So, living in New York City this summer has definitely been an interesting experience. There’s so much exposure to everything, it’s easy to find yourself thinking to yourself, ‘just when I think I’ve seen it all…’ This weekend was no different in that sense, which means it was different in almost every other sense. There was the hobo entertainer on the 1-train dropping 50 Cent verses and spitting indecent (and hilarious) Michael Jackson jokes (ask me if you want to hear a few). There was the guy at the club that got up in my face and started freestyling to me and my buddies about how Mexicans, Asians, Blacks, and Whites got to stick together (he was Black and my friends were Asian and White. So I guess I was rep’ing the Mexican crowd). Everything’s been incredible fresh. That was just Friday night, courtesy of Turntables on the Hudson on the Frying Pan Lightship. DJ Nikodemus, Marino, and Cato were awesome.

The Frying Pan is an old ship that’s been converted into a club, with multiple dance floors and chilling spots. It’s probably the most original venue I’ve seen. The whole establishment is dingy and classless, almost as if it were a Disney World ride set up to be that way. In reality, it’s just the old rusted innards of a 70+ year old ship. It sits out on the west side of Manhattan at pier 63, on the Hudson River. At one point the wind picked up and the boat started rocking back and forth. Eventually the party died out and we just sat around on some couches next to the ship, waiting for the sun to come up. When the sky started turning pink, we got up and walked over to a diner in the meat packing district for a little breakfast.
The following day, my friend and I took a trip down to Jackson Heights, often times called Little India because of all the brown people. I’ve never been there before, so it was a somewhat educational experience for me. All the shops sold either 22k gold, clothing, or cds/dvds. My friend looked in the back of one of the cd/dvd stores and commented on the fact that there was a stack of 9 VCRs stacked. It made me realize that it wasn’t much different from the Indian stores at home. Just, these ones were all side by side. One other thing about Jackson Heights, I’ve never seen an Indian grocery store quite as large as the ones out there. The mangos were so fresh and cheap (compared to the absurd 2 for $3 here in Harlem), but coming back from Queens and then switching trains at 42nd with a box of mangos in hand isn’t really ideal. After grabbing an $8 buffet at an Indian restaurant on 37th Ave. we took the 7-train back towards Manhattan, but stopped off at P.S.1, a contemporary art gallery inside a renovated public school building.

P.S.1 is affiliated by MoMA (Museum of Modern Art). The gallery had some crazy stuff, stuff that makes you realize that someone actually came up with the idea of whatever’s in front of you. One piece of a giant contraption that took up the entire room; you sat in it and it projected shadows through a thin film to make it appear as though you were driving along.
Outside the gallery, P.S.1 was hosting Warm Up 2005. They provide music and people go crazy. When we were walking out of the main building and into the court yard (which was packing shoulder to shoulder with people dancing and jumping up and down to the music), one of the security guards said that there were 7000 people there. The music was alright, it was all techno/trance (I don’t really know the difference. Basically, lots of heavy bass and a hook that just gets repeated over and over). The DJ spinning this Saturday was apparently from Berlin. So the sun eventually went down and we hopped back on the 7 and went home.
The next day I met up with some friends and grabbed some (overpriced) brunch. Shortly thereafter, my plan had been to go home and chill for the day. But my friend convinced me to come down to Coney Island with her because DJ Nikodemus and Cato were spinning on the boardwalk, right by the beach. The next several hours consisted of us trying to find me flip-flops and shorts. We walking in and out of several drug stores, but were unable to find and flip-flops. Apparently the 79 cent store only carries ladies flip-flops. At one point, we were looking inside a drug store, and my friend found a beach mat that would prove useful for when we got to the beach. So in true college student fashion, she stole accidentally walked out with it. She didn’t actually realize she still had it with her until 20 minutes later. So, to prevent myself from going home and lying on the couch, the beginning of the afternoon turned into scavenging for beach clothes. I borrowed someone’s flip-flops (I met him for all of 10 minutes) and a pair of shorts.
Took the long, arduous trip all the way down to Coney Island, which is at the bottom of Brooklyn. That was a first for me as well. Basically, Coney Island is a carnival town. The boardwalk novelties (read: rides and games) seem to push pretty far back into the actual town. The ocean (probably dirty toxic river water) was kind of cold, and not too refreshing. After getting there, we just laid around for a while, not far from the boardwalk spot where the DJs were spinning. Later on we went over and talked with the DJ’s a little while, and stuck around and chilled till they closed up shop around 9. And then the best part, we rode the Cyclone, the world first modern roller coaster. The machine is deadly. It’s run by shady employees trying to skim a few bucks off the top without management finding out. And frankly, I appreciate that. Because at 5 bucks for one ride, I would rather get as close to dying as possible. People in line (probably locals) were telling us about how pieces of the coaster or scaffolding fall off sometimes, during normal operation. The damn thing gives you more whiplash than a third world taxi. After your first ride, they’ll let you ride again for 4 bucks instead of 5. But their dirty little secret is, if you get off and walk past the guy who holds your bags and loose articles, he’ll offer you 2 for 5 dollars. So if it’s you and a friend, he’ll let both of you ride for 5 bucks. We told him all we had was 4 bucks and some change; he let us ride again, because all he really wanted was our money anyway, and something is always better than nothing. My guess is that they were pocketing the cash without the manager being the wiser.

After than we walked around the carnival for a bit and then took the train all the way back (somehow we were stupid and rode local all the way from Coney Island up to 116th street). I spent the twoish hours on the train educating myself about Savanna, Georgia (all my friend had with her beside what she was reading was a Lonely Planet travel guide for Savanna, Georgia). If anyone wants to road trip down to Savanna, now that I’m all educated and whatnot, just holler. Cause now that I know all the lowcountry slang, what they eat and drink, their history, and even a few of their ghost stories, we’ll be able to blend in, no problem.