So -- I've lived across the street from the Chelsea Hotel for about 4 years now. The Chelsea has long been a home to artists and writers, and is also the spot where Sid Vicious murdered Nancy Spungen. It's a beautiful old building that is truly one of the gems of my neighborhood. It also gets some very, very strange people who live there.
So, for about three years I've seen this guy who lives in The Chelsea walking his dog. He appeared to be moody and a little surly, so I immediately liked him more than I would most people walking small white dogs.
We spent two years not acknowledging each other, followed by a year of nodding hello, then about 7 months ago we finally said hi. In the course of our conversation I mentioned I had a gallery and he mentioned some interesting Art World folk he was friends with. He also mentioned he was the greatest living concert pianist and that he had commissioned Phillip Glass to do a piece that was a portrait of the artist Chuck Close for the piano that he would be performing at Alice Tulley Hall at Lincoln Center.
I looked at him like he was a crackhead.
Lo and behold, The New York Times runs a cover story in the Arts section on Friday about this guy and the performance. He was totally telling the truth. I saw him out with his dog on Saturday and told him what a nice article it was. He asked if I could make it to the concert tonight. I said I didn't have tickets and he said he'd leave some at the box-office.
I totally expected there to be no tickets.
There were! It was great actually -- Chuck Close painted a famous portrait of Phillip Glass in 1969 and it became an icon of contemporary art. For Glass to do a portrait of him is a stroke of genius from a genius.
The fact that I got my tickets from some guy I met on the street with our dogs is the reason I love New York. You never know if you are talking to a Rockefeller or a Crack-head. New York is the greatest city in the world.
eh, last nite i met paris hilton at the standard hotel in hollywood. she told me my shoes were kick ass and that I was gorgeous.
2 weeks ago i ran into ryan seacrest at a jamba juice dying for an orange berry blast. he offered to get my drink.
perks are all over this country. haha
Posted by: Long Tran | April 26, 2005 at 12:00 AM
how could you not know who philip glass is?
maybe zach was right. less surface and more substance.
Posted by: bud | April 26, 2005 at 08:30 AM
Nice! Wish I would have gone.
Posted by: Aaron | April 26, 2005 at 09:29 AM
Great story dude. Chuck Close portraits are amazing.
Posted by: Jose | April 26, 2005 at 09:46 AM
Bud,
The pianist is Josh Livingston, he is not the composer of the piece.
Posted by: Ken | April 26, 2005 at 11:24 AM
my bad
Posted by: bud | April 26, 2005 at 11:49 AM
Not sure "Rockefeller" and "Crack-head" are necessarily mutually exclusive traits...
Posted by: P/O | April 26, 2005 at 01:15 PM
I especially savored the part about how long it took before you both spoke to each other. It's not just NYC. In Provincetown, I lived across the street from a guy for six years. We said about six words to each other. Turns out he was Channing Wilroy who had played the butler in Pink Flamingos.
PS: I staid at the Chelsea many years ago. I advise people not to get a room with a street-facing terrace. Some residents will crawl into your windows uninvited. Some naked, some fun, some not.
Posted by: farmboyz | April 26, 2005 at 04:10 PM
Actually, the guy with the white dog (there used to be two)'s name is Bruce. And I thought he was a whack job, too. For a really, really, really long time. When I was managing ViewBar, we'd have discussions of the concert and how I should come, and I'd just nod.
It's nice to know he's not crazy...
Posted by: Charlie | April 29, 2005 at 06:35 AM
That is way cool. In my neighborhood it's almost always crackheads with an occasional Clinton. Oh the SoHar.
Posted by: charles | May 02, 2005 at 02:27 PM