Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Across the river, a world away
Hearting Portsmouth and hating cement.
Words Allison Hurwitz
Tuesday, February 10th, 2009 at 2:10 pm
“…Pices, identify five other ways to enjoy yourself without having to spend a fortune or hurt the earth. It’s an excellent time, astrologically speaking, to experiment with the hypothesis that cutting down on consumerism can help you discover new approaches to feeling really good.”
So says Rob Brezny anyway. Appropriately enough I read this horoscope while doing just that-plopped down on a wrought-iron bench on the edge of the Elizabeth River with the latest issue of Port Folio Weekly in my lap, the water’s gentle breeze skimming over my skin.
I am stranded in Portsmouth.
A few days ago the City of Norfolk towed my car; Dummy left the hazards on in an no-parking zone; it died. My car’s gone and I have no desire to find it-much less means to fork over what is sure to be a sizable ransom for its return. And because losing your car is never traumatic enough on its own, I also lost my cell phone.
Backstory concluded, I am largely possessionless in P-Town and it is blissful.
Brainwashed by myth, in the twoish years I’ve lived in Norfolk, I’ve been to Portsmouth less times than I have fingers on one hand. I’ve avoided the rough-and-tumble ghetto jungle across the water only to discover it harbors a fantastic little town.
I’ve spent the past few days of unusual weather basking in its serene landscape: cobblestone streets oozing with history, worn turn-of-the-century storefronts alternately vacant and vibrantly restored. And oh those waterfront views.
I’ve been consumed by a strange peace here, a slower pace. A sense that the world will turn regardless of my inconsequential life. What exactly it is about Portsmouth that’s penetrated my heart is more ambient than tangible; how stark a contrast unfolds across the Elizabeth, between the entrance an exit of the Downtown Tunnel.
I suspect it’s the grass, a green ground-covering of which Norfolk will have none of. Sadly, I believe it’s downtown’s way to put the smack on down on nature’s carpet. Somehow concrete has triumphed.
How wonderful to tote a hot breakfast from the Olde Towne Bakery and Cafe through a few blocks of towering Victorian architecture and unwrap it at water’s edge, a stone park bench for a table? Or taking a cup of steaming joe from Daily Grind for a stroll down the quaint High Street corridor?
The answer, my friends, is very.
SIMPLE PLEASURES This view can too be yours for the small price of $1.50.
Perhaps it’s the anti-winter weather that’s getting me all romantic, but I’m doing my best t prolong the sentiment. (As i type, I am on round 3 of the ferry ride home-I’m just not ready to get off.)
Inevitably the escapism will end and I will be dumped off at Hooters. Ugh. I just hope I can hold on to the serenity in my soul a little a longer, that once it’s gone I remember reprieve’s a mere 10-minutes and $1.50 away. Also, I kinda hope I find my car. Dammit Janet-
To reality I go…
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i as well have fond memories of portsmouth, but such different impressions. its that kind of town, walk a block and it will change. where norfolk is gerrymandered, portsmouth is fucking cubist.
as i desperately gulp on coffee from the daily grind in a futile attempt to maintain alertness after a shift of work preceded by an ill-considered night, i pace the visual arts center and marvel at the affectations and fashions of 19-year-old creative types. four people were supposed to meet me here an hour ago. three say they’re totally on their way. two will get here in 45 minutes. one of them forgot to bring his camera.
as i stop for fast food before my next meeting, i feel horrible as i am sure an aggressive homeless man has told me in a screaming fashion to fuck myself before referring to me by a racial slur that is common but i am not used to hearing applied to me. then i realize he is yelling at two women across the street, one with a stroller and one with a grocery cart housing another homeless man.
when i arrive at the television station for an inner sanctum creative meeting between 17 people, i am given a bottle of vitamin water as i am asked to wait in the lobby with 15 people. i suspiciously sip the purple water and try to ignore the metallic aftertaste as we compete to shout stories of the other 6 cities (and, for some reason, bethesda, md) over each other. eventually we are called into a good sized studio with cameras, microphones, a big white wall, all that shit. our boss and a popular local dj are swapping stories about the morning crew at z104. after half an hour, we begin an hourlong group conversation to arrive at the consensus that a comedy tv show would be fun to do. we agree to meet a month later in chesapeake to discuss it some more. we loiter for a few hours as i get more agitated trying to encourage the procession to biergarden.
as i sit at biergarden with 14 aspiring tv stars, i anticipate hungrily sipping something delicious and intoxicating, but the modest wait staff has 4 tables of schtick to fight through before she can get to me. i take the logjam as an opportunity to sneak out with the fellow smokers, and we talk about “the state”. i get back with 5 minutes to spare before brendan recommends a dark, fragrant thing i can’t really afford, but when it comes it is worth all the time and mounting credit. i realize i love maybe 40 percent of my present company, and only actively loathe one or two guys. not bad.
after taking the midtown tunnel to west ghent for an art show that turns out to be religiously themed in which i don a red shirt and back to the future 2 sunglasses and dance to prove some kind of point about graffiti and zombie driving home for a deep 90 minute nap, i decide i want some norfolk comfort and i’m willing to rack up some more credit debt for it.
i go to my friends’ place and gorge on a few tasty rice coated meatballs with a more poetic name as i savor some fine virginia brews before i realize they are eagerly chasing off customers and wrapping up so they can hit up stove that night. we settle up and i meekly follow them to port norfolk, which is in portsmouth.
stove is great. wonderful decor, wonderful neighborhood, wonderful drinks. they talk restaurant owner talk with the owner as i talk to my buddy’s girlfriend more than ever because i got drunk enough to inquire about the professional dance scene and was surprised to find it fascinating. she calls portsmouth the williamsburg of virginia. i think this is hilarious as she says this not even considering the historical and academically and tourism-oriented beautiful city of williamsburg that is very close to us in virginia. despite this, i know what she is trying to get across about the genuine, embraced small cultural enclaves in portsmouth that ghent just can’t compete with. i love me some ghent, but nowhere in the seven cities is better within a few blocks than old town or port norfolk.
so that is the condensed version of my great portsmouth experiences of the past few years, but i should mention that when i was in high school, had just purchased turntables, seriously thinking that i would make myself into a great dj, and had no kind of budgetary constraints for rent or drugs, i made many trips to a place called broadway records, an unassuming bump in a shopping center that was one of the great record outlets on the east coast, with an enormously cool, old staff that would talk to me as long as i cared about music and records and give me great deals on trade. and while i love the atmosphere of the naro and they do the best movie programming as they have for years, i think the commodore is the most deluxe cinema experience whenever you need to catch a big title they are playing. plus they sell alcohol.
although it is a largely sparse, jobless place full of real poverty and depression, portsmouth has more than its share of the best of the seven cities.
now, if you’ll excuse me, i’m getting to the tragic depressing end of saturday night fever and i need to cry to the strains of “how deep is your love”.
Hmmm… as someone who works a great deal in Portsmouth, I missed those parts. All I got to see was the housing projects. I once saw a woman in a convenience store threaten to seduce and have relations with a past relation of another woman because of a perceived relating she did to a man who was in a relationship at the time.
OK, Brendan. So this is has nothing to do with Portsmouth, but…
Like how you say “relating she did to a man who was in a relationship.” You make it sound like some sort of violent crime. “Woman Inflicts Oral Sex on Man!” I’m sure he a) didn’t mind and b) didn’t stop and put his pants back on. It takes two to “relate” honey.
You silly men.
I go to Portsmouth all the time for work and I get caught off guard sometimes and how beautiful it can really be. I have found myself lost downtown and have just keep on driving enjoying the sceneic view. It’s easy to get caught up some of the abandoned downtown store fronts and see the place as the armpit of the seven cities, but the same people who have never really taken the time to walk around and enjoy Portsmouth on a beautiful spring day. Thanks for letting me think about something nice for a second, and not about the crap that fills my brain most of the time.
I spent Sunday in Portsmouth, trying to get a feel for it. The words that came to me: haunted, laden, quiet. Very much intrigued me.
It’s a long story I’m sure I’ll impart to you some time over a drink. It’s actually more of a short incident and less of a story, but I’ll still drink either way.