Los Angeles, I'm Yours

LA: The city of angels, the city of dreams. Actually I didn't know whether LA is officially "the city of dreams", so I googled the phrase and found links for New York, Paris and Bombay. So I've been trying to find another phrase that may suit. It may not be as catchy, but I've come up with Los Angeles: the city with a 1:1 ratio of park benches to homeless people.

Although it is almost winter, it is still t-shirt weather in southern California. While the sun may be shining, there's a haze the hangs permanently over the downtown area which lends a certain suspicion towards the conditions. I asked a gas station employee if he ever had trouble breathing, and he said "It varies from season to season, Grant"

I even though I'm fairly prejudice against a city such as LA, with it's palm trees and lack of density, there's still this "Holy shit, LA!" feeling you get every time you step outside. With this in mind and with a few hours to kill before I was to head to the airport to meet Kate and hang out before we got on our separate flights, I decided to go against all my natural instincts and do something touristy. So I went to Venice Beach.





Being a Tuesday morning there wasn't really much activity going on along the beach front. But it was nice to take a bit of a walk. There was a concrete lip separating the pedestrian and bicycle parts of the walkway and I found myself some enjoyment walking along it for a good section of the beach.



When I was in New York, I spent a considerable amount of time hanging out by the basketball court on the corner of West 3rd and 6th Avenue. I was hoping that if I stood there long enough some of the guys would pick me for a game. It never happened though. I guess they thought that this cracker-ass didn't have the skillz to pay the billz. Little did they know that I have the ball-handling ability of a young Steve Carfino, as well an almost unblemished record from the free-throw line. So while New York wasn't giving me any game, I was sure that I could score some court time in LA. Unfortunately, 11am on a Tuesday morning doesn't seem to be a very popular time to play basketball down on Venice Beach as the courts were completely empty. My hoop dreams were shattered.



As the hotel I'm staying in is right next to the airport I decided to spend the latter part of the afternoon chasing planes around. Just down the road Avis have this rather large carpark that the planes pass right over as they are preparing to land. It proved an excellent spot to take some photos.





As we were both flying back to Melbourne on the same day, over the last couple of weeks Kate and I have tried several times to get on each other's flights. Unfortunately this hasn't been possible. I'm currently sitting back in my hotel after spending some time with Kate as she flew in from New York. Kate had her first burrito of her trip, and changed into her newly purchased green American Apparel tracksuit, which looks suspiciously like John Howard's power-walking tracksuit, for the flight home.



Although my flight leaves three hours after Kate's, her flight goes via Auckland and so only lands 5 minutes before mine. We've organised to meet each before going through Customs. So although we may not have been able to fly together, we'll at least give the impression that we have to the people waiting in the arrivals hall.

On A Train Devouring The Land....

It’s not often I throw around a word such a “hero”, and it’s even less common for me to use it to describe myself. But as I sit here in Penn Station in New York waiting for my train to depart I’m kind of thinking there is something heroic in what I am about to undertake. It’s is 3.40pm on Friday the 24th of November, in 5 minutes this train will leave the station for Chicago, from Chicago I will jump another train all the way to Los Angeles. I’ll arrive sometime on Monday. Who knows what lies ahead? Adventure? Danger? Romance? I have my trusty laptop so the journey will be well documented. ALL ABOARD!



Moving out through Manhattan at the moment and I’m in a mood that can best be described as “Fuck Yeah!” It’s a gorgeous autumn day, the sun is beginning its descent creating an orange haze the compliments the browning leaves to perfection. I’m listening to Montréal’s latest art-rock sensations, Malajube, I mime along too in love with life to be concerned with the fact that I can only understand half the words.



Fuck it. Fuck the poetry, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so good in my entire life! This is undoubtedly the coolest thing I’ve ever done. I’m unconcerned with the hyperbole here, as this is pure joy. I’m not shy to admit to a tear in my eye. I thought getting the bus was amazing, but it’s all about trains for me now. Trains, trains, trains, trains, trains, trains!! I’ve got to catch them. This is what I have to do with my life. Motherfucking trains!! Why haven’t I been into trains until now? I mean, I liked them fine, but was always more a bus person. I guess it’s because I’ve never really taken a long train ride. Apart from the time I got the train from London to Leeds to see a Leeds vs. Liverpool game (when Leeds were still in the Premier League) I can’t recall a train ride of significance that I have been on. The train ride to Leeds wasn’t anything spectacular though. It was green. This guy my cousin Lucy and I lived with at the time called Matt worked for Sky TV and he managed to jimmy a couple of free tickets to the game. I had a soft spot for Leeds at the time as it was not only the period when both Harry Kewell and Mark Viduka were playing for them, but Paul Okon was in the side as well and even though he’s rubbish Terry Venables seemed to have a thing for him and would often start him. It was a pretty uneventful game. Diouf scored for Liverpool in the 83rd minute or something to give Liverpool a 1-Nil victory. Leeds fans seemed resigned to their decline by this stage, so although they seemed disappointed I think they knew the loss was inevitable.





I’m into the mini Snickers. The mini Snickers is a good mouthful of confectionery. I’m tempted to see how many I can fit in my mouth at once, but as the train is rather full and as of yet I do not know any of these people I think I’ll save the experiment for a less populated section of the trip.

Yesterday was Thanksgiving. Americans love their holidays. Hillary told me this is because they work so hard. She also told me that the reason why the Australia dollar is worth less than the American dollar is because Australians don’t work hard enough. I tried to explain that as a resource and agriculturally based economy it was more advantageous for Australia to have a lower valued dollar. She wasn’t buying it though.
Most non-Americans have a vague idea of what Thanksgiving is about; something to do with pilgrims having some sort of feast. Pilgrims, Santa Claus, Halloween, the Easter Bunny, Americans have a history of non-reality based festivities, but Thanksgiving is an opportunity for people to get together and enjoy themselves and this is ultimately a good thing. I tagged along with Hillary to the flat of friends of hers. Mei, who had been out in Melbourne earlier in the year, also flew in from California. There was much food and alcohol consumption, and merriment ensued. Games were played and bonds were formed. Thanks were given.



There’s an Anglo-Indian sitting across the aisle from me. Well, Anglo-Indian could be a misleading description as that is a term used to describe an ethnic group in India. He’s an English guy of Indian origin. Anyway, I’m just about bursting to converse with him about cricket. I want his opinion of England leaving Monty Panesar out of the current Test in Brisbane. Ashley Giles is rubbish. Panesar is the best thing to happen to English cricket since Ian Botham stopped smoking fags in the slips cordon. Duncan Fletcher thinks he has an exposed tail, but playing Giles isn’t going to help much, the problem is with their top 6. Playing a pie-chucker who can bat a little at the expense of a genuine wicket-taker is just stupid.



Listening to Joanna Newsom’s “Ys”. In a previous post I’d made a remark about Newsom that would be challenged by an anonymous commenter. I chose to ignore it at the time, but it has stuck with me and after once again marvelling at the absolute genius of “Ys” I feel the need for rebuttal. “Raving hippy” is the entire point! No-one writes lyrics in such a fashion as her these days. The sheer amount of effort put into this album is worthy of respect alone. But also her over-dramatic themes, archaic phrasing and terminology display a certain wry perspective. To take her entirely seriously would be to deny language its multifaceted applications! And deny the young lady her obvious intelligence.
Furthermore, she isn’t in the property of hipsters. Trends change every 3 to 4 minutes, there’s no way a hipster would be able to sit through a song like “Only Skin” at 16 minutes in length without fretting about whether it was still cool or not to be listening.
I feel somewhat ashamed that I’ve had to stoop to defending the obvious, but it’s night-time now and there’s nothing to look out the window at and so I’ve gotten a tad grumpy.

It’s now around 10.30pm and the train hasn’t moved in the last half an hour. It seems we are stuck behind a freight train with mechanical difficulty. This was not in the plan. Although it’s pitch black outside and there would be no scenery for me even if we were moving, the lack of movement is frustrating all the same. Movement, movement, movement, it not only feels good to have the ground passing underneath you, but there’s a symbolism here. This trip is sort of an “onward and upward” journey for me. This is the beginning of me finally being able to get some ideas and goals to achieve, to stop being a “drifter”, as my mother refers to me, and yet here I am 7 hours out of New York and I’ve once again become stagnant. One could say that this is out of my control, but that’s an excuse I’ve used far too much in my life. Why aren’t I out helping to fix the freight train? If I was truly a “go getter” that is what I would be doing. People who move and achieve don’t see excuses they only see challenges, challenges that need solutions. It’s most likely that even if I did attempt to go help fix the freight train I wouldn’t be allowed off this train, but I’m still yet to make the attempt. What is my problem? Maybe Hillary is right about Australians just not working hard enough?

2am: The Feds just stormed the train and busted down on some mutha. Well, it wasn’t that dramatic. The train stopped in Rochester and the police got on and escorted some guy off. I was hoping they were going to smack him around a little, but it didn’t happen. I’m a bit confused, that’s not what occurs in the America I know from television.

Just out of Cleveland now. It’s 7.30am. Outside is real Americana: Heavy industry, weatherboard houses, huge open skies and baseball fields. The English guy and I are desperate for a cricket score, but we ain’t going to get it here.
Time is passing extremely quickly. I don’t think I slept much, yet the morning came surprisingly fast. My enthusiasm for the trip had waned through the night, but now I’m able to see again I’m once again thinking this is a wonderful idea. The English guy has even more ambition than me. Whilst not attempting it all at once, he is heading to Seattle from Chicago then down to San Francisco, across to Denver, back up to Chicago and over to Boston. Makes me feel like I’m just jumping the Frankston line.





I’m wondering that, although I am unable to post this as I write, it’s still going to have a lame “live blogging” feel to it. You know how every South By South-West Festival Pitchfork are all like “Yeah, we’ve got live blogging from SXSW!!” and make it out to be the greatest thing ever, but then it’s just William Bowers going “Oh man, The Arcade Fire are playing ‘Neighbourhood #3 (The Power Out)”’ I love this song!” I’m hoping this will be a little more interesting.

My English co-passenger and I are now on excellent terms. We’ve discussed the weighty topics of the day – politics, cricket and Radiohead. He agrees with me that Conservative leader David Cameron is a “flash in the pan” (first time I’ve ever used that expression!), Monty Panesar should have definitely been included in the current England side and that Amnesiac is a rubbish album. His family are actually from Bangladesh, his parents immigrating to England just before the war of independence, which technically makes them from East Pakistan, but I won’t get picky.

Because of the earlier delays the train is running rather late. I have no idea how far out we are from Chicago, but my next train leaves in three hours. I’m hoping that we are less than three hours from Chicago. I wanted to get a meal there and find a nice big packet of Ruffles Salt & Vinegar crisps and other delectable snackie-treats for my onward journey. I’m still upbeat about this being achievable.
I was so excited to rediscover Ruffles when I got to Canada. Kate and I were discussing this the other day. We both agreed that it was a awful shame when they were no longer available in Australia. It was around the late-90s, a brutal period for the Australian snack consumer, as one may recall from a previous post, this was around the time that Jolly Ranchers also stopped being sold. People talk about the Depression, but let me tell you that the late 90s were no picnic either. Literally.

Coming through the suburbs of Chicago now. The Sears Tower…umm…towers over the city.



After we arrived in Chicago, my English friend and I went and got ourselves a burrito. He’s been good company. No idea what his name was though. It’s a shame he won’t be on the next part of my trip. The streets of Chicago were very quiet. Everyone has abandoned the centre of the city for Thanksgiving weekend. One thing that was very noticeable was how clean the streets were compared to New York. In the brief couple of hours I was there Chicago actually seemed like I really cool place. I made a mental note to return one day.

I’m on the Los Angeles bound train now. Although unlike my New York to Chicago train, there is no power-point at my seat. Furthermore no-one understands the term “power-point” and people have started speaking to me slowly and loudly as they think that English isn’t my first language.

It's several hours outside Chicago. The leg from New York to Chicago seems luxurious compared to this. As well as no power, I don’t have a double seat to myself either. I have a man next to me. A man with a goatee as well! I don’t trust men with goatees. They are sinister. He gets off in Albuquerque, I hope no-one gets on.



I’m 28 hours in to the journey and I’m not as positive about it as I initially was. My bottom hurts and I want to have a shower. It’s 7pm on Saturday evening, it won’t be until around midday Monday before I can have a shower. I think this will be the longest period I will ever have gone without a shower. It’s not a record I will be proud of. I’m known throughout many lands for my impeccable personal hygiene, this is proving damaging to my reputation.

Having scoped the train, it seems there is only one power point on the whole motherfucking thing! And some arsehole is using it to watch a movie. I’m pretty pissed off about this. On the previous train there were two points to each seat! I’m running on 41% battery here and I’m not changing trains again! This is a serious situation. I need to stalk that guy out. I need to get up in his face and try and get him to move.

Ha ha! He’s gone and now I’m the only arsehole with power on the train! As Snap once sung “I’ve got the power!”

I’m unsure about how much sleep I had last night, but it can’t have been more than two or three hours. Despite this I’m feeling surprisingly awake. It’s approaching 9.30pm Saturday night. Although I am a big fan of sleeping, if I don’t go near alcohol I am able to stay awake for long periods of time. I’m actually considering seeing how little sleep I can survive on this trip. Why not? I’ll have a day and a half in LA to sleep before getting on my flight. It’ll be an interesting challenge. I’ve just started reading a book by this Scottish guy who walked across Afghanistan, and now this journey of mine seems pretty lame in comparison. So I figure I’ll add an extra dimension and try complete it on as little sleep as possible. What have I got to loose?
I’m actually wanting to get back to the book, but if I shut my laptop someone else will grab the power-point and then who knows if I’ll be able to get it back?

The guy who runs the café on the train is awesome. I haven’t been down there yet, but his announcements are great. He just told everyone that the café closes at 11pm and will reopen at 6am. He added “…and I’m neither your mother nor your dietician, so if you want pizza or hot dogs for breakfast then I ain’t gonna stop you.”

Back in New York, whenever Kate would get on a downtown train she would start singing Petula Clarke’s “Downtown” (which would prompt me to start singing Billy Joel’s “Uptown Girl”). Because of this she asked me to download the song. So a few days ago I did and now I’m obsessed with it. Everyone knows the song to some extent, but when you listen to it closely it’s completely amazing. It has a melody, arrangement and swinging beat that would make The Pipettes weep into their polka dot dresses. It seems a little strange that I’m singing “Downtown” when I’m going cross-country, but I’m not concerned about having an inappropriate soundtrack to my adventure. I mean, I’m now listening to “Judy And The Dream Of Horses”, and that’s hardly relevant.

The train has been stopped in Kansas City for the last half an hour, luckily I’ve been able to pick up some wireless and check my email, the Victorian election results and the cricket score. They sure do love their neon in Kansas City. I think “Jack Stack Barbeque” has almost blinded me. I wonder what a “stack barbeque” is? Or is that Jack’s surname? Either way I’m sure the place is inedible.

The train is starting to get cold. They’ve pumped the air-con up. Why do they do this? They did the same thing last night. They should be making it warmer. No-one has blankets. The train staff are sickos. I’ve an extra t-shirt in my bag. I’m considering putting it on. If they think they are going to beat me they’ve got another thing coming. I’ve got gloves in my bag as well should it come to that.

I’ve decided I’m never going anywhere ever again without company. Not even down the milk bar. I’m not shy to admit the whole Montreal adventure failed due to loneliness. Montreal is actually extraordinarily fascinating, but I just couldn’t handle being there by myself. And as this train winds its way through the Mid-West in the early hours of Sunday morning, I sure could use a shoulder to rest my weary head. I have trusty pillow, and she is always good for a hug, however she is not the best conversationalist.

Grant: “Even though I bought you, I don’t consider you, like, a Russian bride or any shit like that. We’re equals.”
Miss Pillow: “…..”
Grant: “You know, it’s like arranged marriages, they work out. They grow together”
Miss Pillow “…..”
Grant: “You don’t need to speak, ours is an unspoken bond. I just want to say that I’ve been through a lot these last few months and you’ve stuck by me. I just want you to know that I truly appreciate it.



I bought this big fuck-off jumbo sack of M&Ms in Chicago and I’m attempting to eat them by colour. I’m working on brown at the moment. Just when I think I’ve got them all another one appears. It’s frustrating. I’m desperately wanting to move on to yellow.

The sun is starting to rise now. I did actually sleep for a while. I ended up curling up on the floor next to the heater like a dog. It was fairly awful, but there are possibly worse places to sleep. I feel like there’s something akin to Nordic seasonal disorder happening to me on this trip. As soon as it is light and I’m able to see out the window I feel alright, it’s when the sun goes down that it starts to be difficult. I’ve still got one more night to endure. But for now it’s morning and having just past a wheat silo with “Colorado” on it, I can only assume I’m in Colorado. It’s flat and it is just farmland as far as I can see, but the train must be approaching the Rockies shortly.

I’ve actually made the lounge car my home. I abandoned my seat about 10pm last night. The only power point is in here, so it’s where I need to be. I’ve got myself a nice little corner and feel reasonably comfortable here. The car was empty last night, but due to its large windows and room to move it is starting to fill up now that the sun has reappeared. I feel like a meal, but I guess one of those is still a day away. I could go see what they have in the café, but I’m not sure I would trust anything.

Starting to approach the Rockies. I don’t know whether we are going to go through them, we may be too far south, but they are definitely visible on the horizon at the moment. It’s so flat where we are at the moment, and then the snow-capped mountains just rise out of the flatness. I’ve been resisting the urge to listen to Godspeed, You Black Emperor!, but these epic landscape are making it difficult for me to restrain myself.



This is all ‘cliché visions of America’ stuff, but it’s still great to see it first hand rather than through the television set or picture books. It’s incredible! I’m so alive and enthused again. This truly is a worthwhile experience. Right now I am so glad I am doing this. Right now I so happy that I am me.

I feel I’m a reasonably good conversationalist, however since Chicago I’ve yet to converse with anyone. I’m being very distant and aloof towards my fellow passengers. I think I’m just trying to absorb the experience, but maybe interacting with others might be part of that experience? Who can really say? “Experience” is so subjective. I’m really quite content just to sit and watch the country go by. I’ve done a minimal amount of reading so far. It’s just been me, my iPod and the landscape, and it's not half bad.



Goodbye Colorado! Hello New Mexico!



New Mexico is the only state where Spanish has official status alongside English, which makes it America’s most linguistically sensible state. Louisiana still has French as an official language, but it’s more for historic purposes as the French speaking community there is now minimal. America itself though has no official language. English is merely the default language. There is a lobby group that perceives Spanish as a big enough “threat” that they wish English to be officially legislated as the language of the country. It’s somewhat ironic that while the rest of the world deals with American English’s dominance there are some in America who perceive it to be in a vulnerable position. Although it’s probably fair to say these people just hate Mexicans.



A couple of young amigos have got on the train in Raton, New Mexico. They seem to find something amusing about my pink socks. I guess they don’t see many pairs of pink socks this far south. I have another pair in the bag that’s with me, but I doubt purple would be much of an improvement.

I don’t think there is any real etiquette concerning the consumption of M&Ms, but there is two different ways I like to eat them. I very much enjoy grabbing a handful and picking out the various colours three or four at a time in either order of favourites or reverse favourites. But also there something immensely gratifying with just pouring a whole pile into one’s mouth and gleefully chomping them until they are able to be swallowed. I’m sure there are various other ways to enjoy this confectionery item, but these are the two I use predominantly. If anyone has any other methods I’m always open to suggestion.



The train is going past what must be part of the Sierra Nevada mountain range and there’s a series of pueblos on the banks of what I overhear to be the Rio Grande. I’m day-dreaming about if I could have anyone along on this trip with me who would it be? The thing with this question is that I’d actually prefer to have one of my friends rather than, I don’t know, Nelson Mandela or hot-female-celebrity-du-jour. I did drift off before though thinking that being able to trade iTunes libraries with Carrie Brownstien would be pretty cool. I reckon Nedelle would be pretty nice to have along for the ride. I’ve been pretending that she wrote “Ghost Ships” about me (“Now I’ve found the man among men…..it may sound crazy, but he’s a perfect 10”). I can’t see whom else it could be about.



We are now in Albuquerque! In brand spanking New Mexico. I was too busy rocking out to Sleater-Kinney on my iPod to hear how long we were going to be here. I’m kind of wanting to run over to the Burger King and get some chips, but I fear the train leaving without me. I guess I’ll have to do without. It’s about another 16 hours to LA, so one could say this is the “home stretch”. I’d calculated that the whole journey would be 64 hours, however I forgot to compensate for the time differences, so it’s an extra three hours on top of that. I’m unsure on whether we are currently ahead or behind schedule. I haven’t eaten anything of substance today, and can’t really see an opportunity to rectify this until I reach LA. I’m basically just keeping hunger away with a strategic combination M&Ms and Jolly Ranchers. There is actually a dinning car (car or cart? I’ve been using car, but I’m not positive it’s the correct term) where you can get meals, but I’d be rather suspicious of their quality. Also I very much doubt they’d have anything for a dairy phobic vegetarian. It’d probably be all battered cheesy steaks and milk-soaked pork-dogs.
The sun is starting to set and so I won’t have scenery for too much longer. At least being reasonably far south and heading west will prolong the light for a little while. I actually enjoy the train during the day, it’s only night-time when it becomes difficult. I guess that sounds rather pathetic of me, like I’m scared of the booger man or something, but trust me, traveling by train at night by oneself isn’t particularly pleasant.

I feel the ride has been fairly uneventful so far. I’ve documented some random thoughts as I’ve gone along, which has been fun, but there haven’t been any major revelations as I hoped there would be. That said, I’m feeling very comfortable with myself at the moment I think I’ve reached a point where I don’t need to be embarrassed or ashamed of being myself. Dare I say I feel “spiritually centred”? I think this whole trip (since leaving Melbourne) has been the final stage of breaking through my cocoon. When I land back in Melbourne, the caterpillar I once was shall be dead. I will be a beautiful butterfly, ready to fly towards whatever I desire.

My hope for a little bit more daylight didn’t really eventuate. It’s just after 7pm and it’s been pitch black for about an hour and a half. I fear it shall be a long night. The train stopped just about an hour ago and we were still in New Mexico, I don’t know whether this is an indication of the train running behind schedule or the fact that the state is rather large. I wish I had a map so I could join the dots between towns that the train has stopped in. I feel like this hasn’t been the most direct route. I don’t actually mind, the majority of people aren’t taking the epic journey I am, the train needs to service various towns, and I don’t expect it to go directly to LA. I just wish I knew where I was going.

I have some company in my little area now. The area has three seats, but I’ve had them all to myself since I decided to relocate here from my allocated seat. Two young girls were wanting to watch a DVD, and as my little area has the only power-point I let them sit here in order to give them access to it. I’m hoping they won’t hang around for too long though. As last night, I am wanting to make this area my bed. As well as a power point, it also has a nice little heater vent, and while the floor may not be too comfortable, it is at least warm (and allows me to stretch my legs out).

We are now into Arizona, and about to stop at the town of Flagstaff. On several of our stops I’ve been able to find a wireless connection, and I’m hoping I’ll be able to find one at this stop. I’m wanting to find a map of the US so I can trace exactly where I’ve been since leaving New York. I’ve been making mental notes of the towns the train has past through, so I’ll be interested to see the route.

I was able to jimmy up some wireless in Flagstaff, Arizona and get a map of the route. We have come a lot further south than I expected, but I suppose LA is rather far south itself, so it makes sense. I was thinking the train would go across from Chicago and then come down the coast of California, but it’s cut pretty much a diagonal. The journey looks a lot more epic on paper than it has seemed from the train.

I’ve been doing some socialising, the young girls and I have been talking to a 40-odd year old guy. He’s been fun. Big technology buff, loved talking about his computer, and had just bought himself a new whiz-bang digital camera. I actually managed to get a few good downloadable software tips off him. He was all over Picasa 2. Says it’s better than Photoshop.
It’s only around 11pm, but I’m really interested in going to sleep. Unfortunately, they haven’t turned the light off in this car yet. I can’t recall what time they did it last night. It was possibly around 2am before I decide the floor was the best place for me. It wasn’t particularly comfortable last night, but for some reason I’m really into getting down onto the floor tonight. I think I just want it to end as soon as possible. Not that it’s been too bad. I’m really just desperate for a shower.

Once again the floor wasn’t so flash. It wasn’t as warm as I remembered it either. I feel like I have bruised hips. And I had a bad dream. It’s now 5.30am and the train has stopped in San Bernardino, California. As I now have a map I can see that this is the last stop before LA. I believe the train makes a few suburban stops in LA though before reaching my destination, which is Union Station.

The train is now about half an hour out from Union Station, so it’s running about an hour ahead of schedule. I have a hotel room booked for tonight, but as it is only 7am at the moment I think I’m going to have to do some waiting around before I can get my room.



Today Sunny California is anything but. It is grey, hazy and raining. I think the haze is permanent, but I don’t think the rain it. LA is ugly. Really ugly. Maybe it’s just the badlands around the train-tracks, but the city just seems to be made solely of concrete, and there are these odd-looking palm trees growing randomly.



I’ve made it. Achievement! I think I deserve some sort of kudos for this. Although, that said, I don’t think the trip was too difficult. It was definitely unpleasant for some of the time, but it was far from the “insanity” that some people believed when it was in the idea stage. I’m currently sitting in the lobby of the hotel where I’m staying tonight. There’s not a room available for me yet, so I just need to wait. Surprisingly I’m not that hungry. Seeming I’ve only had two proper meals in the last 4 days. Maybe after a shower my hunger will surface.



Unfortunately I couldn't find a map with just the specific route I took. Nor could I find a way to actually highlight the route I took. But you can follow my first train north from New York City and across New York State to the Great Lakes, then along the lakes to Chicago. From Chicago the route went down through Illinois, across Missouri, Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona and into California.

Anything Else?

Last week whilst eating at a conventional and family friendly Thai restaurant with Emmy, we received this bill for our meal. See if you can spot anything odd about it.

The Name Of This Song Is "More Action!"

In a previous post I'd expressed the hope that once Kate arrived in New York my daily struggle with indecisiveness would be eased. Usually when I hope for something all I am provided with is the sound of God's cackling laughter, however this time my hope has been more than fulfilled. Ever organised, Kate has arrived with not only a list of activities, but a daily spreadsheet with each activity allocated to a day. The only thing I have to do is to decide what to wear.



Although the schedule has developed a little more flexibility, a few days ago a little issue like "zero visibility" wasn't going to get in the way of ticking the Empire State Building Observation Deck off the list.



As much as the staff at the Empire State Building attempted to dissuade us from going up (one security guard even offered to get us "in the clouds" another way), my skepticism about it being "absolute zero visibility" paid off when we were able to lean over the edge of the building and see down perfectly well.



Something that would never even cross my mind to investigate would be the attending of the taping of a television programme. Kate, however, is a little more astute than I, and she was able to secure tickets for not only The Daily Show, but also The Colbert Report (woo!).

Many will be familiar with The Daily Show in either its daily format, or in its weekly "Global Edition", and many will agree that it is a very good programme. The show is quite a smooth operation. It is filmed about 6.30pm and goes to air at 11pm that night. I would have thought a lot more content would go into the taping of the programme and any stuff-ups would be edited out before screening. However, there were no stuff-ups, they ran straight through like it was filmed live. Very professional.
We also got to see the opening of the Global Edition being filmed, and anyone in Australia who cares to watch SBS at 10pm next Thursday will be able to see us (well, me at least, I wasn't watching the monitor for Kate) as the camera pans through the crowd. Woo! I was explaining to Kate today that this will be my second television "appearance" after my sister had a letter of hers announcing my birth read out on Romper Room.
After the filming of The Daily Show we had to run three blocks to the studio of The Colbert Report. Unfortunately, The Daily Show ran overtime due to the taping of The Global Edition introduction, and so we had to wait until the first ad break before being able to claim our seats.



Most non-North American people who watch The Daily Show would know Stephen Colbert as a reporter on the show. However, now Colbert has his own show and he has developed from being fairly amusing into being the greatest guy in the world. Having developed a sizable fondness for the man whilst in Canada, to be able to see him in the flesh was almost overwhelming. For all of those out there who are so desperate for me to be a homosexual, Colbert is the man who just may convert me. Although his opposition to gay marriage or any form of homosexual activity could prove a problem, it still won't dampen my admiration for him. He could be the man I've been waiting for.

Other activities have included shopping, where I have finally bought myself a proper belt to keep my jeans up (although I did have to make an extra hole in it), a most educational visit to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and a leisurely stroll through Central Park to marvel at its autumnal splendour.

This Is The Sound Of Our Revolution

A few weeks after seeing Love Is All and declaring that they remind me of Huggy Bear, this article appears on Pitchfork today. Note Josephine Olausson's favourite song ever.

Unfortunately YouTube has taken down the link of Huggy Bear's "incendiary" performance of "Her Jazz" on British television programme "The Word", and as the song is impossible to find anywhere you'll just have to take mine and Josephine's word that it's completely awesome.

I Heard Your Song Before My Heart Had Time To Hush It

Many daydreams of mine have revolved around the meeting of a pretty girl in a record store. We'd bond over our mutual likes, I'd suggest something that would prove both my musical knowledge and my sensitive side. She would giggle at my amusing recollections of misheard lyrics. It would be the beginning of something very beautiful.

Last night I was in New York's premier music snob's record store, Other Music. As I flicked through the racks of new releases and indie classics, I spotted a pretty young girl doing likewise further down the aisle. I could see out of the corner of my eye as she kept picking up Joanna Newsom's astonishingly beautiful new album "Ys", looking intensely at the packaging, and putting it down again. She would then wander around the store, looking at other albums, only to return and pick up "Ys" and put it back down again. As she persisted with this process in my head I was urging her "Buy it. Do it. Do it". When she placed it down for the final time and began to walk away I turned, gathered up all my courage, and said in my sweetest tone "You really should buy that". She laughed and explained that she came to the store with every intention of buying the album, but once she was in the store she just couldn't seem to make the decision. Knowing very well the feeling of indecisiveness I was able to fully empathise with her and felt we had an instant connection. She asked whether I had the album and I replied in the affirmative, explaining that although it was quite a difficult album to initially grasp due to the length of the songs and the wordy nature of the lyrics, ultimately the album would prove extremely rewarding. I'd hoped that this explanation would not only provide her with the information necessary to convince her to purchase the album, but also give her a good exposure to my accent in the hope that it may broaden the scope of the conversation. Whilst the first goal was achieved successfully, the second was, unfortunately, not. She merely thanked me for my assistance and proceeded to the counter. My heart felt a small ache akin to the sorrowful plucking of a harp string.

As I was on the Q train back down to Brooklyn, listening to "Ys" and eating M&Ms in order of my least favourite to most favourite colour (brown, yellow, orange, green, red, blue), I had a flashback to the store where I recalled the pretty young lady looking at Newsom's first album, "The Milk Eyed Mender". This led me to the conclusion that she did not own it. Of course with hindsight it makes perfect sense; no-one who owns "The Milk Eyed Mender" would hesitate to buy "Ys", she had obviously just read about Newsom recently. A feeling of dismay washed over me. Not only should I have suggested she first purchase "The Milk Eyed Mender", as it is both a wonderful album and would act as a primer for "Ys", but the suggestion may just have been the oxygen the interaction needed for it to fully blossom.

And so as I sat on the train, I not only pondered over what could have been, but also felt slightly worried that the young lady may not give the album the exposure required and perceive her purchase to be a bad one. She would forever blame that handsome stranger she met on a rainy New York evening and "Ys" and I would suffer the same fate; both of us discarded without truly being known.

If You Tolerate This Your Children Will Be Next

Whilst reading an article by John Howard's favourite genocide denialist, Keith Windschuttle, in The Australian yesterday, I had to pause for a moment when I came across this rather curious line:

"Despite its tolerance of diversity, Australia remains a Christian country."

Now I think Windschuttle may just mean that despite the country's current ethnic and religious diversity, Australia is still a predominantly Christian country. While this statement has a certain xenophobic tinge to it, it's still fairly accurate. However the sentence is rather ambiguously worded, so I'm going to dig a little deeper.

Whilst lacking the bombast of his claims that only 2 or 3 (has he conceded a third yet?) Aboriginals were killed during the period of European settlement in Australia, the above statement would indicate a perception that is either somewhat apt, ridiculously fuzzy or very sinister.
Due to the vocal nature of many on the Christian Right, the current opinion of Christians by "secular progressives" isn't a very favourable one. Quite frankly, they are seen as psychopaths. It's here that Windschuttle's line could be deemed apt:

"Despite its (attempts to move towards) tolerance of diversity, Australia remains a (gay-bashing, single-mother-hating, Arab-killing) country".

While the Christian Right may be on the cover of all the magazines and hold the microphone at all the rallies, they are not, in the same way that suicide bombers are not Muslims, Christians. Let me re-write Windschuttle's line and see if it can make a bit more sense.

"Australia remains a predominantly Christian country and exhibits this with its tolerance of diversity"

Isn't that better? While I personally struggle with grasping the concept of God (if God is perfect why does he have such an inferiority complex that he not only needs to be worshipped, but also states we aren't allowed to worship any other gods, which due to his monotheism don't actually exist?), the application of compassion, tolerance and generally being nice I'm all for. Windschuttle tars Christianity with the deeds of its extremist elements in the same way his ideological brethren tar Islam with the deeds of its extremist elements. The difference being that he would be, if not a supporter than definitely, a sympathiser of the views of the "Christian" Right.

Which surely would make the sentence even stranger; people may have intolerant views, but no-one wants to actually be perceived as being intolerant. Unless, however, the word "tolerance" was to undergo a transformation and no longer mean "a fair, objective, and permissive attitude toward those whose opinions, practices, race, religion, nationality, etc. differ from one's own"

Conservative commentators and spinners have a significant tradition of word manipulation. The most obvious example is the term "liberal" in the US (liberalism having absolutely nothing to do with the Liberal Party of Australia). In the political sense Dictionary.com defines "liberal" as Favourable to progress, however conservatives have successfully been able to change the perception around this word so it now carries a stigma of "weakness" or in more extreme cases "corrupting".
Whilst not wanting to be seen as a conspiracy theorist, I do believe that it is quite possible that the term "tolerance" could be the latest target of conservative word manipulators, and Windschuttle was either knowingly taking this approach, or the process has already begun and he is a more sub-conscious participant. You can see our more hysterical conservative commentators licking their lips already: Are you going to be "tolerant" of Jihadists? Are you going to be "tolerant" of dole-buldging immigrants? Are you going to be "tolerant" of black gay homosexual Muslim men pursuing your teenage daughter? WHERE WILL THE TOLERANCE END?!!

The fact is the Right are arseholes, and they do know that they are arseholes. However it is a constant struggle for them to trick the general public into believing that they aren't arseholes. It must be hard to have words such as "tolerance", "compassion" "equity" and "progress" against you, so it makes sense for them to attack the root of the problem. If they can't have the good words on their team, they are just going to have to change the words.

And I Was The Dominant Theme In A Number Of Places

"I wish I had the courage to be honest on my blog"

I made this statement to Hillary in the magazine section of a Brooklyn Barnes & Noble a few nights ago. Although it took me several attempts to get the words out due to be highly amused by them, I did mean it in complete sincerity.

The blog hasn't been updated in a while due to a combination of laziness, being reasonably active and existential anguish. I think the initial intention of the blog was to be a "warts and all" account of my existence. Regardless of how self-aggrandising this would seem, it would amuse me and therefore serve its purpose. However, I soon realised this would be an impossibility, and so the blog is subject to a certain amount of self-censorship. Unfortunately for you, dear reader (ha ha there's got to be a Kim Jong-Il joke in that), the most amusing parts of my existence are frequently unpublishable. You'll just have to wait for my posthumously released memoirs.

As can be concluded from me being in a Brooklyn Barnes & Noble, I am in New York. My last few days in Montreal involved seeing Deerhoof and The Fiery Furnaces on Halloween, and then fleeing the city in the early hours of last Thursday.
Whilst once again I was excited about getting on the bus down to New York, yet again I had my trip spoiled by the person sitting next to me. One of the (many) things I hate is men who sit with their legs open. You don't need to be a behavioural psychologist to realise this is an attempt to prove one's masculinity. It is the trait of the male trying to mark his territory. It also serves as an announcement to all those around him that his penis is so gigantic that there is no possible way he could either sit with his legs together or, do the gayest thing imaginable, sit with his legs crossed. Quite frankly it is pathetic. And so I had to sit next to one of these fuckwits, who, because of his massive dick, had no option but to squash me up against the window for 8 hours (and as we all know that overt displays of masculinity are an attempt to hide homosexual tendencies, I'm sure that's not the only thing he wanted to do to me for 8 hours).

One lesson I did not seem to learn from my last trip to New York is that you cannot call a mobile from a pay-phone. I don't know whether this factually correct, but it certainly is an impossibility for me. And so unable to call Hillary I had to go off in search of somewhere to write an email, and then hope that she would be somewhere near a computer. Carrying ones entire worldly possessions down 7th Avenue in rush hour is not a particularly pleasant experience. New Yorkers only seem to be able to walk in a straight line, and in my frequent unsuccessful attempts to avoid collision one gentleman referred to me as a "pillow carrying motherfucker".
Upon finding a café where I could get wireless I was (with a little bit of cross-global help from Jade) able to locate Hillary who was fortunately able to rescue me.

Last Sunday was the New York Marathon, and as part of a friend’s film project, Hillary was asked to film a section of the marathon in Brooklyn. Without any better ideas, I decided to accompany her. Now whilst I consider running one of humanity’s more stupid endeavours, and something I would never consider doing for any other reason than to catch a bus, watching other people run is actually quite enjoyable. Of the 37,000 participants I’d say that 36.500 of them weren’t entirely serious about being competitive, and so this provided a rather festive atmosphere.
Later that day we attended Church in Williamsburg bar. Whilst not really a "God-fearing" (a term I find quite odd) man, I am a rather large theology nut. And so whenever the opportunity arises to attend a religious gathering I'm usually fairly enthusiastic. As mentioned, the Church was held in a bar. The Church is called "Revolutions" and is based on progressive Christian ideals. Although, the term "progressive" implies some sort of distinct interpretation. I would prefer to use the term “actual” Christian ideals. You know, being nice and shit like that. Stuff Jesus was into.

Finding things to do in New York should be extremely easy, however when left by myself it is somewhat difficult for me to actually do anything of real substance. Indecisiveness has always been my primary personal problem (which indicates its significance seeming there is a plethora of problems competing for its mantle), so while everyone is at work I am completely unable to choose an activity, and so I walk. Up, down, across, unsure of where I’m going and with no destination in mind, I wander the streets.

I have to interject here. I am currently typing this in a Brooklyn launderette (or “laundromat” to use the local term) and “It’s Raining Men” is on the radio and there is a rather large African-American man dancing and singing along whilst he folds his washing. It is completely awesome!

As long as I have my iPod though I am more than happy just to walk aimlessly for extended periods. One of the most obvious things about New York is its extreme diversity. No matter where you look there is always an abundance of people from every sub-cultural interest, something you’d never witness in most other Western cities. Because of this I am offered the liberty to pretty much act how I please. And so I am able to make a playlist of my favourite Cocteau Twins songs and walk around mimicking Liz Fraser’s warbling phonetic falsetto at the top of my voice and I’m still nowhere near the weirdest guy in the vicinity. Whereas in other cities I receive strange looks and frowns for my pro-active listening habits, here it hardly raises an eyebrow.

With still two weeks remaining in New York there is plenty of time to enjoy the more tourist-orientated aspects of the city. Kate arrives on Monday and the hope is that she will have a firm action plan and save me the anguish of having to decide.