Thursday 30 August 2012

The Main Monkey Business

I arrived home a couple of weeks ago. Being a student in the artistry of surprise, I didn´t tell anyone I was coming until I was already in the Magpie, then some days later, turned up to casually bump into Nico and Winks at the Great British Beer Festival.

Since then, I´ve considered my options: brewing; sailing; and banking. I´ve made some efforts in the former two directions, and very little in the latter, but not a huge amount of effort in any.

I´ve also been told these writings might be worth something. I am not so sure. I used an hour or so to delve into the writing community that exists on the internet. I found a largely  amatuerish community of flowery, predictable and unimaginative persons writing about their girlish "feelings", most often relating the mundane and effeminate trials and tribulations of their lives to eachothers in superfluous, wet, derivative poetic notions. Thankfully, I can´t relate to any of this tripe.

Instead, I´ve amused myself with daytime drinking at various lovely wooden pubs and with Monkey Island 2: Le Chuck´s Revenge.

Inspired by fond memories of Pelagic, I set myself to an experiment around Rich Tea biscuits. I wanted to see how many I could eat and if there was a point at which they became undesirable. I concluded that twelve to fifteen was the right amount. Twenty was beginning to get uncomfortable. Shortly after finishing number thirty-five, and the best part of cup of tea number two, I felt a sharp pain around my right lung that made it difficult to breathe. It went away after half an hour, but the point of undesirability had indeed been reached.

Sunday 5 August 2012

London Calling

I´ve crossed just about everything off my New York tourist list. I´ve done it all and eaten most of it. It´s time to go home, where we mind our own business, and don´t expect tips for what we´re already paid to do, and where we don´t wear hats indoors.

Between that and my now expired travel card, I´m at a loose end for the day. As the credits begin to roll on the new Batman movie, the only half-packed "theatre" starts a rousing round of applause. Sure, it was good, but why are you people are clapping at a screen? Americans...

Saturday 4 August 2012

New York Groove

My old pal, Captain America, has shown me how to double down on a breakfast bagel and hash browns for less that three-bucks-fifty - truly a Breakfast of Champions.

Now I am off to the event I´ve been waiting for all week. The New York Historical Society presents "Beer Here!", an exhibition on the history of brewing in the city, including a meet-the-brewer and tasting session. New York has delivered again and I´m all, all over it - like a rash. Museums and beer - what a world!

A tasting session is all very well, but what will really make me happy is a drinking session. Where better than the very bar where Paul Hogan befriended a pair of lovely hookers and groped a sheila who wasn´t a sheila at all.

Just like I remembered
Yes, aside from the transvestites, I think I could work with this place. It´s not home, but I think I could work with it.

Friday 3 August 2012

Under Pressure

New York´s, if not America´s spiritual center is the original Nathan´s Famous, Coney Island. It´s the site of Joey Chestnut´s recent Fourth of July Hot Dog Eating Contest success - sixty-eight hot dogs in ten minutes. The event represents the spirit, of competition, bravery and consumption, that built a superpower. It is, though, unfortunate that the ever-present ugly side of American sports and culture has tarred the event with the unpleasantness that lead to the recent exclusions of Kobayashi-san.

Having stopped for sweet and sour chicken in China Town two hours ago, I'm in a rare phase of my game where there is food available, but I don´t want to eat it. But I do want a Nathan´s Famous t-shirt, so I can start to design my here-I-am-rock-you-like-a-hurricane-New-York-look. But, how could I possibly wear such an item without having eaten here. I´d either have to leave the t-shirt, or know, everytime I pulled it on, that it´s a lie - a lie and a deception. I ask myself, what would Kobayashi-san do in this situation? The answer is very obvious. I must eat.

The hot dog is light work, but I've also taken the french fries with cheese - because Joey would, and because Kobayashi-san would. As I watch the girl depress the plunger that projects a cheese - a cheese that could never be spawned by nature - from a metal nozzle, I know I'm in a spot of bother. I battle through the foul, bright yellow, viscous "cheese" and almost equally unpleasant french fries with my eyes on the prize - my t-shirt.

I very gingerly toddle back to the subway, remembering this sensation from the Uruguay incident. But, the unsettling pressure in and around my stomach is more than countered by the knowledge of my of heroism and triumph in the face of adversity - not to mention my beautiful t-shirt. Only now can I begin to understand what it takes to be a champion.

Photo: arthurkade.com

Thursday 2 August 2012

Under the Bridge

No trip to New York is complete without visiting the bridge where Macauly Culkin and the Pigeon Lady defeated The Wet Bandits. It´s everything I hoped it would be - magical, even.

No less impressive is the bar from the Highlander. Serving a range of lagers and ales, Peter McManus´ Cafe is right up my straße. Perhaps New York and I could have some longevity afterall. Perhaps I can design some sort of outfit that clearly conveys to the various overt pregant women, homosexuals, and black guys that I like ale very much.

Photo: nymag.com, right up my straße
And as per usual, KK has ordered with her eyes, and I get many more chicken nuggets than is wise.

Wednesday 1 August 2012

New York, New York

Once again, I have to spend several hours trying to finding tonight´s bed. Once again I´m presented butter where no butter is necessary, this time, with waffles. And once again, I use as much of that butter as I can stomach.

Photo: trialx.com, More Butter! More Syrup!
I could stomach a good amount of the butter, but my early afternoon pretzel is proving more difficult. The salt to bread ratio is as incredible as it is disgusting. I have to brush off most of the salt to force the thick, dry, tasteless bread down. Pretzels are disgusting. Worst bread ever.

Stumbling across the New York branch of the Porter House - the London branch is home of the best St. Patrick´s Day party in town - I decide that for that awful salt-ridden mess, I deserve an ale. Three ales later -  ales need not be deserved nor earnt - I wander off to the boat bound for the ultimate landmark, the Statue of Liberty.

The audio guide for the statue is extremely boring and contains no detail whatsoever on the filming of Ghostbusters II, nor Jungle 2 Jungle. More disappointing, the inside of the statue is closed until November. I will have to come back to climb out of the eye and onto the crown.

Photo:  onthesetofnewyork.com
I think I've found the sign that Mick Dundee climbs in Crocodile Dundee. Of course, I have to climb it, but the horse mounted policeman does not arrive. Nonetheless, another New York box is ticked.