They read scripted jokes about, "having to spend the rest of the flight on the wing if we don't keep our seats belted." Out the window, I saw miles of brown; this must be Brooklyn. This must be Queens. This must be the Bronx. This must be Jamaica. I really had no idea; everything was equally sullen, and lifeless, even in the sun. At LaGuardia, my chauffeur told me that in New York City, if you own a car, your chance of 'getting the girl' are improved "91 percent." He paused and said, "Maybe 93 percent." We drove down the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway. The first billboard read, "New York Life - The Cornerstone of Humanity" and all I could think of was - but there are people at every cornerstone here, what's the point? That's what New York is: people. Beyond that, it's just oblong vertical rectangles. The next billboard said, "Emporio Armani." And after that, "Bijon."
In Manhattan, it became dark even though thesun shone, and when I walked into the Park Hyatt, there were people everywhere; all dressed in black, white, grey and beige. Cell phones. Leather attaches. The walls were gold, the lamps were dim. Marble everywhere.
I checked in and since I had an hour before my room would be prepared, I went for the restroom. But you needed a hotel key to get in, so I explained to the concierge that I was a guest but didn't have a key.could he please let me in. He did, at what appeared to be a considerable task, so I tipped him. With time to kill, I noticed a long-bearded man with a funny hat, and so I followed him. Amazingly, he wasn't really going anywhere - just walking in circles around the Hyatt's marbled foyers. I had almost expected this: he looked concerned as you would imagine New Yorkers would look concerned.
I changed into a black suit and a black tie. After all, I am in New York. I walked into the ballroom, where I met up with my magazine staff (a transportation magazine) and squid and dumplings and "Oh, could I have a Macallans please?"
Soon, I was standing at the arch of the white marbled Grand Central Station. It is intensely modern, and the galley was giant. Every footstep echoed here, although there were hundreds of black, white and beige clothed bodies moving everywhere, every sound was a soft echo, a shuffle, an eerie quiet. For this, I liked Grand Central Station, and commented, "Feels like a scene from Gattaca."
"Don't see the connection," someone said. "Maybe, but not really," another said.
Soon, we were eating at TGIF's. New York is known for its great food: Italian, Indian, Mediteranean. But I was with the Magazine's tradeshow staff, who travel around the country all year long, and they couldn't even hail a cab to get us to the Rainbow Room. Late in the evening, back at the Hyatt, I stayed at the bar until early in the morning, talking to people in the transportation industry.
There were no gold chains or New Jersey accents. These guys were normal, and I was wondering about the comments; "New Yorkers are a different breed", "Just treat those New Yorkers like they treat you and they'll respect you."
At the Tradeshow, I introduced myself to a number of folks; a lot of talking for a day, and so at the end of the show, when editor Mr. Ziller said, "Do you want to go to the Transportation Party or the Museum of Modern Art?, I picked the latter. Without the hindrance of the show department, catching a cab was no problem. We ate at the All-Star Café on a company credit card, and when I washed my hands in the restroom, the bathroom concierge handed me towels and soap, so I felt obligated to tip him. We visited the Edward Ruscha pieced titled, "The Los Angeles County Museum on Fire" an oil and canvas prominently displayed not too far from Van Gogh's Starry Night.
Mr. Ziller explained that modern art was a movement from the 1910's and 1920's, and that post-modern art was a reaction and an extension to modernism; "Post-modern is about taking modernism and reshaping it; parodying it.
)
){kind=link}