In a lifetime full of saying odd things, this may just be the oddest: The subway station smelled like piss this morning, and I realized I kind of missed that.
(A couple of things to clear up before I continue. First of all, that is not the opening statement in a blog that will reveal a deep, dark and dirty fetish. This blog will be a continuation of the correlations and disconnections I have been noticing between living here now and living here then. Secondly, if this aroma had been detected anywhere else – in a deli, at a bar, even on the subway itself – it would not have been greeted with nostalgia but instead more of a what “What the hell? Are you kidding me?!” sort of reaction. Now that we’ve cleared that up…)
What made it stand out, besides the obvious unmistakable odor, was the fact that I haven’t smelled it that often since I’ve been back. When I first moved here it was a pretty prevalent odor, but this was also when 42nd Street was still The Deuce, crack was all the rage and NYC meant Manhattan below 96th street. What it also meant was that I was fresh to the city, full of dreams and confidence, and somehow every part of the city, including the filth, grime and stenches became part of those dreams. The city was ragged and edgy (or at least the parts I was brave enough to go to. I’m sure where I went was nothing compared to some of the even more menacing areas) and part of that, I thought, was a requirement.
In the show “Rent”, one friend who has sold out, married into money and returned to the old neighborhood to buy a vacant lot and abandoned building to convert it in recording studios and apartments asks his two friends who have remained behind as starving artists “Do you really want a neighborhood where people piss on your stoop everyday?” And yet there is something perversely romantic about the notion of the starving artists, living where nobody else can or dares to, on the fringes of society where decay is coming or has already been. Time and again cities have shown growth where artists have pushed to these marginal areas only to eventually be priced out of them by the gentrification they helped bring about. Downtown Los Angeles now, The Mission district in San Francisco a decade ago, Soho here a generation ago. Even the source material for “Rent”, the opera La Boheme, takes place in what soon became the fashionable Left Bank of Paris.
I’ve spent a lot of time wondering about my latest move here and I was I expected out of it. Even though some of my previous moves may seem to have been built on pretty flimsy notions, this one, even with the job in place, seems to be the flimsiest. In the past I came here with less of an reason and more of an idea. I would come here and make something of myself, become successful. Even though I don’t always seem to agree with it, I have managed to create several successes during my absence, successes that have parlayed me into my employment situation.
Because of that, I don’t need to smell piss in my subway station. I’m no longer a starving artist. I’m no Tom Hanks either, but the romantic idealized lifestyle of youth has been replaced by the somewhat more practical outlook of middle age. I’m starting to not just understand where I am in my life but embrace it and define it. My life is more routine than I ever thought it would be, but for once in my life that thought doesn’t scare me. So no, I don’t need to smell it, and I can’t really say I even want to. Not even sure why I did. Granted, I’m not in the station 24/7 so I can’t vouch for the fact nobody uses the platform as their urinal, I can unfortunately vouch that I’ve seen people piss in the street (in broad daylight no less!) and it was raining today. Rain has a way of bringing out smells that have lain dormant for some time. (One of my favorite jokes is from a comic named Jake Johansen: “New York is the only city that makes it’s own gravy when it rains.) But I’m also not opposed to a little nostalgia.
Not all nostalgia is a good thing though. Many people will tell you that the city is sliding backwards. The “Stop and Frisk” policy, a direct descendant of the “Broken Windows” policy that led to the crackdown on crime and cleaning up of the streets in the early 90’s, no longer happens. Homelessness seems to be on the rise again. Designer drugs, far easier to get than crack but just as dangerous and deadly, are creating a new class of addicts. Maybe the piss in the subway is a reminder of days gone by, or maybe it’s a warning of a future that is looming.
I’m no starving artist, but I’m still an optimist.
Bonus track: I haven’t added one of these in a while, but since I quoted the show, I might as well include the song. Click here to listen.
PopcornJackTerry 