RITE AID - With us, it's personal.

I've totally got the hang of the subway now. It's so much easier to learn than the London Underground (and fuckloads cheaper)! Today Gav George and I went to ride the Stanton Island ferry there and back (it's free), so we got cool views of Liberty Island and obviously the lady herself. When we arrived back on Manhattan we wondered around the financial district and ended up visiting The Artist Formally Known As World Trade Center Ground Zero site thingy. It's a very strange feeling, standing there trying to draw the buildings into the skyline with your mind. It's pretty hard to comprehend the enormity of it all. I don't think I'm alone either because all the subway trains, signposts and maps still say World Trade Center on them. The way I see it is that there isn't anything built there, and until they put something else there, it's always going to be the World Trade Center site. Or something. There's something about it though... I didn't want to take any photos. People were and was okay that they were, I just didn't feel it would have described the place any better than my clumsy description here.
Now I'm back at the hostel and we're gearing up to get down in the East Village. Where I was all yesterday - half cut. Fantastic place.
The list of things to do and see ever increases, we've made a list of four must see films:
Fahrenheit 9/11
Supersize Me! (This guy goes a month only eating three 'square' meals a day at McDonalds. When asked if he wants it super sized he has to always say yes).
Spiderman 2
The Corporation
Still HAVE to see the Empire State Building and the fire station used in the Ghostbusters films.
"BUSTIN' MAKES ME FEEL GOOD!"

Get your thrift on!

Yesterday we went to the Guggenheim museum via central park. Loads of good art in what is possibly the coolest building i've ever been in. What caught my eye was Brancusi's 'The Kiss'. [Tahsa, you would have well got onto it - it's all about peoples other halves and shit!]
Then we bought a copy of Time Out New York to find something cool to do that night. There was a night being held on the lower east side called Thrift On! The deal is: you turn up with items of old clothing or second hand records and stick it all on the shelves or clothes racks. The DJs play only second hand records. Picture downstairs at the old Boothill crossed with Oxfam, those who can. When the night wound down the people who ran it when to some cool NYC hip hop bar where one of them DJed. They gave us a lift and got us in for free. Excellent. Then we got horribly drunk (spirit measures are fucking massive here, be careful) and found our way back to the hostel.
Today has consisted of doing exactly fuck all, with a view to doing not much. What?!? I'm holiday!
Anyone who wants postcards, email me your address...

Game over.

We get off the plane at JFK and get on the A Train [yes Mark and Ian, the A Train] and the culture shock is immediate. I'm trying not to stare at the guy on my right. He looks like Rab C Nesbit got a part as an extra in a Rocky film, he's got a Daffy Duck Tattoo on his left arm with a scroll beneath it that reads 'MOM'. Then three B-Boys enter the other end of the carriage with a stereo and start breakdancing to Grandmaster Flash's 'White Lines'.
Welcome to New York.
After dumping our bags at 113th Street we get back on the subway to Madison Square Garden to watch WWE RAW Presents Escape the Rules. We've missed the first hour of the show, which, I tell myself is filled with jobbers anyway. We get there. They don't let us in. FUCKING DEVASTATED doesn't start to describe it. Stop laughing you bastards!
Faced with such upsetting events we looked introspectively at out British heritage and did what Tiggers do best. Find a bar and order drink.
The jet lag wasn't an issue till we tried to sleep, or rather tried to stay awake this morning. We've been hanging around the Village all day. It's Gay pride this weekend and today's celebrated minority are our lesbian friends. There are loads and people and cars adorned with rainbow flags, it's all very summary. If you don't know what gay pride is about (and I admit I'm far from informed) then a woman wearing a shirt that reads "It's MR. dyke to you!" should give you a hint. Highlight of the afternoon had to be the three guys breakdancing in Washington park, and the point where one stood upright and spun the other on his head. They were really good street entertainers and they could bust some fucking good moves as well. Result.
I'm sweaty and hungry, so we're off back to the hostel to make ourselves smell nice for NYC.

Whatcha call a crew that can rap like that?

Whack.

Friday night was fun. Hip Hop Tom and I got some Vietnamese food in Camden. It was really good, and I tried eel for the first time. At about half 7 we went to the Good Mixer for a quick pint that turned into drinking till last orders. All of this would make a nice night out on it's own, except Tom raised the bar by owning a device called a "Mr. T in your pocket". With it's 6 buttons you can conjure 6 classic phrases by the man himself! Shut up Fool!
The notable omission from it's vocabulary is the phrase "I ain't getting on no plane!" Clearly that should have been the first one in...