Syzlak’s SEM

continued from Syzlak - Lost in NY, Part I

My emergence from the great underground of NY was indeed right outside of the World Trade Center walk. I never really looked through the gate. Had I done so, I’m sure I would’ve wondered about those boys from Iowa, whether they were still alive. I would’ve thought about the weight of that day for my brother. I would’ve thought about how much has changed in the last 7 years, in our country, our world, this city, my gut, everything. So instead I kept my eyes on squarely focused on navigating the crowd until I got the chance to focus them on a squirrel.

My hotel was quite luxurious and the polite staff allowed me to check in early. It was only 10am and I was ready for bed. In a couple hours I was going to meet up with Streko for lunch.

The nap was jarring, constantly interrupted by west coasters who were just getting up and needing to ping ol’ Syzlak. The shower, however, was fantastic. I really hate the grimy stinky feeling I get after traveling. Any time I sit in those damn airplane seats I feel I’ve garnered a new layer of filth, and I immediately desire a cleansing.

I leave for lunch about an hour early in order to visit a guitar shop that’s in the neighborhood.

***

Usually, I’d take a detour here and tell you a long story about how amazing that I happened upon the same guitar store that I went to 7 years ago. I’d say it was great to go back as it was the first truly independent/vintage/boutique store I’d ever been to and it was what really opened me up to crazy assed musical equipment (Z.Vex pedals, etc.). I’d also rant and rave about the fact that I got to play a real 1965 Fender Jazzmaster and that I fell in love with that guitar. I might say that it was a glorious moment realizing that as hip as Portland is, it’ll never compare to the greatness of the east, the grit, the history.

Like I said, normally, but today I just don’t have the time. I’ve got to get this post done ASAP it was due like a month ago.

***

I was told to meet Mr. Streko on the corner of Gray’s & Papaya.

It’s fucking really odd when you’ve never met someone before and you’re supposed to meet in a city like NY. Also, you never look too good when you can’t seem to decide if you want to stand in front of a restaurant (Which would be like standing in line but not being in line, or standing in the area right after a doorway (No it’s not called a foyer. A foyer is a gathering place, like a fancy-assed lobby. Now, while it’s technically possible that douchebags will stop right after a doorway and be in the foyer (Although more importantly they’ll be in the way), I’m more forgivable if there is a foyer, which this wasn’t) like a fucking mouth breather would do) or in front of a porn shop. Those that know me, know that I like to tread the thin line of decency and so I stood directly in between the two. Some fifteen minutes later the one known as Streko found me and we went to lunch.

As it has come to be with most of the people I meet in real life, the first questions asked of me, aside from basic pleasantries, frequently relate to my friend SEOHack. While this is not really a bother to me, it does give me a smile that SEOHack is the topic of conversation when people meet me. In a way, it’s nice. It means that they clearly read both our blogs and know me well enough to know that I’m friends with SEOHack. It’s also a rather cromulent reaction to realizing that I am there, in the present tense, physical, and thus: real. Holy shit, when was the last time I punctuated a list that way? [Streko, don't read that paragraph the wrong way, I knew at the time that we're friends, I'm just saying it's fucking eerie how many times it happens]

An hour and a bland “Philly” cheese steak later, Streko heads back to work and I head off to find my brother. Apparently, he only works about 10 blocks away and so I leave this neck of NY embiggened with the
successes of my first day in NY.

Speaking of the photo on the right, I’ve never seen a cart vendor so thrilled to have someone take a photo of their meat.

…

…

I traverse the concrete jungle for about 30 minutes (I went the wrong way) before finding his office. Here it was, the grand surprise. I must’ve looked so trustworthy to the building security guard.

“Who are you here to see?”

“I’m going to the 33rd floor.”

“Who are conducting business with?”

“I don’t know. There’s a law office on the 33rd floor, my brother’s an attorney there.”

“You don’t know who you’re here to see?”

“…uh. It’s a law firm…it takes up the whole 33rd floor. Stein–”

Before I start rattling off Jewish surnames, I recall that I own an iPhone and could just look at my email from my mother. It’s a good thing too, as the firm has no stereotypical Jewish surnames. I’m granted access to the 33rd floor. I am prepping my entrance. When I get to the 33rd floor I ask for my brother.

FAIL

Apparently he’d decided to cut out of the office a tad early. Dejected, I head back downstairs. Security gives me a quizzical look

“After all that I made you go through, he left early.”

She seems to understand. I go outside to call my brother and find out what he’s doing. It’s three days past his birthday and it would be acceptable for me to now call and wish him a happy birthday: I’m a bit of a bastard.

FAIL

His phone number doesn’t appear to be in my phone.

RETRY

Still not there, not even when I look up “affected know-it-all.”

FAIL

Mom has his number, I’ll call her.

FAIL

No answer. Son of a bitch. Now I’m in the middle of the city, my hotel’s at the southern end, my brother is nowhere to be found and I can’t get a hold of anyone with his number.

ABORT

To cut a long boring-ass story short, my Mom finds out where he is and I go to meet him at his apartment. I deal with the doorman (woman) thusly:

“hi”

“[Brother's name] please, 21st floor. Tell him it’s his brother.” And I said it like fucking Charlie Bronson!

On the other end of the phone my brother says “OOOOOOOOOOOK” in that oh-so perturbed way only he can. He answers the door slightly tentatively as if I was going to ask for money. To his credit, it’s generally accepted within the family that I’m always going to need money and he may be the only person I’d ever ask. Not to say that I’m a poor man, I just am the most likely to need money on short notice. Anyway, he asks why I’m here, I come back with a witty rejoinder about how I didn’t call him on his birthday and I felt bad, so I flew out. Then he tiptoed around where I was staying, I quickly said I had a hotel and all was well in the family again.

See how great it is to be a Syzlak? You can go out and visit kin with the greatest of intentions and it immediately becomes a hassle. You aren’t staying here are you? You came all this way just to hang out? You need money don’t you? (I did end up taking money before the weekend was over, but as my brother put it “Have you reached a point in your life where you’re actually turning down free money?” …no, and I don’t believe I ever will)

Anyway, then we drank and carried on for about 3 days. Not much else can be said about those three days that hasn’t already been told in countless Norse sagas?