21
Nov
08

if i can make it here

I can make it anywhere!

or so I sing to myself from my tenement hotel room on W. 47th in Times Square NYC.  You might normally know me as the sensible “creative class” thirty-something who visits her Northeast Corridor friends and families in their urban condos and co-ops – attractive hetero lawyers, docs, non-profit execs, and finance types and their cherubic kids – ages 3 months and up. (and if there’s more than one, they’re usually spaced no more than 2 years apart.  It’s all very orderly.)

But these kids have left me homeless – guest-room homeless, that is.  As my friends turn into moms and dads, their spare bedrooms become kids’ bedrooms; pull-out sofas and futons are relegated to basements (have you heard the patter of little feet overhead??) or stashed in corner spaces without doors.  My best friends in the Bronx recently converted the “spare” bedroom fully into the office & playroom; my best friend in DC is converting “my” cheery, yellow guest room into a baby’s room by this spring.  Isn’t it sad for Redstar, no longer finding the accommodations to her liking when she takes her appreciative, it’s-been-awhile-and-I’m-passing-through show on the road?

Tonight turned out to be a particularly precarious evening.  My old college roommate now on Long Island has 2 kids under 2, and they sleep through the night sporadically.  My Upper East Side cousin’s fiance is on-call overnight tonight, and likely to be delivering medical instructions over the phone from their living room until the wee hours.  And I’m operating on a sleep deficit after multiple conference nights and a pull-out-sofa-&-ill-child-up-till-all-hours experience last night.

Fortunately, this is NY, where a guy I dated once (briefly) believed that you could get anything for a dime.

Like this place. (Ok, maybe a few dimes)

portland-square-hotel This is a budget hotel undergoing “renovations,” and offering clean rooms, private baths (or shared), free wireless internet, and an extremely convenient location.  I left the L.I. suburbs late this afternoon with my PC over my shoulder and dragging my suitcase behind me.  An hour later I was coming up out of the subway in Times Square, feeling like a movie heroine straight out of Kansas arriving in the big city, alone and brave, ready to sing/dance/act her way to fame and fortune.  The “renovations” in my hotel turn out to be some urn-like sculptures in the lobby, some electronica music piped over the speakers, a mod shower curtain, and clean white linens that contrast with the gray institutional carpet with the iron burn in it in my lockbox of a room.

psh-bathroom psh-room

My grated window looks out onto a firescape in the building shaft, and reminds me of the “city” set at Universal Studio in Orlando.  My small fluorescent bulbs around the room buzz as they glow.  It’s generally very quiet – except when my next-door neighbors open their mouths.  (In that Duane Reade bag above?  Ear plugs.)

But noisy neighbors be damned!  I’m so amused with my self-imposed exile to the frenzied heart of the city that I keep smiling alone in my room, enjoying the solitude within these four walls.

I moved to NY in July 1997 at 21, with a job but no place to live.  I stayed in the same L.I. suburb that week too, then crashing with a friend who was living with her mom until she figured out what came next after college.  On Thursday night of that first, long week, in order to go out for drinks without worrying about trains, I checked into a budget hotel in Murray Hill even more cramped than this one.  I vaguely recall a twin bed, and real fear but elation staying alone in this new, enormous, overwhelming city.

It feels so familiar yet newly adventurous now, seeking refuge from toddlers in a neighborhood I quickly learned to avoid and scorn as a “New Yorker.”  In my final years in the city, drinking in the Irish bars over here with a friend and her actor-husband’s crowd gave me a new appreciation for those whose livelihoods depend on this tourist mecca (and yes, one set of my parents are those that like to see “a show” when they come to NY – musicals only, please).  But it was always about them.

Tonight, I’m playing the part of Ana.

Don’t forget – you knew me when.

Yours,

Redstar

xoxoxo!

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2 Responses to “if i can make it here”


  1. November 21, 2008 at 3:39 pm

    Yes, there’s this moment where we unmarried singles cross over from “crashing” to “hotel patrons.” It’s not so bad, really. And eventually, we find single, or partnered friends without kids… or your friends with kids upgrade to places with guest rooms (visiting family will often drive those decisions more than we do, though).

    And don’t worry… you’re the plucky lass in the musical who makes it, I’m sure. 🙂

  2. 2 grahamad
    November 23, 2008 at 5:06 pm

    lol.

    Yes, mostly I wish for more disposable income to be able to stay in hotels all the time. Guest rooms are great, but nice hotel rooms are ideal.


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