I tell you, this is pretty crazy. How ON EARTH is ‘unfortunate picture of jeff goldblum‘ in my top 10?
These are the top ten referrals from Google:
2. Jetblue
4.Jetblue
5. Anne Gregg “anne gregg”
6. women redneck
7. barolo, nyc
8. mans nipple
9. unfortunate picture of jeff goldblum
10. balcony design
…. oh, here’s the nipple they all speak of…
There are things you do for friends and there are things you DO for friends. For many years Holly and I have referred to each other as VBFITWWW – an acronym that remains private to most. What Holly and I have that is public is a deep and loving friendship – and this weekend was the perfect example of this.
Holly has a beautiful daughter Eliza, to who I am a God Parent – an honour that I take great pride in and look forward to having some moral input into this beautiful little girl’s life. She’s also pregnant with another child. She knew that I’d ‘been through the mill’ as it were recently, and about 3 weeks ago she announced that she was coming to stay.
This is no great ’shakes’ as it were – but actually on closer inspection it is a crystal clear demonstration of the unique, caring and wonderful person she is.
She arrived Friday night (having had a taxi journey atypical to most New Yorkers, consisting of a constant dialogue about the potential of car-jacking) and settled onto the couch. After ordering food and watching her eat about a teaspoon of pizza (I know, it was a special treat) she admitted that due to the second wonderful baby growing inside her the mere thought of food brought on a sense of nausea akin to realising that you’re sat next to Sarah Palin on a flight to Sydney.
She battled through, the next morning – after I snuck someone in to the apartment on the condition of ABSOLUTE silence – so we barely spoke — and then she confessed she wore similar earplugs to those won in the McClaren pit-lane – we woke and had breakfast – again, no mean feat. And off out we popped.
To central Park – where we both refused to admit (because we are British) that the weather was indeed so cold you could:
1. Hang dinner-plates on our nipples.
2. Had nipples like Scania Wheel Nuts
3. Had nipples like diamond cutters.
And the inexorable wait for a horse and carriage (they look fit to me and they are licensed – what about bad pet owners? who licensed them huh?)… we trip trapped around central park looking all but the most Victorian save for the Carriage Driver who to all intensive purposes appeared to have escaped from the Maze. Nonetheless it was very memorable, which is great considering we were both remarkable stupid in forgetting our cameras.
Next some retail. Well, we tried, but 5th Avenue was almost unnavigable. Do these people realise we’re in the Great Depression? Do they have no idea? Is it hysteria? Or have there been a lot of Daily Mail ‘win a weekend in NY’ competitions recently?
We gave up and repaired to Lure for lunch. Which was jolly nice and had a ‘proper’ chat. You know, when you’ve known someone for a long time just being with them is enough – and then the ‘right’ sort of conversation starts and you realise all that they’ve ever meant to you is multiplied by the obvious connection you share.
That evening we stayed in, I know that’s remarkable but as Holly said ‘I was the sight she wanted to see’ and we watched telly and just relaxed. Perfect.
This morning to brunch at The Film Cafe on 9th. A brunch that involved a waitress who clearly hated customers, a fruit salad served in a scooped out pineapple – but without any pineapple – and a chopped salad that was in fact a deconstructed enchilada. When asking for more coffee the axe faced bitch bought me a glass of coffee so full the meniscus was clearly evident and the glass almost sunk through the table as it’s lava-boiled heat permeated the room.
We said good bye to Ratchat – who had had about 3 minutes sleep and turned up looking as fresh as a lotus flower – and headed to the Rockefeller Center – top of the Rock to be precise. And to be frank I was on top of the world to see her and spend such quality time with someone so special – albeit short as she left just a couple of hours ago. Leaving behind great memories, tranquility and two horrific pictures taken at the top of the tower that cost us (her) about 50 dollars. Daylight bloody robbery. So here are my two.
It’s not that our cable-guy is ginger (you’d think with all those advances in gene technology they’d be able to fix that) nor that he looked like Frodo’s twin, it’s more that having waiting about 243 years for them to fix our internet (well 5 days but have you lived without broadband recently?) he turns up, twiddles with a few knobs and then tells me I need a level 3 because he doesn’t do computers.
Well fuck you very much.
For the record ALL my computers are in tip-top shiny condition – could he not tell on entry that he was in a place of great reverence to technology? The countless USB cables strewn like electronic cobwebs across most seating areas?
The warm hum of adaptors stepping down voltage like a heroin addict on meth; oh, do you think “they’ll” ever think to install 12 or 24 volt power sockets in new homes – think of the oil we’d save….
Level 3? What was he? What is Level 3? 3 times more intellect than what? Plankton? Give me a break, your box of cable magick is screwed and so are my nerves.
Perhaps if Time Warner spent less time building this:
And more time fixing these:
Maybe we wouldn’t all want to keep those engineers hostage every time they offer complete failure coupled with telling us to book ‘level 3′. Fuckers. Except I wouldn’t clearly keep a ginger hostage – not in my house.
Tonight the city beckons with her dainty hand, which belies a wicked wicked core.
We’re off to Country, on Madison for dinner with Over Qualified Many Secret Skills Friend in the city who’s just returned from Long Island. We are VERY excited.
Today Ben has remodelled the entire flat.
Well, we’ve moved the bed, but above our bed, lies a super chic hospital bed curtain (but in aluminium and lined fabric) and to move it was an act that involved a mop, 4 seperate trips to the ‘hardware store’ and plenty of ‘arrghhhs’ and flat batteries on a drill.
Why does a rechargable drill never really recharge?
Ben can be so manly at times it hurts.
So, cast your mind back to May 8th. That’s the night before the ‘Epic Trip’ began. But I’m not sure we’ve talked much about it. It was the beard’s birthday and for his birthday I had booked an epicurean feast for those who are passionate about LSOS (Little Shells Of Snot) – or Oysters as they are more commonly known.
Batia joined us for a SUMPTUOUS dinner at the Grand Central Oyster Bar, deep in the bowels of the station and a New York Classic. Ben’s face lit up as we approached (not just because of the self-tanning) and he looked as excited to be there as I did to be there with him.
Shortly after Batia arrived, looking PRECISELY like your best dream of Chanel – in delicate layers, precise quilting and hair as sleek as it was raven. Stunning frankly.
Nearly as stunning as the nigh on 30 oysters that Ben pretty much consumed on his own with a face of such abject delight that I could cast aside any thoughts for his poor insides.
An experience is often worth more than a gift, and this experience with some very special people was both a wonderful birthday present for him – and a great parting memory before my big old tour.
Sublime.
So I bought a new mac today. A brand spanking new 20″ imac (the 2.4ghz model) and my God it’s good. The screen is nothing short of majestic; it makes me realise that my little macbook’s screen was like having computer cateracts. Truly.
It’s also about space to W-O-R-K, all this desktop is so liberating.
And it’s about speed. To be honest as I get older I’m getting more impatient, and I need a machine that could keep up with me, not break into a sweat when the going got tough and didn’t chuck out the spinning wheel of confusion at least once a day.
So far, so good, which is more than I can say for the Apple Store. It’s not that I don’t like drainpipe jeans greasy haired stripy t-shirted tramps – but they do take up all the bloody space in the store. I mean, what’s with the ‘come and use our free internet’? And how anonymous is it – it’s VERY anonymous. I was sure I saw Osama Bin Laden checking his Events directory on iPhoto.
No joke.
But it also means you can’t get any fucking service. And the people who do serve you are mostly dwarf-like; in both intelligence and stature they seem to lack specific product knowledge these days. The woman who assisted me was certain there was a 22″ iMac. Well of course there blinking-cursor isn’t.
Writing this now I’m concerned that I’m starting to sound like a geek. Screw it. I am.
So I’ve lived in NYC for about 2 years (as I keep reminding you no doubt) and I’ve always had this thing about the subway. When I was working for Euro RSCG I used to take the subway to work and I used to take the 2 line from Chambers to Houston.
Nothing odd about that eh? Perfectly normal behaviour and indeed who wouldn’t?
Well bugger me if most mornings I’d get into work and suddenly realise I’d be humming the same song over and over again. It’s not a song I’m proud to be obsessing about, nor one that I’ve ever been known to sing out loud (or in the voice in my head). It’s ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’. The gayest song in gaydom. If it was a person it would wear white gloves in the house; or a facepack, or love Carson Kressley in an abnormal way or just get punched a lot at school.
It’s that gay.
Well I figured it out, again from my Moleskin – it’s the 2 train. When it pulls away from the station and begins its strained stumble towards Franklin the electricity passing through the system – see how technical I am – creates these tones, these electronic notes that sing a song. And it’s the notes that match the line ‘THERE’S A PLACE (that I dream of)…
Now This may make me sound completely insane, but I’m sure, almost certain that this is the case.
Imagine my chagrin when I took Abby and Tom on a joyride of the New York subway to prove my point (without remembering it was only on the 2 train) to end up looking like a total mentalist.
Well, we’ve just had a very late protein lunch at Hill Country (Broadway and 26th). It’s had a fair few rave reviews – including New York Magazine – and I hold that title in high regard.
For $49 you get the ‘Two-Step’ which is a meal for two. Two Orcs that is, two Orcs who like theivin’ and have bastard children to steal for.
If you don’t get it, I mean it’s lot of meat. Ribs, pork and beef, chicken, and more pork and beef.
What’s GREAT about the meat is that it isn’t dipped in sugar based sauces (or ‘high fructose corn syrup). It tastes properly smoked and is sublimely spiced.
The sides rocked, the beans really were good for our hearts and darling Ben appeared to enjoy his German Potato Salad (although it’s as German as I am Spanish).
Overall Great. Not brilliant but great. Ben’s complaint? ‘I wish they had plates’. I agree entirely.
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