I know that it may be 3am in the morning, and I know that I normally classify the day as starting from either when I wake up (no matter the time) or from when the first trains start running; but I HAD to come online to wish myself a HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!
I may have only been 19 for the past few hours, but it has already been quite eventful! I managed to mangle my way into nabbing myself a ticket to tonight's performance of NYU's 'Cabaret', in which Sam (from repeat appearances in 3 countries now) was starring as The Emcee. And FABULOUSLY I may add. I sat through possibly the most THRILLING exhibition of non-professional theatre I have ever viewed. St. Michael's - eat your heart out. It was simply SPLENDID. And edgy to boot! Where else would Sally Bowles be topless by the 3rd number?
Anyway, I hung around and met Sam afterwards to say congrats and give him a massive kiss and hug. I was chatting to the other cast members (I really cannot stress how good this show was. This is pre-Off-Broadway!) and ended up grabbing some beers and going back to someone's house. 4 hours later, I was still there.
I've found my New York element. Everyone at this party was somehow a part of what is called 'Tisch' - the NYU drama school. It's separated into what feels like a thousand different parts, but I think that it's eight sub-schools... We all ended up on the roof of their apartment in the East Village, and didn't leave until the cops came and found us at 3ish. The Cabaret cast is closing tomorrow (technically today) and had two shows, so my core group left earlier and missed all of the law-breaking fun. But I've really branched out now past my 4-solid mate group, so now hopefully things will start to spark up!
Still IDless... Darn...
Must sleep now so that I can wake up and it really feels like my birth-day!
Oh. And Hayley Joel Osment was there. He's taking courses as NYU too, and apparently he smokes a lot of pot. I guess you'd have to to see dead people.
Friday, 10 October 2008
Time Warner Waster. TiVo can get TiBoned.
I just fixed my own cable. Me. Georgia Frances King. The technology retard. Somehow outwitting the technical guy on the phone for the past hour. It took my superintendent 3 days to report it, it took the owner 2 days to do anything about it, and it took the company 3 days to ring me! And then they ring me on the most beautiful day I've had so far (having lunch at what is going to become my 'local' - a little cafe on O'Sullivan between Prince and West Houston) to bring me home. And have someone ask me if I could 'replug my adaptor portal' or something for an hour.
In one of her many 10 minute silences, I was just looking at the actual TV screen, and not the 4 remotes and 4 boxes that accompany it, and I hit a little button that said 'Source'. I don't know why, I just did. And
BAM! 40 thousand American sitcoms that I have no urge to watch, but know that I will inevitably become addicted to. That or stay up til 1.30am every night to watch Conan.
Maybe I should be the Cable Whisperer? I'm sure that that's a marketable concept...
In one of her many 10 minute silences, I was just looking at the actual TV screen, and not the 4 remotes and 4 boxes that accompany it, and I hit a little button that said 'Source'. I don't know why, I just did. And
BAM! 40 thousand American sitcoms that I have no urge to watch, but know that I will inevitably become addicted to. That or stay up til 1.30am every night to watch Conan.
Maybe I should be the Cable Whisperer? I'm sure that that's a marketable concept...
Thursday, 9 October 2008
You say it's your birthday- well it's my birthday too, yeah! (Nearly... 2 days)
Happy Birthday, John.
I got back from my job interview with ACP (more about this later!! I'm an intern!!), and was fully intending to spend a day at home, resting the wooden peg-leg that I feel as if my thigh has become. That and doing my work for my classes, and getting a start on my Mum's business proposal.
But the first email that I opened was from a guy in my poetry class inviting me down to Strawberry Fields that day... John Lennon's 68th birthday. So I thought, what the hell, I'll take my books down there and study in the park while listening to a couple of guys strum out Sexy Sadie.
That's not what happened at all. I very successfully managed to negotiate the local/5/6 subway route to my advantage! But then walked the wrong way to the park... When I was one block over... HOW do I always do this?? I really am completely and utterly HOPELESS.
Anyway, I walked in to the little section marked 'STRAWBERRY FIELDS'. After Lennon's assassination around the corner on Dec 8th 1980, Yoko put in some money and they dedicated this part for him, between 71st and 74th on the West Side. I know that Strawberry Fields really alludes to Liverpool, but this WAS where he died people!
As soon as you rounded the path, I could hear She Loves You being played by a few different guitars. And once you actually get to the main area, this is what you see.
You can't see the 'Imagine' mosaic to start with. This is due to two things:
1. There are too many people in the music circle to be able to see it
2. There are too many flowers and letters to be able to see it!
When I first arrived at 1pm, there were maybe 50 people around the monument, including 3 acoustic guitars and a bass with an amp. I could move my way to the front pretty easily, and nabbed myself a sitting inner circle spot in about 10 minutes. And that's where I stayed until about 3. I literally didn't move. And my leg wasn't aggravated because I wasn't moving for so long that it went numb anyway!! (however, pins and needles in a torn muscle is NOT nice.)
As the day wore on, more people came. I a lot of people would stay on the outskirts for a few songs then move on, but there were about 20 of us from the original lot who stayed out the entire day. But the most amazing part was not the people coming to add to the mound of flowers and candles; it was the musicians. By the time I left at 8pm, there were at LEAST 20 acoustic guitars, a dozen electric ones with amps, 3 or 4 basses, someone brought a DRUM KIT (???), a flute, and countless tambourines and maracas. Not to mention up to 300 people belting out Hey Jude... And there were so many of us, that enough people would take the harmony or the background parts, so at some stages it actually SOUNDED like the tracks... Well. Kind of. At some stages I would look behind me and not be able to see the trees. We were at least 6 or 7 people deep around this circle.
I swapped seats to get a different angle at about 3pm, and ended up chatting to 2 girls that I'd been taking photos of! We spent the rest of the day together, and we also picked up a musician who'd come from Staten Island to pay his respects. He goes by the name Joe Boots. (He thinks this was original. I just wanted to bring him to Melbourne to show him tat he's not the first muso who's wearing boots). But everyone was picking EVERYONE up... Seriously, free love was flowing!
Needing some air from the wonderfully claustrophobic circle, the 3 of us girls moved out to the edge. This is when we met Garry, the infamous Mayor of Strawberry Fields. Google him! He's been looking after the site everyday for the past 16 years. He's a homeless bloke with one SERIOUS love of Lennon. He does impromptu speeches and gets tips from that - which he uses partly on himself, but also to buy a plethora of flowers that he decorates the site with everyday. All of the photos you see of the roses making the peace signs over the IMAGINE? That's him!
When we return back to the circle, he steps in and announces that someone 'very special' was here. Sid-fucking-Bernstein! THE man who brought The Beatles to the USofA. He acted all abashed and such, but he got serenaded for the next few songs, and was bought to the front of the circle of luuuuuuurve.
I also got my journal out so that the girls could write down their facebook names so that they could see the photos I was taking. Well. People kept on asking if they could get them too, and before I knew it, my journal was getting passed around the circle!! It came back about 45 minutes later (I don't know how they knew it was mine), and I guess people thought it was a place to dedicate memories to John or something, because it came back with 6 pages of Birthday messages! Some from New York, some from Hong Kong, some from Sweden, even one from Sydney! And the most wonderful thing is that I have no idea who wrote them all :) Are we getting this collective community feel down now? Imagine it when the sun set and everyone was handing out candles... Oh! And this is Central Park in Fall by the way! THE TREES!!!!
I was standing out the front talking to The Mayor when a bicycle taxi guy came up and asked us if we wanted a ride. This followed:
BIKE: "You guys wanna ride round the area?"
GARRY: "... Do you know who I am?"
BIKE: "... no, Sir"
GARRY: "I'm the fucking Mayor of these parts man. Don't tell me to peace out on my own ground."
COP(walking by casually): "Yeah man, you gotta know who you're talking to if you're hangin round Strawberry Fields. Now getchya ass outta here."
(Bike guy rides off while people stare at him with distgusted looks)
GARRY: "Thanks man. Love."
COP: "Anytime, Mayor."
Next thing I know he says "I wanna introduce you to a good friend of mine, and a good friend to the world". And he pulls me over to the bench where there's an old guy sitting with a cane. "Now Georgie, this is-"
ME: Sid Bernstein. Wow. I'm shaking your hand! I'm Georgia.
SID: Well Georgia's definitely on My Mind (starts to sing)
ME: (drooling)
A little conversation follows about the site and me just generally being abnormally quiet and respectful. By this time I've done the embarrassing fan photo thing, and he's referenced me as his 'Step-sister'... Eventually he says something like
SID: You've got a good man in this fellow here (patting Garry on the shoulder). Without him, this park wouldn't be raining love.
GARRY: Well it's sure not rainin today, Sid! I think that Lennon's up there right now talking to ol' Mother Nature and making sure that she's not gonna piss on our parade. We should seriously thank John for giving us this day. That's what he'd want up there.
ME: What do you think he's thinking right now? What would he say?
SID: ... He'd probably be looking down on us three and saying 'Damn, how did Sid land that bird?'. He'd love you for being here.
ME: (long pause) Did you just say that you think that John would be saying that he loves me?
SID: Well, yeah, really. He loved all of us at some point. And now he probably loves you too.
ME: (drowning in my own drool) So I can say that, according to the words of Sid Bernstein, John Lennon loves me??
SID: Whatever you want, sweetie.
ME: (paraplegic pool of pap) ..........
And then his nephew ushered him into a taxi and off they went! When I rejoined the little group that I'd become part of, 'Joe Boots' just about shat himself when he found out that Sid was there. And that was BEFORE I told him that I'd sat on a bench with him the past 20 minutes! I was finally one up on him. He may have been a talented New Yorker, but hey-
John Lennon loves me!
Give peace a chance. Strawberry Fields forever.
I got back from my job interview with ACP (more about this later!! I'm an intern!!), and was fully intending to spend a day at home, resting the wooden peg-leg that I feel as if my thigh has become. That and doing my work for my classes, and getting a start on my Mum's business proposal.
But the first email that I opened was from a guy in my poetry class inviting me down to Strawberry Fields that day... John Lennon's 68th birthday. So I thought, what the hell, I'll take my books down there and study in the park while listening to a couple of guys strum out Sexy Sadie.
That's not what happened at all. I very successfully managed to negotiate the local/5/6 subway route to my advantage! But then walked the wrong way to the park... When I was one block over... HOW do I always do this?? I really am completely and utterly HOPELESS.
Anyway, I walked in to the little section marked 'STRAWBERRY FIELDS'. After Lennon's assassination around the corner on Dec 8th 1980, Yoko put in some money and they dedicated this part for him, between 71st and 74th on the West Side. I know that Strawberry Fields really alludes to Liverpool, but this WAS where he died people!
As soon as you rounded the path, I could hear She Loves You being played by a few different guitars. And once you actually get to the main area, this is what you see.
You can't see the 'Imagine' mosaic to start with. This is due to two things:
1. There are too many people in the music circle to be able to see it
2. There are too many flowers and letters to be able to see it!
When I first arrived at 1pm, there were maybe 50 people around the monument, including 3 acoustic guitars and a bass with an amp. I could move my way to the front pretty easily, and nabbed myself a sitting inner circle spot in about 10 minutes. And that's where I stayed until about 3. I literally didn't move. And my leg wasn't aggravated because I wasn't moving for so long that it went numb anyway!! (however, pins and needles in a torn muscle is NOT nice.)
As the day wore on, more people came. I a lot of people would stay on the outskirts for a few songs then move on, but there were about 20 of us from the original lot who stayed out the entire day. But the most amazing part was not the people coming to add to the mound of flowers and candles; it was the musicians. By the time I left at 8pm, there were at LEAST 20 acoustic guitars, a dozen electric ones with amps, 3 or 4 basses, someone brought a DRUM KIT (???), a flute, and countless tambourines and maracas. Not to mention up to 300 people belting out Hey Jude... And there were so many of us, that enough people would take the harmony or the background parts, so at some stages it actually SOUNDED like the tracks... Well. Kind of. At some stages I would look behind me and not be able to see the trees. We were at least 6 or 7 people deep around this circle.
I swapped seats to get a different angle at about 3pm, and ended up chatting to 2 girls that I'd been taking photos of! We spent the rest of the day together, and we also picked up a musician who'd come from Staten Island to pay his respects. He goes by the name Joe Boots. (He thinks this was original. I just wanted to bring him to Melbourne to show him tat he's not the first muso who's wearing boots). But everyone was picking EVERYONE up... Seriously, free love was flowing!
Needing some air from the wonderfully claustrophobic circle, the 3 of us girls moved out to the edge. This is when we met Garry, the infamous Mayor of Strawberry Fields. Google him! He's been looking after the site everyday for the past 16 years. He's a homeless bloke with one SERIOUS love of Lennon. He does impromptu speeches and gets tips from that - which he uses partly on himself, but also to buy a plethora of flowers that he decorates the site with everyday. All of the photos you see of the roses making the peace signs over the IMAGINE? That's him!
When we return back to the circle, he steps in and announces that someone 'very special' was here. Sid-fucking-Bernstein! THE man who brought The Beatles to the USofA. He acted all abashed and such, but he got serenaded for the next few songs, and was bought to the front of the circle of luuuuuuurve.
I also got my journal out so that the girls could write down their facebook names so that they could see the photos I was taking. Well. People kept on asking if they could get them too, and before I knew it, my journal was getting passed around the circle!! It came back about 45 minutes later (I don't know how they knew it was mine), and I guess people thought it was a place to dedicate memories to John or something, because it came back with 6 pages of Birthday messages! Some from New York, some from Hong Kong, some from Sweden, even one from Sydney! And the most wonderful thing is that I have no idea who wrote them all :) Are we getting this collective community feel down now? Imagine it when the sun set and everyone was handing out candles... Oh! And this is Central Park in Fall by the way! THE TREES!!!!
I was standing out the front talking to The Mayor when a bicycle taxi guy came up and asked us if we wanted a ride. This followed:
BIKE: "You guys wanna ride round the area?"
GARRY: "... Do you know who I am?"
BIKE: "... no, Sir"
GARRY: "I'm the fucking Mayor of these parts man. Don't tell me to peace out on my own ground."
COP(walking by casually): "Yeah man, you gotta know who you're talking to if you're hangin round Strawberry Fields. Now getchya ass outta here."
(Bike guy rides off while people stare at him with distgusted looks)
GARRY: "Thanks man. Love."
COP: "Anytime, Mayor."
Next thing I know he says "I wanna introduce you to a good friend of mine, and a good friend to the world". And he pulls me over to the bench where there's an old guy sitting with a cane. "Now Georgie, this is-"
ME: Sid Bernstein. Wow. I'm shaking your hand! I'm Georgia.
SID: Well Georgia's definitely on My Mind (starts to sing)
ME: (drooling)
A little conversation follows about the site and me just generally being abnormally quiet and respectful. By this time I've done the embarrassing fan photo thing, and he's referenced me as his 'Step-sister'... Eventually he says something like
SID: You've got a good man in this fellow here (patting Garry on the shoulder). Without him, this park wouldn't be raining love.
GARRY: Well it's sure not rainin today, Sid! I think that Lennon's up there right now talking to ol' Mother Nature and making sure that she's not gonna piss on our parade. We should seriously thank John for giving us this day. That's what he'd want up there.
ME: What do you think he's thinking right now? What would he say?
SID: ... He'd probably be looking down on us three and saying 'Damn, how did Sid land that bird?'. He'd love you for being here.
ME: (long pause) Did you just say that you think that John would be saying that he loves me?
SID: Well, yeah, really. He loved all of us at some point. And now he probably loves you too.
ME: (drowning in my own drool) So I can say that, according to the words of Sid Bernstein, John Lennon loves me??
SID: Whatever you want, sweetie.
ME: (paraplegic pool of pap) ..........
And then his nephew ushered him into a taxi and off they went! When I rejoined the little group that I'd become part of, 'Joe Boots' just about shat himself when he found out that Sid was there. And that was BEFORE I told him that I'd sat on a bench with him the past 20 minutes! I was finally one up on him. He may have been a talented New Yorker, but hey-
John Lennon loves me!
Give peace a chance. Strawberry Fields forever.
Wednesday, 8 October 2008
Britt Lapthorne - that could have been me...
Not to freak anybody out, especially the parents of travelling children right now who I know are reading this, but I've got to voice this to someone aside from my pot plant, Fido. (He's very good by the way, he sits and stays and everything. He hasn't got the hang of fetch yet though...)
I've vaguely known about the case back in Melbourne at the moment of the 21 y.o. RMIT student Britt Lapthorne. Rather, my mum called me in quite a flurry when it broke news about 2 weeks ago. If you don't know, she went missing in Dubrovnik on September 18th. She was backpacking around by herself, but had met a couple of friends in the hostel that she was staying at just outside the walled city (Dubrovnik is in the southern most tip of Croatia, by the way). She was last seen at a club called Club Fuego.
2 months to the day of her disappearance, I was also in Dubrovnik. An aspiring RMIT student travelling through the city by myself. I even know the club that she was last seen it. It was a dirty Latin Club that had themed nights during the week. It was just on the outskirts of the wall, and was a 'before place' that you went before you went inside the wall city where all the cooler, albeit more expensive, clubs and bars were. It was the Lonely Planet hangout if you get what I mean.
Well, I thought that that was scary enough.
Curiosity got the best of me today. I googled the story.
She was staying at my hostel. The Dubrovnik Backpacker's Club. She slept in the same room as me on the bottom floor!! The son that they pulled in for questioning I went on not one, but TWO excursions with to Bosnia. I went snorkeling with him! I rode shotgun next to him for 4 hours while we talked about ex-Yugoslavian politics! He took us all out for nights on the town. The mother was the nicest woman I have met at a hostel - she would wake up at 6am every morning to make French Toast for the early risers. The father is apparently one of Croatia's best chess players, and he SMASHED me at games numerous times. There's another younger brother (not the one being questioned) who has learning difficulties but is a sweetie. Then there's a sister that chain smokes like hell and seems to eat nothing but pistachios; a sardonic, funny girl who I got along with VERY well.
Look back on all of my posts. In the first European one, I think there's even an email sent from that hostel! I remember saying it was the best one I've stayed in, and I MAINTAIN that The Dubrovnik Backpacker's Club is the best hostel that I stayed in. That family is gorgeous and I'm so upset that this has come upon them.
They have nothing to do with it, believe me. I lived with them for a week! Ivica even offered to send my vest that I left there to me in Denmark...
The whole phone number thing - it was a nice comfort thing. If we got stuck in town and the buses weren't running or something, we could call them and they'd come and pick us up at odd hours!! And the reporters keep on misspelling their names from the articles I've been reading... Plus, I can tell that they're relying on hearsay, because the way they describe the building, it's clear they're putting photos they've seen into words, as they are just guessing which rooms are which.
And the shit about Ivica (we called him 'Ibizia' coz we couldn't get the emphasis right) being suspicious for being in the surrounding countries at the time - THAT'S WHAT HE DOES. HE'S A TOUR GUIDE!!!
Ahh.... It's a little scary, isn't it? But I just wanted to put my two cents out there. The Dubrovnik Backpacker's Club and the family who runs it just happen to be place where Britt stayed. I reckon, from what I've read the past hour, that the police should be looking at the backpackers who abandoned her there instead. Not placing blame, but I think that the people that were with her that night will have a lot more information that the people that give her tea in the morning.
Those guys were the closest I came to family in a hostel. Don't lay the blame!
I've vaguely known about the case back in Melbourne at the moment of the 21 y.o. RMIT student Britt Lapthorne. Rather, my mum called me in quite a flurry when it broke news about 2 weeks ago. If you don't know, she went missing in Dubrovnik on September 18th. She was backpacking around by herself, but had met a couple of friends in the hostel that she was staying at just outside the walled city (Dubrovnik is in the southern most tip of Croatia, by the way). She was last seen at a club called Club Fuego.
2 months to the day of her disappearance, I was also in Dubrovnik. An aspiring RMIT student travelling through the city by myself. I even know the club that she was last seen it. It was a dirty Latin Club that had themed nights during the week. It was just on the outskirts of the wall, and was a 'before place' that you went before you went inside the wall city where all the cooler, albeit more expensive, clubs and bars were. It was the Lonely Planet hangout if you get what I mean.
Well, I thought that that was scary enough.
Curiosity got the best of me today. I googled the story.
She was staying at my hostel. The Dubrovnik Backpacker's Club. She slept in the same room as me on the bottom floor!! The son that they pulled in for questioning I went on not one, but TWO excursions with to Bosnia. I went snorkeling with him! I rode shotgun next to him for 4 hours while we talked about ex-Yugoslavian politics! He took us all out for nights on the town. The mother was the nicest woman I have met at a hostel - she would wake up at 6am every morning to make French Toast for the early risers. The father is apparently one of Croatia's best chess players, and he SMASHED me at games numerous times. There's another younger brother (not the one being questioned) who has learning difficulties but is a sweetie. Then there's a sister that chain smokes like hell and seems to eat nothing but pistachios; a sardonic, funny girl who I got along with VERY well.
Look back on all of my posts. In the first European one, I think there's even an email sent from that hostel! I remember saying it was the best one I've stayed in, and I MAINTAIN that The Dubrovnik Backpacker's Club is the best hostel that I stayed in. That family is gorgeous and I'm so upset that this has come upon them.
They have nothing to do with it, believe me. I lived with them for a week! Ivica even offered to send my vest that I left there to me in Denmark...
The whole phone number thing - it was a nice comfort thing. If we got stuck in town and the buses weren't running or something, we could call them and they'd come and pick us up at odd hours!! And the reporters keep on misspelling their names from the articles I've been reading... Plus, I can tell that they're relying on hearsay, because the way they describe the building, it's clear they're putting photos they've seen into words, as they are just guessing which rooms are which.
And the shit about Ivica (we called him 'Ibizia' coz we couldn't get the emphasis right) being suspicious for being in the surrounding countries at the time - THAT'S WHAT HE DOES. HE'S A TOUR GUIDE!!!
Ahh.... It's a little scary, isn't it? But I just wanted to put my two cents out there. The Dubrovnik Backpacker's Club and the family who runs it just happen to be place where Britt stayed. I reckon, from what I've read the past hour, that the police should be looking at the backpackers who abandoned her there instead. Not placing blame, but I think that the people that were with her that night will have a lot more information that the people that give her tea in the morning.
Those guys were the closest I came to family in a hostel. Don't lay the blame!
Crippled
Well ladles and jellyspoons, you may be hearing a lot more from me over the next two days, as I have suddenly found myself house ridden. In a bizarre splits-related accident last night, I have re-torn my hamstring...
'But how?!' I hear them cry, 'How does one achieve this feat without being in New York yet a week?'
Well my friends, it happens a little something like this.
I attended the first night of my Feature Writing class last night, which is the last of the 3 classes that I am taking with Gotham City Writers. I'm also taking a general fiction writing class, and a poetry class, both of which the end of the lesson was met with hushed voices and silent elevator rides (I refuse to call them lifts. Nor will I abolish the 'u' from words like colour, or change my 's' to a 'z' in words like realising). However. Last night was a little different!
I'm not sure if it's that I seem to attract Danish people now like moths to light or knives to toasters, but I sure do seem to keep on running into them! I got chatting in our break to a lovely, well travelled great Dane (seriously, that joke's been made a billion and four times now). Her name is Therese, and like most Scandinavians when paired with myself, we didn't shut up! She's a little like what we imagine that I'll be like in 5 years time... Except Danish...
Anywho, we walk out of class, and she invites me to come for drinks at a bar that her boyfriend works at in the Meat Packing district (very trendy, high brow-ish area at the moment apparently). But we were in the Eastern end of Soho, and it took as a good 2 hours to make our way their by foot. We were gladly interrupted by caffeination, and a pizza slice stop as neither of us had eaten much that day.
Aside, I met a guy in the coffee shop - well, I split my coffee over him first before I MET him - who recognised my accent as Australian. Turns out that he's an Aussie too. From Melbourne. FROM ST KILDA. FROM DUKE STREET!! Go figure, right? So you might hear more about this one later on down the track if we catch up...
We turned up at this raw, uncemented brick wall, wooden, iron and steel style bar at about midnight. 3 pots, 2 glasses of red and the leftover champagne when they close the bar and kicked everyone else ensued. At one point, all three beverages were being played like a chess board at the same time. I spent the night talking to a bunch of Puerto Rican guys, which sounds so exotic to an Australian, but is like what Kiwis are to us. So I found them fascinating, and they found me fascinating because I was so fascinated in them! Weird, huh?
Anyway, we got onto the subject of traditional dance, then modern dance, and that led into me mentioning that I could do the splits.
Bad. Idea. Not only did I amass a small crowd (we were sitting outside the bar at 2.30am on a Tuesday as the owner was closing up) but I also hadn't stretched. I got my applause, and even got asked to do a repeat performance, but of course I was a little numbed from the alcohol so I didn't feel sore at the time.
I lied through my teeth to get into a party at a club next door (2 points Georgia), but only really stayed to use their bathroom before heading off towards the subway with Therese and her boyfriend (henceforth referred to as Geoffery). I caught the wrong subway. Twice. To a station that I hadn't got out at before on the other side of Houston... But I made it home, feeling very safe the entire way, as much to your surprise as my own, I assure you!
I had enough sober sense by the time I got home to decide to stretch a little before I went to bad, as not to be sore in the morning.
And the next thing I heard... RRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIPPPPPPPP and the next thing I heard after that was FFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUyou get the point...
Have any of your ever torn your hammy? It's the second time that I've done this, the first being a second degree tear that I got from doing, wait for it, YOGA. And the second time I'm stretching after doing the splits (other leg though). To give you an idea of what it sounds like (yes, it makes a sickening sounds), imagine ripping a large strip of velcro off your inner thigh. And that's probably what it feels like too, if that velcro was dripping with hot wax.
And so NOW I can hardly walk! I'm quite a sight hobbling around... I use the walls to move around the house. I've got a few creams and such, but what I REALLY need is a physio and some ultrasound therapy like last time. But hey, with the state of the American political and economic system at the moment, I doubt I'm gonna get it.
That said, they're technically socialists now... Does that mean my health care is free? ;)
'But how?!' I hear them cry, 'How does one achieve this feat without being in New York yet a week?'
Well my friends, it happens a little something like this.
I attended the first night of my Feature Writing class last night, which is the last of the 3 classes that I am taking with Gotham City Writers. I'm also taking a general fiction writing class, and a poetry class, both of which the end of the lesson was met with hushed voices and silent elevator rides (I refuse to call them lifts. Nor will I abolish the 'u' from words like colour, or change my 's' to a 'z' in words like realising). However. Last night was a little different!
I'm not sure if it's that I seem to attract Danish people now like moths to light or knives to toasters, but I sure do seem to keep on running into them! I got chatting in our break to a lovely, well travelled great Dane (seriously, that joke's been made a billion and four times now). Her name is Therese, and like most Scandinavians when paired with myself, we didn't shut up! She's a little like what we imagine that I'll be like in 5 years time... Except Danish...
Anywho, we walk out of class, and she invites me to come for drinks at a bar that her boyfriend works at in the Meat Packing district (very trendy, high brow-ish area at the moment apparently). But we were in the Eastern end of Soho, and it took as a good 2 hours to make our way their by foot. We were gladly interrupted by caffeination, and a pizza slice stop as neither of us had eaten much that day.
Aside, I met a guy in the coffee shop - well, I split my coffee over him first before I MET him - who recognised my accent as Australian. Turns out that he's an Aussie too. From Melbourne. FROM ST KILDA. FROM DUKE STREET!! Go figure, right? So you might hear more about this one later on down the track if we catch up...
We turned up at this raw, uncemented brick wall, wooden, iron and steel style bar at about midnight. 3 pots, 2 glasses of red and the leftover champagne when they close the bar and kicked everyone else ensued. At one point, all three beverages were being played like a chess board at the same time. I spent the night talking to a bunch of Puerto Rican guys, which sounds so exotic to an Australian, but is like what Kiwis are to us. So I found them fascinating, and they found me fascinating because I was so fascinated in them! Weird, huh?
Anyway, we got onto the subject of traditional dance, then modern dance, and that led into me mentioning that I could do the splits.
Bad. Idea. Not only did I amass a small crowd (we were sitting outside the bar at 2.30am on a Tuesday as the owner was closing up) but I also hadn't stretched. I got my applause, and even got asked to do a repeat performance, but of course I was a little numbed from the alcohol so I didn't feel sore at the time.
I lied through my teeth to get into a party at a club next door (2 points Georgia), but only really stayed to use their bathroom before heading off towards the subway with Therese and her boyfriend (henceforth referred to as Geoffery). I caught the wrong subway. Twice. To a station that I hadn't got out at before on the other side of Houston... But I made it home, feeling very safe the entire way, as much to your surprise as my own, I assure you!
I had enough sober sense by the time I got home to decide to stretch a little before I went to bad, as not to be sore in the morning.
And the next thing I heard... RRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIPPPPPPPP and the next thing I heard after that was FFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUyou get the point...
Have any of your ever torn your hammy? It's the second time that I've done this, the first being a second degree tear that I got from doing, wait for it, YOGA. And the second time I'm stretching after doing the splits (other leg though). To give you an idea of what it sounds like (yes, it makes a sickening sounds), imagine ripping a large strip of velcro off your inner thigh. And that's probably what it feels like too, if that velcro was dripping with hot wax.
And so NOW I can hardly walk! I'm quite a sight hobbling around... I use the walls to move around the house. I've got a few creams and such, but what I REALLY need is a physio and some ultrasound therapy like last time. But hey, with the state of the American political and economic system at the moment, I doubt I'm gonna get it.
That said, they're technically socialists now... Does that mean my health care is free? ;)
Sunday, 5 October 2008
First star sighting
When I went for a run last night, I jogged all the way from Houston down to Battery Park along the West shore... And as I was nearing Broadway again, I was pooped so I slowed down and caught my breath on the corner.
And who rounds the corner but a tall buff white guy and an absolutely STUNNING equally tall, slim woman. With long brown hair. And lips bigger than Ben Hur.
It looked just like Angelina Jolie.
Now I remember thinking "that's not her. It can't be. She's just had twins and is living in the south of France last time I heard". Which promoted me to start dwelling on how many people must be getting plastic surgery in this town to look like celebrities. But nose jobs are one thing, full face lifts and cheek implants to get a likeness like that were another. I pitied the poor woman.
And I kept running.
This morning, I walked down to the local Mexican 'milkbar' (they don't call them that here. In fact you get weird looks whenever you use the term) to get the Sunday papers. Aside from the byline "Death Cab Kills 2" which amused me greatly in a somewhat horrid way, there was also a picture of... ya huh... Angelina Jolie.
In New York.
At her latest movie premier.
Mhm!!
I'M NOT MAD!!!! And she really is STUNNING. She didn't have a scrap of makeup on and was wearing loose jeans and she was STILL stunning. A hundred people must have walked past in that minute I stood on the corner. And she was the only one who commanded my attention.
Tell that to Cath, Mum!
And who rounds the corner but a tall buff white guy and an absolutely STUNNING equally tall, slim woman. With long brown hair. And lips bigger than Ben Hur.
It looked just like Angelina Jolie.
Now I remember thinking "that's not her. It can't be. She's just had twins and is living in the south of France last time I heard". Which promoted me to start dwelling on how many people must be getting plastic surgery in this town to look like celebrities. But nose jobs are one thing, full face lifts and cheek implants to get a likeness like that were another. I pitied the poor woman.
And I kept running.
This morning, I walked down to the local Mexican 'milkbar' (they don't call them that here. In fact you get weird looks whenever you use the term) to get the Sunday papers. Aside from the byline "Death Cab Kills 2" which amused me greatly in a somewhat horrid way, there was also a picture of... ya huh... Angelina Jolie.
In New York.
At her latest movie premier.
Mhm!!
I'M NOT MAD!!!! And she really is STUNNING. She didn't have a scrap of makeup on and was wearing loose jeans and she was STILL stunning. A hundred people must have walked past in that minute I stood on the corner. And she was the only one who commanded my attention.
Tell that to Cath, Mum!
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