A rough guide to New York City

Back from 2 weeks in Old Lady Manhattan. For the uninitiated - New York City: smells of urine, everything is broken, its okay to be clinically insane, community motto: “fuck your neighbor before your neighbor fucks you” … I’m starting to like it there.

Loving the alien

Back from 2 weeks in Old Lady Manhattan; I’m starting to like the old hag in a perverse kind of way – like the way you watch out of curiosity the lunatic dragging his emaciated body down the road screaming; or the uneducated, angry minority forced to the ground at gunpoint by a lone police officer; it kind of draws you in. Perhaps later I’ll comment on it all. In the meantime, 24 hours of travelling in close confinement with total strangers has left me with an urgent need for an orgasm, and 2 weeks without a drop of whisky (only champagne and wine in Old Lady Manhattan) has left me damned thirsty. The more I see of humanity, the more I both want to help every struggling human being and destroy the human race.

On a more sober note, why is it that in Hong Kong, where there is only me and one male assistant, we go through one roll of toilet paper every three or four weeks; but in New York, where there is me, one wife, and one female roommate, we go through four rolls in three days? What on earth are they doing with all that toilet paper?

Old NY

I’m in old lady Manhattan now. On the 2nd leg of my flight here, South Korea to NY, I sat next to a child. Very cute, when she sat her extended legs just reached the end of the seat. Children are just like people, but smaller. I think because they have all that joie de vivre and pathos normal people have, wrapped up into that small space of their bodies, it comes out in little explosions rather than steady streams. She kicked me a lot while she was sleeping, and stepped on me and took my empty dishes to play with, she hooped and hollered when something funny happened on her cartoon and she had one brief crying fit, but it wasn’t annoying at all. I think if people are good natured then it doesn’t bother you.
I slept most of the flight, which is unusual. I didn’t even get around to playing ‘If you had to choose just one flight attendant…’

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No chance to draw sadly. I've scanned old pictures of cats I drew after my hero Toulouse Lautrec.

I remember Paris

As you can probably tell, my hair was pretty messy when I drew this.
As often, there’s too much to write, so I’ve dutifully nullified my mind with dark rum and video games so as not to be too poignant.
To start with, I need to mention that I keep remembering Paris, and that night in the F1 Motel with my good wife (then girlfriend), and the white wine and cheap pizza in the sports arena restaurant and the room and her with me that night.
Next, I need to say, I’ve had a heavy heart all weekend because I had a virtual disagreement with one of my best friends – your hero and mine, Andrew Collins. He said Lilly Nash (the number-one singer who sounds just like Kate Allen) was great, but I said she was rubbish. This has bothered me for so many reasons. For one, he bases his argument on thought and experience, but I base mine on whatever sounds most entertaining at the time. This makes it hard to argue if it turns out the person you are corresponding with doesn’t immediately agree with you. There are probably other reasons, but they’re not entertaining enough to remember/mention here. I may need to cross him off my ‘best friends’ list, but like many of my best friends, I haven’t actually ever met him, so this gets confusing; and, all the same, I genuinely like him very much. I just may need to rise above.

Well, enough of the abstract, let’s talk more concrete. My good wife and I are currently looking for a place to buy in NY. This satisfies both her innate need to shop, and my innate need to conquer the world. I don’t really like America, but I have learned to speak ‘New Yorkian’. This mainly consists or referring to streets – like: “I know the greatest hummus shop, it’s on 32nd and 5th, or is it 32nd and 6th?” and then you need to throw in some racial element, like “it’s run by a bunch of jews who’ve owned it since the 40’s” or “there’s a Puerto Rican restaurant nearby – my friend swears it’s the best place in New York, but I went there and, to be honest, I’ve had much better fajitas at Hernando’s on 41st Street”. It really doesn’t matter if you’re accurate or not, as the whole world is full of bullshit anyway. All that matters is me and baby and a long night of kissing and cuddling.