Harry and the NY souvenir
I used to have this friend- Nancy.
Nancy had this cool apartment with the wall between her living room and kitchen knocked out showing only the exposed framing. I loved it. She had a couch and chairs and things. I was living sparse at the time with everything I owned able to be packed into a 1969 Plymouth Valiant (that actually looked alot like this except for green). Anyway- Nancy had a painting on her wall and I vowed that I too would one day have paintings.
I would have art.
Jump ahead a few years.
I'm in NYC. My sister is with me and we are visiting the Chelsea Flee Market*. I pass some guy smoking a joint and shendangle myself a few hoots. Suddenly, I feel quite high. I walk by some paintings and suddenly my old urge to own art springs forth violently. I must have this one painting. I ask the nearest person,
Who's selling these. I point to the painting
In thick Brooklyn accent, yelling: Harry, somebody wants to buy your mother's pictures.
Harry comes over and gives me the once over. Suddenly I am full of bravado and feeling very New Yorkerish.
Your mother's paintings? I roll my eyes.
Ya, that's right. Harry gruffs.
Well, what do you want for this one. And don't tell me it's a family heirloom.
50 bucks.
Nah. I'll give you 5 tops. (I'm feeling cocky. Harry is an oogler and I'm a little stoned and hey, this is NYC!!)
Look sweetheart, this is fine art. I'll let you (looks me up and down) have it for 30.
Look Harry, I'm not some little shit tourist looking for a keepsake (actually I am). I'll give you 10.
Harry-15
Me- 12
Harry-Sold
M- Thanks Harry.
Can I have your number?
No- I have issues with hair. Sorry. You're name is Harry. It will never work.
And I walked away.
Then I walk up to my sister, painting in hand, and say:
Look what I bought.
Then I dragged the damn thing all over Gotham all day and managed to ship it home. It perfectly represented the "quick, now, urgent, tap, tap, tap" pace of NY and I have loved it since the moment I saw it. Stoned or not. (sorry Mom- but this is my blog and you are fully aware of my past marijuana consumption anyway)
*keep in mind the Chelsea Flea Market is this weird kind of place full of junk and treasures where most vendors refuse to barter because Anna Sui is their "best customer".
Nancy had this cool apartment with the wall between her living room and kitchen knocked out showing only the exposed framing. I loved it. She had a couch and chairs and things. I was living sparse at the time with everything I owned able to be packed into a 1969 Plymouth Valiant (that actually looked alot like this except for green). Anyway- Nancy had a painting on her wall and I vowed that I too would one day have paintings.
I would have art.
Jump ahead a few years.
I'm in NYC. My sister is with me and we are visiting the Chelsea Flee Market*. I pass some guy smoking a joint and shendangle myself a few hoots. Suddenly, I feel quite high. I walk by some paintings and suddenly my old urge to own art springs forth violently. I must have this one painting. I ask the nearest person,
Who's selling these. I point to the painting
In thick Brooklyn accent, yelling: Harry, somebody wants to buy your mother's pictures.
Harry comes over and gives me the once over. Suddenly I am full of bravado and feeling very New Yorkerish.
Your mother's paintings? I roll my eyes.
Ya, that's right. Harry gruffs.
Well, what do you want for this one. And don't tell me it's a family heirloom.
50 bucks.
Nah. I'll give you 5 tops. (I'm feeling cocky. Harry is an oogler and I'm a little stoned and hey, this is NYC!!)
Look sweetheart, this is fine art. I'll let you (looks me up and down) have it for 30.
Look Harry, I'm not some little shit tourist looking for a keepsake (actually I am). I'll give you 10.
Harry-15
Me- 12
Harry-Sold
M- Thanks Harry.
Can I have your number?
No- I have issues with hair. Sorry. You're name is Harry. It will never work.
And I walked away.
Then I walk up to my sister, painting in hand, and say:
Look what I bought.
Then I dragged the damn thing all over Gotham all day and managed to ship it home. It perfectly represented the "quick, now, urgent, tap, tap, tap" pace of NY and I have loved it since the moment I saw it. Stoned or not. (sorry Mom- but this is my blog and you are fully aware of my past marijuana consumption anyway)
*keep in mind the Chelsea Flea Market is this weird kind of place full of junk and treasures where most vendors refuse to barter because Anna Sui is their "best customer".
Posted by the girl at 8:59 PM
2 Comments:
i'll be sure to check it out next time i'm in NYC.
the painting looks a bit scary.
i like that painting. i also need some art. we're desperately looking, maybe we should go to nyc, too.
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