illusionofjoy | Mirrored TSWP Entry - Wednesday, November 6, 2002

I'm 22 years old today. Isn't that nice? Some people sent me some online greetings and whatnot, which was nice, but otherwise the day was inconsequential. Birthdays just aren't that significant anymore - I can already smoke, drink, fuck, get into an R-rated movie and get drafted - what more is there?

I've actually been a bit depressed today. I've actually been a bit depressed since I got back from Manhattan. The only significant thing I've done since getting back Sunday night was going down to the civic centre and voting (Democrat down the line, thank you very much). Other than that, I've been trudging through a fucked-up sleep schedule and general malaise.

Manhattan, of course, was wonderful. Just being there was enough to make me feel good, even if this year's CMJ Music Marathon was a bit low-key. Honestly, I was a bit disappointed in some of the panels I went to and Friday night could have been better for shows, but I can't really complain. I was in New York City.

It was the morning of Tuesday, October 29th that I found myself on a southbound Greyhound that began the first leg of my trip to The Big Apple. I had stopped by the Bagelry before walking to the bus station to grab a quick breakfast of a bagel with lox spread and orange juice. Potsdam's Greyhound station is located in the commercially anaemic Market Square Mall, which used to house a Sears-Roebuck in its heyday, and a few other high-profile businesses. Along with the Greyhound station, it is currently home to a dental office, two hair salons and a 24-hour coin-laundry.

Anything in the mall (including the bus depot) aside from the coin-laundry doesn't open until 8:00AM. Since my bus didn't leave until 8:15 and I make it a habit to get to my transportation hubs early, I was sitting and waiting in the coin-laundry at about 7:45. It was nice and warm in there, compared to outside which had dipped into the upper 30s overnight. A television in the corner played the morning news out of my final point of destination, while an elderly couple doing their laundry watched and commented on every story.

I was sitting at a table upon which my duffel bag rested while watching the news when the door separating the rest of Market Square from the coin-laundry was unlocked. Leaving the smell of detergent and pocket lint behind, I picked up my bag and traversed to the Greyhound station, now surrounded by the sight of their posters - "Go Greyhound and leave the driving to us!" - and the sounds of a local top 40 station whose jock was reading off local news.

My bus arrived on time and I boarded not a minute after 8:15 in the morning. There were a couple of people already on the bus, most likely from Massena, but otherwise I had it to myself. I settled in next to a window, shoving my bag under the seat in front of me. Looking towards the front, I noticed a couple of signs posted behind the driver's seat. The first stated that the very front row of seats was not to be occupied. The second asserted that "any violent action taken against the driver or other passengers will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law." I sighed inwardly at how that second item should be common sense. Why would anyone want to assault a bus driver anyhow? It's not like you can fly a Greyhound into any of the world's tallest buildings. Most busses will only make it to the lobby, and the resulting explosion wouldn't be impressive enough to damage more than a few floors, much less an entire skyscraper.

I'm so morbid.

The bus began rolling and I got to the business of attempting to nap for the duration of my very long ride. A CMJ veteran, as I'd later be called, I knew the bus route from Potsdam to Manhattan pretty well. It would involve a transfer at Syracuse, but this first leg of the trip would hold stops at Canton, Governeur, Watertown and the Syracuse-Hancock International airport. It was my intention to sleep until I had to transfer and then resume sleeping when the tour of Pennsylvania and Northern New Jersey came up.

I was fairly successful in my endeavours to sleep on the bus. There were no nightmares that I could recall, nor any long stretches of road, for that matter. In fact, the trip seemed to go quite fast this year - aside from a delay in Watertown as the boarder patrol tried to figure out what to do with an illegal alien. I found myself in Syracuse in seemingly no time, followed by the rest area in Great Bend, PA and suddenly in the suburbs of New Jersey, headed towards the Lincoln tunnel.

I saw the distinct skyline of Manhattan from the window of the bus, the Empire State Building standing out with its upper level bathed in red, white and blue light and I began to organise my "to do" list in my head for when I had to disembark. The first thing I did when I got off the bus at the Port Authority building was to find a subway station. This was followed by the purchase of a 7-day Metrocard (a steal at $17.00), which would allow me unlimited rides on New York's prime form of mass transit. I then went about trying to figure out roughly where my hotel was located and which train would get me to roughly that location.

I boarded the train headed to where I thought my hotel might be located - the yellow line I believe it was. All I knew that it was a train that would stop near West 57th Street, and that was the street my hotel would be located on. I had no idea which avenues the building would be in between, but that mattered little, as I didn't mind walking down the street to find the place. If there's one thing I've never been afraid of in Manhattan, it's being mugged randomly on the street. Come to think of it, I actually feel more comfortable as an unknown in New York City, then as recognised in Potsdam. As it was, I found the hotel with little problem, checked in and dropped my duffel bag off in my room.

The CMJ Music Marathon technically didn't start until October 30th, however The Syndicate, one of the promotional companies that services WAIH was holding their annual pre-CMJ party. Being that this was the first year I'd ever been early to CMJ, I made my way to Downtime, where the event was being held to partake in the festivities.

Standing outside the door to the venue, I noticed a pale, ebony-clad beauty with violet hair. She was actually positioned in front of me in the queue as the early-arrivals, such as myself, waited to be allowed inside by the bouncer. Lecher that I am, I was checking her out, as it were, thinking, "she'll never talk to me." At that point, she turned around, looked at me and said, "hi."

As it turned out, she was a program director from a station in Connecticut whom a promoter had attempted to introduce me to (likewise her) nearly a year prior. Funny how things work out, isn't it? We hit it off fairly well that evening and the Purple-haired Program Director (or PHPD for the rest of this entry) and I would spend more time together in the next few days than was probably healthy for two people who had, in reality, just met each other.

We both went inside the club, had some drinks, smoked a couple of cloves between us and generally chatted with each other for most of the night. We mingled a bit, but ultimately ended up leaving the party early, neither one of us too keen on the crowd that was only becoming thicker with each passing minute. Outside of the club, we wandered around Manhattan aimlessly, talking about whatever subjects struck either one of us at the moment. I found her company quite refreshing, and when we parted ways, I looked forward to the call that she promised to make so we could meet up the next morning.

I woke up Wednesday morning in my one-person hotel room, running over the events of the day in my mind. It was 9:00AM and PHPD would be calling around 10:00, so I decided that I should shower and get dressed in the time that I was awake before she called.

The part of the hotel I was staying in was arranged very much like a college dormitory. I had known when I reserved my room that the bathroom was shared. What I didn't know was that my shared bathroom was with the entire floor of the hotel, rather than merely the room next door. There was a bathroom between my room and the one next door, however it was locked on my side. Whoever was in the room next door was the lucky person to be using this bathroom. Still, it wasn't so bad, as I can not recall a single time during my stay that I had to wait for a watercloset or a shower stall. There was always one available when I needed it.

Such was the case this morning. I walked down the hallway in my robe, tiny soap and hotel towel in hand, coming to the first shower stall. It was quite an enjoyable shower, actually. The stall was roomy, the water nice and hot...I really can't complain. I'm serious about my showers, you know.

I got back to my room in time to get word from PHPD that we could meet up later at a club where she would be attending a party. Satisfied that plans had been made in regards to her, I decided to meander to the Hilton to pick up my convention badge, stopping to get breakfast on the way.

I love New York City for many reasons, not the least of which is that I can grab a quick and fairly inexpensive meal pretty much anywhere at any time of the day without ever setting foot in a fast food chain. It was rare that I would eat a meal in the same place more than once during my stay in Manhattan. In fact, I can only recall that happening on one occasion. I pretty much found a new eatery every day I was there.

I made my way to the Hilton, picked up my badge and set about browsing the exhibitor's booths and mingling. There wasn't much else to do that day, being that there were no panels to attend. I did puruse some of the booths, picking up random CD samplers, pamphlets and stickers. I met up with various people from other college radio stations, including an old friend from KTXT.

I met up with PHPD that evening and we went to see Ours at the Irving Plaza. The band was quite good live, my partner in crime saying that she liked the group, having never heard of them before.

After Ours, we decided to try and catch Nappy Roots and Jurassic 5 at the Hammerstein Ballroom. Unfortunately we couldn't get into the venue, as it was limited to 100 badgeholders (which wasn't mentioned in the CMJ Festival guide). I was a bit disappointed, as I like both groups and it would have been highly amusing for myself and PHPD to be the two whitest people in the venue rocking out to some old school-style hip hop. I'm down with Jurassic 5 and Nappy Roots, yo!

Being that we had some time to kill before any other bands we wanted to see would be playing, we decided to get dinner at the nearest café we could find. I didn't think the food was bad, though my counterpart at the restaurant would only agree after they had brought out a replacement for the order she sent back. Vegetarians do not like wilted salads.

We left the café, returning to the Irving Plaza in time to catch Porcupine Tree. I had heard of the group, being that a promo disc had been sent to WAIH. While I liked the songs that I had heard played at the station, the experience of seeing and hearing them live cemented my opinion that this was a band worth adding to my personal collection.

Halloween was another day that PHPD and I probably spent way too much time together. Upon reflection, I do believe that we honestly became sick of each other's company. Don't get me wrong - I like her, I think she is a good person and someone who is worth my time and effort to stay in touch with if at all possible; however, I also understand that there is a point of saturation that all human beings reach when dealing with others. Where exactly this point is depends on the personalities of the individuals in question and their interactions therein.

It is my opinion that PHPD had started reaching her saturation point regarding me right around the day after Halloween. I openly admit that I'm not an easy person to deal with. I'm opinionated, ultra-liberal who has little regard for that which is "proper" and even less regard for conventional morality. I'm also flat out weird at times, voicing things that most people would probably keep on the conservative side of exposure and generally regarding little as sacred or immune to ridicule. To me, life may suck but I will be damned if I won't be laughing in the face of absurdity in ways perhaps more vulgar than the average individual.

By all accounts, Halloween was good for me. The one panel I went to was subpar, but the nighttime was the right time. PHPD and I camped out for an hour at Joe's Pub to catch Diamanda Galas. This event was limited to 25 CMJ badges and I was told that there was no way that we were going to miss it. As it turned out, PHPD and I were the first two there with badges.

As a venue, I thought that Joe's Pub was quite lovely. The place is actually a restaurant - a fairly expensive one, with a small stage in the corner. There are tables set up for people to dine at and a set of velvet-covered tiered seats to one side of the room. We settled in the first row of the tiered seats, with an excellent view of the stage, which had only a grand piano placed upon it.

Up until that night, I had never heard of Diamanda Galas, to say nothing of seeing her live. In fact, I thought I had never heard her, until I did some research and discovered that she did some vocal soloing on two songs ("Rock Me Gently" and "Angel") on Erasure's 1995 self-titled album - a disc that I have listened to on several occasions.

Bar none, the most impressive show of the night. Galas not only has a four-octave vocal range, but utilises a throat-singing technique that allows her to voice up to three notes simultaneously. This she uses in her avant-garde music to truly bring forth demons in song. Her rendition of "I Put A Spell On You" could probably bring Screamin' Jay Hawkins back from the grave, if applied properly.

After that performance, we decided to go to The Den to catch Rachael Sage. Every year Sage has played a CMJ showcase, and every year I've been unable to go for one reason or another, so I decided that I should do it this year, as I may not have another opportunity. As it was, her performance started late and we could only catch three songs before having to leave. At least we got complimented for being the most fashionably dressed for the night.

Our time with Rachael Sage was cut short by a date with Downtime. Bella Morte and Voltaire were playing. I'd never heard Bella Morte, but was particularly interested in Voltaire. The sum up the former: they sing funny songs about video games and zombies. If I ever find one of their albums in the used bin (or at a merch table without a ridiculous line), I'd pick it up.

Voltaire is quite a character. To summize, yes, the man is completely full of himself, but who cares? He puts on a good show and that's all that matters. At one point, he read a review posted by "Disappointed in Voltaire" at Amazon.com. He then follows this up with a new song entitled, "Can't Please Everyone." Now if that isn't an admirable guffaw in the face of adversity, then I'm not sure what is.

Speaking of guffaws, I found Voltaire hilarious. However, Downtime being New York City's premiere Goth club, one has to expect to run into the occasional pretentious emotionless fucktard. In the case of that show, it came in the form of two girls - one to my right and one behind me. These two were staring straight ahead at the stage completely straight-faced, not even batting a mascara-smeared eyelash. I momentarily considered poking at them to see if I could tip them over before resuming laughing my vinyl-clad ass off at the antics on stage.

Can't smile...too gawth...face...will...break...

Being that it was late, PHPD crashed on the extra bed in my hotel room that night, rather than taking the train ride back to where she was staying in suburbia. By Friday, November 1st, we had spent nearly 24 hours together (platonically - a point I want to stress), which was probably where the point of saturation was finally met. We didn't really hang out nearly as much after Halloween. In hindsight, this was probably the best thing for both of us. At the time, however, I began to let my latent insecurities creep in. Questions such as, "what have I done wrong that you are avoiding me?" started simmering in my brainpan along with, "perhaps she doesn't want the company of an inferior gothboi."

I have a very bad habit of assuming things sometimes. In my more paranoid moments, I began reviewing the past few days in my head, considering every action that may have possibly offended her. I began trying to quantify these actions with her new behaviour, finding that the equation just didn't solve itself properly. As I have nearly perfect hindsight, I realise that if you spend any great amount of time with anyone over a short duration, you're going to become sick of that person for a while. It's only clingy, paranoid neurotics such as myself who do otherwise.

November 1st rolled around and I attended several "College Day" panels at CMJ Marathon headquarters (aka The Hilton). The most notable panel that day was an interview with Tori Amos about her new album. Tori didn't stay on the subject of her album for too long, however, instead preferring to talk about how today's youth, "a generation more networked than any before" needed to unite for a cause. I'm inclined to agree, though which cause the youth should unite for will likely be the great argument for some time to come (right now, I'm still throwing in my vote for the impeachment of Dubya Bush).

That evening I was at Downtime again for the Relapse Records showcase. I met up with my friend from KTXT again and accompanied her as she went to an Indian restaurant. Later that night, she convinced me to go with her to the Antarctica party, which I had reservations about. For the past two years I had gone, I have not enjoyed going to the event, as it is more crowded than even the most popular showcases at CMJ. Wall to wall bodies and nowhere to move. All was not as horrible as it could have been though because my friend and I got there about fifteen minutes before the establishment closed. Not only was the crowd diminished, but what remained of it ended up outside in a fairly short order.

Saturday the 2nd found me on the Lift RPM Boat cruise. This year they had DJs spinning on two levels. The upper level was the "chillout" floor, from what I could gather, as the beats weren't as fast as the jungle being spun on the lower level. I enjoyed the music and liked watching the DJs spin, but I can't say I was exactly comfortable going out on the dancefloor for some reason.

I went directly from the cruise to Downtime for my final night of CMJ. Haujobb was playing, and I wanted to see them perform. That unfortunately did not happen. I was able to catch Terrorfakt, but then the crowd on the floor where the stage was become too much for me to bear and I decided that, rather than fight with people to see the band, I was going to go upstairs to the dance floor.

There was no one on the floor at the time, and only a few stragglers seated around the perimeter, so I simply went onto the floor and took it for myself. As I had discovered, it is a rare thing at Downtime to have room to actually move, and while I did, I was going to take advantage of it. Eventually more people started to gather on the floor as the night went on, but I didn't really care. Awash in the music, I was lost in my own little world, much like I had been at Laga in Pittsburgh.

Of course, Downtime is not Laga and New York is a far cry from Pittsburgh - the respective scenes of each city reflect the overall personality of the urban area from which they were spawned. Pittsburgh seemed to have a sense of fun - friendliness, dare I say - even a slight goofiness to it that I could appreciate. I felt like I fit in very well at that club, despite being an outsider. My experiences with people after the lights went up only served to reinforce this feeling.

Downtime is a different sort of animal. Perhaps it was because I was committing the carnal sin of dancing in a Goth club sans makeup and wearing only my day to day black jeans and T-shirt with my hair tied back, but I swear that I could feel pretension oozing from every pore of every other body on that floor. I can't say that it bothered me much, as I rarely give a fuck what other people think - it's more of an observation than anything else. I know that I am a pretentious über-dramatic asshole on the dancefloor. It's not that I didn't fit into the crowd, so much as I don't think I wanted to fit into this crowd so much. I'm not sure...the more I think about it, the less I understand it.

I had requested "Beloved" by VNV Nation, and had to only wait one song for it to be played. As the DJ spun my track, my friend from KTXT caught me on the floor and told me that she was ready to go. I told her that I'd meet her at the coat check after song, finished my dance and left with her ten minutes later. Since I hadn't eaten all day, with the exception of two donuts and a cup of coffee before the cruise, a Smirnoff Ice during the cruise and a $9.00 white russian at Downtime she decided to take me to her favourite café in New York.

We hung out in the quiet restaurant, conversing about things. I was telling her about my school situation and out of the blue, asked "did I seem this depressed when we met three years ago?"

"No," she replied.

I enjoyed her company and the peacefulness of the café was a nice contrast to the whirlwind that had been not only the past few days, but the past few hours especially. I wish for the life of me I could remember the name of the place, so that I could perhaps go back someday.

Sunday morning - November 3rd - I packed my bags and checked out of the hotel that had been my home base for the past five nights. Making my way to the 59th Street subway station, I rode to the Port Authority bus terminal, where I had breakfast and waited for my ride back to Potsdam.

For the shortest trip back to Potsdam, the transfer is always at Syracuse. I slept most of the way to that transfer. On the bus from Syracuse to Potsdam, we stopped briefly to pick up passengers from a Greyhound bound for Watertown that had stalled on the side of the freeway. Other than that, the most remarkable part of that ride was a conversation I had with the Japanese exchange student seated next to me.

Overall, while I enjoyed my trip to New York City, I can't help but feel some regret this time around. I have this feeling that I didn't take advantage of as many opportunities as I should have, or may even get to. I'm not sure, but as I reflect on the trip, I get the feeling that something was missing, and what that is, I do not know.

I do know that after Manhattan I do not want to be in Potsdam again. Isn't that how it always is, though?

Indeed.