Generally, my energy level plummets the second I arrive at the workplace and it rockets the instant I leave. Wednesday was no exception. There I was, the portrait of lethargy sitting at my desk, using the little that remains of my cobweb-cluttered mind proofreading the floor tile equivalent of the Dead Sea Scrolls. My sidekick, Greg, had just returned from taking a walk.
Greg: You know that graffiti artist, Space Invader?
Me (groggy): Yeah.
Disclaimer: the name Space Invader did ring an anemic bell but at that very moment white noise was predominantly playing in my head.
Greg: I think I just saw one of his mosaics outside the parking lot on Hudson and Worth.
Me (still muddle-headed): What’s the name of this parking lot?
Greg: I don’t know. It’s the one we walk past whenever we walk south on Hudson.
That reasoning now rings the gong in my head and jars me out of my stupor. I regain full consciousness, indeed recall Space Invader, recollect watching the documentary film about street artists, Exit Through the Gift Shop, and hack up a feather.
Me: Yes! I know that parking lot.
Greg: The mosaic’s starting to crumble. It probably won’t be there much longer.
Me: I should photograph it!
Greg: You should. It’s outside the parking lot.
I hurdle my desk and I’m in my boss, Elsbeth’s office, in a single bound requesting a Get Out of Jail Free pass. She grants it. Within moments, I’m hightailing down Hudson. I see the parking lot but no sign of Space Invader’s mark. Frustrated, I am wondering what Greg meant when he said this mosaic is outside the parking lot. This parking lot is an outdoor parking lot. Then, I step off the sidewalk and just as I’m almost hit by a beer truck …
Looking north on Hudson at Worth and simultaneously defying death.
Keep looking.
Paydirt!
One rainstorm away from disappearing.
I return to my desk, satisfied with the sighting that was even more rewarding than the deeply philosophical street art I encountered when my friends and I were in the East Village last Saturday.
The Fickle Finger of the East Village.
Lame Adventures 