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.