Miss Manhattan Hangs Out with Andrew Rizzardi
Obscure Polish cinema, girls on fast wheels, dinosaur attacks, and more.
As I arrive at Andrew Rizzardi’s apartment in Brooklyn, he’s packing up a bag. So far, his 4x5 camera will go in it, with corresponding film, and a tripod. Elvis and Big Freedia play in the background, and a stick of incense sends a sliver of smoke toward the ceiling. He’s asking me what cocktail ingredients I want him to pack for the park, but I don’t want him to waste his bar ingredients on me. Also, it’s his day to do whatever he likes. “This is Miss Manhattan Hangs Out,” he insists.
Perhaps it’s useful to say here that Andrew and I have been friends for 11 years. I have often described our relationship as “platonic life partners,” since shortened to “PLiP,” which is used the way someone might say “gay husband.” Except Andrew is not gay and I needed to call him something to indicate the high rank of the friendship, and “best friend” sounded silly.
Andrew is a photographer, showing his work in galleries, in addition to his work in nonprofit communications. I think more importantly he is a person of the world, who craves it to be better than it is for people who need it most, who wants it to be filled with interesting, intelligent life.
“Fine,” I say. I suggest tequila, soda, and lime juice but he doesn’t have any so he resolves to make Aperol Spritzes instead, pouring the eponymous orange liqueur into a clean jar to bring with us along with a can of seltzer. Our next stop becomes the nearby liquor store for a bottle of Prosecco. This goes in his bag, too, along with an overstuffed Cuban torta from the magical Girasol, a 24-hour taqueria and bakery, that we pick up along the way. I have had these sandwiches before and I’m practically salivating thinking of the crush of meat and avocado and sour cream all soaked into the roll.
We get on the train to 45th Street and walk to Bush Terminal Park, a park that’s formed at the edge of Sunset Park amongst once-abandoned buildings that will soon become something like “a place for innovation” and probably, sadly, more yuppies. We groan at the prospect in one breath and marvel at the park in the other.
There’s sunshine and rocks and a giant sandwich and Lady Liberty and the spritzes Andrew makes in tumblers he’s also cleverly brought. We talk about that newish streaming service Eternal Family, where you can find not just B movies but C, D, E, and F movies galore–obscure Polish cinema, girls on fast wheels, dinosaur attacks, and more.
The sun is turning us (well, me) colors and we move into this area that looks like the Meat Rack on Fire Island but isn’t. Andrew sets up his camera, flicking into it 4x5 film and tucking himself under its hood. Glimmers of sunlight fall between the trees. It’s my turn to be in front of the lens now, but it’s okay, I trust him.
