How long has it been since my last post? Like, three weeks? I apologise for nuthin’. What am I to do? I got a job as a call-boy in the Upper East Side, making ends meet looking pretty for old ladies in summer dresses. Mostly we’d lay in Central Park and I’d recite poems by Pablo Neruda while I fed them strawberries from a punnet. That didn’t actually happen, but if it did, I’d be rich! My looks are undeniable!

Here’s a bunch of stuff that actually happened:

- Enjoyed filtered coffee, homefries and eggs in a diner at 3am, drunk as a skunk, after appearing in a photoshoot for a Vice Magazine beer advertisement insert thing;

- Went to the Guggenheim and ‘lost my shit’ over the works of Frank Lloyd Wright - from within a giant model of his work!;

- Watched Sonic Youth play two encores from the front row of the United Palace Theatre;

- Enjoyed the 4th of July fireworks explode from behind the Manhattan skyline while drinking beer from the rooftop of a Brooklyn apartment;

- Stumbled upon a collection of Man Ray’s photography from a private collection, featuring Gerstrude Stein chilling, Max Ernst covered in seaweed and mugshots of Salvador Dali;

- Had a very late night, got sleepy, and rested under the sun’s warming rays in the middle of a baseball field in Central Park at 9am;

- Had some beers with these guys who wrote a book that I read and enjoyed;

- Had a three-hour conversation with a lovely dude about life and transcendental meditation;

- Waited two minutes while a poet wrote me a poem about transcendental meditation on his typewriter for a dollar;

- Jived many times over at a Morrissey tribute night in Tribeca;

- Smoked a joint with the President of Pitchfork after a gig in the Lower East Side;

- Got shitty service because I didn’t tip;

- Finally got my bagel delivered after 30 mins and hoped they didn’t spit in it;

There’s more I swear but hey, that’s the stuff I remembered.

07/6/09 -- Brooklyn > Central Park > Manhattan Skyline > New York > Upper East Side > Williamsburg -- 5 Comments

I could live my entire life in Central Park. The rolling hills and ancient rocks remind me of the New York that exists in my mind’s eye. This is a good thing because, you see, I’ve got a problem and it’s a big one. New York is not the diner on every corner, Gershwin playing, Woody Allen muttering, J.D Salinger paradise I thought it might be. It’s a dirty, over-populated, consumerist hell-hole, fit for only the overweight mid-western so-and-so’s that spend all their fat moments talking loudly in Times Square. Disappointed? I sure was. But I found that there are more people that think this way, and one person in particular is the Vocalese extrordinaire, Kurt Elling.

Kurt Elling is a jazz singer from Chicago. His records have earned him many Grammys and fans around the world. Tonight he played a show at Charlie Parker’s old haunt, Birdland, on 44th St. After the show I asked him, “Kurt, I hear you’re living in New York now. Why? Gershwin’s New York doesn’t exist to me yet. Where is it?” To which he replied, “Everyone wants to live in New York sometime in their life. Just like everyone wants to live in Paris or Milan or…” Then he wailed his arms in the air like a bat with enormous wings. “New York is hip, you’ll find it. There are pockets where Gershwin lives. You just gotta know where to look.” Then he signed my record and I walked to the Flatiron building and decided to stay a while.

06/17/09 -- Central Park > New York > Times Square -- 3 Comments