an open letter
...to New York City.
O New York! Why must you torment me so? You know, don't you, that I have a conference paper to write (still being under the delusion that I can maintain a dual professional identity as an academic and full-time, um, advocacy coordinator) this week? And yet not only do you distract me with the arrival of spring, but you tempt me with this array:
First, the Taste of Chinatown, with one and two-dollar plates of Chinese, Vietnamese, Malaysian, Thai, and Indonesian deliciousness available all afternoon. In other words, cheap and abundant Green Papaya Salad. (I will do all sorts of unmentionable things for green papaya salad, including, on occasion, actually making it myself, which involves tedious papaya-shredding and stinking up the kitchen with fish sauce.) My belly will be aching by five o'clock.
Then, Suhkdev Sandhu's mini-fest of British-South Asian film, which is going on at the NYU Cantor center and is all FREE. I plan to see The Road to Guantanamo today, at last (I seem to recall that one of the actors was a tutorial-mate of Buchu's, no?) and might perhaps stay for The Warrior afterwards. Because, did I say it's FREE, and Irfan Khan just demolished me in The Namesake. He was the best thing about that movie (though I fell in love with Tabu too, and the soundtrack) and The Warrior was apparently his breakthrough film.
(Incidentally, I recommend Sandhu's book London Calling: How Black and Asian Writers Imagined a City--engaging, informative, and at times deliciously snarky, if also rather messy on the whole.)
Next week gets even more treacherous as of Wednesday: it's time for PEN World Voices. Last year I could just re-arrange my teaching schedule and hang around listening to writers talk all day (and I wrote about it here and here). This year, though, I'll be busy 9-5 working on memos and running around the UN with Zimbabwean dissidents and calling reporters &tc. But I am still hoping to go see Saadi Youssef, David Grossman, Abdulrazak Gurnah, Vikram Chandra, Nadine Gordimer, and a few others. Details TBA.
Finally, as if that weren't enough, the Tribeca Film Festival starts the same day. I suppose I can be glad the festival organizers have made this an easier choice, by raising the ticket price to $18 for most screenings--that's priced me out, sadly. I will just pray some of the films become available elsewhere soon, though I may still sneak out to catch Eytam Fox's new feature, and a Turkish film that probably won't be getting Netflixed anyday soon.
Hmm. Maybe I can write the paper on Tuesday? (And yes, I'm aware that I'm complaining about an embarrassment of riches. It's all a plot to tempt the rest of my friends into moving here too.)
O New York! Why must you torment me so? You know, don't you, that I have a conference paper to write (still being under the delusion that I can maintain a dual professional identity as an academic and full-time, um, advocacy coordinator) this week? And yet not only do you distract me with the arrival of spring, but you tempt me with this array:
First, the Taste of Chinatown, with one and two-dollar plates of Chinese, Vietnamese, Malaysian, Thai, and Indonesian deliciousness available all afternoon. In other words, cheap and abundant Green Papaya Salad. (I will do all sorts of unmentionable things for green papaya salad, including, on occasion, actually making it myself, which involves tedious papaya-shredding and stinking up the kitchen with fish sauce.) My belly will be aching by five o'clock.
Then, Suhkdev Sandhu's mini-fest of British-South Asian film, which is going on at the NYU Cantor center and is all FREE. I plan to see The Road to Guantanamo today, at last (I seem to recall that one of the actors was a tutorial-mate of Buchu's, no?) and might perhaps stay for The Warrior afterwards. Because, did I say it's FREE, and Irfan Khan just demolished me in The Namesake. He was the best thing about that movie (though I fell in love with Tabu too, and the soundtrack) and The Warrior was apparently his breakthrough film.
(Incidentally, I recommend Sandhu's book London Calling: How Black and Asian Writers Imagined a City--engaging, informative, and at times deliciously snarky, if also rather messy on the whole.)
Next week gets even more treacherous as of Wednesday: it's time for PEN World Voices. Last year I could just re-arrange my teaching schedule and hang around listening to writers talk all day (and I wrote about it here and here). This year, though, I'll be busy 9-5 working on memos and running around the UN with Zimbabwean dissidents and calling reporters &tc. But I am still hoping to go see Saadi Youssef, David Grossman, Abdulrazak Gurnah, Vikram Chandra, Nadine Gordimer, and a few others. Details TBA.
Finally, as if that weren't enough, the Tribeca Film Festival starts the same day. I suppose I can be glad the festival organizers have made this an easier choice, by raising the ticket price to $18 for most screenings--that's priced me out, sadly. I will just pray some of the films become available elsewhere soon, though I may still sneak out to catch Eytam Fox's new feature, and a Turkish film that probably won't be getting Netflixed anyday soon.
Hmm. Maybe I can write the paper on Tuesday? (And yes, I'm aware that I'm complaining about an embarrassment of riches. It's all a plot to tempt the rest of my friends into moving here too.)
posted by kitabet at 10:08 AM
3 Comments:
i hear ya! just got back from 30 miles of riding in prospect park, chatted with random friends and fellow academics who were there, also biking. seems like everyone who could be out today was out today. after a weekend of snow flurries and another of flooding, spring has FINALLY arrived.
it reminds me of sunny days in seattle between december and april; anyone who can be out is out enjoying the weather. and today's weather was just about as perfect as weather can be! hope you enjoyed it.
you remember correctly. rizwan ahmed. did u see the film, and how was it?
ganesh-- somehow the weekend was all the more lovely for having waited for it so long. all new york was out in the parks (i spent time in prospect, wash square, and central) strolling and smiling and peacoking in their spring finery at last.
buchu: yes, saw the film; it was bloody good but harrowing and made me again want to torch my passport. also I recognized rizwan! not from anything in particular, just as a familiar face seen round oxford, in the streets or the library on broad street or something. it added a sort of eerie resonance to the film. see it, if you can.
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