Slice Oh Cheese 11.08.2010

cruising through the heated streets of New Yark in none other than a pair of sneaks, cushioned for walking pleasure. they talk to me and this is what they say. "adi dassler was his name,his brother was a Puma, german engineered they were.david beckham kicks balls with them, steffi graf looked foxy in 'em too, they have stripes,3 in all, flaming, flash gordon red,they have lungs,theyre dimpled. i'm going too fast ,strap me in, velcro will do the trick. white,is it a colour?,antarctic white, hide and seek in the snow,'i can't see you'. 8 and a halfs, theyre just snug.apples and pears, they'll run me up of stairs.i see a leaf,its been through the shredder.best remembered through the revealed acronym 'all day i dream about se...uh i mean sport'. theyre adidas, and theyre great. wish you could see them".

these sneaks buffered me from the sticky,sweaty, sewer-stenched streets of    new york. the heat of a new yark summer is a brewing experience. the burning tar, the rise of vapour from the bowels of the earth where the trains screech, peoples body warmth, the basting lamb meat-a sacrificial offering to the lunch time suits, the subway grip bars sticky as honey buns, sweat stained arm pits and clingy shirts pulse the heated glow of a coal furnace. as i evaporated my bodily fluids, a trail of salt strung behind me, it was time to replenish, to unleash a gush of Dr Pepper. i popped into a drug store, purchased a cool bottle of berry-brown freshness and strolled over to Washington Square. there i crashed on a wooden bench looking out onto a fountain with kids prancing, birds lounging and hipsters in tight denim shorts, plaid collar shirts and ferris-buellers-day-off sunglasses playing cool. with a forceful grip i took hold of that soda pop cracked its coil open and as its bubbly energy welled inside it began excitedly bursting all over the show. while the caramel coloured fountain of fun exploded all over me, a fat ginger haired guy wearing a new york yankees cap, a wife beater vest and shorts had a chuckle and said 'i hate that sh*t'. 

the sugar coated sweetness was all over me. i'm an M&M

from a sweet russian bear

yours in candy coated goodness

TurnPike 23.08.2010

so i got me safely to Baaastin, although staying in the ghetto is always riveting, i've emerged alive.

so last night me, Di Caprio, Jack Nicholson and Matt Damon hung out at some irish pub on Union street. we drank 2 dollar pints of Miller Light, i was barely aware that it was even beer. the big lcd screens showed the patriots playing football. we weren't bothered, we were just catching up. in the back ground, the rolling stones filled the air waves followed by pink floyd's, 'comfortably numb'. great sound track to a great city. in my back pocket i pulled out a polaroid pic of the gold domed building that sits in the city centre of Baastin. the one that hovers just above the Baastin commons gardens, a real green retreat for a city dweller. i took the pic that day.although it was a little bent, crumpled i showed it to Matt. its the exact domed building Matt has a view of from his apartment. anyways we all went back to Matts apartment and listened to the Beach Boys and Patsy Cline on his quarter of a million dollar Makintosh sound system. it was reverberatingly awesome.

having left the lads, i returned to my hostel, where in my room i was greeted by 3 Bangladeshis. i realised quickly enough that this wasn't a scene from Slumdog Millionaire. since that took place in India?. the next day after a restless sleep cos those said bangladeshis were up all night talking cricket statistics, i notched up easily my 15th Subway Veggie sandwich experience on the great hallowed turf of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. now what an institution. the campus sits in the city, it's sprawling, it's huge. it harbours some great pieces of architecture including eero saarinens segmented auditorium, his chapel, an alvar alto curvilinear residential block,and IM Pei school of Design. but then where all have created beautifuly downplayed non-ego driven edifices , there frank gehry goes pleasuring himself on MIT territory. Frank was it really necessary?

sketching my way through much of the university, i see this janitor, he looks just like matt damon,scrawling on the chalkboard. so i shout out, 'will, good grief will, what are you hunting for,the theory of relativity?'. anyways i decided not to bother him and left him while he chalk dusted himself. not long after i left Baastin did i find out that that same janitor won an Academy award. astonishing. thats MIT.

the sun still hung by a thread in the blue sky, so i figured i could squeeze in one last destination. Harvard. turns out it was orientation week. all the juniors beginning their lives in Big school. i have no doubt one of these kids will cure AIDS or make contact with alien life. fingers crossed.

Baastin, apart from one day was awash in rain. while trudging the soaked cobbled streets, i noticed a guy in a wheel chair, his wheels smooth as custard, struggling to wheel himself up a slopey hill. i thought, gsus, i gotta give this oke a hand. 'mate can i give you a push?.'he graciously accepted.so i pushed the ginger(if being in a wheel chair was so bad, G-d went and gave him orange hair and freckles) up the hillock. i felt this rather rewarding and for some reason gave myself credit. 

that eve while holding up another irish pub, i was sat by a single empty chair.i offered to shift for a couple from LA-a radio DJ and his Petron-tequila crazed wife. said DJ says to the barmen, 'get this kid a beer, he doesn't allow me a word in edge ways. we get chatting, the night goes on and they move on, but before that,they drop some green backs on the arm pit stained bar, enough for another beer. enjoy the night bud.

ain't it crazy how things revolve, and i'm not talking revolving doors.

on friday 27th August i 'Departed' Boston

from a far flung lad in america which is like a scene from hollywood which is like the movies which is like a reality show on mtv

the russian bear hunter

Ghetto Blaster 12.08.2010

washington deecee,
having booked passage upon the wifi accessible, plug-in-your-ipod boltbus, i was in the state capitol after 4 hours. sat next to this lawyer, mike. he gave me his calling card, offering his services should i be in trouble with the feds. i just munched my M&M's.
after finding my bearings, which were as round as those chocolate coated peanut M&M's, i made headway for the hostel. now on a map, the distance between things looks kinda small and so i figured id walk the mileage. after sweating like a cotton pickin labourer, being drenched like a dog in a car wash and having noticed quickly that the demographics changed from milky white to cappucino to all black, i realised that i was in the capitals ghetto.welcome to dc
DC, designed with a straight rule and a rubber,has barely a curve.
the capitol hill, which offers a free tour, something free in the usa.....oh and slaves, sits at the centre of the city's cartesian grid, the 'centre of the universe', with the rolling green hills of the mall extending, binding that huge column 500 feet high, a pin prick on the bubble blue sky, to forrest gumps reflecting pool to the gargantuan lincoln memorial, its a phenomenally awesome patriotic expression of the nation's ego.
perpendicular to the Mall the white house on its green checkered lawn with the black president sits looking south across the Potomac river. the theme of the Nation, its memory, and memorialisation continues in this vast envelope with the beautiful, engaging Vietnam War Veterans Memorial by Maya Lin-2 black granite walls embedded with the names of fallen heroes cut the earth in the shape of a V, and the statue riddled war scene of the Korean War Memorial.
being boa constricted by the grid, i made way for the Arlington cemetery a dominoes box of the fallen-open to the doors of tourists. JFK's grave site, the Challenger and Discovery astronauts, the forgotten war heroes, and Jacqui Onasis, all their memory embedded in the manicured lawns of the cemetery.
the museums and art collections that line the Mall are a vast resource of information and history. here they harbour some serious odes to mans endeavours and artistic masterpieces.the holocaust museum, as many as i've been to, always pluck on the fender that is my heart, the aeronautical and space museum was simply a phenomenal walk and visual explosion of man pushing the envelope.
staying in a proper ghetto, when i get on the bus i feel like i'm in a spike lee movie, i never knew there was another million man march.

the clusters of excitement are limited here in dc. if you stray off the tourist path, well you're in the precipice of nothingness.
i've walked my feet to blisters and i have asked, is america a reality, it all seems so hollywood, did america achieve all that they have, did they place a man on the moon, is this all real, or is it all stanley kubrick?.

From a russian bear hunter with blood shot eyes

Couch Surfing 16.08.2010

new yaark yankees.

when you're in america, you gotta eat greasy grub like an american, you gotta drink soda pop like an american, you gotta laugh at americas funniest home videos even if it aint funny, like an american, and then you gotta indulge in its favourite past time, baseball while getting ice cream shmeared on your face, pretzel bits in your hair, beer on your shirt and a hot dog down your gullet.

with an eleven dollar ticket in my hand, this was me being a yank.

it was the New york yankees vs the Detroit Tigers that was printed in black on my self-download ticket.(i printed the tickets in black and white). 

as i rolled off the D-train there it was. a modern day colliseum, a newly built edifice to the biggest baseballing franchise, a diamond in the rough of The Bronx, a marketing giant, a neon sign big and drawing enough energy to power up addis abbaba, hues of blues and whites, and the typical hum of a big game event. this was Yankee stadium.

as i skirted my way to the nose-bleed seats, there stood before me on the concrete walkway an oasis of light,the ark of the covenant, a fully kosher hot dog stand. i had to. i had to buy the dog, a 6 dollar dog. having gripped my dog in one hand, i pivoted to walk away. and then, like a kung fu kick to the head, i turned leprechaunous green with sausage envy. i glared noticingly at all the other hot dogs around me. all the other dogs were foot longs dripping in sauer kraut, creamy mustard and fiery red tomato sauce, all looking like 1945 ally submarines waiting to blast the living daylights outta the germans while mine, yes mine was all of a puny 6 inches. quickly i averted my glance to stare at the blond with the big breasts and i realised what i had in hand.

this dog was coloured to perfection, airbrushed to look gently brown, and smooth as a russian engineered V rocket.this dog was there to inflict excitement on my taste buds, to make an assault on my very senses that were craving this simple protein/ carbohydrate tangoing duo. my mouth dripping in excitement took hold of this rocket ship to be pulped giving my pulsing blood an all american roller coaster ride. its soft consistent texture delighted me. this synthetically engineered sausage, with squirts of sachet tomato sauce was rapturous. it filled no gaps in my hunger, added no nutritional value, but it was blisteringly awe-some.

the 4 hour beer drinking, hot dog shovelling, ice cream scooping, lets-go-out-to-the-ball-game singing frenzy lacked serious excitement. like sinisterly watching a mosquito land gently on your flesh, piercing your skin to begin draining you of your blood, while you gently hang around till the wee bastard is all juiced up, flexing your muscle to watch a surge of blood burst the little critter to smithereens, but being irritated that the lil critter beat the trap having buzzed away at the last minute denying you a sadistic experience, thats...baseball.

from the western exploits of a malnourished lad

the russian bear hunter

Toffeed Apple 03.08.2010

Brooklyn Nooo Yaaark.

the sun baking hot, the tar a gummy liquorice. the airconditioned 4 train, in its shimmery shiny chrome skin, me, danny brawler, and gena g skidded out to Burough Park.

Borough Park is one of like a thousand little Jerusalems barry peppered around New Yark city. here its a wee lil shtetl where yiddish is probably the first language, pita and shwarmas the local delicacy. and if you listen closely you could hear the theme track from fiddler on the roof. here we rolled in the sweetness of apple sauce and burst into song at chocolate pastries. we tucked ourselves in the comfort of shlurpy mess-on-your-sunday-best falafels, and yiddished our way into popularity.the day was dusted for the D&G show and it was time for me to soak up more.

i caught a train down the road to crown heights, centre for the lubavitch jewish community and home to the late lubavitcher rebbe. the number on his door, 770. here in the streets, the black hat hovers, the black coat billows in the fresh breeze, and push prams cut grooves in the side walks. and in the background alicia and jayzee are shootin' hoops on the ball courts. i asked the locals if anyone knew fitz speigelman, and lo and behold i had a crowd of black hats scouring their 'berries for his contact details.

another day in paradise.

coney island, a once playground to the stars, a place of leisure, a place of fun. roller-coasters, candy floss, toffee apples and shoot-the-freak entertainment. all images that'd spring delight and excitement in a kids eyes. that was in the late 1800's.

coney island harboured this sorta mystery for me and on coming to new yark city it was sure to be one of my many destinations.

as the throngs of people burst outta the D train from manhatten i got the sense that i was back in south-end-on-sea up in the UK. from african americans, to russians, to chinese, to hispanics, to neon sign plastered strips, this was surely the periphery of manhatten. it was a culture shock i didnt quite expect and it was a view through a pin hole of what one could see outside of new york city.

all of a sudden the people swelled to xxxl, the russian talk threw me back to vodka swirled moscow, the american drawl placed me in that oprah winfrey movie, the colour purple, the hand ball courts threw my mind to ghettoised america and the people i saw at the edge, probably just wanted to fall off it. and thrown in amongst all this oddity were religious jews pushing prams, strolling, enjoying a sunday out and playing hand ball with the mexicans.

the promenade was full of take-out joints, dripping in fried goods, candy sticky and heaving to the sounds of led zepelin and the eurythmics. oversized cartoon characters holding hotdogs bobbed the skyline, the beaches full of bathers and frisbee throwers. the pier, strewn with fishermen in wife beater vests, stained to the chest and the pit.

at first sighting this lil kinda-island scared the begsus outta me, but slowly as i walked its path i began to enjoy its oddity, its strangeness, its freakiness, its absurdity, cos afterall this is where excitement lies.

from the trailings of mesmerized lad

the russian bear hunter

 

Rise of a Beigel 27.07.10

ah what a day, after waking up sweating like like an olive in a desert,i got myself up early, and made a bolt for the Metropolitan museum of Art. the museum sits on two floors, and i have no idea how many square meters it consumes, but its like a wee megalopolis. anyhow it sounds rather strange but i get kicks out of antiquities, well primarily the greek and roman stuff,afterall i was a latin scholar. here too i rubbed shoulders with the kandinsky's,the cezannes, the monets, the mantes, the van goghs. the list is as big as a new york deli side order menu. huge.

after walkng this place for hours and by the end of it needing the walls to hold me up, it was time to get some suunshiine and a beigel.yea thats what i said, a beigel. Matt Ai suggested that for my first beigel experience it has to be Beigel Stix on 53rd and 8th. i entered under the glowing red neon sign, rolled up to the intimidating counter, pulled out my wee book in which matt had scribbled exactly what to order-lox nova, thin cream and an 'everything' beigel, and i just sat breathing up against the counter glass ,drooling like a puppy dawg. i grabbed the beigel in its bag, and made headways across town. while strolling, my body shaking, pulsing, at the excitement, like an archeologist unearthing the origins of man. i unbag the beigel, unwrap its tinfoil outter shell and peel back the wax paper, as it is revealed to me, it bursts in to colourful life before my very eyes.the seeded bun like a rocky desert terrain, the 15 layers of salmon, glowing pink, soft, tender, the massive red tomato slice, all sitting tightly between two thin layers of the creamiest cream cheese my taste buds had ever surfed. i took a bite, the cheese shmearing its self all over me, the salmon as tender as a fresh bruise, the bun fresh and warm.in my hands the beigel was simply uncontrollable, but i took the upper hand.and wow it was good.

so im scoffing this thing down, loving it like the first season of Friends, and as im crossing town i pass by the MoMo gallery, its like 7pm and theres music bursting outta its seams. i see a girl standing by, looking all summery and i ask her while my mouth is full o beigel, how the hell do i get in there. she choons me its invitation only but if i want she'll squeeze me in somehow. so i tell her not to worry, i gottta finish this bite of heaven,the beigel that is and ill sort myself out (getting into the gallery that is). she says just act confident and youll be in like princess leiah with han solo.anyways in my sneaekrs, shorts and tee i roll up to the counter.the lady at the desk tells me its invite only, so i tell her im the kinda guy that gets invites to these kinda events. i tell her im famous. she asks my name, i choon her the russian bear hunter. there and then she googles me.she shows me a pic of some guy thats just elephant-shot a bear.i say yeah thats me.she's like 'OMG'. her friend aint buying it so they call the manager.i tell her i blog, and she's like, 'wow,you blog?', im like 'whatever', she checks the blog, the manager checks 'my' bear hunter pic.he says 'no'. but the sweet girl behind the desk gently slides over a ticket when no ones looking, shebam im rolling with the big cheeses of New YArk city.

free drinks and im happy as the ending of a hollywood romcom.

a corker of a day in Noo Yaaark Citee

bobbing for apples 25.07.10

sunday a day out.i steered my adidas sneakers to the american natural history museum. im not too sure why, but new york is pretty damn intimidating, it kinda gave me stage fright.i contemplated lingering at home under the air cooled atmosphere eating pretzels having been too afraid to step out into the world.

where do you begin to bite this fruit of a city.how do you approach it, how do you pounce? and hence the beginnings started well in the beginning when the world was created and Mcdonalds popped up on every corner.

so the history museum gives one the opportunity to pay whatever you wish, so its normally a hefty 20 dollars, but i had set my mind on 5 bucks.anyhow im in the cheapo queue and some poncy outta stater asks me how much im gonna give, so i tell him a 'fiver'.so he's llke 'whats a faiyver?'.its funny cos his wife got it. anyhow this f*ckin ponce tells me that 'know one in these parts knows what a faiyver is'.anyhow i kept my mouth shut thinking this oke was a total baseball head.

anyhoo i decided, f*ck him im paying 3 dollars, and with that i rolled in.

as i tried to read everything in this museum, trying to be interested i kept being followed by this smell, this scent of grandmas old flat in killarney, you know, that musty old smell that grannies have. anyways i smelled my pits and smelling like a fresh can of AXE deo, i realised that it was simply the teradactyl next to me. did i really need to go to this museum?

after 5 hours scouring mummies and old mexicans, penguins and dinosaurs ,ancient asians and prehistoric africans, rubbing rocks from space and rocks from the rockies it was time to head out side and take a sweet stroll through central park. there i cracked open the all too cool can of dr pepper and unbagged a stash of pretzels. im an all american.

this park is absolutely phenomenal, its vast, its green, its pleasant, it has runners and cyclists and walkers and talkers. its got frisbees and soccer, lollies and pretzels.

having greened my pants on the emerald lawns it was time for me to meet up with bochy, the blessed one. together we followed this dude to a bar in amsterdam avenue that sells beer for 3 dollars-the cows had come home and pigs could fly. but after 15 pints i could still remember high school calculus.(not to be mistaken with high school musical)

having asked for local knowledge on a fine slice of pizza pie, this college kid leads us to Freddies, a little dive entered below street level run by these like porta ricans. a real sweaty place only cooled  when the coke refrigerator was opened. that lil triangulated wedge of ecstacy was the sweatiest tastiest slice of life i've had in a long time. i knew this was the place cos here on the wall i shared a moment, another(after wall street) moment with michael douglas and the great Sopranos.ssssiiiick.seems like michael douglas spreads himself thin.

after catching a cab, a frikkin yellow cab, typically driven by some guy from new delhi we rolled into Brandys across town on the east side (got the lingo down hey).its a wee piano bar, open mic night it was and gees like it was awesome.

the waitress after cheesily offering us drinks, grips the mic like a lolly pop, her flaming red hair glistening in the bar light, her green top glad wrapping her torso, her skinny jeans, like a scuba suit, and her black heels polished to a mirror conducts the piansist and begins to belt it. her lungs powerful enough to have turned the winds. her vocals squeezed tears outta my eyes, it was mesmerising. that eve not a single singer couldnt sing, pure freshly squeezed talent dripped from this bar. thats new york

sweet melons what a night, it ended in miss waitress singing a lady gaga tribute, i want your 'vertical stick'.

as i caught the polished chrome train back home with bochy, i knew i was a seed in the great apple.

from a scurvyless lad

the russian bear hunter