New York

(Written while we were in Vegas, but we refused to pay $24.99 a day in our hotel for internet, so uploaded now that we're in LA)

After our last visit to New York City, I'm fairly sure I told anyone who would listen that I want to live there. Let me now change that to 'could not live there more than nine months of the year': I hate you New York summer. We arrived bang smack in the middle of a heatwave, and it was between 36 and 38 degrees every day, and not much better at night. Even the New Yorkers were complaining about it, and it made our whole experience sweaty, stifling and exhausting (not to mention unpleasantly odoured, with wafting smells of trash piled on the streets). You know it's ridiculously hot when you arrive in Vegas a week later and find the desert heat a relief from the sticky humidity of the city. My hair somehow managed to be constantly lank and frizzy at the same time, and my makeup kept melting off my face. Yuck. At least the place we were staying in had air conditioning, and we often wouldn't end up leaving the house until late afternoon just so we could avoid the worst of the heat. Oh well, at least that gave us an excuse to stay up late and then sleep in I guess. Also, while we triumphed over the NYC subway system on our last visit, we failed dismally this time round. I blame a combination of heatwave brain and my new so-called 'smart' phone; although helpful some of the time, I've now learnt that it shouldn't be relied on too much. On one memorable occasion, it directed us into an AA meeting instead of the subway station we were trying to find. Maybe it has a built-in app which senses you've been drinking too much? Despite such tribulations, NYC was still amazing, and our six nights there flew by.

We arrived at JFK airport about 9pm on Monday 15^th July, and successfully caught the air train to the Jamaica Center, transferred to the J train and made it to where we were staying in Williamsburg, Brooklyn (we would not be so successful on our way back to the airport, but that's another story). I had booked us a colorful little apartment through Airbnb, and as I mentioned earlier, it belonged to a burlesque performer, the lovely Amber Ray. I think Amber rivalled me in terms of clothing/accessory accumulation, and all her glittery outfits, shoes, jewellery and burlesque bits and pieces were on display for us to nosy at, along with tons of interesting books and DVDs. For what we paid, the big bonuses of Amber's place were the air conditioning, free wifi and location right next to a subway station. There was also a sad and somewhat bedraggled looking cat that hung out on the stairs, so I got my kitty fix after much missing of the Lulu. The slight downsides were that the building didn't have an elevator and we were on the fifth floor (yes, I could do with the exercise, but it was a pain in the ass carrying a suitcase up and down the stairs), and because it was in Brooklyn, the subway journey into Manhattan was a bit longer than last time and often there weren't many trains going back late at night. We arrived pretty hungry on our first night, and Amber recommended a restaurant and bar across the road called Moto, which was just what we were after. There was a folksy kind of female singer/guitarist performing in the tiny space, which was lit by candles and decorated with various science-y looking artefacts in bell jars. I had my first healthy and reasonably portioned meal of the trip (an asparagus concoction that I've been craving ever since, while punishing my body with pizza, veggie dogs and nachos instead), and our lovely server gave us their signature toffee date dessert on the house. Mmm, free stuff...

The apartment building we stayed in in Brooklyn

The burlesque bedroom

The view from our apartment fire escape

Stairway cat! Poor lil buddy...

On Tuesday we embarked on a much-needed outing to the laundromat for the first time, which was an adventure in itself. I guess they're pretty self-explanatory for the New Yorkers who use them every day, but the ways of the laundromat were a bit mystifying for us (do we bring our own detergent or do they supply it there? Where does the detergent go in the machine? Are we meant to wait in the laundromat the whole time our clothes are being washed or do we go away and come back? Do we tip the person who works there?) We bumbled our way through it (and yes, I did tip the lady to be on the safe side), and finally had clean clothes again. 

Waiting outside the laundromat, attempting to look like we know what we're doing...

Running well ahead of schedule for once, we stopped by the Bowery Ballroom where we were seeing the band Wire play that night, only to find that the gig was going to start about two hours later than we had thought. We wandered round the East Village for a while, and had dinner at a Louisiana-themed restaurant on St Mark's Place called the Saint. Their music playlist was firmly 90s (the bad along with the good: hooray, Nirvana, followed by ugh, Aqua) and Sam and I drank beers, played 'guess the 90s tune' and attempted to get my just-purchased American SIM card up and running on my phone. It was decreed that we should make it to the Bowery Ballroom in time to catch the opening band, which unfortunately neither of us ended up liking (Bear in Heaven, I believe they were called, and yes, there were hipster moustaches and the inevitable terrible sounds to accompany them). Sam wanted to be on the ground floor to watch Wire, but I couldn't see anything, so found a spot by myself up top on the mezzanine where I had a decent view. Despite not knowing any Wire beforehand (this gig was all Sam's doing, the one that we detoured to NYC for), I had a really good time, particularly when they started playing their more raucous material a few songs into the set. After the show, we hung round with the intention of having a few more beers, and Sam ranted and raved about how awesome the show had been. It was then agreed that we had nothing to lose by sneaking out back and trying to meet the band (you can already see a theme emerging on our trip...). Sam talked nicely to one of the roadies, who told us to hang round but stay out of the way while they were loading up the gear, and then he'd see what he could do. As it turns out, we got to meet Graham Lewis the bass player, who was a very personable old British dude, and we stood outside chatting with him while he had a smoke. Because I didn't know Wire, I wasn't in the least bit starstruck, and was quite able to formulate sentences and make witty conversation (I'm fairly sure Tim Armstrong and Mark Arm must have thought I was a mute; an idiotically smiling mute). 

Meeting Graham Lewis, the bass player from Wire

As we were leaving, Graham then called us back to introduce us to his New York friend Larry, who would supposedly give us some tips on cool places to go. Larry looked like a straight-haired version of Sideshow Bob, and was a real character who had been living in the Lower East side since the 80s. Most of Larry's recommendations were more lamentations on how good things used to be, and involved helpful hints like 'you wanna check out such and such a place; it was great, but it closed down a few years back.' We ended up going to Max Fish (according to Larry, the last good bar left standing in the neighbourhood; but yes, it's due to close down soon) for a drink, and it was pretty cool. Given that we were seeing the Specials the next day and I didn't want to ruin it by partying all night beforehand, we limited ourselves to the one drink, and then got the train home by about 2am.

On Wednesday we went for a walk in search of Cotton Candy Machine - a little art gallery about ten blocks from where we were staying - along the way encountering people coping with the heatwave by turning on fire hydrants and basking in the spray (so it wasn't just something that used to happen on Sesame Street). I fell in love with a couple of prints at Cotton Candy Machine (a Tara McPherson and a Glenn Barr), but since we were going straight to the Specials gig from the gallery, it wasn't practical to buy them and lug them around, so we got some stickers instead and promised to come back. Unfortunately we didn't get around to this, although now I'm woefully down on my money anyway, so perhaps it's a good thing... A quick dinner was had at AOA, a generic pizza place and bar on Avenue of the Americas, and I was randomly befriended by two middle-aged and possibly quite drunk French women in the bathrooms, who informed me in heavily accented English that I was a 'nice-looking, all-American girl,' at which I laughed out loud. In hindsight, maybe they had been wanting to try cocaine and misguidedly thought I was their best bet? We do seem to get approached by people wanting to sell us drugs all the time... From there, it was a short stroll to Pier 86 where the Specials were playing an outdoor show, and it was an impressive setting, with the stage right at the end of the pier and the Hudson River beyond, and downtown New York skyscrapers rising up all around.

Very excited, pre-Specials show on the pier. Apparently this is the look of of a 'nice, All-American girl' according to my new French buddies. Maybe Tom Petty will write a song about me...

The stage at the Specials gig, with New Jersey skyline in background

I've seen the Specials twice before, but this was by far the coolest venue, and it wasn't horribly oversold so there was plenty of room to dance. Excellent for people-watching too; we were there about an hour before they started and it was still light out, so we passed the time by checking out the vast array of tattoos on show (I'd say 8/10 people there had at least one visible tattoo). Actually, a side note: tattoos here are far more prevalent than in New Zealand, and it's not uncommon to see people with full sleeves, neck tattoos, etc working in jobs where that totally wouldn't be allowed back home (waitresses in restaurants, post office workers, staff in hotels). Awesome. In saying that though, because there are more tattoos in general, that also means there are a greater number of rubbish tattoos; I've probably liked less than a third of those I've seen. Right, back to the Specials... They opened with 'Do the Dog,' followed by 'Dawning of a New Era,' and played every song I wanted to hear apart from 'Too Hot.' Not necessarily one of my favourites, but come on, the most appropriate song to play during a New York heatwave. The George Zimmerman verdict came out while we were in Seattle, and discussion about it has dominated what little of the news we've seen here (George Zimmerman is the cop who was acquitted of shooting black teenager Trayvon Martin; just in case this hasn't managed to penetrate the rugby-laden New Zealand news), and it was most appreciated by the crowd that the Specials dedicated 'A Message to You Rudy' to George Zimmerman, and 'It Doesn't Make It Alright' to Trayvon. Always a band who both exemplified and were vocal in advocating racial harmony, it was great to dance along to Specials songs with such a diverse crowd; in terms of age too, as there were little mohawked kids there along with their wrinkly punker parents. After a thoroughly enjoyable show ('Enjoy Yourself,' why yes I did thank you Specials), I got talking to a girl while we were both waiting outside the portaloos for our boys. I was most surprised to happen upon an American who had not only heard of New Zealand (Her: “Are you from the North or South Island?”), but who had actually been there and knew more about it than I do (Me: “Oh you went to the Waitomo Caves, yeah I've never been there, I hear they're nice; wait, remind me which island they're on again?”). For shame, Andy. My next holiday will be spent investigating more of my own country. It will also have the added bonus of being less expensive than this one is proving to be. American girl Gen and her Aussie boy Chris and Sam and I all ended up going out to a bar together (can't remember the name, but it was in Tribeca somewhere), and it had a sweet photo booth where we got some boozy pics. There were jalapeno poppers at another bar at some point, and another arduous journey home which involved too much waiting in subway stations and transfers between trains.

Thursday was dedicated to shopping in the East Village, but I discovered quickly that I have no patience or enthusiasm for shopping in such heat, and managed to buy one record all day (Descendents' 'Milo Goes to College.' Although following a later mishap, it is yet to transpire whether the record will end up accompanying me back to NZ or not). I feel bad for the Bettie Page store, the only clothing shop I tried anything on at, proceeding to transfer all my sweat to a very pretty blouse, which I then realised didn't actually fit, and had to put back. Apologies also to the people of New York, who were subjected to my pasty legs in all their mini-skirted glory, as I no longer gave a damn and just wanted rid of my signature black tights in order to experience some breeze. I think this particular day was probably the hottest of the lot, and even the squirrels in Tompkins Square park - a highlight of the last trip - failed to do much for me. Happily, we actually had a friend to meet up with later that night though, former Dunedin gal Koren who has been living in NYC for about the last six months. We joined Koren and her very welcoming friends Kurt and Francisco on the rooftop patio of a bar in Williamsburg called Night of Joy, replete with lanterns and fancy designer cocktails (after trying one to say we had, Sam and I quickly returned to beer,). We learnt from Koren and co that NYC is almost unlivably expensive; the public transport can suck (there was a particularly impassioned rant about the incompetence of the G train); that it's incredibly hard to find work here; and if you think the heatwave is bad, wait till you experience the cold in winter; despite all this, everyone agreed that it was entirely worth it, and that NYC is the place to be. I liked that as the conversation progressed further, it became apparent that everything Koren and I both knew about NYC while growing up had been gleaned from Babysitters' Club books. Francisco left at some point, and the remaining four of us ended the night at the amazing Kellogg's diner (well, probably just a standard American diner, but in my book, if it's open 24 hours a day for sit-down meals of jalapeno poppers, dirty nachos and beer, it's amazing), and then went our separate ways on various trains.

The mighty diner

On Friday we wanted to make up for our previous Empire State building visit (conducted at 11.30 at night in thick fog) and actually get some kind of daytime bird's eye view of the city, so we did the Top of the Rock visit. I think I'd recommend this one more anyway; it's better to be on another building (the Rockefeller Center) so you can look at the Empire State Building, and because this one wasn't quite as tall, you're on a similar level with some of the other skyscrapers rather than peering down at them all, so it's more immersive. I knew the city was huge, but it was quite staggering seeing it in its entirety; regrettably, the heat was no less intense 70 stories above ground.

Sam and the view from the Top of the Rock. Bet he can make this into some kind of awesome phallic artwork...

Following on from our 'correcting wrongs made on the last trip' theme, we then visted the Met and were able to spend more than an hour there. I had been looking forward to the 'Punk: From Chaos to Couture' exhibition that was on, but to be honest it was a bit of a fizzer; really just an excuse to show some outfits by big name designers that didn't seem to me to be particularly relevant to the punk movement at all; a few Vivienne Westwood and Malcolm McLaren pieces, but mostly just wearble art type outfits created in more recent years that used punk as inspiration. And why on earth would you bother creating a life-sized replica of the men's bathrooms at CBGBs to display in a New York museum when no-one thought it was worth saving the actual bar from closing down a few years ago? Granted, some of the Alexander McQueen outfits were cool (Mel, I wanted to take some photos of them for you, but the exhibition was strictly no photography, and then they didn't even have postcards of them available to buy in the gift shop, where I was quite ready to squander some dollars. I did get some sweet duct tape printed with safety pins though), and certain parts of the exhibition design were quite inspired (the walls in one section were modelled on classical architecture, with columns and recesses housing mannequins that appeared from far away as if carved from marble, but on closer inspection, were actually made from polystyrene, and you could inscribe your own graffiti into them). On the whole though, more couture than chaos, and we only spent about twenty minutes there, dedicating the rest of our time to the sections of the museum we had missed last time. Predictably, I enjoyed the 20^th century art rooms most, and we looked around as much as we could right up until closing time, but even given a week I don't think you could cover everything there with the attention it deserves. Finally, it was time for one of those few and far between early nights, and we went back to the apartment where I was most pleased to be able to catch up on new season Dexter (I'm three episodes in, and it's soooo good!)

Jasper Johns removed the red and blue from the American flag, and I inadvertently add it back in with my outfit

Our last day in NYC started earlier than most, with a visit to the shops in Williamsburg, about one train stop away from our apartment. The vintage stores I'd read up on were a bit disappointing (way overpriced and too hipster-curated), but the vibe of the area was good and thankfully the weather had calmed down a little bit and was starting to border on almost pleasant. We wandered by McCarran Park, and went back to the excellent Kellogg's Diner for a late lunch, then once again it was back to the East Village to revisit Generation Records, which we'd nearly forgotten from our last trip. As we were walking there, from out of nowhere - and about two seconds after I'd mentioned that I was starting to enjoy the weather way more - it began to rain. Heavy, pelting, bucketing-down rain of the variety that made everyone on the street stop what they were doing and go and take shelter under something. After about ten minutes of this, we had no choice but to go back out into the street and keep walking, as we were due to see the Slackers play soon, and the party boat would wait for no man, departing from the pier at 8pm sharp. Thus, we were entirely drenched by the time we arrived, but at least we made it with about five minutes to spare. And here I will copy and paste my post-gig Facebook status update as a too-lazy-to-write-a-proper-review review:

“Awesome things about seeing the Slackers on a party boat in NYC:

1. Seeing the Slackers on a party boat in NYC. Duh.
2. Marshalling a large bunch of the crowd around me into requesting 'Old Dog' - “So you like the song 'Old Dog' right, it's pretty good eh? I came all the way from Nooo Zeeeland and I really wanna hear that one, so how bout when they take requests at the end, you yell for 'Old Dog' with me?”
3. The Slackers being forced to play 'Old Dog' through extreme crowd support.
4. Vic Ruggiero from the Slackers being a complete babe.
5. Meeting Vic Ruggiero.
6. Vic Ruggiero acknowledging upon meeting me that never before had a crowd demanded Old Dog' with such enthusiasm.
7. A random dude coming up to me on the way home from the show and recognising me as the 'Old Dog' instigator and showing me a photo of his recently passed away dog and being stoked on the song being played.
8. Generally being more of a cat person anyway.”

To take it up another few notches:

9. The rain I mentioned before later evolved into a thunderstorm, and it was pretty epic sailing past the Statue of Liberty with the Slackers playing and lightning flashes cutting across the sky.
10. Vic Ruggiero was wearing a sailor's oufit.
11. I'm now the proud owner of Slackers undies.

I need to take lessons from Vic in how to pose for photos on a party boat; he achieves 'boozy captain,' while I do 'stunned mullet'

After the party boat docked at the all too early hour of 11pm, we went to a bar in Midtown Manhattan so I could use the bathroom and inevitably ended up staying for some more drinks. To get to the airport the next day for our flight at 8.15am, we would have to be up at the ungodly hour of 5am; I went to bed at 3, and Sam gave up on bed in favour of staying up drinking and sleeping on the plane. It's therefore a surprise that the rather unfortunate missing of the flight was not actually our fault, as we did indeed make it to the subway at the designated hour, bags packed and feeling chuffed with ourselves, if somewhat sleep-deprived. What we didn't realise was that a lot of maintenance/building work was being conducted on certain subway routes, and the scheduled time for this (that would supposedly cause the least disruption to public transport – ha!) was Sunday mornings. The J train that was meant to take an hour to JFK stopped at a random station about halfway along the route and remained stopped. We waited... and waited... and waited... We were the only ones in our carriage apart from a passed out drunk guy, so weren't quite sure what was happening. Sam tried to get off the train, only to be told to get back on, so we figured it was going to start moving soon. It did, after about 25 minutes, but in the wrong direction! We attempted to get off at the next station, but the train driver explained it was being rerouted and would go back about 5 stops, then we could get off, get on a different train to connect to another train, which would then take us to the airport. This may have worked out okay, if there weren't additional 15 minute waits in between each train, which then went at about half the speed they usually did. Our hour long train trip took two and a half hours, and we got to the airport at exactly 8.15am as our flight departed. Guh. I was envisioning what the cost would be of getting us on the next flight, and was close to tears, as it either seemed like I would have to forgo the rest of my spending money in order to achieve this, or miss seeing Rancid in Las Vegas. Thankfully, whether it was due to our charming NZ demeanour, my obvious close-to-tears-ness, or the fact that the lovely lady at the Delta desk was well aware of the havoc the subway work was causing for unsuspecting tourists, we were able to get put on the next flight, and she waived the additional charges, “since you're obviously having a bad day.” At this point I felt like we were on the Amazing Race. Once we got on the plane, we even found we had been upgraded to premium economy, so had comfier seats with more legroom. I had used up so much stress by this point that I didn't have any left to worry about flying, so it was actually a relaxing five hour flight for once. Until we got to Vegas, where Sam realised that he had left the bag he was carrying (which contained all the records we'd bought) back at JFK airport... Sigh... We're still trying to get them back now, but after much time spent on hold, being directed to other phone numbers and filling out online claim forms, it seems that they may end up being a casualty of our bad day. And Sam is usually so protective of records too...

Vegas up next for the blog treatment, no big wins yet (a minor small one though – I put in $20, won $180), but still two nights left, so fingers crossed....

Vancouver and Seattle

Yes it's blog time again, I'm back in the States and ready to unleash my wordy rants about drinking, seeing bands, travelling, drinking, buying cool stuff and probably some more drinking on you all for the second time. I can't change the name of the blog now, but think of it as 'Four weeks without Taz' this time...

Thankfully the flights were uneventful (and on our Dunedin to Auckland leg I was most proud to see Girl Sam making a roller derby appearance in the inflight magazine, and of course my old friend Bear Grylls on the safety video), although I had a bit of a kerfuffle in LAX with my bag. The Air New Zealand guy at Dunedin airport said that my bag was checked all the way through to Vancouver, so I wouldn't need to collect it till then. Sweet. This was news to the surly and very adamant guy at LAX who wouldn't let me through customs without my bag (“I don't care what they told you in Noo Zeeeland, THEY LIED! You must collect your bag before we can let you in. Go back and get it!” So Sam got through since he had no checked luggage and I had to go back and wait at the carousel for a bag that I was fairly sure wasn't going to be there. About 40 minutes later, and once all the bags were off (minus mine), I was at a loss for what to do, so I tried going through again and was lucky to get a different (and more indifferent) guy, who was all “Well that sounds odd, you have to collect your bag, but really it's not my problem so I'll just let you through anyway, but if your bag is lost you won't be able to come back to look for it.” At this point I put my faith in what I'd been told in Dunedin and entered the States without my stuff, slightly freaking out. It was quickly cleared up by a kind Canadian woman at the ticketing counter who was all “Yeah your bag's checked through to Vancouver, those guys in customs don't know what they're talking about, welcome to America!” Ah, just the additional kind of stress I need at airports... My bag and I were happily reunited in Vancouver, and we made it on to the train to the Cambie Hostel in Gastown about 11pm. Along the way we got talking to a fellow Kiwi from Raglan called Matt, who had been on the last two flights with us and now it turned out was also booked into the same backpackers. Merriment ensued and we had some beers at the awesome bar downstairs at the Cambie, then moved on after they closed to a $2 beer night at a nearby (quite terrible) bar, whose one redeeming feature (apart from those $2 beers) was that they were playing Michael Jackson.

We awoke surprisingly non jet-lagged the next day and wandered around downtown Vancouver and Gastown checking out the sights (mainly record stores, some decent rockabilly-type clothing places, the impressive library building and a park with a fountain). We didn't have any gigs or anything locked in, and were just in Vancouver for the two nights, so had no schedule to stick to really. I was determined that we'd have something of a quiet night since we were getting the bus to Seattle the next day to see Rancid, but after meeting Matt for dinner (one plate of 'small' nachos that fed three of us), it quickly morphed into drinks, including the excellent Fireball, a hot whiskey that Matt introduced us to that must start being imported into New Zealand immediately. I sensibly turned down the next free shots the bartender offered us, for the greater good of Rancid.

Sam in front of the Vancouver Public Library

Andy in front of fountain in park in Vancouver. Was tempted to climb in fountain along with the dogs and kids that were doing so...

The bus trip from Vancouver to Seattle was less exciting than I'd anticipated, with most of the scenery being pretty reminiscent of rural New Zealand, broken up by some depressing looking small agricultural towns that had McDonalds' and not a lot more. It was a welcome sight to roll in to Seattle and see the Space Needle in all its retro design-y goodness... Due to traffic delays on the bus trip and then an entirely self-inflicted delay where we coudn't figure out which direction the public transport we were meant to get was heading in, we were about an hour and a half later getting to our hostel than planned, so had minimal time before the Rancid show. A much needed pre-show nap was prescribed. The place we stayed in was deceptively awesome; although it was called the AAE Hostel and was really cheap, check-in was at a Best Western motel which we had thought was next door, but actually included the hostel, so we had a fancy room with two beds, a private bathroom, free breakfast and a hot tub. We were running late for the show (remember my gripe last time with US shows starting way too early?), and weren't overly certain which stop we needed to get off at, and made the mistake of going with a loud blue-haired girl who announced on the bus that she was heading to the same show. As soon as she got off the bus she revealed herself to be a complete flake who had not only got us off at the wrong stop and didn't know where we were, but who then proceeded to ask people on the street whether it was 8.30am or pm and what day it was... We left her to her own devices and ran (well to be honest, more 'briskly walked') for a number of blocks in the general direction of the show, and made it in time to hear three Transplants songs. Oh well, two more opportunities to see em I guess. At least there was plenty of time to have a few beers and buy a bunch of merch (inlcuding an ill-fated Rancid lighter which I had to leave behind in Seattle today since it couldn't come on the plane with me) before the main act. The venue was quite weird in that the floor was all one level with no raised bits for shorties like me to stand on and actually see, so rather than go up the front and get squished, I had the best view at the very back, and space to dance as well. Which I did, enthusiastically. They played an excellent set (although I'd struggle to come up with a bad set for Rancid since I like 99% of their songs, so I'm easily pleased), and sounded amazing. I was restrained and didn't even attempt to get my Tim stalking on after the show (perhaps when we see them again in Vegas, since I know where to go after last time). Instead, the night was topped off by a veggie dog with a million jalapenos and then a soak in the hot tub. Yup, you're all right, Seattle.

Space Needle!

Day two started out in Belltown, the neighbourhood we were staying in, which happened to have a nice little one block section of Sam and Andy Heaven: we had a beer at Shorty's, a pinball themed dive bar with creepy clowns; tacos at Mama's Mexican Kitchen; then a lingering look at punk record store Singles Going Steady. Hilariously, on our way to the Pike Place Market, we were stopped by a girl from Joe TV (a local Seattle station), who wanted to film us for a documentary on Seattle fashion. She wasn't deterred by the fact we were actually from New Zealand, and we agreed to it when she said she just wanted to film our bags and jackets while we were walking along, not our faces. So yeah, we'll probably be the background image to a voiceover on washed-up punk style or something... Repping a Conniption patch on my bag though... Pike Place Market itself was rad, so many little quirky stores, artist studios, etc. Sadly, it was just not feasible for me to purchase the life-sized cut-out of Bad era Michael Jackson I encountered.

Curtained private booth for two at Mama's Mexican Kitchen, with accompanying Elvis cut-out.

Andy at Shorty's, the bar where the tables were old pinball machines.

After dinner at a pizza and microbrew beer place called Zeek's, we decided to do the Space Needle. If only we had decided this a number of hours prior; we found out the next day that Mudhoney had been there earlier doing a promotional gig at the top of the tower. Can't win em all eh... Still, some very cool views from the top at night, but as usual, I got absolutely rubbish photos that don't do it justice. Maybe one day I'll learn to work the settings on my camera properly... Pleased with our Space Needle visit, we returned to the hotel at the rather respectable hour of about midnight and finally had that quiet and not-so-boozy night we were in need of.

The 13^th was the much anticipated day of the Sub Pop 25^th Jubilee gig in Georgetown; basically, a bunch of old and new bands who were or still are on the Sub Pop label took over the industrial-but-getting-hip suburb of Georgetown for a day long festival with three stages. On our way, we stopped at Roq La Rue Gallery, a pop surrealist gallery that was high on my list of things to do in Seattle, but which I had just discovered wouldn't be open the next two days, so it had to be squeezed in immediately. The group show that was on ('Other Worlds') was amazing, some really fantastic oil on panel paintings by some artists I already liked, and some new ones to investigate further. We both loved the show, but unfortunately didn't anticipate the insanity of the public transport system trying to accommodate all the Sub Pop festival goers, and things probably could have worked out a bit better if we hadn't had to add the gallery visit in. As it turns out, we were incredibly fortunate to even get on the bus to the festival; it was 45 minutes late and absolutely packed, and they only let 4 of the maybe 20 people waiting at the stop on (yay, us!) We got to Georgetown right as the band Sam wanted to see (Pissed Jeans) would have been starting, but Google maps led us up the garden path and down the wrong end of the street they were playing on. We ended up finding a different stage and I enjoyed seeing Tad Doyle's new band, but by the time we finally got our hands on the official gig map and realised the Google one was wrong, Pissed Jeans had already played. Sorry Sam. We partook of the specialty beers (a commemorative Nevermind beer was the favourite of the day), got photos in the blown up face-hole cut-out thingies of album covers (I had no mates for the L7 one and was rather boozy by this stage and managed to get my head and three limbs through the 4 face-holes) then saw the Metz and J Mascis, raided the Sub Pop Mega Mart (it suddenly became clear how putting on a free gig could still be profitable when you saw the massive amounts of swag people were buying), and then made sure we were in the right place for Mudhoney. They were awesome, and it was much better seeing them at this than it was at the stadium arena when we were last here. I would have liked them to play for longer, but they did heaps of the songs I wanted to hear, and I bounced around like an idiot. Once they finished, we kind of wandered back around behind the stage, and there was a gap in the chainlink fence, and Mark Arm the singer was standing behind it unawares, with no security to be seen. I was initially hesitant, as climbing through a fence to get to one of your idols seemed to be taking it to a new level, but with Sam's urging (read: pushing), I was through the fence and apologetically met Mark Arm. He didn't seem to mind (guess I'm lucky I'm the unthreatening type), and Sam got a photo of us. Woop woop!

Sub Pop festival; just one of three stages throughout the Georgetown neighbourhood.

Stalking pays off: meeting Mark Arm from Mudhoney.

What happens when you really want a photo in the L7 album cover but have no mates to accompany you and are somewhat drunk...

There had been rumours all day that Soundgarden were going to play (and to be fair, Sub Pop themselves were largely responsible for this, having pretty much announced it in in coded form on their website weeks ago), but it was not to happen; we hung round hopefully for a bit, then conceded defeat. The local brewery Elysian who were sponsoring the event were having an outdoor movie screening in their lot though, and it just so happened to be 'Dazed and Confused,' one of my faves, so we decided to stick around for that. You had to buy drink tickets at the festival, and by that time of night, a lot of the beer had run out, so the only thing we could exchange our drink tickets for was 7.5% beer. Oh dear.. I happily watched the movie on the big screen, and then Sam was in charge of getting us home. Damn you 7.5% beer...

The first real hangover of the trip, and our last day in Seattle. I had read in a guidebook back in Dunedin that the EMP (Experience Music Project) Museum was maybe not worth going to, but since they had a Nirvana exhibition on, thought we'd do it anyway. Um, last time I listen to a guidebook – hands down the best museum I've ever been to, fullstop. In addition to 'Nirvana: Taking Punk to the Masses,' they had a horror film exhibition, a fantasy movie one, a Jimi Hendrix one, a guitar gallery, a sound lab where you could play instruments and record yourself, and glorious amonts of amazing pop culture goodness. We sat on the Iron Throne from Game of Thrones, I got a photo next to both a zombie costume from the Thriller video and The Goblin King outfit from Labyrinth (complete with inappropriate bulge), saw the axe from the Shining, and generally revelled in watching music videos play on a screen that was practically IMAX size. The Nirvana exhibition was the definite highlight though, and I appreciated that it incorporated a lot of other smaller bands from the same era as well. Plenty to watch and listen to, along with rare photos, merch, letters, clothes, instruments, etc. Very cool to see Kurt's iconic 'Vandalism: Beautiful as a rock in a cop's face' sticker guitar, and the anatomical angels from the In Utero tour. There was a nicely done book to accompany the exhibition, but I'm attempting to be sensible with the amount of heavy stuff I buy and have to lug around, so I'll save some of my trip money to buy it on Amazon when I get back.

No flash photography allowed, hence terrible picture, but yay for that guitar...

Jealous much Dad? A 2-3 story sculpture of guitars.

The anatomical angel from In Utero. Wish they sold these in the gift shop...

After hours spent in the EMP on a gorgeous summer's day, we dragged our hangovers out into the sun, and visited the nearby Olympic Sculpture park on the waterfront. To be honest, it was somewhat average after seeing all the cool stuff in the EMP, but the views were pretty cool and it was good to get some fresh air. We then hopped on the monorail for a quick trip, grabbed some tacos and went back to the hotel to casjh out. It's testament to how tired we were by that stage that we couldn't even muster the energy for a final dip in the hot tub, but instead lay in bed watching cartoons on cable for most of the night. For some reason I then couldn't get to sleep, and last looked at the clock at about 5.45am, knowing we had to get up for our flight at 8.30 the next morning. I made myself feel better about this by thinking that at least I was 'Sleepless in Seattle,' how very fitting...

View of Puget Sound from the Olympic Sculpture Park. Not so disease-covered after all...

Sam at the Olympic Sculpture Park.

Next up, New York: we're staying in the apartment of a burlesque dancer, and there are showgirl outfits, boas, glittery things and jewellery everywhere. It's like Las Vegas happened a week early...

Chicago

After a whirlwind two nights in Minneapolis, we headed to the Greyhound bus terminal to catch the bus to our final city, Chicago. This may have been the only thing throughout our whole trip that we were not just on time for, but actually running way ahead of schedule, and instead of that extra hour of sleep we really could have done with, we were subjected to an hour of blaring TV coverage of the trial of Michael Jackson’s doctor. This may have passed for news if anything was actually being reported, but it was a series of dubious expert opinions that went round in circles and left me just wishing they’d would give up and play the Thrilller video instead. Sam sensibly ignored the TV and played computer games. The bus trip itself was unremarkable, except for the fact that the one stop during the nine hour trip was at a smalltown hicksville McDonald’s in the middle of nowhere, and as we were starving, I gave in and broke my not having eaten McDonald’s for almost ten years thing. It was no surprise that the waitress with the puff mullet had not heard of a salad burger and could not make me one even though I explained that all it really involved was your standard burger minus the meat patty. Subsequently, Sam and I were forced to survive until ten that night on a measly box of fries.

Undernourished on the Greyhound bus

It was a relief to arrive at the place we were staying in Chicago and find that our host Mike not only sympathised, but also recommended a nearby vegan restaurant that was open late (he also complimented Sam on his Rancid t-shirt, bonus points awarded). Nearby vegan restaurant was called Handlebar and was awesome - it fed us at least fifty percent of our meals for the next five days. Along with our standard PBR order, Sam decided to take advantage of the fact that dinner was my shout, and ordered a Bloody Hammer, the ‘take it up a notch’ extreme cocktail version of a Bloody Mary. It tasted like drinking pepper, came garnished with a deep-fried pickle and seemed to have the alcohol content of a dozen beers. I shudder with the memory of that thing, and I only had two sips of it… Needless to say, we didn’t venture too far from the well-worn path of the PBR for the rest of the trip. 

The Bloody Hammer - I think the deep-fried pickle was meant to be the titular hammer

The next day was the start of our four nights in a row of Riotfest (as it transpired, I only made it to three of the four, sorry Weezer), and also marked the return of Nico. After swapping tales of debauchery and crazy Americans (Nico won I think, having spent time in both a gated community full of Republicans in Texas and the back of a tour van with the Outsiders), Sam and I caught the train downtown to the Chicago Art Institute. Finally, an art museum that wasn’t closing an hour after we arrived… We spent a glorious four hours there, encountering such masterpieces as Grant Wood’s ‘American Gothic,’ – a nice lady took a photo of us posing in front of it, sans pitchfork, but sadly it came out blurry – Edward Hopper’s ‘Nighthawks,’ Georges Seurat’s ‘La Grande Jatte’ and your garden variety Picassos, van Goghs, etc. I was disappointed to find that the Magritte work I really wanted to see had been replaced by a little sign explaining that it was currently on loan to the Tate Gallery in London, but more than making up for this was the discovery of an entire room of Joseph Cornell shadowboxes. Oh happy day! I hadn’t even realised that the Chicago Art Institute had one, let alone about thirty, including three that I’d written about in my third year art history catalogue project. The good thing about Joseph Cornell is that he doesn’t - yet - enjoy the status of blockbuster artist, and so I had the room to myself while everyone else jostled to get at the van Goghs.

In a similar vein to Cornell’s boxes were the miniature rooms, a collection of painstakingly crafted reproductions of the interiors of European and American grand homes from different historical periods, each staged in a little display cabinet recessed into the wall. These doll’s houses for grown-ups were surprisingly fascinating, and we spent ages examining them despite the fact that a group of rowdy school children en masse was visiting at the same time. It was entertaining to note that even twenty years on and in a country on the other side of the world, teachers still march out the old “when we’re out in public, we’re representing blah blah school, and remember what we talked about as appropriate museum behaviour.” Teacher was fighting a losing battle, but luckily we managed to ditch the kids after the miniatures room.

Miniature frogs, miniature rooms, the excitement is all too much for me

The main event of the day – well, of our Chicago stay really – was Riotfest, and as this was the first night, we were still suitably enthused and raring to go. As with all US gigs we’d been to, it kicked off far too early, but we flagged the first bands in favour of pre-drinks at home, and headed along to the Congress Theater at the more sensible hour of 9pm in time to catch headliners Social Distortion. The venue turned out to be way bigger than we had imagined (easily double or triple the capacity of the Rancid gig, which is now the benchmark by which I judge all shows), and we were soon separated. Sorry again to Sam who was left to hold my bag while I rampaged off up the front (well, they were the band I was looking forward to dancing to the most at Riotfest, and who wants to be encumbered by all the unnecessary ‘essential items’ like jackets and make-up they brought with them).  Despite playing far too many songs off their abominable latest album, Social Distortion were on the whole great, and did manage to fit in heaps of older stuff as well. Best songs were ‘Prison Bound,’ ‘Don’t Drag Me Down,’ ‘Story of My Life,’‘1945’ and ‘Ball and Chain.’ Worst song was undoubtedly the new one that goes on for friggin ages and has back-up soul singer/dancers. Mike Ness, what are you thinking these days?

Friday was another one of those days that didn’t get started till the afternoon, and a visit to American Dog proved our saviour. American Dog is a wonderful local Chicago fast-food chain that has about twenty different kinds of hotdog to choose from (cutely themed around US cities – the Tucson dog was most to my taste, with its emphasis on jalapenos), and the added distinction of being the only place we found in the US that allowed you to order any of them as a veggie dog instead. Bellies full, we headed over a few blocks to the highly anticipated Chicago Architecture Foundation boat tour, which came recommended to us by a number of people.  It didn’t disappoint, and we even managed to learn a few things about architecture as we sipped on our beers in the sun and looked at examples of art deco, modernist, post-modernist and neo-classicist buildings (not sure if I retained much of what I learned beyond these words, but oh well).  Cruises are definitely the way to go for sightseeing…

A selection of buildings on the Chicago Architecture Boat Tour 

Awesome 1960s building on the boat tour

Next stop was Millennium Park, where we gave our cameras a bit of a work-out taking weird photos of our reflections in the infamous ‘bean’ sculpture by Anish Kapoor. As is the way with most pieces of public art, this one caused a fair amount of controversy along the familiar lines of ‘that’s not art’ and ‘waste of public money’ when it was first commissioned, but once unveiled people loved it, and it has since become one of Chicago’s most popular tourist spots. It’s basically a giant, highly polished silver bean shaped structure which you can walk under, and its reflective surface produces distorted mirror effects on a grand scale.

Distorty times in the bean

We were disappointed not to run into Al Bundy

We also made a quick pilgrimage to nearby Buckingham Fountain – you might know it as the fountain at the start of Married With Children – before we were due once again at the Congress Theater, this time for Danzig Legacy. I had my suspicions beforehand that what was advertised as Danzig and Doyle performing Danzig, Samhain and Misfits songs would result in 95% of the first two and maybe a Misfits song if we were lucky, but, no, we got a decent Misfits set of about half an hour, including my favourite songs ‘Bullet’ and ‘Last Caress,’ and a second encore of ‘Skulls.’ We wandered into the sound desk area and no-one seemed inclined to kick us out, so we had the best listening spot in the venue and an unobstructed view. It also resulted in an invitation to an after party at what I gather was one of the sound guy’s houses, as people assumed that we were legitimately involved in some sort of roadie/crew capacity. To top it off, some random goth girl later asked if I was the girlfriend of one of the band members. Ha, no I’ll leave Danzig to Tessa I think… We declined the party invitation (it seemed like a good decision at the time, although now I’m wondering what sort of adventures we would have had), and went for the cheap option of returning to where we were staying and finishing off the PBRs  (in the process being far too noisy and probably annoying our patient hosts).

As we were fast running out of time in the States, Saturday was decreed a shopping day, and we wandered around Wicker Park hunting out last minute presents for people (not to mention a fair few for ourselves). Wicker Park had endless vintage clothing stores, Reckless Records where we spent at least an hour trawling through vinyl and DVDs (woop on my Bad Brains  DVD and Daria box set), and plenty of general quirk, but the highlight was finding a retro gift shop that sold bubblegum collector’s cards from the 1980s. You name it, they had it - Garbage Pail Kids, 21 Jump Street, Full House and even some original 1984 Michael Jackson cards. Flatmate Greg later bravely ate the 25+ year old bubblegum from the pack of Back to the Future cards we bought him and proclaimed it crunchy, and survived the experience.

[So I think somewhere around this time we lost interest in taking photos/ran out of batteries/weren't allowed cameras in to Riotfest anyway. Shame, because I would have loved some pics of Cherry and the Congress crew]

Once again, we were a bit behind schedule for Riotfest night take three, although it wasn’t really our own fault this time - we ordered pizza with more than an hour to spare, but it turned into a debacle because they couldn’t get through to my NZ cell number to confirm delivery and as a result refused to deliver it. We gave up and went to a pizza place near the venue, where we ordered and then sat there jiggling and watching the clock as it loomed closer and closer to the time Leftover Crack were taking the stage. Our very accommodating and friendly waitress Cherry (who called us all hon and had the most epic 1980s hairdo) offered to hold on to our pizza until after the show, so we raced off down the street and made it to the Congress Theater only slightly late (we missed the first song - grrrr, because apparently it was ‘500 Channels’ ). Leftover Crack seem to be even more of a polarising ‘love em or hate em’ band in the States, and the reviews I’ve read of Riotfest either miss them out entirely or rubbish them, but I guess being anti-police and championing squatters’ and gay rights doesn’t exactly endear you to a fair proportion of Americans. As a five piece band with Ezra back playing guitar, I thought they put on an even better show than they did in Auckland in 2009, and Stza was an excellent spazzy-dancing frontman, and also the first singer who actually climbed down into the crowd and interacted with/harassed the audience. Check out Youtube to see a video that’s been posted of the last three songs – ‘Gang Control,’Ya Can’t Go Home’ and ‘Unity.’ They really should have been allowed to play longer than a half hour set…

Next band up was Suicide Machines, who I haven’t listened to since high school and don’t really know that well, but their set was relatively enjoyable (despite their singer’s annoying between-song banter), at least as a backdrop to drinking beer and getting excited about Descendents. And when they finally took the stage, they were incredible, I think it would be fair to say that they blew the whole crowd away. Looking older and greyer, but no less nerdy, and certainly no less energetic, Descendents played pretty much the setlist I would have written for them (including six songs off ‘Everything Sucks,’ my favourite of their albums). One of the few bands that provoked genuine excitement in the kids and the older folk alike (I guess I’m somewhere in the middle these days), they were truly on form. And for a band that always incorporated humour into their lyrics anyway, it was pretty cool that they seemed to relish the added layer of irony that came from cranking out songs like ‘I Don’t Want to Grow Up’ and ‘When I Get Old’ now that they’re slowly creeping towards their fifties. When they played ‘Thank You’ as part of the encore, I almost got misty-eyed, as the lyrics were so appropriate for not only their own performance that night, but for most of the bands I’d seen while in the States. Basically a love song dedicated not to a girl, but to any and every awesome band you’ve ever loved – “Did you know you're why I go and waste my time at a rock and roll show… I'll never be the same again now - no way, I just want to say, thank you for playing the way you play” – this was probably the stand-out song of Riotfest for me. Thank you Descendents, you ended my US gig-going on a note almost as high as it started (cough, Rancid)…

By this point we were completely starving, having forgone dinner in favour of music, and decided we would venture back to the Congress Pizzeria to reclaim our (by now probably cold and gross) pizza we had purchased earlier. We were happily surprised that not only was our pizza held aside as promised, but was delicious in its reheated state, and for some curious reason the proprietors and their waitresses really took to us, and proceeded to bring us free beers, pizza, shots and even t-shirts for the rest of the night. We had thought we might finally make it to one of the Riotfest after parties, but the lure of free stuff and welcoming folk proved too great, and we hung out with the Congress Pizzeria gang until the early hours, feeling particularly privileged when they kicked out everyone else in the bar at closing time but let us VIPs from New Zealand stay indefinitely while plonking down free beers every time it looked like we might be leaving. I am seriously mystified at the hospitality of Americans – each time we met incredibly generous and lovely people my cynical side got the better of me and I was just waiting for them to rip us off, but it never happened, and I’ve come to the conclusion that Americans just really want you to have a great time in their country at any cost. Any more free PBRs and I may have started waving an American flag…

Inevitably our last day in the States arrived, and with it melancholy and hangovers. There was some lacklustre shopping, and a final lunch at Handlebar, then a horrible taxi ride to a hotel by the airport. None of us had ever been carsick before, but in a taxi that kept stopping and starting abruptly on the freeway on an unbearably hot day where the result of winding down a window for fresh air resulted in traffic fumes was bound to be too much for anyone, and when we reached the hotel we all had to have a lie down and copious amounts of water. The hotel was another Aloft one and was almost identical to the one we’d stayed in in Minneapolis except for the fact it didn’t have a spa and the pool was unfortunately full of chads and chadettes, so we didn’t get our anticipated relaxing swim. There had been vague intentions of maybe heading along to the last night of Riotfest for Weezer, but this was soon rejected in favour of comfy beds and new season Dexter. Oh well, not a huge Weezer fan anyway, but would have quite liked to have had gloating rights to a bunch of my friends who do like them… Sam got his second wind and made it out to see Marky Ramone’s Blitzkrieg at the after party (which was by all accounts pretty rad due to an hour of Ramones covers), but I was fully spent by then and didn’t even feel bad about missing anything. Well, maybe later on once back in NZ I may have had twinges of Ramones-related regret, but at the time it was just bliss to lie in a real bed with sheets and pillows and relax.

The next day it was time to begin the arduous journey back home, in which we were beset by flight delays, jetlag, general grumpiness, and a tummy bug on my part. At this point, none of us really wanted to go home, and would have been keen to continue on and see some more of the States, or even go back to NYC or San Francisco. For some reason, getting back to Dunedin became much more appealing once we hit Brisbane. Brisbane was either hell on earth, or we just finally discovered what it was like to be jet-lagged, take your pick. We were only there for one night and two days, but it seemed neverending and monotonous, and we managed to land in the loudest, partiest, chaddiest backpackers ever and were kept awake all night to the sounds of eight different rubbish pop songs played over the top of each other thanks to the talented mixing skills of the inhouse DJ. Don’t stay at Base Brisbane if you’re not one of those up-for-it, perky, dance music-liking twenty-somfings whose idea of travel involves taking party pills with like-minded people on their gap year. I narrowly avoided getting into a fistfight with some belligerent and foul-mouthed Irish lasses who were both a lot younger and sillier than me, but also unfortunately a lot tougher looking. They parked themselves authoritatively in the doorway of the backpackers and refused to move to let us get in at about 2am. I tell you it was a struggle to keep my steelcaps to themselves as we were forced to climb over them in order to get inside. Brisbane did have one egg-cellent record store at least, Egg Records (sorry, I know Greg will like my pun while the rest of you groan), and the owner let Sam get a photo wearing his not-for-sale collector’s item original Devo hat. The smile on Sam’s face said it all…

Like every other Christchurch to Dunedin bus trip I’ve taken, you know the fun’s over when you’re forced to stop at the La Gonda Tearooms in Oamaru, and it was at this point that I think the US dream faded into a distant memory. It’s good to be back in Dunedin (familiarity is so comforting!), but I’d love to go back and see more of the States (Portland, Seattle and New Orleans, I’m looking in your direction). A fantastic place that both exceeded our expectations and confounded some of our long-held assumptions and lazily constructed stereotypes, the USA is a country I would recommend to anyone wanting to experience incredible diversity, a nice as hell bunch of people who are forthcoming and really proud to show off their home to you, and of course such an insane number of punk gigs and art shows that it seems you can’t spend one night in a city without partying. At least that’s our excuse… And in case you were wondering, Ferret the famed flat cat not only survived without us, but thrived, putting on weight and gaining an uppity cat attitude in the process. He still deigns to sleep on my feet, so I feel it’s a happy ending all round. Financial contributions towards the next Filleul Street overseas adventure (next time with Greg too!) gladly accepted…

Minneapolis

NB: Blog may be written with less enthusiasm now that I'm back in Dunedin finishing it off...

Another intense airport security debacle unfolded when we flew from JFK airport in New York to Minneapolis - we’d been carrying instant coffee and sugar with us from city to city on the trains and buses, but I forgot that this might present a problem when flying, and inadvertently put the sugar in my carry-on bag. I couldn’t work out why I was pulled aside for a special check, because I’d been careful not to have any sharp objects or liquids in there, but turns out that containers with crystalline substances arouse suspicion, and they did some kind of science-y looking test on my sugar with blue chemicals, and seemed annoyed when they confirmed that yes, it was just sugar, not drugs or explosives. Yay, no rotting in a US jail for me.

After a bit of a delay at the Minneapolis airport (my anti-anxiety pill had worked moderately well on the plane, but then as soon as we sat down in the airport once we arrived, it really kicked in, and I fell asleep face down on a table, then came to in a puddle of drool after a couple of hours). I probably could have been woken up, but Sam had found a computer game that he was addicted to, and decided to leave me to it in order to sneak a bit of playing in. We eventually made it to our hotel - yes, a hotel this time. I’d gotten a good deal on a place called Aloft, which we only paid $50 each a night for, and it turned out to be just what we needed for a couple of nights - 2 comfy queen size beds, a pool and a spa. We found an excellent place just down the road called Grumpy’s that was a combination of diner, bar, band venue and roller derby hangout, and enjoyed some very junky but tasty veggie diner food (best jalapeno poppers of the trip) and cheap PBRs. Then it was back to the hotel to enjoy what was our first real night off from partying/travelling/sightseeing in ages, and we ordered a movie on the huge screen TV (Rise of the Planet of the Apes - actually better than I expected it to be, and it was set in San Francisco which made it more interesting given our recent visit), and lay back on our fancy beds and made the most of the decadence.

The view from our hotel room

Sam outside the Walker Art Center - we didn't have time to go in, but appreciated the Lichtenstein sculpture outside

The next day was Sam’s birthday, and on top of the many other presents I’d bought him along the way, we also came across an awesome Ramones-style leather jacket in an op-shop which was added to the present pile. Happily, the same op-shop (My Sister’s Closet) also had an equally cool leopard print faux fur jacket, so we ended up with his n’ hers jackets for fairly decent prices after the lovely shop owner kept adding on discounts (apparently having a New Zealand accent entitles you to one). We walked round downtown Minneapolis for most of the day, and encountered a few good record stores and vintage clothing places, and had lunch at a bar similar to Grumpy’s. Minneapolis was really good for vegetarian food, every restaurant seemed to have a fairly decent selection - second only to Toronto for food awesomeness. After all our walking, we were both blistered, overheated and surly on our return to Aloft, but quickly cured this with a spa/pool/spa/pool combination (they were right next to each other, so whenever the spa got too hot, we’d go for a swim, a cycle that would have continued infinitely had we not had the Trailer Park Boys live show to go to that night). 

On our way to Trailer Park Boys, we discovered the strange phenomenon known as the Pedal Pub. Basically, a bunch of people sit across from each other on a contraption similar to a picnic table with a roof and pedals, and drink booze while pedalling themselves round the streets of Minneapolis. A bartender stands in the middle pouring drinks (and, I assume, navigating and making sure the whole thing has some semblance of safety). It looked incredibly stupid at first glance, but once we realised beer was involved, we would have been keen to jump onboard had we not had prior engagements...

As expected, Trailer Park Boys was hilarious, and well worth the detour to Minneapolis. It was just Ricky, Julian and Bubbles onstage, but they ‘skyped’ Randy and Mr Lahey, and got lots of the audience members up to participate (not me thankfully). The samsquampch was referred to, and Ricky used his classic “getting two birds stoned at once” line, not to mention the battle with Cyrus being re-enacted, and lots of other top-notch classic TPB stuff. We bought a meet and greet pass (sorry to disappoint, but it wasn’t our magnificent stalking skills this time), and got photos with them and our merch signed. When they found out we were from New Zealand, they let slip that they’re coming to NZ in March or April next year for shows in Auckland and Christchurch! Oh the excitement... And now that we’ve seen them, I can let slip how we managed to do it...The show was actually sold out, apart from disabled seating which you had to write and submit a request for, so in the spirit of Ray and his wheelchair benefit fraud, we got disabled seating on the basis of Sam having had recent foot surgery (not entirely untrue, he did have an ingrown toenail removed before we left New Zealand). Sometimes a white lie doesn’t hurt, especially one that was almost a TPB homage of sorts…

It was then back to Grumpy’s for some more incredible veggie diner food (mini burgers for me this time), and those cheap PBRs we can’t get enough of, while they played Misfits and such things on the jukebox. All in all, a pretty sweet 26th birthday for Sam (ooh, and he got wished a happy birthday by Ricky, Julian and Bubbles, which was extra cool!)

Trailer Park Boys! On Sam's birthday! Proof!

The trip started with Tim, Lars and Matt, and ends with Ricky, Julian and Bubbles... Also, check out how unrecognisable Bubbles is without those glasses 

The final Chicago chapter to come soon, possibly tonight if enthusiasm for writing continues, or tomorrow night if enthusiasm for Taz and Dexter overtakes...

New York

New York is awesome, and seven nights was not enough to do it justice unfortunately – we would've stayed for another week if we could. There was so much going on, the people were lovely, and the city as a whole was enamoured by Sam's jacket; we couldn't go a block without a compliment on it. If you're in NYC and want an easy way to meet people, wear a studded leather jacket, seems it's a conversation piece.

We arrived at Penn Station on the Monday night after an 11 hour train trip from Montreal, which I swear felt like only 2 because it was so comfortable I managed to sleep for most of it. Another victory for the train, best mode of transport ever... I didn't want to tell Mum this till now because she'd worry, but our original NYC accommodation fell through, and I was frantically trying to organise a new place to stay right up until the day before we left Montreal. Luckily we managed to hook up an apartment that was within budget and possibly better than the previous one anyway. It was in Astoria, Queens, right across the river from Midtown Manhattan, and was spacious, air conditioned and owned by a model who was away travelling. Glamorous.

Our first day in NYC involved successfully catching the subway (for some reason I really took to the subway, and was the one planning the routes and transfers and for the most part getting them right, whereas in every other city my sense of direction has been terrible) to the Guggenheim. Although in hindsight it wasn't a patch on any of the New York museums we were to visit subsequently, we were suitably impressed by the Guggenheim as our first official NYC attraction, and I appreciated their Kandinsky room especially. After we were Guggenheimed out, we wandered over to Central Park and walked towards downtown, admiring the famous Alice in Wonderland sculpture on the way (I had to fight my way through small children to get a photo on it), the Central Park Zoo, and a bunch more squirrels, which we still don't seem to have tired of. From there, it was on to the corner of 52^nd and Broadway for the obligatory Rancid 'Olympia, WA' related photo, and then to Times Square. A pointless place if ever I saw one. People - lost tourists mainly, I hope - just mill round, or sit on seats and gaze aimlessly at the advertising screens. Iconic, but pretty freaky, so we quickly moved on to an Irish Bar called the Perfect Pint for a few decent beers, some insanely huge bar snacks that were quickly upgraded to dinner status once we saw the size of them and some not too bad rock music on the jukebox.

Sam in Times Square - not too sure what he was attempting with the hands...

Day two in NYC started off with photos at another hallowed spot, 53^rd and 3^rd (it's a Ramones song, if you haven't heard it, deduct ten punk points then go look it up). The NYC Museum of Modern Art or MOMA was also conveniently situated on 3^rd ave, so we headed there for what was to be a long afternoon. Good, but long, So much amazing art, but aesthetic overload set in after about two hours. In the space of a few rooms, you see van Gogh's 'Starry, Starry Night,' Picasso's 'Les Demoiselles d'Avignon,' Dali's 'Persistence of Memory' (the melting clocks one) and about a million other works I studied, all of which were surrounded by a gaggle of sightseers there for the sole purpose of taking photos. I couldn't believe that photos were allowed for a start, but what really got to me was waiting in a line to see the Dali work, and everyone ahead of me would get to it, snap a photo, then leave without even a glance at the work. I got to look at it closely for about 30 seconds before the line became impatient and I felt I had to move on. Really not the ideal situation for viewing art. Granted, Sam did take a few photos of works that were particularly special to us (I had to get a photo with the Joseph Cornell shadowboxes!), but there were seriously people there who actually just walked from painting to painting taking photos, not reading the wall labels and not even looking at the work unless it was from the other side of a lens. Disgraceful. For me, the whole interest was in seeing the texture and application of paint in these works, after years of looking solely at flat reproductions in books that could never really capture this. Aside from the works already mentioned, other highlights were the Francis Bacon triptych, the Magritte work, the Boccioni triptych and the Warhol Elvis screenprint. I was never a fan of Jackson Pollock, but admit that his painting was far more impressive in the flesh, and there was also a Willem de Kooning retrospective on that gave me a new appreciation for his work.

Joseph Cornell shadowboxes! This was definitely worth a photo

In the interests of having an authentic NYC tourist experience, we had decided we'd go see some stand-up comedy, in a club that was on the Upper West Side, which would also allow us to do the John Lennon tribute thing on the way. We wandered through Central Park with more purpose this time, and found Strawberry Fields and the Imagine mosaic tribute to John Lennon, where we had a sit down and sombre moment, and then the same again at the Dakota Hotel across the road where he was shot. Dad, I even got some photos for you.

The John Lennon Imagine mosaic in Central Park

After this we perhaps weren't in the mood for stand-up comedy and didn't really know what to expect anyway, but it turned out to be really cool and we had a great night. There were about ten comedians, from seasoned professionals (two of whom were appearing on Letterman later in the week), to amateurs making their debut. With the exception of one who was godawful and cringeworthy, the others were excellent, our two favourites being a tough looking black guy who professed to be afraid of all animals, and did a most realistic squirrel impression, and another guy whose routine centred round the general hassles of air travel, which we could certainly relate to. There was a draw done at the end of the show for free shots, and in true Andy and Sam form, we won it – I think the MC was taken back by our cries of 'Noooooooo!' when it was announced. We dutifully downed our shots (and they were double-sized, ugh), then caught the subway to the Empire State Building. As in San Francisco, we bought a Citypass for NYC, which meant we'd get discounted entry into a bunch of things we wanted to do, but then also feel obliged to do things we were so-so on to get our money's worth. For me the Empire State Building fitted into the latter category, and I just wanted to get it out of the way, but ended up feeling quite bad for insisting we go up it that night when there was pretty much zero visibility due to fog. At least we didn't have to wait in huge lines, and the swirling fog at the top was creepy and made me think of Ghostbusters (probably the shots helped too), although our photos are less than stellar. As it turned out, we ran out of time to fit in everything we wanted to do anyway, so I think I was forgiven for the Empire State incident...

The next day proved to be our most expensive yet – we found the East Village, and a succession of cool shops selling all manner of punk paraphernalia, clothing, records, etc. 'Trash and Vaudeville' and 'Search and Destroy' in particular were awesome, and we also got chatting to the sales assistants, who told us about some gigs coming up that weekend. After some dirty nachos (they made the two four ones look positively healthy) and a PBR, we went and took some more obligatory photos, at Joey Ramone Place and outside the old CBGBs venue. I had read about an art gallery that showed lowbrow and pop surrealist work called Last Rites Gallery that I really wanted to check out, so we caught the subway uptown a bit to catch it before it closed. Unfortunately when we went in they we de-installing the last show and preparing for the next one and weren't actually open, but luckily the curator was really nice, and gave us invites to the opening on the Saturday night, which just happened to be for a Laurie Lipton exhibition, a really incredible artist whose work I had come across in a Juxtapoz Illustration book a few months ago. We now had a punk gig and an exhibition opening lined up for our previously free Saturday night, so on that note we bought some beer and headed back to the apartment to keep it casjh and have a quiet one in preparation. Ooh, and I finally accomplished one of my lifetime goals, spending the evening sitting on an actual New York fire escape and rereading one of my all-time favourite books, 'The Good Fairies of New York' by Martin Millar. Book nerd trip highlight for sure...

Eerie Empire State Building in the fog picture taken by Sam

What's left of CBGBs

On the Friday our intention had been to start off with a visit to the Statue of Liberty, but we took one look at the line (what looked to be thousands of people, a two hour wait and most of it in the hot sun) and decided it wasn't really worth it. We went to Wall Street instead (no protests were happening at the time unfortunately, so it was very quiet and there wasn't much to see), and then to the site where they're constructing the new World Trade Center. Our tourist activity quota filled, we then decided to go back to the East Village, via the Lower East Side. A slight delay ensued when we came across the punk dive bar the Double Down Saloon - with their excellent two for one deal on PBRs, we could hardly pass it by, despite not having eaten all day, and so we spent a merry hour or so indulging. Mildly tipsy, we proceeded to the Joe Strummer tribute mural, where a nice young man took our photo, and then to Tompkins Square Park for some serious squirrel watching. We counted 16 in one small enclosed space, saw our first black squirrels, and then very quickly our first black vs. grey squirrel fights (apparently squirrels of differing colours can't seem to live next to each other in harmony either). Somewhere on our travels we found C-squat and took some pictures, went back to Trash and Vaudeville for more unnecessary purchases, and then to Angelica Kitchen for dinner (BEST restaurant ever, it's entirely vegan and organic, and my seitan and veggie wrap with – wait for it – chocolate peanut sauce and lime-jalapeno tofu sour cream was the most amazing thing I've ever eaten. This place needs to open up a Dunedin branch). With full bellies, and a bit later than planned, we headed to the Metropolitan Museum of Art for their late night Friday. It quickly became apparent that we definitely should have allowed for more than one hour at the Met, and I'm really sorry that we had to rush through it so quickly. There was a Lucian Freud show that was stunning, the armour room was really cool, and I was impressed to see the studiolo of Federico da Montefeltro that I'd studied back in first year art history. An utterly amazing museum, and one that I hope I get to visit again one day with more time up my sleeve.

Tompkins Square Park - photo worthy for more Rancid lyric references, and awesome squirrels

On Saturday we caught the subway all the way out to Coney Island, and experienced our first beach of the trip. This really just involved standing on the sand and getting a photo with a fake palm tree, but it made us feel summery at least. Sam managed to convince me to go on the Wonder Wheel and a haunted house ride, but I put my foot down and refused to go on any rollercoasters. We did get slighlty hustled by a streetwise carny type though, who implored Sam to pay him more money in order to win me a giant teddy bear, despite my loud assertions that I did not want a giant teddy bear. We escaped relatively unscathed, and only about $5.00 down. After a long subway ride back into Manhattan, we stumbled upon FAO Schwarz, the huge toystore with the giant piano from the movie 'Big,' and spent a bit of time looking round, but I couldn't be bothered fighting my way through the teeming masses of children to have a go on the piano itself. Once again, time slipped away on us, and by the time we made it to the Laurie Lipton exhibition opening, we were running about two hours late. No matter, in NYC apparently that's fashionable, and the opening was still packed. We were most pleased to have our picture snapped while there, and it appears on the gallery's facebook page with the caption 'sartorial fans' – I blame Sam's jacket again. The show itself was very impressive, and if I had a spare twenty grand (and if most of the works hadn't been sold already anyway), I would have loved to have bought one. Google image search 'Laurie Lipton' and prepare to be amazed. I did buy a book however (for the more reasonable price of $40.00), and Laurie signed it for me too.

At the top of the Wonder Wheel on Coney Island (just to prove I did actually do it)

The utterly brilliant pencil and charcoal drawings of Laurie Lipton

Sam was starting to get ants in his pants by this stage that we were going to miss the gig in Brooklyn, so we hightailed it to the subway, and then got a taxi once we were off, only to find that like gigs in Dunedin, gigs in New York apparently run behind schedule, and we were in fact on time. The bar, St Vitus, was pretty cool, although I have to admit that the band wasn't exactly my thing (esoteric noise doom music played through a cloak of smoke machine haze so thick that you could not actually see the band. Kind of like being back on top of the Empire State Building in the fog again). Sam had fun though, and stocked up on merch at the end (including an interesting beer holder device known as a 'coozie'), and was happy to discover a vegetarian food stall at the side of the bar which provided us with some good post-gig snacks.

By rights, Sunday should have been a day of rest, but we still had a few things to fit in, so we dragged ourselves out of bed and headed off to the American Natural History Museum to get our science on. Many cool exhibits, but the best by far was the special exhibition that just happened to coincide with our visit.....on miniature frogs! Yussss! We saw the most poisonous animal in the world (a golden frog if I remember correctly), whose venom could kill ten humans and 20,000 mice, as well as a bunch of less dangerous but equally cute mini frogs, and then a bigger guy who I'm sure was the model for hypno-toad from Futurama.

The last thing left to do on our Citypass also turned out to be one of the most enjoyable – a two hour NYC Harbour Lights cruise. In a typical Sunday state, and during a huge rainstorm, we were dubious that this would be any fun, but stoically decided to give it a go. Fortunately the weather cleared up about five minutes into the cruise, and it was really smooth and pleasant the whole way. The tour guide was fantastic, a real character of a New Yorker who had been doing the commentary for eighteen years, and filled it with plenty of random facts and personal anecdotes (such as meeting his wife on the boat; how both September 11 and the day the plane landed in the Hudson River happened on his days off; and the worst day he ever had at work was being abused by three pregnant belligerent drunk women who had to be removed by security, and then being rushed to hospital with appendicitis). The cruise started off in daylight, and as night fell, buildings were lit up and it was really magical. As it happened, the boat also did a couple of loops around the Statue of Liberty, so it turned out we didn't end up missing it after all. We stopped in at another Irish bar on the way home for a casual Drambuie and some beers, and all in all it was a most satisfactory end to our time in NYC. 

We saw her in the end, if somewhat blurrily

Ha, and while waiting for the subway, we managed to fit in yet another authentic NYC experience – being accused of terrorism by a particularly vigilant and overzealous policewoman! Sam was taking some photos of the subway tracks while we waited for our train (with the intention of using them in artworks when we got home, and also there were some interesting rats running round down there that we wanted to see), and once he'd finished, we hear this really intense, robotic voice telling us 'Sir, I'm glad you put that camera away' over and over again. We were kind of confused, then she started repeating 'when I see you taking a photo that doesn't have a person in it, I get suspicious, it looks like terrorism.' Fair enough to be on guard considering what New York has been through, but she was like this weird automaton stuck in a loop who couldn't be reasoned with. We were like 'Oh sorry, we didn't realise, we're artists and have been taking lots of city shots to paint from,' but she just kept on with her terrorism line. Finally, after she ascertained that we probably didn't have any Al-Qaeda links and were just some confused tourists, she left us with the line 'Well you know the subway is going to be the next hit. Enjoy your stay in New York.' Yeah, totally enjoyable last subway ride after hearing that....

Exhibit A - one of the offending subway photos... 

Next up - probably to be written in various airports on our way home since I've been having too much fun to catch up with the blog - Minneapolis and Chicago...