’s office. Natural, right, maybe if he was not performing a balancing act.

Where there's smoke…: from my Blackberry, aussi

Back on the north side of the street with Mr. 22nd street.

“How do you spell your name?” “Well THAT’S a diplomatic way of saying you already forgot my name… So do you guys ever go to Chelsea Piers? I have free 1-week guest passes. How many of you are there? Okay great I’ll get five… It’s a shame how they treat rentals, come see the difference when the owner is the one living in the building.”

The Brit leaves. This time for the night. But three of us–girl guy girl—follow Mr. 22nd to his apparently bulletproof door (I didn’t test it…). Beautiful Turkish tile on the floors and walls. The floors donning two or three Persian rugs.

“I used to invest in real estate”

Ultimate Fighting Champion cannot be ignored on the enormous flat screen.

“I only date men who look like wrestlers, warriors. Why do you have a beard? Do you want to look like a Rabbi?”

“My mom’s a Rabbi…”

I try to steer his attention, as my roommate is getting uncomfortable. Mr. 22nd is far too intrigued by the attorney to spend more than a few moments on my attempts at discussing Hebrew and Rabbis. Granted, they are rarely topics I bring up with neighbors, strangers, anyone, but what else am I supposed to say to this guy?

Does it really take an inebriated homeless man setting a fire to meet the neighbors? It’s not like when something embarrassingly touristy happens while traveling and my mom’s go-to line of comfort is “Well, you’re never going to see these people again.” These are the people we see every day. The middle aged, slightly balding dad carrying a scooter down the steps, the lackluster of his “Come on,” not wanting to escape his air-conditioned denial as his young daughter bounds down the steps ahead of him shouting with an opposite tone to his, “It’s summer! It’s not spring, it’s summer!”

Because, really, where WAS spring? A couple weeks ago I brought out my winter coat during a couple of late night study session breaks. This weekend I read on my roof until my skin melted into a new, darker shade. This did not take long. This nine year old girl is thinking the same thing I am. And maybe the odd progression of the seasons is the least of my concerns, but I probably share some of the same thoughts as her dad, my roommates, Mr. 22nd, or even the poor homeless guy who tried to put out his fire with beer and ended up surrounded by the 5-0. Reading about this city through the eyes of Ian Frazier (Gone to New York: Adventures in the City) or Colson Whitehead (The Colossus of New York) or even a surrealist, postmodern vision of Paul Auster (City of Glass), how many times did I think, hey, that’s what I thought when I was on THAT train or in THAT intersection or THAT neighborhood. They name some seemingly unique circumstances—if you’re not a New Yorker. And I have always hesitated to call myself a New Yorker, not from a lack of wanting to belong to this vibrant metropolis, but out of respect for the true locals. I’ve always heard it takes 5 or 10 years in theory, but Carrie Bradshaw said the true natives could always spot their own kind. When I return to California in the fall, I will have only lived here a very loaded 4 years. But according to Whitehead, I may already be a New Yorker. I have been here long enough to watch some of my favorite hangouts disappear and apparently “(y)ou are a New Yorker when what was there before is more real and solid than what is here now” (Whitehead, 3-4). We all build our mythic New Yorks, and the probably intersect with the myths of others more than we will ever fully realize. I have been here long enough to connect to just about every phrase in some sections of The Colossus of New York. As an NYU student, the “Downtown” section hit hard. I know those kids. I have been some of those girls. And yes, I run into kids from my L.A. private high school on an almost daily basis even when I DON’T go out on a Thursday night.

My point is, if I’ve only lived here 3.5 years and find Colson Whitehead’s portrayal of Manhattan almost uncomfortably accurate, he’s probably not just reading my thoughts. He’s just had the same thoughts—as I have, you have, the smelly guy on the C has. Not all in unison, but at some point in time. No one will look at you on the train, but whatever you’re thinking right now, that dude thought the same thing 13 minutes ago, that woman was thinking it 22 years ago. No wonder we’re so lonely sometimes. If only we could coordinate our little moments, maybe we would understand how connected we truly are. New York is not lonely so much as a haven for untapped communal potential. But strangely, that’s how we like it.

The line that hit the hardest was that, “(m)aybe we become New Yorkers the day we realize that New York will go on without us” (10). I have to leave by the end of September. Maybe this fact is heightening my senses to embrace New York as my own, one last hurrah, or something less cliché... Or maybe I just know that it really will go on without me. I am just another young adult, thinking the same thoughts as everyone else here.

only living boyS in NY

According to the cover of Gone to New York: Adventures in the City, someone at the Los Angeles Times described Ian Frazier as “America’s greatest essayist.” I may not be much of a venerable critic, but I would not spend too much time arguing with this bold statement. He is at least ONE of the great American essayists. I actually vaguely remember reading his On the Rez in high school…I digress…

What makes Frazier’s collection of essays, written between 1975 and 2005, so powerful, is his fearless approach to exploring his surroundings. He draws you instantly into his little New York world (and beyond), weaving it together with the little New York worlds of those around him. That’s more or less what we are as New Yorkers, small entities of memory, culture, history, intellect, emotion, occasionally intersecting with others, physically or within thought, to create a diverse urban community. As individuals in our day-to-day endeavors, we may be more or less insignificant, go essentially unnoticed. But we prove (do we have anything to prove? Need to prove anything? Probably. At least in theory…) our worth, our value when we collide with other human entities of equal or similarly sized auras. Validation? Recognition.  How many people have felt like “The Only Living Boy in New York?” (<== click for video)

Frazier shares a great deal of typical daily occurrences, like going for a walk through boroughs, as well as quite bizarre or unusual events, such as his walk down Route 3 from New Jersey to New York. What I find most moving about the collected essays as a whole, is not how personal (and personally revealing) his writing feels, although that is certainly a fabulous quality in an essayist, but more the way in which we are suddenly privy to the stories of so many people who have touched Frazier’s life in some way—not to mention the way a humanized New York City has deeply effected him. We not only learn of tender moments between Frazier and Brooklyn neighbors and passersby, but gain the background stories of so many who have moved him to write candidly about this amazing city – from his Israeli landlord on Canal Street to the tragic urban hero Clifford Holland.

The French verb essayer means “to try,” and Frazier succeeds. His topics do not always lend themselves to particularly moving material, although some certainly do, but he has done his homework and seems to give credit where it is due. Ugh, more clichés—forgive me. He seems to get lost in those who have moved him, either face to face, or from a story he is just passing along to anyone to will listen.

Frazier made me wish I knew more about my “friends” at Murray’s Bagels – they are always happy to see me (I’m not the kind of person who assumes such things, but in the chaos that is this popular haven, their faces certainly light up when they ask how I am), know my orders, know I value my sleep (“You’re early today!”), and notice when I have been trying to cut down on carbs (“We’re you out of town?”). They even gave me free Matzah during Passover (“A side of cream cheese and… are you selling…” “No but is that what you want?”) But if they know my name, it’s from looking at my credit card. I see them more than I see some of my closest friends, and I don’t think we’ve ever been properly introduced.

"We Don't Toast"

Here are the photos I wanted to use for my original post on the second half of Jackson. I had to get them off an old computer over spring break. And then I forgot about them. But I think they're worth sharing even now out of context. I took them in July 2003 by the Tuolumne River at Camp Tawonga near Yosemite.

My Counselors

Tawongans @ the Tuolumne Can't you just picture us listening to Neil Young's "Down by the River" and the rest of "Everybody Knows This is Nowhere"?

Jeopardy: 1 day after my Colloq

In this city of lonely people, perhaps we are more connected than we realize. I am officially lost within our city of glass… Paul Auster’s City of Glass, which I first read either in AP English Lit or the year before in American Voices Honors (either way I went to a pretty cool high school), has always been a comfort to me. I have always had a knack for noticing all of the likely worthless connections between movies, books, and the world around me. My overworking observing mind was great while I was preparing for my Colloquium (actual text message: “I’m overwhelmed by intertextualities”), but generally, it’s more just a burden. Auster’s strange, frustrating, postmodern with a dash of surrealism, detective novel does not give many people a warm, fuzzy feeling. And I’m not saying that’s what I get out of it, but it certainly makes me feel like I’m not the only one thinking these types of thoughts – always connecting the invisible dots.

In relation to Waldie and various other readings this semester… Check out this photograph I took on my Blackberry (hence the lacking picture quality) from the plane as I flew into Las Vegas. This gridded Suburban landscape is just beyond the Las Vegas Strip.

Vegas Grid: What the tourists only see from the air

and below an even worse quality photograph of the Strip from the air. It is really surrounded by Suburbs straight out of the Weeds opening theme (click for the Randy Newman version). I guess I'm sort of fascinated by this "unreal" real place that takes so much from other locales. What does it say about our culture? Vegas Skyline: Surrounded by Suburbia

New York, New York on the Vegas Strip: It doesn't even LOOK real (photo by JpL)

Well I suppose this blog post is a fitting forum to discuss some quotations and ideas that I had prepared for my Colloquium – Fortunately or unfortunately, I did not need my notes as often as I had anticipated. If I had been asked exactly where I wanted to start, I was planning to offer the following quotation from the epilogue of Yi-Fu Tuan’s Space and Place: The Perspective of Experience:

Feelings and intimate experiences are inchoate and unmanageable to most people, but writers and artists have found ways of giving them form. Literature, for example, is full of precise descriptions of how people live. The academic disciplines themselves yield abundant experiential data that deserve our closer attention (202).

Tuan has a habit of bringing to our attention that which would have been obvious if we has only stopped to think about it. In the case of the above quotation, I found my Rationale, Colloquium, and I suppose my Concentration and general course of study validated when reading Tuan’s words. During my Colloquium, we discussed many aspects of portrayal and redefinition of both New York City and Paris, drawing on both literature and film. I believe that the creation of these two cities as mythic concepts derives first and foremost in experiential knowledge of these two vibrant cities. Both Paris and New York have innumerable layers of history (granted, Paris has been around a lot longer…) that make these constantly moving metropolises what they are today. But when I say history, I mean everything you find in a standard textbook along with all aspects of culture as well as individual perception and a side of topography. But when considering these cities as singular entities, if that is even feasible, New York and Paris are certainly greater than the sums of their parts. This synergy comes from their auras. As wholes, they can be more or less deconstructed, but there is that certain je ne sais quoi that can only truly be exposed through art. I have noticed countless times that those who best capture the essence of either city are talented (is that word too cliché?) artists—writers, filmmakers, what have you.

As per our class discussion yesterday at the Christopher Street Pier, New York is perhaps a city of individuals who share common thoughts and experiences. We laughed at the time, it even became a running joke for the rest of the afternoon for those of us who stayed in the sun a while after class was over. But I think there is a great deal of truth in this collective identity that seems to harshly oppose what we consider our idiosyncratic individualities. In just about any book, film or even song that comes readily to mind about New York, I am struck by common themes that come up to some degree almost every time. For example, I find in so many portrayals of New York City a similar touching and beautiful loneliness. If we are all lonely, and it shines through so frequently, how does that fit in with defining New York as its own humanized place in the world?

And on a totally tangential note, here’s a question that came out of my Colloquium: What is it about Paris and New York that make them worthy of being the only two currently major cities to be represented in Las Vegas? How are there senses of place duplicated and/or lost in their reproduction?