Christopher Park

Christopher Park is a strange place. It isn't really much of a "park" per say, as it is a collection of benches and statues, but what do you expect in NYC. We need places to park, not parks.

There are these life sized bronze statues that are painted white. Apparently they were an ode to the Gay Liberation movement which was essentially started with the 1969 Stonewall Rebellion. But the statues are just creepy and weird. Not because they depict two gay couples, but because they're so white and glaringly apparent. They stick out like a sore thumb amidst the brick path and green vegetation. They also take up space! One of the couples is actually sitting on the bench. Where a real gay couple could have sat. Instead they have to drink their Latte's somewhere else, perhaps on the go, because the seats are taken by fucking statues. I'll never understand that.

But you know what, all that is fine really, who gives a shit at the end of the day. I'm not going to use the park so fuck it. But it's the people that DO use this park that make it really strange.

I was in a cab on my way to a screening on Hudson and Leroy last week. The cabbie took a quick cut-through down Grove St. so I got a good look at the Park in the morning, around 10:30am or so. I actually took out my notebook to make an accurate notation of the scene playing out before me. First of all, there were no noticeable homosexuals in the park. The crowd was much meaner. The collection of men before me seemed hardened by life. Two were clearly vagrants, and had the accessories to go with the style. No shopping cart, but plenty of plastic and garbage bags. There was also one younger male seated in the same group of benches that had a serious heroin lean going on. Though on closer examination "he" could have been a "she." It's hair was long and ratty, it's clothes androgynous and filthy. Every time it looked like it would topple over and off the bench, the he/she would abruptly jerk itself back into a semi-upright position, and begin falling forward all over again. I imagine that continued for several hours.

Sitting opposite them was an overweight Spanish man who's stained shirt was clearly to small, and rode above his belly button. There, a small pug like dog stood perched, backlegs on the mans thighs, front legs placed on top of the mans gut, so that man and mutt were met, eye to eye. He spoke, but it was unclear to whom. The dog? The Vagrants? I'll never know. Next to him were two less dirty looking people (from my vantage point that is), but one seemed to be howling complete nonsense directly to the sky above, and the other was motionless. Standing in between these two seated groups was a 20's something girl with long blond hair, and an Avril Lavigne style of pop-punk. Come to think of it, she could have easily passed for her stunt double. The Avril wannabe was talking to a bald man in gray slacks and a pinkish-red checkered shirt. He was wearing blue boat shoes I noticed, and he looked a long ways out of place.

The whole atmosphere around that park had a taint to it. It was not what I expected to see in that area. Being that it's heavily infested by NYU students, I figured I'd find plenty purple hoods lounging around, pretentiously analyzing the shift from winter to spring. How wrong was I. I guess that's New York City though. You never know who will pop up where, and no matter what you think, you've never got it figured out.