Tuesday, February 21, 2006

Snow angels on 34th street part 3

I have consumed nothing today but Coke, sugar and bad quick food so I’m sitting here, at my computer, wired and weird because the only other alternative is to pace the house like a irritable chubby panther or watching the ludicrous “Prison Break” on channel Five- a programme so removed from reality even the laws of physics are treated more as a guideline that shouldn’t get in the way of increasingly bizarre plot- so to occupy my buzzing self I’m going to carry on with my recounting of the New York trip.

Skip forward too the second night and we are roaming Beeker street a bar full of bars, when I say we I mean seven of us, five of who are under age. T o begin with we’re eager to take in the atmosphere every other building is a bar and most have a Barker, that’s the man on the door who’s job it is to attract people into them by shouting (or barking if you will) things like “live music” “no cover” “good food no drink minimum” of course through the filter of my dark and silly brain these shouts are turned into “drugs and food” “see steam powered robot razor fight a monkey” “live girls, see a woman suck off a horse, and then fight it”.

The first bouncer knocks us all back, maybe its because I’m giggling like a lunatic or perhaps it’s the fact that Phil looks like a seven year old, but I know we may be in trouble because that place was real skeezy looking and if we’re to be carded there we may be carded everywhere . The next place isn’t so choosy so we settle down to drinks and food.

While there I watched the opening of the Winter Olympics, has anyone ever sat down and actually watched one of these things? I tried not to but the TV was pointed at my face and it probley would have been twice as much effort not to watch it but I’m glad I did. I have to say it was easiest the most ridiculous thing I have ever seen (and I’ve seen some wacky things, *sigh* if these eyes could talk) that’s not just lazy hyperbole. It was just plain Monty Python silly, like it was beamed directly from the brain of a very mentally disturbed man.

Me and Phil reasoned that the only way they could come up with such a thing is by gathering the gayest choreographer, the most extravagant costume designer and a deranged special effects specialist, locking them in a room with six bottles of absinthe laced with DMT and a kilo of cocaine and not letting them sleep or even out the room until they had come up with a five hour loon-fest.

The way we figure it three days later some poor work experience boy had to go into this room, which by now would probley look like a werewolves nest, and sift through the blood, scribblings and shit daubed on the walls to try and make some sort of sense, looking around and stifling a sob he sees “man-gimp bats” on a napkin and staples it a cigarette packet with “on wires”, looking around he makes a note of “man hammering on a giant anvil” scrawled on the walls and then “with fire” which is written underneath it in what very much looks like blood. Sitting down he sees someone has carved “man on skates” into the desk, to which someone has added with the same red gooey stuff that is on the walls “with head on fire”. He slowly reaches over to a small Dictaphone, hits play and hears what sounds like a womans voice airily talking about ballroom dancers dressed like Dalmatians gliding over ice with plaster replicas of assorted cows, very much like she was describing a dream as it happened. Then finally comprehending the enormity of his given task, he would no longer be able to contain the tears.

After the mind fuck, and we had finished our food, we were entertained by a local DJ, and by entertained I me we laughed openly at him and his utterly incompetent “mixing skillz” this guy dropped more bricks than a drunk builder. But we laughed, drank and generally had what turned out to be an amazing night in a New York bar.

Photo; not sure (thanks bobs anyway)



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