If the Earth was an orange and people were a type of mold then New York City is where it turns from a black sticky dust into a protruding white fuzz. The fungal hairs would be growing the highest in the center of Time Square which is preciescely where I stood. I didn't plan on standing at the epicenter of man made industry to ponder my existence when I woke up this morning. I didn't come here to see a Broadway show or get my picture taken with a Muppet. I travelled here for a doctor's appointment concerning my over sensitive right ear. As it turns out, not only does Manhattan boast the biggest and best in entertainment and economics but also is where one goes to visit the smartest man in America concerning the inner ear. My problem is frustrating and unique so regular ear doctors have had trouble figuring out what my issue is and have yet to assign a name to my condition.
I'm staying with my cousin Michael who lives in the city. He told me to meet him when he gets off work in Time Square. So here I am, alone in the center of it all contemplating my ear problem with two hours to kill and I hear a strange yet familiar sound. It's coming from below me and sounds unmistakably like a didgeridoo. A few people I know play the instrument well so I am certain that is what I'm hearing. The buzzy drone echos through the underground maze of subways and utility shafts and from where I'm standing provides an odd juxtaposition to the hundreds of theater sized screens silently vying for my attention. To the left, there is a stunning time lapse video of the skyline of New York rushing from sunrise to sunset in a few seconds. To the right there is an image of a teenage girl buckling her bra behind her back while giving the camera "the eye" in the mirror she stands in front of. This scene is actually depicted across three large screens that stand about sixty feet high.
Countless other screens can be seen for blocks in all directions, some on the very tops of the buildings around me and from where I stood, they all seemed to be pointing at me. It's as if all the screens in the world from cell phones to stadium scoreboards are fruits of the constantly growing technology tree. Here amongst the densest part where the skyscraper leaves are the most voluptuous they grow to county fair proportions. These fruits aren't meant to be bought, sold, and consumed. These ones are the ones the farmer sets aside to compete with and win.
The synchronicity with the didgeridoo soundtrack is odd and appropriate simultaneously. It puts me into a primal state of mind where I can see things for what they really are. Suddenly, I break my gaze from the perimeter of glowing technology, refocus my eyes, and realize that I'm not alone on the droning grate.
A masked person, who I'm assuming is a man based on his height and build is dressed as the statue of liberty and is patiently waiting for a tourist to come get their picture taken with him. His mute demeanor and hidden identity only adds to the mysteriousness of the moment scored by a tribal hum.
As I studied the details of his costume another metaphoric epiphany hits me. If the actual statue of liberty was the geographic north pole of American ideology, this man who stands before me disguised as liberty so he can get you to give him money is like the magnetic north. The one that is close but not quite the axis of which all rotates around but nonetheless is where you will end up if you follow your compass alone. The real statue stands by herself on an island nearby with her solemn vow to never put down her torch while the country's citizens are drawn to the glitz and glamour of showbiz and are thrilled to get their image preserved in digital film with a poor imitator of the famous lady.
I found out later that I was right about the sound being a didgeridoo but there wasn't anyone below me playing one. It was an art installment of a few speakers temporarily placed underground with a didgeridoo playing on loop to be heard from exactly where I stood. I can only imagine this blog post is precisely the reaction the artist was hoping for. When I found out that it was art I wanted to declare it pretentious and stupid but it only took me a few seconds to reconsider and realize that all my thoughts about life in metaphors were prompted by the ominous and unexpected sound. Maybe Mr. Liberty standing silently on his grate in the middle of the screen forest in his cheap costume was the inspiration for the installment. Who knows, does it matter? I think I'm going to move to a small town on a tropical island now.
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