Oh little girl, don't care no more

Ignore the signs; if you're a man, you can pee on a bus standing up. You'll bruise your knees, smack your head against a wall and your arms will flail about like a ragdoll, but it's better than emasculating yourself in private.

So Sam, Dicky Peach and I were off to New York, provided our bodies could outlast the bathroom visits. We had originally intended for more to come along, but it didn't work out for everyone. No matter, the three of us were off to see Two Door Cinema Club and Tokyo Police Club play at Webster Hall.

Banana Pond, frozen

Throughout the bus trip Sam was confusing the windblown snow from the bus for legitimate falling white stuff despite the glaring sun. The view when approaching Manhattan never gets old, and is only helped by the fact that as soon as you see it, you know you have to spend the next 45 minutes getting closer to the heart of American society.

Our hostel messed up the bed situation, and when the three beds together we were promised didn't fit into their available two in each room an inevitable fuckup ensued. No matter, we weren't there to do anything but count sheep.

Central Park

We walked from 96th to 56th street, and all the way along we smoked the victory cigars we had purchased in Amherst. We were victorious, passively at worst. Victorious that we were walking through Manhattan in the middle of winter. Victorious that we are fortunate enough to study in this country. And victorious that the three of us, from three different countries, all managed to converge at the right place and time and become sound friends. The victory cigars were only offset by our amateur approach to lighting and consuming them, but while our advent needed improvement, our intent was all there. 

The snow had destroyed Sam's shoes and Peach's circulation. We stopped by J Macs, a bar that thematically supported the troops, but was frequented by the opposite of soldier types. Sam took to stuffing his shoes with toilet paper to soak up the icy water, but such efforts were like the little Dutch by with his finger in the Dyke.

When we finally made it to the concert venue, Terminal 5, a massive line that snaked across both sides of the road greeted us. The cold seemed harsher than ever as we waited to get in, and when we finally did the place seemed relatively barren. We ascertained a decent viewing spot and cemented ourselves there for the night.

The opening band came and went off stage without rousing much of a response. Two Door were next, and were immediately infinity times greater. Their bass player was like a Kyle Lafferty/Peter Hook hybrid while their guitar player was a poor man's Johnny Marr (not an insult, Johnny is on a pedestal so high the world can only see the tips of his shoes). Even if they ditched the bass guitar for a synth in a few songs (a pet hate of mine), they still played a thoroughly excellent set. 

The majority American audience got over enthusiastic to the dance music that played over the P.A. between bands. The reaction usurped the opening band, and was an odd indicator on how live music is treated over here.

Tokyo Police Club headlined the night's show, and we also equally excellent. The beanpole singer/bassman dominated the band, and drew even more attention when his birthday was announced. The band are my age, but it's hard to determine that when you listen to them, but such things should be become less shocking the older I get. The night ended when both bands came out for an encore and a joint performance of Last Nite by The Strokes, the quintessential New York City band of this generation.

That was the end of my night too. While Sam and Dicky Peach headed to Brooklyn, I opted for a retreat to the Upper West Side for tally of those aforementioned sheep.

The next day Peach offered to stay around while Sam and I walked from one part of the park to the other. It was a measured change from our last jaunt through there in November, when all the grass was still visible. The large pond had frozen over, people had traded baseball bats for skis and countless fathers were out sledging with their kids. The moment hit Sam like an epiphany. His life had led him to the moment where he was strolling through a snow covered Central Park while his friends and family were all at home living their lives in their typical day-to-day manner. It's a moment of clarity I can empathise with. The cold doesn't matter. Nor does the weight of any backpack. You're there, living.

We stopped by the Dakota, where John Lennon's final moments shook the world. Across the road a lady was channelling Home Alone 2, but feeding sparrows instead of pigeons. We walked, and walked and walked some more before we stopped around 30th st. The pavement had taken its toll, and rather than getting typically lost, we took a train to Little Italy for dinner.

Dakota

Like a bunch of 15-year-olds given a bit of responsibility, we acted accordingly at dinner. Everytime the door opened the chill brushed across my arse-crack that I can not help prevent displaying in public. Sam and Peach were hoarding the table bread on their plates. Sam even turned the bacon from his carbonara into tiny bacon sandwiches to the disdain of Italy's millions of Nonnas.

The food was amazing and a lovely tribute to the late-night tourist hub. Given the night hours, we took cover from the cold by grabbing any train we could to Brooklyn and a quiet night in Williamsburg.

Well that was the intention anyway. The subway entertainment should have been a precursor for the excellent night that followed. While an elderly man belted out some excellent tunes, a well dressed middle age man relived his youth by dancing all over the station, oblivious to his growing audience. The train left just after he had done the splits, but the train's passengers kept their focus on him as the train headed under the East River.

A bar serving 32oz cups (massive, awesome, 946ml) of Bud for $4 became our temporary home. One man played Pantera and Corrosion of Conformity songs, reminding me of one of the first concerts I went to when I was 14.

A huge black guy and tiny Asian man were both dressed in impeccable white suits straight from the 70s and had left their sense of irony back then as well. I even managed to catch the tiny Asian man while he was in the middle of an ablution. The bathroom had a urinal, and a neighbouring toilet that did not have a door. Such privacy was a not a concern for him.

I injured my hand dancing with a girl from New Jersey who did not share the same enthusiasm for Bruce Springsteen that I had. Meanwhile, John St John's female body-double, Joan St Joan, was sporting one of the most fantastic displays of drunk-eye anyone had seen for a long time.

A random guy had bought me a shot while Sam had been cornered by the one girl in the bar who he didn't want to talk to. Not long after I tried to convince two girls from Melbourne that I am also from Australia, I just don't share their filthy bogan speak. I eventually won out, because it's true.

Sam and Dicky Peach continued to down the giant cups of beer, but I had already spilt one when my hat flung off and flipped it in some over-enthusiastic response to hearing Michael Jackson. The end result of drinking so many large beers mean you have to expel it, and while waiting for our ride back at Bedford station I began to hear what sounded like water being poured onto the tracks. Instead, it was Sam and Peach taking turns at covering one another while the other did their business. Thank god the third rail is on the other side of the track.

Finally, at 5:30AM, our quiet night of dinner and a drink had ended. I must have been hilariously gassy through the night, as when packing and leaving the next day the only other awake person in the room (a pretty Spanish girl) kept laughing at me whenever I pottered around the place.

Again, we walked through the park on our way to midtown. We eventually stopped in the lobby of a building for a reprieve from the cold and planted ourselves there for a few hours. Peach was sporting an excellent hangover, and the colour had left his face hours before.

Our return to Amherst was met with the coldest conditions I have ever dealt with. As soon as I stepped off the bus I felt the snot in my nose freeze. Today the condensation from breathing was forming on my moustache and turning to ice. -20, is officially too much for me.


***Song
David Bowie - Modern Love
90% of the Adventureland soundtrack would make an outstanding song. This song is phenomenal, and has since passed Life of Mars as my favourite Bowie tune, boom.

Proper Baltic Like

Honestly, I was looking forward to going back to class on Tuesday. I make no bones about the fact that I love being a student, and to be able to do it in the United States is a privilege I'm proud of. So with the majority of the catch-ups aside, it was time to get buried into the books again, or so I thought. I had set up a carefully organised schedule (afternoon classes, woo!) and by the time my first one was about to begin I received notification that the school had been shut due to snow. 

With no people around and rain replacing snow, the campus eventually became an icy obstacle course. All of the sitting snow grew hard and slippery to the point where mountain goats would struggle. Worse, we were all going out to the bars to celebrate the first day back.

There was no haste in our walk to the bus, as the ice had added considerable time to the jaunt, but by the time we got to the bars we were some of the earliest people there. The Karaoke was not graced with my presence, but there were enough people from the group doing their part.

You're going to need a bigger bike.

By the end of the night I had won myself a new baseball cap, but it was not exactly weather suitable. When I left the dorms at 3:30 or so in the morning I was greeted by an icy sheet that had entangled itself upon everything. Slowly, I made it back to my room, but there is not enough enough salt in the dead sea to clear the paths I needed to walk.

Since then the weather has settled (until this morning's closure of campus due to snow) and I had resolved my class issues. School feels like it is back, and though I love being here, I'm counting down the days left of my undergraduate degree. I'm not there yet, but the goal seemed impossibly far a few years ago. Until then it's time to make the most of great company, great places and this lifestyle that promotes a generous balance of relaxation time. Today it's off to New York City to see Tokyo Police Club and enjoy the merits of studying abroad.


***Song
Glasvegas - A Snowflake Fell (And It Felt Like A Kiss)
Try to find a nicer song about snow, I dare you.

They blew up the chicken-man in Philly last night

I spent my last night in Baltimore drinking endless cups of tea and writing under the light of an antique table lamp. All four of the hostel guests had gone to bed, and the beautiful restored townhouse was all mine. While Baltimore had scared the crap of me, as well as providing an excellent refuge, the hostel was one of the finest in the country.

Though I was happy to leave, I nearly missed my bus out of town by underestimating the amount of time repacking with one hand takes. When I did eventually make the public out of town, I was joined by a crowd of local residents who all departed at the liquor store. It was not yet 10:30AM, but the bottle shop outside of downton was the most popular place on a Saturday morning, even in the snow.

Washington's dandruff problem.

Rows and rows of boarded up houses shadowed the bus until it dropped me at White Marsh. I then caught another bus and within two hours found myself in the middle of Philadelphia. It was instantly freezing, but a trip through the historic area allowed me to kill some time.

The snow kept falling as I lined up to see the Liberty Bell. Between my visit between it and independence hall I found out that a congresswoman from Arizona had been shot. I have really taken a liking to America, and my visit to congress was exceptional. But hearing that such incidents still occur while I'm standing on the same ground where dramatic moves for freedom were first established only leaves feelings of disenchantment.

My mood was lifted shortly after, when walking through the park that houses a statue of ' The Signer' I was duly grabbed me and got bombard by a group of Asian tourists who individually got me to pose for photographs with them. My brother had a similar experience at Surfer's Paradise when he was 18 months old and blonde. I've no idea why they wanted photos with me, but I can only presume it's because I can grow an awesome beard and they can not.

People throw coins with Lincoln's head on Ben Franklin's gave because they're too stingy to throw away the currency that he adorns.

It was a quiet night from then on, the snow was unrelenting and free beer and a film at hostel was an offer that incited the feelings of home you occasionally need when you're packing your bag and moving every couple of days.

The next morning I woke up and was greeted by Dicky Peach dawdling around the reception area. Unlike a lot of the other international students, he is here to see more of America. That and he can travel around with Football Manager on his computer. He took in the city's historical side quickly and together we walked from one side of the city to the other. The streets were empty save for a few people wearing green, all in anticipation for Philadelphia's football team, the Eagles, playing that afternoon.

Our jaunt took us toup Benjamin Franklin drive, where all the flags of the United Kingdom's countries were flying save for Peach's own Northern Ireland. At the end of the road is Philadelphia's art museum, and while I had taken in my share of galleries, I was more interested in the outside of this one.

Sat outside the museum in a corner is a Statue of Rocky Balboa. Rocky, a celluloid hero and star of Rocky, Rock II, Rocky IV and Rocky Balboa was originally sat atop of the gallery's steps, but was moved after Rocky V's woeful performance. The steps themselves are used for running up, and at the summit you must jump up and down with fists in the air. A gentleman offered to take some photos for us, but once I had handed over my camera I couldn't help but notice that he was slightly foaming at the mouth. His eyes had been watering from the cold and had begun to freeze on his faith. It was with little surprise that his act of generosity was not motivated by showing off Philly, but instead focused on earning tips for his photo skills. Oh well, I had been financially swindled, just like Rocky in the twilight of his career.

We went to the Eastern State Penitentiary next and were given a guided tour by a lady with the softest voice I'd heard in a while. The jail is housed inside large castle-esque walls and was first built in the 19th century. It was abandoned for a few years and since then nature and history have given the walls new stories to tell.

The building was decaying, windows were flapping in the wind as nets were above our heads ready to catch falling pieces of the roof. Rooms were comparable to some of the student housing, but a few had become vulnerable to the elements and now houses snow. Half of the site was shut for winter, but if it hadn't been opened for tourists I imagine many people would be ironically breaking in for some urban exploring. It's odd to say an empty, run down and freezing jail was my favourite part of Philadelphia, but the building was beautifully eroding, like the shoreline of southern Victoria.

We kept exploring the city, but made it back to the hostel to watch the Eagles play. Their quarter-back, Michael Vick, has served his own repentance after being locked up for dog-fighting. When the game got boring we cared not for his own prodigal tale and found Chinatown to be a way more interesting prospect.

Busting and sober, I asked Peach to keep watch for me as I had to relieve myself into the Delaware River. He didn't, opting for night shots on his camera instead. I was a little startled when I heard people start to scream, but they had just slipped on ice as they came up the stairs. Peach failed, but no on noticed. Crisis averted, but be mindful of the yellow snow.

The last night in the hostel ended with Peach enjoying his Philly Cheese-Steak while a girl, drunk on wine she found in a random cupboard, complained of her insomnia and wouldn't let me leave to go to bed. Through some trickery and quiet steps she was left behind, drunk and blabbering to herself about Greyhound buses.

Peach and I did our best to leave Philly, but our plans were thwarted when downtown was shutdown. All of the emergency services were closing off the main streets and our taxi driver took a leaf our of Dale Earnhardt's book and sped off towards 30th st. Our train to Atlantic City took us past some fantastic sites on the city's outskirts. A whole scrapyard had been devoted to school buses while a an old power plant lay abandoned on the shore of a river. It's ideal for urban exploration, if I had the balls and upper body strength to do it.

Freedom is not free: play at Ballys

Atlantic City is like a snow covered Vegas by the ocean. We rolled past one casino after another before finally making it to the obscure entrance for Tropicana. Venturing through shopping strips and slot machines, we finally got to our room and were welcomed with a fantastic view of an ugly city.

We stepped out onto the beach and I dipped my hand into the Pacific for the first time, however, I had ventured to far in and a tiny wave washed over my boats and jeans. The boardwalk beside the sea links most of the casinos together but in winter it's a ghost town. Push trolleys are worked and occupied by what look like vagrants and the only shops open are selling crappy t-shirts.

A reminder of Wollongong City Council

In the middle of the shopping complex on the pier was a mall that came complete with water show and enough opulence to impress middle-Americans. The walk up the boardwalk took us past more empty shops, run down piers and a video game arcade that hadn't seen love for a while. Peach aptly described the place as someone taking the piss on the sims.

It was an absoluter ghost town outside in winter, but the casinos were still humming with elderly gamblers. After a quick feed at P.F. Changs, Rich gambled his $20 and we called it a night in Atlantic City. The massive window in the room was too nice to leave hidden behind curtains, but in the distance an entire 30 storey building was being used as a giant video screen. Atlantic City is simply a ghost of its former self, and not even a giant screen is going to change it.

***Song
Something For Kate - Hallways
Because I haven't seen this band 2.5 years and that is beginning to feel a bit odd.