Stay-cation
Five boroughs in five days -- whee!

Day 1: The Bronx
Pensive baboons and relaxed grizzlies at the Bronx Zoo.


Plus, a peacock sitting on a throne of trash, and a pondering fowl.



The zoo was followed by an hour or two whiled very pleasantly away at the Strand, away from which I found myself carrying the last Harry Potter installment and a 1939 WPA history of New York.

Day 2: Manhattan
Harry Potter. All day. Plus work (ugh).

Day 3: Brooklyn
After some more work-related stress in the morning, I finally made it out to the lesser known but more critically praised work in the Olmsted-Vaux oeuvre: Prospect Park. At first, because there weren't many people around, I was convinced I'd be murdered, wandering around in the woods. A cop car almost ran me over as I approached this bridge:


I wasn't sure whether to be glad to see the police patrolling, or scared. But I pushed on, and eventually wandered into more populated areas of the very large park (585 acres -- Central Park covers 843 acres).

Even with the dogwalkers, runners, and families, it wasn't that populated.


A few minutes after I took this picture, I stopped to watch an old-looking male swan beat his wings, honk and waddle threateningly toward two apparent competitors on his turf. A woman and her little girl were sitting on a bench near the old bird, and when he started defending his territory, the woman screamed, "I'm scared! Laura, come here!" and ran toward me, holding her daughter's hand. (Maybe she thought I would beat them off for her?)

Swans are big birds, I'll grant you that, and so, in a moment of solidarity, I turned toward her and said, "Kinda scary, aren't they?"

"What?" she panted. "Yeah, they are!"

At that moment, the old swan chose to head in our direction, flapping his wings and braying, and the lady freaked out. "Oh my god -- someone help me! Someone help!" she positively shrieked in my ear, and took off when the irascible bird was about two feet away from us. I stood still, figuring it wasn't interested in me (and that I could probably win a throwdown, if it came to it).

The old bird irritably waddled toward the water and swam away. The child, no doubt, will in 20 years wonder where her fear of fowl came from.

I came out of the park at Grand Army Plaza, which features the biggest damn arch ever, and this comely pair behind it.



Woman: Oh darling, isn't it just wonderful that we're standing here for all to admire?

Man: It's flipping freezing out here. And I'm getting carpel tunnel from having my hand in this awkward position.

Woman: But dear, it shows how deliciously manly and veiny your hand is.

Man: What is this flipping thing, any way? Are we supposed to be sitting on it? Why is it here?

Woman: It's art, darling.

Man: I'd rather have my hand on your ass. Another thing: Why am I hanging out in the breeze like this? It's unseemly.

Woman: I don't know, darling, but so am I. Isn't it fun?

Man: This blows.

Day 4: Queens
Little India is in Jackson Heights, so Joiner and I went there to look at the intricate gold jewelry and richly colored saris, and to stuff ourselves with Indian food. And I found some potentials for curtains, which I sorely need.


It's washed out in this picture -- it's actually more gold-colored in real life. I couldn't decide between that and this --


-- so I decided I'd come back next week. Since it's only a 10-minute subway ride away from me, I may actually do it!

After late lunch/early dinner, Joiner and I went to P.S. 1, the contemporary art center in Long Island City, and saw some disturbing feminist art, including a video of Yoko Ono sitting in a chair while people came up to her and cut away her clothes. The funny thing about that? I actually saw it a few years ago, at an Ono retrospective in Seoul, of all places. I still remember my favorite piece from that show; it was a hinged stepladder which, in the original exhibition, included an invitation to visitors to climb it. Upon climbing it to the top, the visitor was able to read the small, typed message taped to the ceiling above. That message: "Yes."

Day 5: Staten Island
Staten Island seems very mysterious and romantic to me, which no doubt Staten Islanders would laugh their heads off about. But it's the least populated borough, the only one that has its own, free ferry, and the only borough with its own Yankees team (the Staten Island Yankees -- a farm team for the other, more famous Yankees), and it just seems very... underrepresented in local lore.

There doesn't seem to be much to do there for tourists, but there is a weird little museum of Tibetan art there, founded in 1947 by a woman named Jacques Marchais --


-- which is situated near a picturesque lighthouse.


The museum was a fine use of an hour, which does not include the 90 minutes each way to the museum from my house. That's far to go for a little one-roomed museum. But with views of the Statue of Liberty,
Manhattan, the Hudson, and three bridges spanning the East River,

not to mention the wonderful piles and industrial grittiness of the ferry and terminals,


who can really complain? The ferry ride itself was a magnificent experience, not just for the views, but for the feeling of being part of an experience that countless New Yorkers and tourists have taken part in since 1905. As we approached Manhattan, the sun broke out in patches, a few minutes at a time, and I could see the patchwork of architecture in Wall Street and Battery Park -- solid, respectable brick, stately marble, sleek, cold glass and mirrors of the modern age, the odd church steeple poking out from between skyscrapers. Looking at those buildings, I felt a rush of respect, awe, and affection for New York, for all the millions of people who had built, lived and worked in, slept and quarreled in, spawned and died in those buildings. It was like riding a wave of history, like coming back from outer space, where you can see just where everything fits in. The grand sweep of existence. All from the Staten Island Ferry.


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