Fahr

Tonight finds me in a Super 8 (a cheap chain motel) somewhere in St Paul, Minnesota.

The beautfiful thing about Super 8’s is that, unlike campgrounds that make grand promises about internet connectivity ‘at every site’, the wireless actually works here. Sweet.

Tonight is the fourth night of our camping trip, and the first that we haven’t actually camped.

The first night was spent in Madison County, Iowa, and the KOA campground was decidedly lame. For one thing, it was sixty RV’s and us in a ripped tent camper and small, yellow pup tent, and for another it was WINDY AS FUCK ANYTHING and it took us a good thirty minutes to even get the canvas up. I thought we’d end up in Wisconsin.

It was TOTALLY the wind’s fault that I ripped a giant hole in the canvas, I take no responsibility. But the fact that I haven’t fixed it yet… that’s on me I guess.

In addition to the wind and the RVs full of retirees who stared unashamedly, the campground was sterile and boring, with a bright blue pool and air conditioned toilets and wireless that flat out refused to cooperate. As if that weren’t bad enough (I know, my life is hard, right?), I totally wanted a T shirt that said ‘Madison County Iowa’ but the women’s fitted shirts were BRIGHT PINK to make sure we didn’t go getting any ideas about gender. Dog forbid we dare wear a confusingly masculine colour like grey.

Stupid KOA.

The bridges of Madison County were nice. I haven’t seen the movie or read the book, mostly because I don’t care, but driving around winding country roads and Nowhere, Iowa, reminded me of riding around winding country roads in Nowhere, Victoria, taking pictures on foggy saturday mornings. One of the few things I liked about living in wangaratta.

Hogback Bridge

Apparently the bridges in the county were built by local farmers to help pay their taxes. They covered them because the wood for the bridge was expensive, and the wood to cover it was not.

It made them last longer.

Fascinating.

Ace and Juno in Hogback Bridge

A combination of me not knowing what I’m doing and the point-and-shoot nature of my digital camera left me unable to capture the glowing halo of light I saw around Ace and his canine.

Imagine angels singing. Or don’t. Whatever blows your skirt up.

Grafitti

It seems that the best use visitors to this historic site could think of for it was to write, carve and burn their names into. Some Australians decided to join in and defiled it in the name of Sydney. I bet our nation was proud of them.

Hey look it's me!

Hey look it’s me!

The rest of the bridges were WAY less interesting, and the photos would only prove my boring point - so I won’t post them - but as we followed the terribly terribly marked Bridges of Madison County Trail, we got lost for half an hour in a forest masquerading as a city park.

‘Where do I turn?’ asked Ace, as we decided not to stop at the third identical bridge, a bridge so boring that even the river had left for a more interesting course. ‘I don’t know.’ I suggested helpfully, and we turned left.

As we bumped and bounced down a one way dirt road Ace grumbled and I ignored him, both of us thinking what a bad decision left had been when, BANG - we ran into a castle.

Not literally, but it did kind of jump out of nowhere at us. I was more excited than Ace, and Juno was more excited than me. None of us knew why there was a castle there, but Juno and I climbed it while Ace stood around by the car like a good chauffer.

Now where did I put that bucket of hot tar...

The view was amazing. Iowa is pretty if you don’t live there.

The never ending road

Eventually we escaped the horrible, monotonous beauty that had held hostage for over thirty miles, and we headed back to the Pine-O-Kleen campground.

That night was about a billion and a half degrees, so I fell asleep in teeny tiny shorts and and a singlet with only the fly screen of my tent between me and the elements, thinking about how it wouldn’t really even help anyone much if I roasted because it was too hot to eat roast.

I woke up to hurricane Katrina.

I stirred when the first rain drops hit me, and stirred a little more a few seconds later when the sky broke and the wind kicked up. All of a sudden rain was pouring in through the door, leaking through the zip and blowing up under the fly into the tent, which was doing it’s best impression of Dorothy’s house (whywhywhy didn’t I put the guy wires on?) and Juno was trying her damndest to climb onto my head. I guess she thought it might be safer up there.

I spent a good five minutes (after doing as much as I could to prevent myself from floating and/or flying away) trying to find my camera to capture the Blair Witch antics of my tent in a surprise documentary, but I’d foolishly left it in the car. Two metres was way, way too far to go in this storm, so you’ll have to use your imagination again.

No angels this time.

The next day we broke camp (in the rain) and headed north to Minnesota to a camground called Hidden Valley.

Hidden Valley

Hidden Valley, as far as I can tell, consists of a river, a soy field (above), a few houses, a post office, a town hall, a campground and a store that rents tubes to float down the river on.

It’s amazingly beautiful, and as psyched as I was about the campground from the pictures online, I got even more excited when I saw how beautiful the area was.

My spirit was dampened a little when we drove in and discovered that, not only was campground full of drunken college students, it had also been hit by a tornado.

Not kidding.

I don’t have any photos because I assumed the chaos would still be around in the morning, and it wasn’t, but it was incredible. Tree branches and debris were scattered everywhere, and in several cases whole trees had crashed down on picnic tables, tents, RVs and some guy’s SUV. In between the wreckage, resilient party goers had pitched hundreds of tents, with no care for whethere they had access to fire rings, electricity or even water, and certainly without a though for the site boundaries.

The overall effect was to make the campground look like some sort of impromptu refugee camp for disaster victims.

Eventually a guy, who turned out to be the camp manager, tundled past in a daze on an ATV pulling a trailer full of branches, and instructed us to ‘clear a spot and get to it.’

I spoke to him later and he said nobody had been hurt and promised that photos of the damage would be up on the site soon, so I’ll link it when they go up.

Eventually we found out that there was a second level to the ground, further away from the river but also away from the drunken hooligans who screamed and drummed and revved cars all night.

Ace wasn’t particularly pleased with the place, but I was thrilled. It was in the middle of nowhere, it was on a river, it was run by a sleepy, happy old man who refused to answer phones, and it was GORGEOUS.

Except for the part where it was beat to shit, it was exactly what a campground should be.

Road into the campground

Driving in we were greeted by several falling down buildings and barns, one of which functioned (or, more accurately, didn’t function) as the office.

Road to our campsite

We chose a campsite to the right of this picture, and pitched out camper and tent. Those two RVs, as far as I can tell, were abandoned and the one closest to us had been damaged by a falling tree.

The rCamper

This is the mighty might camper from 12BC that Ace calls home on the road.

Eureka!

I prefer my very excited ten, which generally has less snoring in it.

Broken Tree

This tree was snapped in half by the tornado and hung precariously over the rMobile for three days.

I thought it was pretty.

Sedonia

Eventually Sadie Jane showed up and cooked some leeks, every enthusiastically, to go with the taters I was trying to cook cooking over the fahr.

Taters

Here they are, not cooking.

I left them unattended for a good while and this happened, so I decided to go get some wood and build it back up, and I nearly fell over backwards when I saw this:

Zombie

I choked a cry and stumbled backwards as I realised (or more accurately, didn’t realise) just what I was prying a stick from.

I can has power?

At some point Happy Stoned Camp Manager came up and made our shitbox of a power outlet work, but I never really trusted it.

Sadie Jane

It is unclear to me exactly why Sadie is eating out of a mixing bowl, but she is wearing a Young Democrats hoodie and we were talking about how great Hillzor is. So this picture is ftw.

Diz box pertanes to mai intrsts

And, in any case, she could have been rattling off reasons why John Mcain is the greastest candidate ever and I STILL would have loved her, because she brought BAKED goods from the Norweigan bakery her family owns. Go Sadie!

River

This is the river.

Mah face

This is my face in front of the river.

Check it

After three days in Hidden Valley, without Carmel’s inexplicable ability to endure cold showers and certainly without the courage to brave those particular cold showers, this is what my whole body looked like. I wore a bright shirt that day in hopes of drawing attention away from my skin, but I’m not sure it worked. I also got covered in grease shortly after this, messing with the trailer and the hitch on the rMobile.

I was a little disappointed about staying in a motel tonight, but I took the hottest shower I could stand and scrubbed until my arms were sore and my skin was red raw and sparkling clean. It felt lovely.

BFFs!

We dropped Sadie off at her place in St Paul, and both realised that of the millions of pictures we’d each taken over the weekend, none included the two of us. We remedied it and said our sad but happy goodbyes, and Ace and I headed out to the Super 8. (Note the bright shirt)

Tomorrow will be a long day, consisting mainly of a seven hour drive to Thunder Bay, Ontario, and I’ve no idea when I’ll be online next (so to the people I didn’t email tonight, sorry sorry I’ll be online real soon).

I’m sure your lives will be empty and meaningless without my internet presence to validate them, so here’s a little something something to tide you over:

 

The Bridges of Madison County

I hope none of you pay attention to what I write and what I say I’m going to do, because that fabulous camping trip I wrote about? Not happening.

But it’s ok, we are still going camping. Tomorrow, in fact. Beginning with the covered bridges of Madison County, Iowa.

They seem interesting.

The plan is to spend the two nights following Madison county just outside of Minneapolis, Minessota, at an AWESOME campground complete with rivers and tubes and conoes and fire circles and pixies and unicorns and rainbows. And, hopefully, Sadie.

I met Sadie Jane at the National Women’s Music Festival last year. When I wasn’t busy chilling with Ferron (true story, no I don’t do autographs) or watching shows, I spent my time chilling outside on the golf buggies with her and Leah.

I’m not sure Sadie knows my name - I was introduced almost exclusively as ‘This is my Australian friend’ throughout National - but she’s a lot of fun, and if she’s not working she’s going to be a lot of fun with me this weekend. WIN.

Here are some photos from last year, for good measure.

Sadie stealing mah camera

Sadie, Me, Leah, in the back of a van going to the dorms.

BFFs!

 

Treads

I’m covered in bootmarks. Footprints from being stomped on and kicked. Walked all over.

Metaphorically.

Last night I dreamed of riding a white horse to Kansas, to win her back. But morning came before I could find her.

What on earth happened to us?

 

A Cure for What Ails Me

Did you know that, if you don’t figure out you’re a big homo until AFTER puberty, your deviance is probably caused by an hormonal imbalance?

No? Well then, it might also surprise you to know that - if this is the case - a simple course of hormone treatment could very well cure what ails you and restore you to a glorious and godly state of heterosexuality.

True fact, that. A doctor told me.

I’m not even kidding - at least about the doctor part, the true fact part is entirely incorrect.

As soon as I mentioned the word ‘girlfriend’ to the aforementioned medical professional (in response to the standard ‘areyousexuallyactivemightyoubepregnant’ question), he got a little awkward and started talking about a bunch of useless stuff that I didn’t care because he didn’t have the ovaries to broach the topic directly.

Luckily for the doc, the way he phrased it - while talking about hormones - was that hormone therapy ‘might have an effect’ on my sexuality. Had he used the words ‘fix’ or ‘cure’ he might have found himself rather bruised and possibly missing some sensitive organs.

When I expressed reservations about the validity of his theory he told me that ‘in his experience’ it had proven true, but I was struck dumb by his idiocy and it didn’t occur to me to ask him to recount those experiences. Moron.

What, did get his degree in the 1930’s? Perhaps electroshock therapy and a nice ice bath might help as well, no?

Luckily I found my voice eventually and managed to tell him, in a cutting tone, how totally and utterly wrong he was. He disagreed, I insisted, and he retreated to ‘It’s a matter of opinion, nobody knows for sure.’

No, they don’t, but I’d put money on the fact what they do know is that it’s not as simple as too much man-juice.

I guess he’s the board certified quack though, so who am I to argue?

 

Self Indulgence

Nawlins is great.

It’s very hot and humid here.

I bought a voodoo doll and I worry that it will fuck up my karma.

Here’s a picture of my head:

 

Texlahoma

It’s been a bit quiet on the blog front, no?

It’s because I’m so BUSY… sitting in a car getting sunburnt mostly. But when i have internet access I usually have better things to do, like eating my weight in brownies in Buda, getting my hair shaved off in Austin, eating sandwiches by the beach in Galveston, and being harrassed by some drunken frat boy in Metairie.

We also stayed in Ardmore in Oklahoma, but HOLY SHIT Oklahoma was hot and boring and ugly. I know that - like almost any place - there is probably cool stuff in Oklahoma if you look for it, but like some old guy by a river in Missouri once told me, ‘Once you cross the state line you’ve seen the whole state.’

Boring.

Let’s start at the beginning and wade through the complaints of hot weather to the present.

We started the trip with two nights in Onondaga Cave State Park, in Leasburg, Missouri, which was gorgeous. Somehow we managed not to go to Onondaga Cave (which I assume is also gorgeous) and spent our time doing things like not paddling down a river in a canoe and not going horseback riding, but the camp was green and shady and the people were mostly nice and quiet* and it was generally just a quiet, relaxing experience.

Then we climbed in the rMobile and headed further south, to Buda, Texas, for a Rankin family get together.

(Actually we stopped for a night in Ardmore, Oklahoma, but aside from the above I have a stunningly small amount to say about that state, so we’ll pretend it didn’t happen)

This is how these thing, in my experience, usually go: We arrive, it’s blisteringly hot, we eat A LOT and then Ace argues with Doug (his brother) about politics, Doug is wrong but everyone agrees with him because everyone is Texan (rich, white, christian, etc.) and hold the same views, and then we all say we love each other and go home.

That’s an oversimplification of things and it fails to mention the quality (and quantity) of desserts, but there you have it.

This time everyone tried to bite their tongues (Ace included) and while some tense conversations were had, nobody argued except Karen (who was right) and even then it was more like a lively conversation.

True to tradition it was still blisteringly hot (interesting note, it was 35C outside and Doug said to me ‘I’m glad you guys won’t be here when it gets hot’), and we still ate enough food to feed a herd of elephants for several months (though I doubt strawberry cheesecake is their thang), and there was a lot of love expressed.

The next day we climbed back into the faithful rMobile and headed into Austin to Veggie Heaven, which is the world’s greatest vegetarian restaurant.

Actually it’s not, but it was pretty good and I bought a T shirt to wear for ever and ever. Four stars.

Outside I found a real live copy of the Onion and nearly wet myself.

The day after that we chilled with Karen (Ace’s daughter) in Whole Foods, where I forgot to be trendy and buy a tote bag, and went to some huge mall where I didn’t forget to be trendy and bought a T shirt, a pair of jeans (that I cannot wear in Texas) and some boardshorts.

I am the hippest of the hip.

I also got a hair cut. Ace likes to tell people I Sinead O’connored myself, and it is very short, but comparing my hair to hers is a little bit of a lie since our haircuts are nothing alike.

The ’stylist’ (who worked in a mall) was called Brenna and she had green hair and tatoos and I tipped her because you tip hairdressers stylists here and because she did a good job, but pretty much she ignored me.

I wanted the left side of my head buzz cut and the right trimmed but left long with a distinct line between hair and no hair and I wanted it to be very dykey and very punk.

Somehow I ended up looking like Tegan Quinn, which I suppose is a (very) good thing because she has excellent hair but like… I was TRYING to be radical and somehow I ended up with the exact same haircut I got the last four times only shorter.

I look very trendy wearing my aviators now, and if I walked down the street wearing my orange leggings my trendiness would probably melt your face off. I’d be a hazard to public safety.

In short: my haircut is ok.

Then, instead of heading back to Kirksvegas as planned, we road tripped down to Galveston via Houston.

Houston was ugly from the interstate, all brown boxy buildings and steel bridges, but we didn’t actually go into it and I have no idea what the city is like.

Galveston, which is about an hour past Houston, is a beach resort type island, but I don’t understand why.

Perhaps I’ve been spoiled by Australian beaches (though Rhyll really doesn’t live up to that standard), but Galveston was UGLY. All concrete and sunburn and brown, dirty water.

I would never swim there in a million years.

Which is not to say I had a bad time. I had an excellent time.

I failed at all kinds of things, like swimming in a pool crowded with snotty little kids and angry mothers, and getting my palm read by a psychic who said ‘aks’ and tried to get me to pay double, and getting a henna tattoo of Buddhist symbols I can’t interpret.

I really wanted that tattoo too, but I’ll be damned if I spend two weeks saying ‘Oh I don’t know what it means, but it looks cool, right?’

I succeeded at a lot of things two. I succeeded at driving along seawall Blvd with the windows down, wearing aviators and people watching, I succeeded at exploring the rocks along the ‘beach’ with juno and nearly getting eaten by a giant mutant crab spider thing, and mostly I succeeded at eating a scoop of chocolate fudge cheesecake ice cream as big as my head from a Ben and Jerries store.

When I say ‘I succeeded’ what I really mean is ‘Ace and I did the following wonderful things.’

Props to Ace, the world’s best PT Cruiser driver. Ever.

(Sorry I can’t drive here Ace)

That night, sitting quietly in a hotel room, feeling sick from the ice cream and wondering how bad the day’s sunburn would be, we hit upon a brilliant plan: drive east to New Orleans, Louisiana.

So this morning, after much arguing (my fault, sorry) and the worlds BEST yoghurt and granola, we drove a short seven hours to the Big Easy.

We didn’t get here until after six, and besides failing to find Ace a poboy, eating square doughnuts and watching TV on the laptop, we haven’t really done much.

I did get harassed by some asshole, but it wasn’t very exciting. You’d think I could walk through the parking lot with a puppy and not be sexually harassed, but you’d be wrong. Apparently the dog looks better than me.

She is pretty cute.

Speaking of sex, which I wasn’t really but let’s start, driving from KV to here has exposed me to more sex shops than I have seen in my entire life. That sentence is ambiguous and with the surprise documentary below as evidence one might read it as implying that we stopped at them, but one would be wrong.

We just saw about a billion billboards.

What gets me is that in Texas, where the majority of ‘XXX Adult Superstores’ are to be found, you can’t buy spirits anywhere after 9pm.

Those Texans, they have such high morals.

Also, my info might be outdated and I don’t quite recall the source (something on feministing I think), but I believe there is a law banning the sale of dildo’s in Texas. So like. Wtf Texas, go home.

In unrelated news, Armadillos are bizarre, Louisiana is one giant swamp, Texan accents are great and I have rugburn** on my knee that hurts like you would not believe.

We’re staying tomorrow night, so tomorrow will be our day for asplorin’ Nawlins New Orleans.

The End.

*Except for the old couple in the RV who played loud elevator music while they played some bizarre game with nunchucks and a bedframe.

**Ace tells me I’m naive and should clarify that the carpet burn is from playing on the carpet with the dog, in shorts. I spose I am in the Big Easy, but shit, get your mind out of the gutter.

 

A Surprise Documentary

Chris and I on my second last night in the Big Apple.

 

The Road to Texas

I would promise to post the final New York blog complete with the final New York pictures, but then I’d never actually do it. So I’m going to say don’t hold your breathe and maybe it will appear eventually.

Tomorrow Ace and I are setting off on a road trip that we plan to use as a trial for our camping trip. We need to be in Texas in a few days for a Rankin family get together, so we’re driving and camping at night.

The current plan is to come back in one day, but that’s like a twelve hour drive so my personal opinion is that that is a stupid plan.

We should return in about eight days. Give or take. The problem with not really having much of a plan is that you can’t explain your plans to people.

Whoooo road trip.

We’re getting off I35 in Texas to go to Ikea, too. Dream big!

 

Married in Vegas

Another photo post. I like them better.

I can’t believe how well my camera batteries are holding up.

Yesterday I got up, had no plan, ended up heading to central park.

It was pretty, but not terribly exciting

I was bored, which made me feel ungrateful but you can’t argue with the facts (the facts being I was bored, not ungrateful), and then it started raining so I figured, why not go to the met?

But here’s the thing: New Yorkers are fucking assholes who lie about everything.

Actually that’s a lie, New Yorkers in general are nice and not nearly as hostile as the world believes, but they do have the tendency to lie to tourists. For no particular reason.

It’s like how people in Quebec pretend they don’t speak english, only they do it to preserve their culture. New Yorkers are just assholes.

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been flat out lied to when asking directions. The mind boggles.

So what ended up happening was I got lost, rained on and ANGRY. The more lost and the more wet I got, the more angry I became. And everytime somebody lied to me (and I KNOW they were lying because a) I checked it on a map somewhere and b) eventually someone was like ‘The Met?! The Met is nowhere near here!’) my mood fell further until I was standing in a subway station dripping dirty rainwater and it was all I could to not to attack the train map with my teeth and fingernails.

So then it occured to me that I was being so ridiculous and irrational because I’d forgotten to eat all day and was running on the very end of a rather small bowl of muesli and soy milk, and I headed to Chinatown.

There I bought a three dollar umbrella (now deceased) and stumbled upon The House of Vegetarian, which I’d been meaning to go to.

The above is a picture of the BEST vegetarian spring rolls EVER and turnip cakes. No kidding. My asshole guidebook AND Ace told me to try turnip cakes, so I did, and I regretted it. It’s not that they tasted particularly bad, but they didn’t taste particularly good and the texture of the inside was gooey and incredibly hard to stomach. Like eating boiled eyeballs.

I also ordered Beef Fun Luck something something with black bean sauce (fake beef, obviously), and even though it DID NOT have a chili next to it on the menu I still asked the waitress who assured me ‘No, no, not hot, no spicy, you want?’

It had fucking chili flakes in it.

I still tipped because waitresses make fuck all here, but I didn’t tip much. Take THAT.

Then I went back to the hostel, which I plan to post pictures of soon because it’s so cute, and found Chris. I suggested we go in search of a fancy chocolate store I found online and he agreed wholeheartedly - as long as I first allowed him time to finish his cranberry juice and vodka - and we set out for midtown.

FAIL.

We found no chocolate and the moma bookshop was closed, but we did find a NYC brand condom on the ground, which was run over by a rollerblader before C man picked it up. Strange boy.

So that blew, and we ended up in a subway station arguing about mac and cheese for ten minutes before we finally decided to hop on a train, with no idea where it was going, and get off at a random stop.

It just so happened that Times Square was our random stop.

Let’s just get this out of the way right now: my NYC photos are not going to win any art awards, and when you’re walking around times square in the middle of the night laughing so hard you can’t breathe, getting them in focus seems unimportant. They’re kind of embarassingly bad, like I can’t even work my own camera, but just deal.

Bubba Gump

I liked this billboard.

In the centre of the square they had an ad running (on a tv screen, not a billboard) and it was different things getting pierced, like an eyebrow and a nose and even a nipple. It was so bizarre.

We were looking for a bathroom and we stumbled into the m&ms store, which actually exists and is the stupidest store ever invented (’What I want, is a jacket, right? and I want it to be made of dead cow, ok, and I want it to have blue m&ms embroidered on it, do you have one? You do? Fabulous. I will pay you one hundred and seventy dollars for it.’).

Only Chris doesn’t seem to know his own gender. Without even paying attention he walked right into the women’s bathroom and was halfway through getting his junk out before I grabbed him and hauled him out. We were laughing so hard we could hardly stand and I think security was getting ready to throw us out.

Then we went to Duane Reade, which is about the most exciting pharmacy ever. It’s not even, but the sign would fool you. And that’s not even because it’s in Times Square, they are all like that and they are EVERYWHERE. Manhattan has as many DRs as it does rats.

C man got a very nice hat and a magazine. He didn’t actually buy the hat, against my advice. I think purple is a very fetching colour on him.

We went to Olive Garden in the square (groan, I know, but we went there for the irony, not for the food) and our waiter introduced himself as Ryan. So we called him Ryan. He was very effeminate and very nice, though I don’t know if the nice was his job or him.

We told him we were newlyweds, who’d just married in Vegas and come here for the honeymoon (as an interesting side note, Lindsey got a job as a knife salesman (!!!), and when I told her about our marital bliss she said she’d hunt him down. Say it with me, ‘Awwww…’) and proceeded to fuck with him. Chris spent the meal hitting on Ryan, while I vied desperately to get his attention back on me - mostly by saying ‘hon’ and asking moron questions a lot - and every time he came near I’d ask him about cheesecake while C man said snarky things about how I ‘didn’t need it.’

Ryan, smelling a tip, assured me that I was the very essence of svelte and I said some passive agressive things to him about Chris’s gap teeth.

We are so funny.

Chris left him a note about getting drinks later, and left his maybe-in-the-closet friend Lorenzo’s number.

Genius.

Then we went oustide and found some old asian guy drawing portaits for five dollars, so we told him we wanted ridiculous cartoons that were really offensive and he nodded and smiled and said yes a lot.

Turns out he no speak english.

What we got were realistic drawings of our heads on tiny tiny bodies. My tiny tiny body was in a ball gown with a huge ass, which I was pointing suggestively at C man. Chris’s body was in a tux offering me a rose and a bag full of money.

So already I was annoyed and offended and ready to not pay the guy at all for being as asshole and sexist and just generally incompetent (you don’t agree to things in languages you don’t speak!), and then he said ‘No, for two is ten dollar.’

No it’s fucking not. Where is the part on the sign that says ‘$5!’ that tells us about this catch?

But Chris just gave it to him. It was like when Clay payed three dollars for a glass of milk. What the hell is wrong with people?

Then I took some pictures of steaming manholes, but since this is the best I could manage you can probably understand how badly I failed.

Then some New Yorkers lied to us about directions and we ended up walking past the Chrysler Building or whatever this is.

Then back to the hostel for sleepytime.

Today I went to Chinatown to buy about three billion hats (I bought one, but it’s the second one and it’s weird because I never buy or wear hats) and a shoulder bag so that I don’t look like a tourist EVERYWHERE I go.

I don’t know what that guy is so mad about. Maybe he’s a crazy.

After Chinatown I headed to Midtown to go to the Museum of Modern Art. On the way I saw some lezzies on an ad, I photographed them.

They had some artz there,

One installation was a room with lights, this is my sillhouette.

This was just a plaque on a wall, with no explanation that I could see. I liked it.

I liked Starry Night a lot, but as soon as I got to it the museum closed and I got kicked out. Losers.

As a final act of defiance I stopped to take a picture of the New York canopy.

When I came out the building was surrounded with black SUVs and these guys were standing holding fucking guns every few metres.

They were scary as fuck, but I NEEDED a picture because that’s so bizarre. I asked the guy first and he said I could take one from a distance, so I did. Then some woman walked up and said ‘Is there someone famous here?’ and G.I Joe said ‘No.’ and stopped looking at her.

At the subway station this guy was playing this thing, so I gave him some money and took this amazingly in-focus picture of him, before bolting for the train and nearly getting smooshed in the closing doors.

At the next stop I got out and found a street vendor because I was fungry. Turns out the only non-meat thing he sold was a knish. What’s a knish, you ask? That’s what I asked too, but it turns out he doesn’t speak much english.

As far as I can tell it’s like a potato bread thing that you put mustard on. It didn’t taste very good and it made me really sick. I give it zero stars.

Tomorrow Nat and I are FINALLY going to Coney Island (I’m falling over myself to ride the rollercoaster) and if i got to bed right now I might make it up in time to go to the Met before that.

Tomorrow is my last day in the city (only tourists say ‘New York’), on wednesday I’m getting up and going to the airport to catch a plane to Kansas City.

The Current plan is to spend three nights there with Lindsey, but who the hell knows. Aparently everyone in Liberty thinks we’re going to hell so perhaps I’ll get chased out with torches and pitchforks.

…

I wrote that and almost deleted it because it’s kind of insensitive, but you know what, so is homophobia. Homophobia in the midwest tends to be about as sensitive as a brick to the face, so I’ll leave it.

 

Brooklyn, New York

Well, dear readers, this hostel has only one computer and people keep walking past wanting to use it. So my time is short.

In light of the above facts, an in depth report of my time in the Big Apple will have to wait until I’m in a smaller apple, like Kansas City or Kirksville or La Plata.

(What do apples have to do with anything?)

Tonights entry will be a photo entry. I think they’re the most interesting anyway.

In a vague sort of order:

In my infinite wisdom stupidity I took a train to New York. Here I am being very unimpressed with myself.

Rolling into Chicago

A six hour stopover in the big C, during which I failed to find anything to do and and got more than a few very gruff ‘idonthaveanything’s from the fuckers I tried to ask for directions. Do I LOOK homeless? I was dressed in clothes from fucking Old Navy or something.

Good food in Chicago though. And some excellent buskers, one of which was drumming and singing ‘Hey GI-IRL! hey GI-IRL!’ at me as I passed. I gave him money for having talent.

Back on the train, even less impressed.

Upstate New York is beautiful, but goes for a very long time.

Also I happened to book a ticket on the Hell Train which stopped for Every Fucking Thing.

The castles (castles?!) made up for it a little though.

Hours late, and in the dead of night, we finally rolled into New York City. As we got closer to Penn Station I got more and more scared. The thought of having to learn to use the subway AND navigate a sketchy part of Brooklyn by myself IN the dark WHILE wearing a giant backpack that as good as flashed a neon sign saying ‘Rob me, I’m a tourist AND I can’t run away’ frightened me just a little.

It didn’t help that somebody hid the hostel, but I got here eventually.

[The first day in New York I went to Hoboken, NJ, to get a milkshake and some cheese, then got harrassed by a dirty old man who thought I had 'some nice ass tits' and felt compelled to let me know (he was lucky not to get punch in the throat), and ended the day with awful, overpriced pizza. Yesterday I attempted to go to both Chinatown and the Museum of Modern Art with Nat from Sydney, but the rain and the crowds foiled us, and we ended up going to see the second Narnia in times square just because it was warm and dry.

I have no pictures from those two days, so we'll pretend they never happened.]

Today I ate lunch at Vegetarian Dim Sum in Chinatown, and that ^ is fake BBQ Pork. Made of tempeh I think. Holy shit it was so good.

That is Pell street in Chinatown, I don’t know why I didn’t take photos of Canal street, but I’ll do that tomorrow.

This is Chris. He’s a photographer from Detroit who drinks a lot and does magic tricks.

He loves me

This is Tara. She’s from St Louis and has a phone that makes coffee and designs rocket ships. Also it plays music and flashes often for no apparent reason.

In Chinatown I bought Kensleigh a present. You can get fucking anything in Chinatown.

I liked this bakery

‘Can has Cheezburger?’

I was cultured and had mock roast pork, but Tara and the C man had McDonalds. I don’t really understand why you would eat McDonalds in the middle of Chinatown, it seems like a strange idea.

On a veguely related topic, I lost my labret stud and then my wallet, in which I kept my lip ring, got stolen, so I went for a few days with nothing through my lip. Today I finally found a stud and had to basically re-pierce it. Holy cow… PAIN.

This is the view from the train on Brooklyn Bridge. I’m sure Chris got some better photos than I did, but the view wasn’t that exciting.

We went shopping in Williamsburg with the hipsters but everything was so expensive and painfully hip that I didn’t buy anything.

Some graffiti I liked in Williamsburg

Chris trying to work out the subway map to get up to downtown Brooklyn. It got very dark and we got very lost. Good times all round.

Tomorrow I think I might finally (finally) get to Coney Island and ride a fucking rollercoaster.

Also maybe seventh street and the MET, and if I’m really ambitious I might even make it back to to Chinatown to buy another hat.

Time for sleepz.