I know, a full month and nothing from the britblogger… rather busy few weeks it’s been - allow me to fill in the blank. I had a birthday, my wee nephew had his 1st birthday, working my arse off at the office pulling 10 hour days, celebrated St Patrick’s Day with the missus, worked some more, bought a new phone (Motorola Q) as my Razr turned out to be a piece of shit, and various other happenings of note. I think though in all fairness I’ve just not had the motivation to write as regularly as I’d been doing. This is most likely due to me being stressed out at work, or too tired at home to be bothered.

It’s mother’s Day in England today. I know my mam’s sad as it’s the first time that she’s been unable to wish her own mam happy mother’s day.

I’ll try to write more often. Oh, and I’m still a non-smoker.

For the most part I feel I’ve been mentally conditioned to think that the people of New York City wouldn’t even piss on you if you caught fire, than lend a hand. A thought process substantiated and indeed strengthened by the copious amounts of selfish, self absorbed fucks that I see on the streets each day. So having said that, you can imagine how truly heart warming it was to see some random NYC patron assisting a blind guy across the busy 14th and 6th Ave intersection. I love seeing shit like that - it’s like the hand of God coming down and wiping the shit out of my eyes.

Sadly, I have no doubt that my shit-free vision is temporary.

There comes a time in one’s life when we ask ourselves, what the fuck - the weather’s too hot, the subway’s crowded, or our pint of beer is too frothy. Due to my being at home today, and my gift for channel surfing, I happened upon an HBO documentary called “39 pounds of love”. If you haven’t heard of the flick, afford me the elbow room to enlighten you. The movie documents a journey, a journey encountered by a man called Ami Ankilewitz, who suffers from a very late-staged version of Muscular Distrophy, called SMA/2, which is normally fatal - he has lived with the condition for most of his life and today weighs in at 39 pounds and struggles to communicate from his wheelchair, creating his own animated movies by way of his one finger that works, to engage the mouse click.

The journey takes him on a path to find the doctor that predicted his demise at a young age, and crosses many avenues to reconnect with loved ones in his life (that he hasn’t seen in years - including his brother) and a passion to ride on a Harley Davidson.

This movie rocked me to the core. [fyi, that doesn't happen often, not to mention makes my blog (which I try so hard to update)]

If you haven’t seen it, watch it. If you have Tivo or PVR, record it, and watch it at a later date… the true level of inspiration that Ami exudes is unabound, and without warrant, touching.

Official website - 39poundsoflove.com

I’m not sure if I mentioned the zoo animals we had living upstairs, so I’ll fill you in… quickly… 3 kids, all under 12, and I’m sure they were convinced that their apartment was a fucking playground - myself and my roommate complained numerous times to both the landlord, and the shits living above us. They’d yell “fuck you!” through their door whenever we’d politely ask them to keeep the noise down - that’ll give you an idea of their neighborly acumen. After months of enduring what was the most obnoxious noise levels, they’re out!

They moved out today, left their apartment in shambles, and as I came home this morning with coffee in hand, I noticed a removal truck parked outside. Walking up to my apartment, the stairs were littered with papers, scraps of wood framing and general trash. They left their place in a royal mess, and left the landlord and his nephews to clean up. Fucking animals, I can’t tell you how happy I am now that they’ve gone - I can sit here, and actually hear my fingers clicking on the keys as I type, for once.

Also in the news today, we got CABLE BABY! Yes, Britblogger has been without any form of cable television programming since June 2005, until now. Kiss goodbye to the snowy picture quality of channels 2 through 11 - say hello to crystal clear shows spanning almost 1,000!

Moreover, the weather today here in New York is gorgeous - I may get a chance to ride my bike, which sadly, has gathered a rather noticable layer of dust - how embarrassing.

Of course, I was out last night celebrating St. Patrick’s Day, yet I fear today could see some encore action in the ‘cohol department!

Can I get an amen, biatch! Today’s a great day for the Britblogger.

I turned 34 today. Doesn’t feel like it typically did in my earlier years - you know, 21 was a blast, 25 was kinda cool, and my 30th was a lot of fun (in fact, that was my first birthday here in NYC).

Had a party thrown for me at the office today. Sweet of them, got a card signed by everyone - some of which I fucking loathe… two-faced twats. We ate pizza, which was good - can’t beat New York pizza.

Anyway, I plan on sampling some good ale tonight - probably head on down to The Room on Sullivan (at Houston) tonight for a few beers… say hello to some old friends.

30 minutes to go and I’m out of here - then the partying begins! If you see me, give me a 5 yard perimeter, I plan on getting rowdy.

Where do I begin…

This year was a growing year for me. From the separation, the filthy disgusting summer, to getting things back on track at work and getting my Green Card through… it turned out to be quite the year indeed.

I think the most memorable times of 2005 were my wife and I splitting, and ironically, the joy of having my family come visit in April. Separation was in the very beginning, probably the most difficult thing I have had to deal with - solitude, loneliness, confusion, the severe feeling of loss. The last 2 weeks in May and the whole month of June will be burned into my memory forever.

Two things I will also remember about my separation is how I learned so much about myself and my own happiness, to a very special network of close friends that were always there for me when I needed company. One person in particular stands out - all I can say to you is thank you, for everything. Your giving and generous soul was what got me through the majority of the pain, I cannot thank you enough for being such a loyal and close friend… you know who you are.

Ironically, I also got my Green Card this year - talk about typical! So now I can travel to and from the US as often as I want, without worrying if I have applied for permission to re-enter - what a frigging pain in the arse that was to do each year. With that in mind, I’m planning on flying out to England in Feb/Mar 2006 to visit my family, and pay a visit to my new nephew.

Christmas was a lot of fun - as I was already planning on staying in NY, and the wife (we’re good friends still) had made plans to go to AZ to spend time with her family, I volunteered to dog sit… for the most wonderful Rotty/Aussie Shepherd you would set your eyes on… 8 days of chilling out, walks in the park, chasing skateboarders and playing motorcycle throttle with her ears - good times!

So as I say goodbye to a year that has filled me to the brim with emotions, some of which I’d never felt before, I am looking at 2006 with fresh eyes, and a deeper understanding of the fact that I can deal with anything the world throws at me.

Happy New Year everyone - and thank you for dropping by BritBlogger - good luck for 2006!

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.

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.

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 :)

where the bloody hell do I begin?

[the start]

welcome to Brit Blogger, a small and humble abode where one of old blighty’s own brings to you his deepest, and more often than not, completely inane drivel from across the pond — New York City.

enjoy… and if you don’t enjoy [shrugs]