Hi everyone! and a huge welcome to all the newbies, and thanks for all the links to the blog!
In your responses to our last post and your emails many of you have asked about the images of Anderson Cooper's apartment, mainly if they are drawings or photos, as we stated in the post the first one is a computer generated image called architectural rendering, the others are actual photos after the construction work was finished. They are legal and done with the consent of Anderson Cooper. He knew by whom and for what the photos were taken. And for those "with big imagination" no, we didn't passed ourselves as maids to enter the property and snatch the photos, it was done by a professional photographer. What I meant with the phrase "highly expected and imagined images" was that there have always been wild speculation about Anderson's properties ( someone speculating about Anderson? r you kidding?) many buzzed (like Curbed) about why he haven't moved to his new apartment and was renting (as he said at Regis and Kelly), obviously the place went through a massive construction phase and those of you who have gone through home renovations know how difficult it is, so that is why I used the phrase expected and imagined, many of us expected to see the results of the renovations and many others imagined how it would be and even went to great lengths stating how it was done . And at the end it is up to each of you to believe if it is the apartment or not, I am not here to convince anyone, to give further proof would then cross the line of public and private information.
Today we are having a guess blogger, the energy tornado that is Sharla Jones, I hope you will enjoy it as much as we did. And if you are interested in publishing here you might send your work at out main email, and of course we reserve the right of posting it!
New York, March 2007
I went to Manhattan again yesterday. I love New York City; the city itself seems to live and breathe. I’ve heard it called "the Big Apple", however, I liken it more as an onion.
Onions are pretty and round, shiny and smooth. So you put it there and you admire it, but after a few days the skin starts to wrinkle, peel, and slough off like so much the rot that it is. Then the stinging, sour, and bitter insides start to show and make your eyes water.
The meaning of life is NOT 42.
Whilst watching the sunrise during my train ride back to New Jersey, I was being rocked like a boat under a gentle breeze. The drunk yuppies were obnoxious. The stoner that sat in front of me and tried to strike up a conversation eventually fell over and passed out to my great relief. Don’t get me wrong, I fear NO man. This is not to say I am fearless, which I think implies recklessness and idiotic behavior. But I’m not afraid of anyone. Actually I’d be more afraid FOR the stupid individual that attempted to mug me, I’ll tell you that. But because I do not fear those around me, I watch them instead.
Like the true natured writer that I am, I of course have a notebook in my bag. On my train ride home I wrote this:
* * *
It is never more painfully obvious to me, the hatred man has for himself and his fellow man, than to sit in Penn Station New York at four in the morning because I missed the one a.m. train.
Gone is the compassion and caring people may have for one another during the times of daylight. It’s as if when darkness comes, the evil and ugly side of New York comes to life from its dormant time of daytime slumber.
The men who slept on the sidewalk come awake and stagger through the halls, shaking their fists and shuffling their feet. The drunk bastards stumble from the bars and start fights in front of... anywhere. One will scream racial slurs, the others, homophobic hate.
The bowels of New York City at night reek of the stench of the disgust God must feel when He looks upon his creation and sees the muck they wallow and play in. The other smell comes from the morons I passed on the street- smoking pot on the street in front of cops and country. No one cares.
But as I sat in Penn Station next to the musician from Ireland, and his every other word was "fuck", I suddenly felt very tired, very unhappy, and very alone.
* * *
No one think I hate New York, please. I LOVE New York. I drink mochachino at Teany, I wander around Chelsea and Central Park, they’ve got some fantastic museums, and great food (Cuban is my favorite). But I felt as if I’d lost my way a bit, as last night I stood outside a place and talked to the person nearest to me. Something he said woke me from my daze.
He asked me about my shoes. I know that sounds odd, but it was because yesterday I bought a new pair of running shoes and I was standing there holding a giant Saucony box. That question was answered with my explanation of how I’m into long distance running, and I got the usual response of "Holy Cow you run HOW far every day?"
Of course, with me, a.k.a. the Energizer Bunny of talk, conversation ensued. After half an hour we were discussing physical training, proper exercise, diet, and all that sort of good stuff that is my manna to live and the reason I strive to become a Doctor. And then, he said one more thing that stopped me dead in my tracks.
So I stood in the middle of New York City in the dark of the night under the glowing neon, holding a bag with very expensive running shoes, talking to some kid I didn’t even know, and I suddenly was thinking about the impact media has had on our lives.
I could go on and on about the history of media but I digress. The media is the most incredibly powerful medium I can think of. If you think about it, the power of the written word goes back to... the first written word. And how much of that information is completely wrong, misguided, or even harmful? How much of it is hateful, full of lies, and misleading? Things that make me go, "hmmm."
Let me just say that next time I go to New York City, I’m coming back after dinner. At least that way I won’t miss AC360.......