Don’t you hate it when you dream of something and the minute you open your eyes, you forget what it was about?<\/p>\n
The next 10 minutes is usually a time I try to recall whatever I can.<\/p>\n
Well, the only thing I can remember of the dream is me complaining to someone about how I didn’t see local artists around looking at stuff.<\/p>\n
Which then made me recall a trip a year and a half ago in London where you’d just find an artist, budding or pro, here or there, in little corners, squinting, using their pencils to help them visualize proportion.<\/p>\n
Which then made me think about my first trip to the US. In between terms at university. Alone and feeling a little penniless in New York, I decided to try something that New Yorkers do. People watch.<\/p>\n
I had taken a long walk from Brooklyn to South Street Seaport. I found a bench and I just stared out at whatever. Whatever being what I assume it was what people watchers watched.<\/p>\n
It was fairly awkard. Looking out at nothing in particular. And I was uneasy with what felt like a waste of time.<\/p>\n
After about 10 minutes of this, my mind went numb and blank.<\/p>\n
Soon, I started to notice what people did. The patterns of action. Of living. Of motion. And then a German tourist came by with his wife and kids and, commenting on me, said, “How can they do this? Sitting around looking at me.”<\/p>\n
For that one second I was a New Yorker. Then I decided to move on.<\/p>\n
This memory then triggered another. My first Italian sausage hotdog in New York. As I was a student without much in my pocket, I’d basically been subsisting on $1 hotdogs a day. Usually boiled. Probaby Sabrett<\/a>.<\/p>\n But after a few days, I’d gotten hungry. And I was starting to look at other hot dog choices. The Italian sausage was $4.50 or so. I went for it. It was a gorgeous piece of sausage, cut out from a bigger link. Fried and split with a knife. On a third of a large baguette. Wrapped in foil.<\/p>\n As usual, I had everything on it. Onions, green peppers. I can barely recall what was actually on it, or where I had it. All I remember is it was some greenery around, probably a park, next to a body of water. And I know that’s not very helpful in a place like New York. But hey, that was almost 20 years ago.<\/p>\n I remember being embarrassed by the size of that hotdog. Embarrassed by my greed and hunger. Warm and huge. I couldn’t even wait to get back to have it. So I found a bench and ate it there and then. It was so big, it was only after two bites that I got to sausage.<\/p>\n As I was eating it, I recalled this kid in Ang Mo Kio who once passed me when I was eating chilli fishballs from a plastic bag when I was walking past some shops. It was after some ECA and I was remarkably hungry. She loudly said to her mother as she looked at me “Ee, so dirty.”<\/p>\n Which made me annoyed, because then I also thought about the many times when I’d take my dog out and kids want to pat it and their parents say “No, very dirty.”<\/p>\n