Mr. blue sky

There are days when I am just happy to exist and be in that exact moment and place.  New York is so full of different lives, and then just as suddenly, you find yourself alone with it.  The city offers these brief moments of intimacy, and I am happy when I get to experience them.

Electric Light Orchestra - Mr. Blue Sky

The bike song

I had not ridden my bike much until a few years ago.  It sat for a while in storage on Staten Island.  In the suburbs, beyond a certain age, a bicycle was a leisure activity.  The change in location to Brooklyn gave it a much more prominent fixture in my life.  I was able to independently take charge of my commute, my path through the city.  Whereas I had been a messenger, the bike was a tool of trade, now it offered freedom to explore.

I had grown up in a typical poorer immigrant existence, but my family outfitted me and my sister with bikes.  My dad, though not much of a driver, fervently explored Staten Island with me by bike.  We must have looked ridiculous, as he would ride my bike, and I rode my sister's - a bright pink and white single speed.  But that exploration of covering and charting each street on two wheels is something I still very much enjoy.

Mark Ronson & the Business Intl - The bike song.

Hem of your garment

This was a nice surprise to see.  I was on my way to get breakfast (Le District sells a sea salt brioche that I can get with some buutter) and came across this.  Even if it is a sponsored ad, I love it when art intervenes eith everyday life.  Commuters that normally rushed through stood next to me, awestruck.  Some took photos, a man in a suit deliberately paced around it in a circle, children ran up gawked, and pointed to it so their parents would not miss the object of their attention.

Cake - Hem of your garment.

Little boxes

One of my simple pleasures is to see the wide expanse of a city spread out before me.  I like to train my eyes on different neighborhoods, different buildings, comforted by the knowledge that people I know are going about their day.  To know that there is a shared existence on the same plane, in a similar geography is so fun to think about...what are they doing...what are they thinking or doing at that precise moment? 

Malvina Reynolds - Little boxes.

As time goes by

This past weekend, my wife and I attended a wake for a friend's father and went to an 80th birthday party for my wife's aunt.  In between, we stopped over to Big Wong for breakfast.  I had found out that it was closing, and so wanted to eat a last Cantonese breakfast there.  We had beef brisket noodles and a side of friend  cruller wrapped in rice noodles.  I later found out that the restaurant was closing that same Sunday evening.  The staff did not seem to betray this fact when we were there, swiftly packing up orders, scooping up sauces and foil containers for patrons.

My mom and my grandma both used to take me here, a respite from the long haul shopping trips where they picked up groceries for the week before heading back to Staten Island.  For me, it was one of the few places that connected me back to Hong Kong, simmering "dishwater" broth with wontons sitting atop of shrimp noodles.  It felt the same as when I used to go to the market with my mom, a warm stool amid the bustle and clamor around us.  I'd sprinkle white pepper on the noodles, sometimes sneezing from and overly vigorous shake.

Restaurants close all the time in New York, and in time, something will replace it.  I hope that the new occupant bridges some fond memories for other visitors in the new space.

Herman Hupfield - As time goes by.

Somebody that I used to know

A single young female tourist approached me and my wife yesterday in Dumbo, asking where best to photograph the bridges, and we obliged in taking her around the neighborhood.  It was bitterly cold outside, and we walked her through Brooklyn Bridge Park, the wind whipping and thrashing until my head started to ache with numbness.  She asked us to take many pictures of her so she could show her family back in Paris what she did on her last day in New York.  It was great to see how excited she was, and how awed she was by the views in the neighborhood.  It reminded me of how we used to be visitors to the same place, not residents, and likely had the same reaction to the area.  We walked her back towards the subway, and parted ways, never getting even her name.

Elliot Smith - Somebody that I used to know.

At the bottom of everything

It's been one year of living in Dumbo, and I have mixed feelings about the neighborhood.  The area is a bit of a retail corridor and tourist destination, but lacking in some essentials.  I can buy bespoke leather goods, or visit one of the six coffee shops in the area, but there are no supermarkets or libraries.  The Christmas vacation gave me a chance to explore a bit more, and I did find some arts organizations located in Dumbo, so there is some hope yet.

Bright Eyes - At the bottom of everything.