My long-time roommate and good friend, Emily, has recently completed a 365 blog in which she took a different picture everyday for a whole year, starting January 1, 2010. This is her latest blog, combining those photos with many more that she’s taken over the years. Her photography is eclectic, creative and inspired. There are a lot of photos, but I recommend to anyone reading this to take the time to look through them.
You can view her 365 here: http://emturn365.tumblr.com/
A deaf man told me last night, or rather wrote to me on a piece of cardboard as I was ordering an éclair from Sugar, a 24 hour Venus Fly Trap for someone with my addiction, that Obama would be at Katz’s Deli today, only he spelled it Obamo so it took me a few minutes to figure out what he was talking about. Obamo? I tried to guess sign language. It doesn’t ring a bell.
I didn’t think much of it when he told me. I’ve heard from a million people that Katz’s Deli has really good food. In fact, I’ve heard it’s famous. I’ve never been there myself as it’s a little pricey, but I’ve heard it’s good for special occasions, and if the President was visiting New York, Katz’s was definitely a good spot to grab a bite, for the experience if nothing else.
It wasn’t until I’d gotten my morning bagel, hold the coffee, that I started noticing the metal gates and policemen lining the streets. I purposefully didn’t get coffee so that I’d have something to look forward to between classes when I’d go to the Mudd Truck parked a block away from my classroom to trade a dollar fifty for a cup of black Americano from the cute boys that worked there. With cream cheese gluing my mouth shut, I asked a police officer what was going on.
“The President”, he replied, only I heard “prisoner”, so I nodded and continued walking as if this was perfectly normal.
A prisoner, wow! I thought secretly. Must be very high security—a child rapist and killer perhaps—perpetually on PCP. Has guns hidden under his skin, knives under his toenails, armed even when naked, very unpredictable. And then I remembered. The president is eating lunch at Katz’s Deli, and it all made sense again.
I expected the police pollution to lighten up as I got farther and farther away from the Deli, but the security seemed to get tighter and tighter and the only thing that was lightening up was the amount of traffic and the number of trash cans. I had been holding my bagel wrapper for six blocks and did not come across a single one. Were they trying to impress Obama? “No trash here, Mr. President. This is the Lower East Side, we thought trash was only in the movies.” It was odd seeing the traffic cleared too. All of Bowery was blocked off, and I wondered if there would be a parade. I had to flash my NYU ID before I got to walk between 4th and Astor and I felt cool, like I was part of a secret society—one of the chosen ones. I nodded at the police officer as I showed him the evidence that I belonged, and looked at him in such a way that said I knew we were both thinking the same thing: How pathetic—these other fools, trying to walk up Bowery from 4th street. As if they’d ever be allowed.
It wasn’t until after my class that I got really peeved at this outward display of presidency. On Bowery, I could only go so far before a metal gate and two cops blocked my way, and the Mudd Truck was beyond the barrier. I tried flashing my NYU ID at them, but they didn’t understand its implications and told me I had to walk around. I only had 13 minutes until my next class and as I wandered desperately in search of a café that would sell me what seemed now to be the object of a suddenly heroin-like addiction, I wondered why Obama would want the streets cleared anyway. It wasn’t a very “New York” thing to drive on cleared streets. In fact, it wasn’t a very “New York” thing to drive at all, and if he’d come in from JFK, he could have taken the J train all the way to Essex St. for only $2.25 and he would have only had to walk a couple blocks.
