About three weeks ago, I moved about three blocks west to a new building. As a result, I now take the 4/5 line to school instead of the 2/3. I still get off at 42nd street, but instead of surfacing at Time Square, I now come up through Grand Central Terminal. The day I started my new route, I was in a hurry, and while I new, in theory, where I was, I paid little attention. I found the quickest way to the street, and I jetted to class. But on my way home, I had plenty of time to look around and soak in my surroundings.I tried not to look like a tourist--I dread attracting negative attention, and no one likes it when a tourist stops in the walkway for no reason, gawking at what you see everyday, tripping you up when you're just trying to get home. So I looked up casually and saw for the first time the ceiling covered in stars. It wasn't what I expected. It looks nothing like Hogwarts. Instead of midnight blue, it's more of a turquoise color, really more green than blue if you ask me.
The constellations are depicted as though someone had played connect the dots on the ceiling, and while it sounded terribly romantic in theory, practice left me a bit cold. Last summer I read "Gone to New York" by Ian Frazier, a collection of essays, in which Frazier talks about taking a tour of Grand Central and a tour guide who complains that there are mylar balloons on the ceiling that have been there for ages and he can't figure out a way to get them down. In the essay, Frazier and a friend retrieve the pesky balloons using a device they created for removing plastic bags from trees. I looked for balloons on the ceiling, but they must have gotten them all.
I can't really say that I was disappointed. The building is absolutely gorgeous. The four-sided clock in the main concourse is supposedly worth somewhere between $10 and $20 million. The clock on the 42nd street facade is one of the oldest examples of Tiffany glass, and the sculptures surrounding the clock comprise the largest sculptural group in the world. It is a building of superlatives, but I found little to connect to, nothing I could laugh at. I have little use for things I cannot laugh at. Luckily, Wikipedia shares the following tidbit about the ceiling:
"There are two peculiarities to this ceiling: the sky is backwards, and the stars are slightly displaced. [...] When they learned that the ceiling was painted backwards, the embarrassed Vanderbilt family tried to explain that the ceiling reflected God's view of the sky."
Who can help but smirk at an embarrassed Vanderbilt?
Sidenote: One of my favorite things in Grand Central, apart from walking through the main concourse and feeling incredibly small, is a pastry shop called "Hot and Crusty." I've never stopped there, but I love the tenacity of the name, and if I ever do go in, it will most likely be out of amusement, and not merely appetite.
