July 1995. My friend Rob took a brief leave of absence from his life in Costa Mesa in Orange County, Ca (or "behind the Orange Curtain," as he used to say) to log some time here back here in his former hometown of NYC. With a friend or two in tow, Rob decided it'd be interesting to forgo the usual route of crashing on my then-couch in Yorkeville on the Upper East Side and instead booked a room in the Chelsea Hotel, the same fabled Manhattan institution that played to host to everyone from Quentin Crisp, Brendan Behan and Dylan Thomas through Dee Dee Ramone, Jim Carroll and --- wait for it -- Sid Vicious. Given the storied coolness of the venue, Rob magnanimously then decided to host a little July 4th get-together in his room there. I was particularly excited about it, as while I'd certainly stood in its lobby once or twice, I'd never actually been upstairs or seen any of the rooms before. I was psyched to check it out.
I remember the evening as being fittingly rainy and gloomy. I don't recall the exact room number, but Rob's room looked almost exactly like the room captured in Alex Cox's arguably lamentable film, "Sid & Nancy." It looked out over 23rd street, to the right of the famous neon sign. It was a bit grotty, but still quite cool. At the time, they were selling official Chelsea Hotel t-shirts in the lobby, and were displaying them on a headless mannequin. "Oh, that's really cute," said my friend Sara, pointing at a giant-sized water bug on the sleeve of the t-shirt. Sara assumed the bug was fake and a campy part of the t-shirt design. I countered that it wasn't. We spent the evening drinking many beers, listening to environs-appropriate tunes and giggling like a gaggle of fanboys. When we repaired downstairs to go buy some more beer, I was able to win the argument with Sara by calling her attention to the fact that the water bug had moved on. Suffice to say, Sara decided against buying a t-shirt.
One year later, Rob returned to the Chelsea, rented the very same room and had another soiree, this one to surreptitiously celebrate his newly-minted marriage, but that's another story. Again, we spent hours wandering the hotel's halls and stairwells, admiring the the artwork that hung in virtually every free space.
Time passed. Life sped up. Rob moved back to New York for a while, then onto New London in Connecticut. I, in turn, moved downtown, got married and then moved again, although in the same neighborhood. Fourteen years after that last festive evening in the Chelsea Hotel, Rob came back to NYC last weekend and, again, booked a room at the hotel. He was in town with our mutual friend Adam who was performing at an evening of stand-up comedy at the Axis Theater in heart of the Village. Afterward, we again repaired back to the Chelsea Hotel (albeit to a different room, this time) to knock back a few drinks and catch up. Endearingly, the place looked pretty much the same as we'd remembered it. I took the liberty of snapping just a couple of shots. If you ever have to the opportunity to wander its halls, I highly recommend it. The place has an atmosphere like no other.
Oh, you can still buy t-shirts in the lobby. The water bug is still optional.
Recent Comments