There are times when you just have to put down the smartphone and this is that time. I have been trying to get my smartphone to work properly, chatting with Vanessa at Samsung. We used the last resort. Resetting my phone to factory defaults.
That meant I lost everything, photos, phone numbers, apps and whatnot. And Scrabble. And Netflix. I had two Scrabble games going for the past couple of weeks, won one by forfeit and lost another. It had been years since I last played Scrabble and I wasn’t as ferocious as I used to be. My ass, it was kicked. And I had taken to watching A Hard Day’s Night on Netflix occasionally on my bus ride into the city.
Still by linking my Facebook with my smartphone I was able to get something resembling my contact list again. Some names and numbers are lost, so if you do not hear from me anytime soon, you might want to give me a call. I am drawn to the little handheld device. It occupies my mind and demands my attention. Perhaps it is a waste of time.
Today I was up and about and headed into Manhattan to see the Vivian Maier exhibition at the Howard Greenberg Gallery on east 57th Street. I trooped on in in the 20 something degree weather, sat on a crowded bus, next to the wheel well. I decided not to sit directly on top on the wheel well, sitting on the aisle. Still, I held my bag in my lap should anyone want to sit next to me. No one did so I rode into the city in relative comfort while people stood all around me.
I marched up Eighth Avenue and walked over to the Smoke Scene where I could pick up a pack of roll ups as well as some papers. As I was leaving I was telling the guys behind the counter that I work for the cigar shack and we frequently send them customers since we don’t sell cigarettes.
They were just about to thank me when I heard the sound of a certain security guard with snot running down his face. This guy is a cantankerous old fool who thinks he is funny but really is just overwhelmingly bitter. And here he was covered in mucous trying to be funny once again.
At the cigar shack, Thomas wouldn’t have anything to do with this guard since he overheard him screaming into his phone about how he was going to do his woman in. I walked out of the store, wishing the guys a happy new year and telling the security guard to buy some tissues and wipe his face which would be crusty when he headed out into the cold air. Not that I cared.
I walked on over to 57th and Madison and took the elevator to the fourteenth floor. It was a revelation to see the photographs of Vivian Maier. So many similarities between her photos and the photos I’ve been taking the past few years. Of course I have the ability to post them here on this blog as well as Facebook, whereas Vivian Maier did not have that option.
I wandered around, looking at the 50 or so photographs on the wall and wondered if it was possible to be influenced by someone whose work I had never heard of or seen before. It was a brief visit and I headed out into the cold. I lit a La Flor Dominicana Air Bender and walked down Park Avenue, taking pictures as I was doing on my way to the exhibition.
An homage or perhaps a continuation of the photographs of Vivian Maier. I stopped by Bill’s building and he came down for a quick chat and kiss before heading to the bus terminal where I waited on a very long line.
I didn’t mind, I stood and read Will Hermes ‘Love Goes To Buildings on Fire’ which is a fun book about NYC music in the 1970’s from the Bronx to the Bowery with all stops in between. Recommended!