Every December I take the train up to Fifth Avenue and Fifty-Seventh and go look at the Bergdorf Goodman holiday windows.
It's weird up there and there is nowhere in the world that can remind you of how much money you don't have like Fifth Avenue and the bushes outside the Plaza Hotel are teeming with rats and the sidewalk outside Bergdorf Goodman reeks of horse shit from the carriages in Central Park, and that's New York for you. I felt very rock and roll when I left my house that morning in my falling-apart Cult shirt and tight black pants and beat-to-shit boots but in the mirror of Bergdorf Goodman I just looked poor. But that's okay. I am home now and I feel rock and roll again.
After I took pictures of the Bergdorf Goodman windows we looked up a ramen restaurant on my friend's Internet phone and a very old man came up to us and shouted "OH LOOK HERE I AM GETTING MY EMAIL FROM THE TOILET, HERE I AM WITH MY EMAIL, YOU PEOPLE ARE SO BORING," and then he tottered away.
I am posting these days late--a week late? two weeks late? I don't even remember--because it has been that kind of month, that kind of year--but pretend for me, wherever you are, that you are suspended in a moment of magic on a frozen sidewalk in New York, looking up with your mouth open a little, wishing for snow to catch on your tongue. Remembering that beauty is everywhere and especially in the most unlikely places.
Happy New Year to you, dear creatures. Here's to a hell of a 2013 for all of us.