New York Stories 3

Honestly, where are my manners? I haven’t even shown you my picture gallery, you must be frantic with anticipation. Well, wait no longer – here it is!

To be honest it’s probably of no interest to anyone but me, it's just lots of shots of the hotel interior and some of my favourite sights from downtown Manhattan.

I loved staying at the Chelsea – my room was huge and I had a balcony. I enjoyed pushing my way through the slack-jawed sightseers in the lobby with an impatient “resident coming through” look of distraction. There’s a book you can buy about the history of the hotel and all the famous people who have stayed there, I’d like to buy a copy and then spend another week there, tiptoeing through the halls as I read it.

In fact, tiptoe through the halls is just what I did on Sunday when I decided to go exploring. Took the elevator up to the 10th floor then walked back down slowly, checking out the art works on the walls and the portraits and letters from some of the more famous ex-residents. I particularly liked this print of Victor Bockris that was accompanied by a letter he had written thanking the staff for an enjoyable visit.

I was staying in room 121 which means that (cue spooky dah-dah-DAH music) I was just down the hall from room 100 where Sid killed Nancy in ’78. I went down to try and find it and sure enough, there is a sinister looking door locked tight that has no number. I tried to peep though the keyhole but there was nothing to see, and then I got the willies and ran away.

Sunday was a quietish day, I sat in Washington Square Park watching the doggies, then went to some of my favourite haunts – St Marks Place, the Bowery and the gay area round Christopher Street. Went into the Oscar Wilde Memorial Bookstore that is sadly a little cramped for comfortable browsing. Also, there is a positively TERRIFYING sales woman who stands in the middle of the store and *demands* that people ask her for assistance. Thankfully, the sweet boy behind the counter was more welcoming and I emerged with a novel by James St James, which I am currently devouring with pleasure.

The evening was spent watching Taylor Mac at Here Arts Center performing the (ahem) “world premiere” of the Young Ladies of… show he did at Battersea a few months ago. I had messaged him that I was coming over but he had forgotten, so I was thrilled when he suddenly screamed “OH HI!!” when he spotted me sat in the audience. Then he made me go up for a photo as he introduced me as, “My stalker from London.”

The show has changed a little since Battersea, the beginning is very different and the ending less harrowing. It doesn’t really lend itself to repeated viewing the same way as “Be(a)st of”, largely because I see it more as a drama than a comedy. To be honest, when he asks questions like, “I wonder how my father would feel if his son grew up to be a daughter?” I get really annoyed when people start laughing.

Had a brief chat with him after but he seemed so tired and his mum was over on a visit, so we left them in peace and I went back to my hotel to sink bourbon.

Monday I awoke feeling physically exhausted, but the last day’s always a weird one.You check out of the hotel and have 5 or 6 hours to spare, but you can’t relax because you’re always clock watching. I went round to Justin’s place to hang out with him, his cat and his adorable new boyfriend, Nathan. Nathan is a musician who appears to live an enviable, modern-day Cockettes kind of lifestyle in San Francisco - he is soon to go on tour with his band, riding a big bus around America and playing in lots of little backrooms and bars.

We had food then went for a walk along the Hudson and they showed me the remains of what used to be the sex piers in the seventies. It all felt very seedy and Village People.

I’d never seen the river before and it was a nice way to end the trip, it’ll be a while before I can afford to go back again, so I’m savouring the mental image.