New York Part 3: Wednesday 11th April 2012

An image to get you started: Squashed pigeon on tracks gets squashed a-new by approaching train.

Wow! I like how my handwriting took a noticeable turn for the worst after drinking last night. Classy. It’s a grim day in Stamford, grey with flecks of rain. I’m on the peak time 9:06 express into Grand Central. A Jewish guy (or at least a man in a yamulkah) was listening to Adiemus and now The Last Shadow Puppets. It’s out loud but good stuff, so I approve. And now Foo Fighters (‘Ain’t It The Life”, I think?). Capital, my friends, capital.

So the rest of last night:

– Met up with Sandy in the bar after he had his Spanish lessons. As he walked in, I was chatting to another Asian-American girl (Jenny?) She gave me some tips of where to eat, but they all had a common theme…

Jenny: “I only eat Asian food, isn’t that terrible?”

Her opening gambit was “I love your handwriting! Is that a Moleskine?”. I clumsily explained that it wasn’t, but some fancy ass Italian thing. (Effectively a Moleskine, just say it is next time).

Back to the present: The Jewish guy just sneezed and I said “God bless you!” Is that Kosher? Embarrassingly…it turns out it was actually MY phone playing out loud, just as I was going to compliment him on his music choice. Oops. It was the Radiohead live track that was the give away…and that he seemed to be using his phone to talk to someone at the same time.

Back to the bar: Sandy came in, so I introduced some random Indian guy who was hanging around to Jenny and had a pint with Sandy. Four down. Danger. Needed food. We walked back to Grand Central for an experience of their “dining concourse” – a massive food hall in the bowels of the station. Alas, nothing was really open so we got the subway to Forest Hills, Queens. My first subway experience and…eh. Bring me the Tube any day.

I'd be bored too...

When we got to Forest Hills, me and Sandy spent a good 15 minutes looking for his car in the dark. “I remember I parked it pretty much in a bush.” Classic.

Drive home, then a quick dinner of leftovers. Sandy tried to Skype Juliana unsuccessfully. I liked how she went to put on make up before hand. I woke up…bit hungover and still jet lagged. Will try to hit up MoMA and Central Park today. Maybe a Starbucks if I’m feeling adventurous. Is it wrong that I’m Craving a Taco Bell?

——————————————

Poster on the train…..tourism is one:Image

(It wasn’t quite this poster, but can’t scan my drawing and this is the closest the internet has. It’s basically an A4, vertical version of this).

Train’s pulled in: Under 40 minutes. All hail the Express!

————————————————

Ok, so am now on the 2:37pm to Stamford. This rain is definitely not an express, so god knows how long this bad boy is going to take. Phone is nearly dead too, which might be trouble.

Spent the day in MoMA – entrance fee? $25. Steep. But there’s no denying that it kicks the Tate firmly in the behind. I mean, obviously, money is lacking at the Tate, but Moma just feels so much more *together*. I could’ve spent almost another entire day in MoMA. Might just be the exotic factor though. How much have I spent today?!

Tallies up to $91. Fuck a duck. And I’m still to buy dinner. I had jokingly budgeted $100 a day, but didn’t think I could actually pull it off. I’ve succumbed to that American disease of eating if there’s something vaguely tasty nearby. Just like a rat.

On the train, some 20 something girls talking about music and lyrics (the concepts, not the movie) “My goal is to make money” one says with astonishing frankness, which flopping some A4 scrawlings into her friend’s hand. The friend scans it, before offering a hesitant “I think this is what all girls go through”.

“Guys too!” the lyricist chirps. They move on to talking about getting Adele to sing it and wonder what it would cost. The lyricist insists Adele would be the one paying her for it. “I think she wrote *her* album all about one guy too. At least that’s what my Dad says.”

Oh, and earlier, I saw a taxi beep at a guy crossing the road. The guy stopped, turned to the taxi, pointed and said: “Hey! Shut up!”. He then thanked a passing woman for her smile. He didn’t look like a weirdo. Maybe people are just like that here.

*Here is a hastily scrawled map of the route to Sandy’s house from Stamford station. It is entitled: ‘Life Saving Map’*

The evening was fairly uneventful, although I nearly was royally screwed due to not knowing the way home from the station. I had to turn on the dreaded six quid a megabyte data, and it provided me with a map I needed before the phone died on me.

I had my first experience of an American supermarket – terrifying. The combination of smells…fish mingling with coffee. Every flavour you can ever imagine, these guys have put it on a crisp. The cheese is miles away from the dairy. What the hell is that? Mad.

Sandy came home and we watched In The Loop. Made a horribly average supermarket Pasta ‘n’ Sauce, and uploaded pictures. Made plans for tomorrow. A night out in Stamford is on the cards. Exciting times ahead.

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