When I moved to New York City three years ago, I had little in mind other than to disappear. My wife Siri died in April 2003 and I spent the following year trying to kill myself indirectly via substance abuse and then cleaning up my act by going sober. In February 2004 a friend of my neighbor in Los Angeles was visiting from France and hearing her talk of her yearly visits to NYC made me realize that I should think of going there. A few months later, I was in New York to stay.
New York has fired me up ever since I first became aware of its presence. Lately, I have been watching a PBS program called NEW YORK, A Documentary Film. (Talk about prosaic.) Episode 4 just ended and before I went to bed I wanted to write a little bit. I am watching the show courtesy of Netflix. I don’t watch TV, but I do watch movies. Since I moved to Brooklyn last year, I have been catching up mostly on the cinema of Japan, but when I saw a recommendation on Netflix for this NYC series, I jumped. It’s a fantastic look at the history of the city going all the way back to the original Dutch settlers.
The filmmakers hold little back. All the beauty and ugliness of the city and its amazing history are on display. Released in 1999, the 14 hour long series is free of the foreshadowing that is unavoidable when talking about the history of New York since 11 September 2001.
When I sat on a rock last night waiting for the fireworks, hunkered under my raincoat, hoping along with the other spectators in Brooklyn Bridge Park that the rain would please stop soon, I noticed how I have never gotten over just looking at the city. New York City is the most beautiful city I have ever seen. I think San Francisco is probably second, but I don’t feel in love with SF the way I do with NYC; I love her like a person. And I think the grand old city loves me back, in it’s own inimitable way.
Goodnight, New York.
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