Staccato romantic

I want to fall in love in New York City.

MoMA is great, the Met is even better. I can't decide between the Met and the National Gallery. I think I'll go with the National Gallery because I felt like spending even more time there, while somehow the Met's unfriendliness and in some ways shabbiness irritated me.

It has been good to see Alex.

Alex, disapproving

Baltimore yesterday in the daytime was a great contrast to the previous day. The weather was gorgeous. I took the subway around everywhere. The American Visionary Art Museum, as recommended by Anthea from the museum, was amazing. The people behind the art are almost as interesting as the art itself, with their psychic visions and vivid dreams about Pakistani starfleets. Kenny Irwin might be my new favourite artist just for coming up with the hilarious concept of Pakistanis driving interplanetary taxis far in the future. Just like they do here.

Searching for parking this morning was a near-suicidal task. Driving here has its own challenge. The people in California are crazy but the streets are wide. Because most of the cab drivers are from the Third World and will not hesitate to hit you or honk at you, this is the closest one comes in America to driving in Saudi Arabia.

Alex has been working overtime. She was supposed to get off at 5. I've stalked her and am sitting at a Johnny Rockets near her place of work, drinking the Chocolate Madness shake. I'm mad for chocolate.

On my trips to museums across the country, I've seen Head of a Woman (Fernande) by Picasso four times. I'm tired of it.

Philip Guston is amazing. Henri Fantin-Latour is stunning.

I wish I was a better photographer.

A man handed me a flier on a street corner. I took it. I then stood off to one side, held my camera at the hip and took pictures of him trying to hand fliers to other people. Nobody took one. Eventually he made eye contact with me. I held it and I smiled. He walked up slowly, said "Pictures?" I tried to lie, badly, I said "Buildings." He said "No" and walked off back to the corner. I continued standing, he stared at me a couple of times and then took off down the street. He looked back nervously. I regretted bothering him.




I cut into traffic this morning and got a series of loud honks from a cab. They continued as I raced down the side street. I don't know how close he came to hitting me.

Ariel took me into the digitization room where she works at the Walters in Baltimore. She's taking pictures of old Islamic texts and books. I got to see a Quran from the 9th century. Their rig for photography is an amazing piece of custom hardware with a very high definition custom-built camera. The museum itself has a lot of historical and classical art. Beautiful space.

I'm terrible at this stalking. This is Alex's old workplace. Well, she has had four jobs since she moved to New York. I can't be expected to keep track. She's not too far and she's going to walk here and meet me.

Lovely women here. I was here in the winter last time and in any case was dating Alex. Now they are all out and beautiful in their finery. Somehow though I feel like this is a city full of lonely people. I don't think I'll ever live in New York City. But I'd like to, if only to be deliciously lonely along with the rest of the populace.

Cormac McCarthy writes some blood-soaked books. This book is bludgeoning me. Blood Meridian indeed.

I'm glad I finally got a drunken phone call from Portland. Thank you Stefan for remembering me in your cups. And the rest of you just need to drink more.

The people in Baltimore are very friendly. They make eye contact. They nod. They say, "How ya doin'?" It's got a bit of the south somehow. It's great to walk into a subway car and see no white people.

It sounded like all of France had decided to go to the Met with me. They stood proprietorially in front of the Monets, the Manets, the Cezannes. They disdained Picasso with facial and verbal expressions of distaste and dismissal.

On a side street, a father complains to his daughter that he's spending all the money. She says she bought her own MetroCard. The mother comes out of the store wearing a new coat and the conversation is forgotten.

People look at other people here. It's fun. They look at my camera. They look at me. I look at them. I hold eye contact. They look away. Some don't. Maybe I look like a tourist. Maybe I look funny.

My new hat got its first compliment today. I should have talked to her longer. She liked Edward Hopper.

I'm tired. I'm happy-sad.


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