date: 09.14.2002
entitled: "D.U.M.B.O."

This afternoon, Joe and I set out with two major objectives: to purchase a new kitchen (caf�) table & chairs, and to walk over the Brooklyn Bridge and explore the D.U.M.B.O. area. For those of you unfamiliar with Brooklyn, the acronym stands for Down Under Manhattan Bridge Overpass.

First, we went to White on White, which is a showroom and wholesale establishment for designer furniture. Actually, I still can�t figure out if it�s real designer furniture, or really good reproductions. I suppose much of the real stuff should be signed, or some bullshit, but we are not chachi people, and therefore don�t care to own special pieces. However, I do feel guilty for not knowing the difference between real Mies van der Rohe, and fake Mies, since I am technically an interior designer. But screw that! I pump out construction documents all day, so that�s my excuse. Anyway, we bought this great little table with a white, polished, fiberglass top, and a black, pedestal base with 5-pronged silver feet. The chairs are black with chrome legs (Arne Jacobsen�s 3107 chair, for those who care). All for 200 bucks. I love this city.

We then made the trek across the Brooklyn Bridge. And what a beauty it is. It gave breathtaking views of both Brooklyn and Manhattan, and also of dozens of sailboats and tour boats chugging through the choppy waters of the East River below. I always want to be sitting on one of those sailboats immediately after spotting them.

Once in DUMBO, we walked, with much wonder and amazement, through an old, abandoned, roofless tobacco warehouse. This led us straight to a park along the river, which was strewn with curious art installations and Canada geese. There was a wedding taking place on the boardwalk. We visited a scrumptious brick oven pizzeria, a chocolate factory with chocolate bars that put Switzerland to shame, and a homemade ice cream shop (I think we burned 10 lbs walking the bridge, and then gained them right back). We also wandered into a gallery containing a huge art installation, in progress. The artist-lady flitted around the warehouse space, bare feet blackened with artsy neglect, frizzy hair trailing behind her. She carried a bucket of shells, and was placing them diligently within circles of white sand on the floor. Thin tree branches hung from string tied to the rafters, 40 feet above, along with large, suspended, clay heads, draped with white, gauzy fabric. The rest was indescribable. I have no idea what any of it meant, and wasn�t in the mindset to ponder. I just soaked up the feeling of it.

DUMBO is a surreal place. It is industrial and barren compared to the crowds in Manhattan. But it is also extremely clean, and all the buildings are old and beautiful, yet seem to be coated with fresh, colorful paint. Along with this cleanliness comes a definite sense of security. It is the perfect area for artists and yuppies. And they are beginning to thrive like locusts.

song stuck in my head:

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