to say that I have never had a drop of booze touch my lips would be like, well, telling you that I have pinched the arse of the queen of england - complete bullshit. having said that however, I would like to embellish this post with my humble opinions on the matter of drinking… heavily.

there was a time when I used to serve in the Royal Air Force (worthy of its own post, be patient) and there were pretty much only two things to do “after hours”… go to the gym and work on the abs and gluts, or by using the strongest elbow, perch oneself at the very heavily subsidized, Air Force bar. thankfully, for the most part, I chose the former over the latter. where I am going with this, is thus - I watched as many of my compadres succumbed to the “amber nectar” (go sue me, ‘Fosters’) after a hard graft at the office - a way to reconcile oneself, profoundly reinforcing a place in this world - without actually reconciling. I knew booze, first hand to a “manageable” extent, and from watching my highly-polished belt-buckled barrack-mates, drinking themselves into a stupor known as, in my English retort, as fucking wankered. but who am I, you ask, to berate such a close knit social circle as my military kin. I agree. ‘each to his own’, was a phrase I soon became accustomed to… so began my experience with the ether known as alcohol.

you see, I was never much of a drinker prior to the military, not at all. the odd can of ’special brew’ with a group of very close friends, became the illicit drug that I wanted so much to steer clear of.

[tangent]

I thank my dear mother, whom I miss and love with the very fabric of my being, for keeping those apron strings taught, when I was a wee young chap.

[back on track]

as it seemed, I entered life as a semi-sensible young man with one mission - do well, be happy and make something of yourself - the three commandments I would learn would stand me in good stead. a staple, if you will. so where was I… ah yes, military…

[fast forward]

so I move to New York City with a vigor that is only comparable to Alexander The Great smacking the bottom of Asia - much to their disdain. I soon realize that my partner in life very much enjoyed the escapism of getting wasted. an almost quasi-acceptable state of mind here in the big fat apple that would envelope one in a joy far from facing one’s reality.

and so it began…

my first 3 years [here] were (and are still) very hazy, to say the least. for example, if someone said to me tomorrow, “so, what did you get up to during your primary tenure in the city?”, I would have to reply with an apparent (I’m sure) reluctance, “eh, you know, this and that”. truth be told, I don’t remember much significant detail about my first 3 years here, which makes me sad. from the years of 29 to 32, I find myself mentally and emotionally walking in a mist, and conversing my whereabouts in cryptic diction, to my own disbelief. sad. there was a time when the constant drinking was becoming such a pastime that I couldn’t differentiate normal living with being completely fucking drunk. sad. many weeks, and indeed months blended into one another, forming a kind of ‘play doh’ history of my life - a softly molded reality that I could feel between my fingers, yet I had no clue of the shapes that would result in my feigned efforts.

[fast forward]

and here I am, writing this blog, broken hearted by admitting my recent, and indeed reticent, life, thus far in New York. I hope to become a ‘better person’ - and by that I mean, becoming a person that I once was. a person that enjoyed meeting others, knowing others, helping others, focusing a life bettering myself - gym, cycling, museums, parks, movie theaters etcetera.

life. i love you. I don’t need a clouded existence. beer, you’re for weekends and birthdays.

for those of you that have visited this site [between visits to the lavatory], you will have indeed gleaned, to an extent, that I tend to have the sporadicity of a grade-A, ADHD patient… on speed, and appropriate medication.

which leads me to the following tale…

so I’m sat in my back garden this evening with a close friend (it’s Red Hook, any outdoor space that isn’t pavement, is garden) and my new found acquaintance Ray shows up, after parking his car outside my humble abode - as he usually does after work. I stand and walk over to our “spike-tipped” fence (which I hate, feels like I’m in protective custody) and shove my hand through one of the many holes in the gauze-like “keep the cat from escaping” fabric, to shake his hand. we exchange our usual pleasantries and he proceeds to introduce me to his business partner, Jamal.

I had the pleasure of first meeting Ray about 4 weeks ago, where he proceeded to afford me the gift of knowing what he does for a living - he was a brand spankingly new real estate broker. buying and selling. Ray is a big guy, shaved head, friendly face, owns such an eloquence that is apparently sparse around these parts, and a heart as big as his being. he typifies the elements of what I love about living in this neighborhood.

so there I am, meeting Ray’s partner for the first time, Jamal. very nice guy - good looking guy - and as it happens, a brand new father to a gorgeous new daughter. I congratulate him on his new addition to the family, to which we continue to discuss their crazy Sunday, reveling at what the real estate world has to offer these two decent, hard working men. we stand there, like old war soldiers talking about life, how sweet it is, and how the future has so much to offer those that make the right decisions. or at least those that have an idea, and have the sack to follow through.

I told Ray that I was due to move out of my current habitat next weekend, to which he responds with something I was not expecting. “if you’d like to, you’re very welcome to come and spend time with my family and me and barbeque, any time”. let me start by saying that I accepted without even getting to my next heartbeat. completely flattered that this guy, whom I’d known for about a month, is inviting me to spend quality time with him and his. to say that I thanked him for his kind generosity and kindness is an understatement, and I am very much looking forward to coming back to Red Hook and flipping those sizzling burgers and dogs with Ray; kind Ray, who has an unfailing familiarity with humanity and what it means to be normal.

onto my point in writing this.

if you’ve read my other entry here about the “invalid coach”, you will understand that I sometimes have the compulsion to word play. again, I’m at it.

when I moved here almost 4 years ago, it become very apparent early on in my new york tenure, there is a definitive level of segregatation throughout the city (and let’s not forget, the country) - black, hispanic, asian, white… you get the picture. throughout my time here, I have been a loose member of the white collar social circle, befriending people that are only interested in three things when they meet me:

• where do you live?
• what do you do?
• what do drive?

… to which I have one answer… what the fuck does that have to do with you?!

since I moved, to say, a lesser affluent ‘hood, not once, I repeat, not ONCE, have been asked those pointless, class-defining questions. this, my friends, leads to my summation of this post… I used to hear a lot of discussion about “their kind”… from right-wing fascists with no clue about life but their daddy’s silver spoon to my own father-in-law who probably hasn’t seen an african american in his own streets of Arizona.

my take?

“they’re kind”.

so say hello to your fellow neighbor, regardless of diction voracity, regardless of music preference… regardless of color… say hello - you pretend-upper-class vermin.

I love anyone that extends a hand to me - and so should you, remember that.

not a good idea whipping out your todger on the new york city subway line when you’re sat across from someone with a camera phone.

some unsuspecting young lady on her way uptown on the ‘R’ from a job interview, was the victim of a flasher. to add insult to injury, it happened in the middle of the day on an [surprisingly rare] uncrowded subway train.

the link to the lady-in-question’s rant on this perverted twat can be found here.

great shot of that guy, I’m sure he’ll be picked by the authorities in no time, alas, I can see him getting off (no pun intended) on a technicality - the use of any photographic equipment on the New York City subway lines is illegal - post 9/11 addition to the penal code.

not likely, but to those who know him well, I’m sure they would agree that Ze Frank has an adept ability to put smiles on faces across cyberspace.

I have been a regular visitor of Ze’s site for a little over 2 years, when a co-worker e-mailed me the link to his dance properly page. From thereon, Ze’s site went from a “who?” to “what!” in mere weeks due to his comic mastery.

apparently he’s a brooklyn boy also, and I think I spotted him on the F train last week coming home - normal looking guy, that is until he switches on his video camera at home. you can visit his site by following this link.

one funny bastard - and there I was thinking joel veitch of rathergood.com was a genius!

I was on my way to work this morning, and my cab was whizzing in out of out lanes (as they do any given day) when we came up behind a white people-carrier, like those mini-bus type vehicles. I was alarmed to read what was written on the back:

let me get something straight here, I live in a society that has created and prides itself on such terms as “african american” and “seasoned” to substitute the usage of their true meanings: “black” and “old”, right? last time I checked, that was an affirmative. so I’m completely gobsmacked to see this white van, with the words “invalid coach” printed on the back doors, like they’re carrying a certain kind of person that needs a label, letting us all know that the occupants’ physical abilities need clarifying.

what kind of fucked up world am I living in? did the same able-bodied, majoritively caucasian group of politically correct arseholes who have made the words “african american” a cool nuance, forget someone?

this then got me thinking even more about the word “invalid” - and then I realized that the word has two meanings and indeed, pronunciations. (a homonym, no less)

example:

invalid

1. in·va·lid - One who is incapacitated by a chronic illness or disability.

2. in·val·id - Not legally or factually valid, falsely based or reasoned

so having pointed that out, wouldn’t it be fair to say that it could be easily summised that the coach that indeed our human counterparts were traveling in, may also be labeling them as #2 above?

think about it for a second… simple word play would deem in·va·lids are just as every bit in·val·id.

let’s hope the folks that decided to paint their “coach” with that fine diction, don’t succumb to a “chronic illness or disability” - just some other kind of painful experience. like their boys removed with the handle of the brush they used to paint those bloody letters.

* [majoritively isn't a word, I know that]

for those of you that either live in New York City, or have at least visited the big apple, you surely have taken a cab. what adds to the fun of riding in those yellow rockets, is the morning commute to work.

there’s no feeling like it on earth when you blaze past a cyclist at 50mph, whilst almost scraping against his handlebars. there’s no substitute for safety.

new york cabbies - bunch of tunnel-visioned half breed crazy bastards!

This is Sam, a 14-year-old pedigreed Chinese Crested who recently won the ‘World’s Ugliest Dog’ title at the Sonoma-Marin Fair contest for the third consecutive year. The tiny dog has no hair - unless you’re counting that excuse for a mohawk, actually hair. His wrinkled brown skin is covered with splotches, a line of warts marches down his beak, his blind eyes are an alien, milky white, and a fleshy flap of skin hangs from his withered neck. And then there are the Austin Powers teeth. Talking of that British twat-tard, there’s a distinct resemblance to Dr. Evil there - notice his back paw in his gorgeous mouth. (Dr. Evil voice: “one….mILLion… DOllerrrsss”)

He’s so ugly that even the judges recoiled when he was placed on the judging table. The sad thing is that Sam is suffering from a number of age-related ailments (congestive heart failure, lung and kidney problems), so will probably not be able to please his bitches in next year’s competition.

Poor little bastard.

there comes a time in ones life, when you suddenly realize what someone else was going through - someone, I’m sure whoever is reading this, will understand whom I am referring to…

this is a truly difficult time for me, and I want to share with those that know me, and visit this meager place, to know that I know what my significant other went through in an effort to keep our relationship together… and to try fix me.

When you try your best but you don’t succeed
When you get what you want but not what you need
When you feel so tired but you can’t sleep
Stuck in reverseAnd the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can’t replace
When you love someone but it goes to waste
Could it be worse

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you

And high up above or down below
When you’re too in love to let it go
But if you never try you’ll never know
Just what you’re worth

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you

Tears stream down your face
When you lose something you cannot replace
Tears stream down your face
And i…
Tears stream down your face
I promise you I will learn from my mistakes
Tears stream down your face
And i…

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you

you will always be a part of my life.

 
me like kosher, and tings
now this guy, I’ve been hearing a lot about recently. if you haven’t heard of this native new yorker, don’t kick yourself just yet - he’s been hitting the clubs in the city, such as Opaline (an East Village nightspot known for its queer Friday night dance parties), so chances are you have passed him by without even knowing. allow me to introduce Matisyahu - the all rapping jew from Brooklyn, NY. the latest sensation comes from the local mosque, taking the local underground clubs by storm, and more recently, big time cable network shows:Matisyahu on the Jimmy Kimmel showcheck him out for yourself at the link above, but be warned, don’t expect to see some half-arsed biddly bop efforts here, this guy is the real deal.

BOO-YAKASHA!

yes, I’m 33 and still into video games - what!

I know, I know… get a life, I hear you all saying… well I have something to say about that - when you have no cable, no regular television to watch, live in a neighborhood that requires you walk the streets during the daylight hours only, then you really don’t have that much to do other than find “indoor pursuits” - reading, writing (bloggy blog) and I’ve already watched The Dave Chapelle Show (all of season 1) 3 times on DVD… I just had to buy my sexy little psp.

makes for a handy weapon on the new york subways
and so to the games… my library so far, albeit small, is rather enjoyable:

Wipeout Pure

NFSU Rivals

Coded Arms

well, Coded Arms is a pile of crap, but the other two are fantastic. graphically impressive - pretty much PS2 quality on a handheld, the sound quality is amazing and I’m waiting for GTA to come out in October… yes, I just followed through.

so, with that said, I’m off to waggle my joystick and sink into a world familiar with fat teenagers and sad lonely 30-somethings… [hang on]… dammit.

[walks slowly away from the Mac, toward psp oblivion, blushing... and drooling]

hello dear readers, and happy bloody Sunday! big shout out to my dear Mother and Pops in England, just gotten off a pretty deep YIM conversation. always good to talk.

so the laundry’s done, it’s 1:30 in the post-meridian and I’m wondering if it’s worthwhile me venturing out on the old Cannondale for a 10-mile ride in the park - however, it looks like rain is beckoning, and it’s making me feel like a kid about to jump into an already up-and-running double dutch skipping fest, building up the rhythm preparing to jump in… in, out, in, out… waiting for that right rise and fall of the skipping rope… [looks over shoulder out the window at the grey sky] - ah bugger it, I’ll pick up a book instead.

before the Jackson 5, Michael was a mean Double Dutch rope spinner
some of you may know I’m looking for a new abode by the end of this month, and what fun it’s proving to be - way beyond my expectations of pains in the arsal area! I’ve seen two places so far this month, and I can only say that New York has to be one of the hardest places to find something that “fits”. take my current place, for example - I love it here - my two roomies, who I shall call Mandy and Mark are the best. one a punky skateboarder and the other a not-for-profit executive assistant - a lot of fun to be around, and very very nice people… I lucked out, that’s without a fact, this feels like home. unfortunately for me, I came here with the sole intention of returning “home” to my beau in September, however that looks bleak - so I’m on the hunt for another flat to hang my thomas pink work shirts. one flat was in brooklyn heights, 3 doors down from the famed promenade, with probably the best views of downtown manhattan around. now, don’t get me wrong, we all have those “messy”, or “not-as-tidy-as-yesterday” days, but this flat was without question the diviest hole I’d seen. however, the current tenant, the owner, was a 50-something arthritic, which broke my heart - I almost hugged the guy on my way out to wish him luck in finding someone - he’s been looking for 6 months apparently. I’m tempted to call him next weekend and offer to lend him a hand tidying the place, purely so he can rent the space. poor man.
and here we have the “just robbed” look, very art nouveau
the other place I saw, yesterday, was a new thing for me - “railroad apartment”… now come on my dear american global domination alies, I know you give normal day-to-day things cutesy names (onesies for example, which is a one-piece thing for babies), but where the bloody hell did you get “railroad apartment” from? let’s be honest, it’s an open plan flat, with “separate” rooms being occupied by more than one tenant. the typical new york city landlord way of doing business… “now, how can I squeeze 4 people into this box?” I’m sure is the common question local property owners ask themselves. the answer is the railroad flat. basically, the flat’s ONLY entrance opens into what would have been my room, then next to me, is another tenant, separated only by a makeshift double swing door thing (homemade), and beyond that, another room, with no door. bear with me, it gets better - all the doors stay open in the summer as there’s only one air conditioning unit - in my room! ah yes, there’s more… yonder that, is the kitchen and bathroom… so now you have that image in your mind, let’s run a typical weekly morning scenario… I wake up, fire off the morning pant rattler (come on, I’m a bloke for crying out loud - tell me you don’t, go on), walk through two other bedrooms looking like nick nolte on crack, into the shower, back through two other bedrooms, and then proceeding to dress, precariously trying to hide my boys from the view of my female neighbor - oh what fun!
good morning neighbor, don’t mind me, I just need a shit
so there you have it, my fun weekend thus far, and it’s only going to get better as I try and swat the now appearing baby mozzies trying to suck my madcow-riddled blood.now where’s that book…

about time for another update - sorry for the delay, life’s been a wee bit busy as of late. what with work, personal trials and tribs, the shuttle launch, the searing 100% humidity recently and laundry on Saturday mornings, the britblogger board has taken a back seat - ouch.

so what’s going on in the world of the britblogger, you ask. well for starters, I have to rave a tad about the Owen Wilson and Vince Vaughan’s new movie, ‘The Wedding Crashers’.

and the winner of the senior citizens breakdancing contest is Arthur, the old bugger here to my leftNever in my life have I guffawed such guffs in a movie theater - the whole auditorium was in eruption for most of the film - go and see this, now - then go and see it again. Owen, in my opinion, has become a superlative comedy actor, and should stay clear of the “hey, I can do a war film, all grainy and stuff with clever camera angles” shenanigans that was “Behind Enemy Lines”, and hone his talent, and make me laugh, goddamit! Vince Vaughan, you are my bloody hero. From the very beginning of the movie, he had my tear ducts exploding, and by about half way through the movie, my jaw was sore with the guffaws. Simply put, go and watch it, or I will come and sellotape your eye lids to your forehead, and torture you!

Work’s crazy… which to be honest, is good - ‘cos when it’s crazy, I get rich. Let’s take a closer look at that as an equation for a moment:

NUTS x WORK/24*7=LOADSAMONEY

^

I like that equation.

I’ll swing back later - I have money to make :)