Candy Curiosity

My time in New York so far has certainly been busy and exhilarating although not so much between the hours of 8a.m. and 5.30p.m. To such an extent that I wouldn’t actually say I was being underpaid for the amount of work I do, despite only earning $200 a week.

Anyway, I’ve decided to entertain myself over the past few weeks by making my way through the contents of the office vending machine. A whole new world of bizarrely named chocolate bars and crisps has been explored, my favourite being the inexplicably named, Oh, Henry! However, one option had remained unselected until today when I finally plucked up the courage to choose ‘B6’ – Fritolay’s peanut butter filled cheese crackers.

Now I’m not a man who’s unwilling to experiment with food. I’ve eaten a chapatti sandwich and enjoyed it, yet there was something about the neon-orange colour of these crackers that didn’t fill me with a great deal of confidence about the quality of my purchase. I made my way through three of the four crackers before deciding that not only did I not particularly like them but that I was starting to feel quite queasy. That feeling still remains as I type this and I find myself thinking, “Oh, Henry! Why did I ever betray you?”

Pumpkins and Pumping Limbs

This week two of the most iconic New York events are due to take place. On Wednesday the Halloween Parade takes place in Greenwich Village, while Sunday sees the New York Marathon make its way through the five boroughs to the finish line in Central Park.

I won’t be wearing a costume for Halloween this year. Last year I spent a miserable afternoon trawling around the streets of Shrewsbury looking for an outfit before finally deciding to go as Michael J. Fox’s second most iconic role, Teenwolf. The constant barracking of my friends (“Go as Dr. Death”, “Just put an afro wig on mate”) has left me with bitter memories of this most American of holidays. That night was not without its highlights, however, and I did manage to get my plastic claws into a little lamb - a slightly overweight and slutty lamb, but a lamb nevertheless.

On the other hand I am looking forward to watching the marathon. On Sunday I went for my first group run with the New York Flyers Running Club and the marathon should be a source of inspiration for me as I start running again. Tonight I’m joining a six mile route around downtown Manhattan and will hopefully make some new friends by the end of the run – if I can keep up. It's made me think how the marathon of my year in New York has just started and I’m getting ready to tip that first cup of water over my head. Er, I have no idea what that means.

The Neil Young Problem

I thought my chance to see one of my musical heroes had passed two weeks ago when I missed out on tickets to the four nights Neil Young is playing at the United Palace Theatre in New York. But an extra night has just been announced with tickets going on sale this Monday. A ticket will cost me $70 which, for a man earning $200 a week, is a serious chunk of change.

So here’s my dilemma - does seeing Neil Young for one night (as stupendous as it may be) outweigh a week’s worth of new experiences in New York? Or can I find ways to enjoy my new home on something like $10 a day after I’ve bought food? Is it food that I need to cut from my budget?

Maybe the lack of cash will actually help me to explore the city. It will encourage me to be more enterprising and search out the cheap ways to entertain myself. I have found that in this town there is always a cheap (or free) alternative. A Twenty dollar boat tour around the harbour? No way, I’ll take the free, Staten Island Ferry please. Eat out at a fancy, Italian restaurant? Er, I’d rather have a $2 falafel thank you very much. Buy expensive toilet paper? Are you kidding – it’s Autumn there are leaves everywhere.

I’ve already managed to cut some of my expenditure - walking twenty blocks to avoid a $2 subway ride is not even a hard decision anymore. All I hope is that, unlike this week. I won’t be waiting for it to turn midnight (when my wages are paid in) at an ATM so I can get some money to buy dinner. But to see Neil Young, that may just be worth it.

What the Huck?

Mike Huckabee is already a shoe-in for the most ridiculous opinion expressed by a Republican Presidential Candidate.

http://blogs.guardian.co.uk/usa/2007/10/huckabees_non_sequitur.html

But Damn, San (I Love a City That Rains)

“I’m as calm as a fruit Stand in New York and maybe as strange.”

My friend San and I have long debated the meaning of that line from Ryan Adams’ 2000 Song, ‘Damn, Sam (I love a woman that rains).’ I have been in New York for nearly two months now and I still can’t walk past a fruit stand without that line coming to mind. However, it is another line of the song that I have sung with more passion over the past few weeks of high temperatures, unbelievable humidity and sweaty subway rides;

“As a man I ain’t never been much for sunny days,”

I haven’t. I like to wear a coat – more pockets. I also don’t like to see other people being happy, especially in New York. I want to see some local attitude, maybe someone shouting, “I’m walking here!” As someone who’s miserable all year round, whatever the weather, I prefer to see depressed people struggling with unruly umbrellas on wet Tuesday evenings than smiling couples in outdoor cafes drinking cappuccinos. It also feels like my year here has started in earnest and the holiday period is over now that the winter seems to be on its way. This hit home yesterday as I overheard a suit shouting to a couple of tourists blocking the subway exit before pushing past them, “some of us aren’t here on vacation kids!” Now that’s more like it!

A Moment in Time

Standing in the middle of a small crowd in the Academy, a criminally overpriced pint of the sponsor's lager in my hand and legs tired from an afternoon walking the streets of Birmingham, I had envisaged a night of tapping my foot in time to the music and politely applauding from the back.

However as the Hold Steady launched into "Massive nights" the lack of cash in my pocket and energy in my legs was soon forgotten, as was everything else not illuminated by the lights from the small stage. I remembered. I remembered that more often than not good music is played by fat men with beards, not thin kids in skin tight jeans from Topman posing on the cover of the NME.

“The guys were feeling good about their liquor run”

I remembered what the words mean to me. They last, they have a life beyond the catchy hook of a soon forgotten pop song.

“The dancefloor was crowded, the bathrooms were worse”

I remembered a feeling nearly forgotten. The feeling of singing along to a favourite song with friends who were strangers two verses and a chorus ago.

“Everyone was funny and everyone was pretty”

I remembered too late that I was holding a nearly full pint as it crashed to the floor.

“We had some massive nights. Every song was right”

I remembered a friend. His pupils dilated and a village idiot grin on his face many could have been forgiven for thinking him drunk. But he wasn't drunk on alcohol (having observed the "One pint behind Pete rule" all night long) he was drunk on the music and the emotion. And as I grabbed hold of San with my left arm we launched ourselves forward into our very own massive night - and yes all the songs were right.