American Weblog - May-Aug 2003

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28 August 2003

On July 1st I started work at the Chashama gallery on 42nd street, a stone's throw from Times Square. I was painting in the window so passers-by could watch a painting develop day by day. 40,000 people on average passed by each day and at peak periods 9,000 an hour. I never quite got used to the feeling of being stared at, but it grew on me and by the end of the week was having a great time, especially after Jen came and joined me.

Jen was a girl I met in Orlando a couple of weeks earlier. It was Father's Day, June 14th I think, which makes a future anniversary easy to remember. The part of the story I like best and the part that makes me sound more of a pick up artist than I'm ever likely to be, was that I was on my way to meet someone else when I stopped at the bar where Jen was working. Two beautiful girls in not so many days. Skipping ahead again, Jen joined me for my last day in NY. She certainly drew the crowds. There was a huge crowd on the last night as I drew her half naked body in the window. That was a good night. I remember stumbling back at 4 in the morning to clear out my stuff ready for the next artist who was due in in a few hours.

A good friend of mine in Michigan caught Sars around 10 months ago. She's been struggling with complications since. The doctor said from a recent blood test she shouldn't be here. She's been lucky. She has three kids and a husband. I was going to fly up and see her after Jen went back to Orlando, but then I received an email saying a few of her friends were coming down with illnesses, so she advised me not to come up. I was in my office, Starbucks, at the time and looked at Jen, "Looks like I'm coming to Orlando after all." I booked my ticket that night, sitting together on the street outside of another Starbucks after closing, tapping into the wi-fi signal left on over night (I knew they did this as Mario and I had found out earlier).

They were a great couple of days. It was the first time Jen said she loved me after a drunken night out. I didn't believe her, but after all that's happened since then, NY seems to be the moment something changed inside her.

The Chashama gallery lasted 7 days. I would catch the subway to 42nd street from wherever I happened to be staying that night (a couple of nights at the gallery too through desperation, though I really shouldn't have) and peer in through the back door to the window and see who was passing by. My first day I decided to paint Van Gogh's Starry Night incorporating the Manhattan skyline, thinking I would sell it for loads, after hearing Sid from Sidney's stories of $9000 offers for his oil painting of the Last Supper. (Nothing like that happened to me incidentally, nor the fancy parties Sid said he was invited to. I feel like I've missed out!). I think you can paint any kind of crap in oils, paint it large, maybe of a religious scene, and someone will buy it. I decided after that to be more self-indulgent and just drew whatever it was that was in my imagination at the time.

On my first day, being a lazy so and so, I hadn't sorted out any art supplies. Suddenly prompted into action, I started phoning round the art stores. The only supplies I had were a few paints I'd picked up on a weekend break to Boston, with a couple of gay guys who introduced me to the shocking world of homosexuality and pushed me way past my comfort zone. They're good friends now, but it was an interesting transition. I'd met one of them, I will call him John, in Starbucks with Mario. He'd seen us working on our laptops, probably checking email, though he later said he thought we were in a meeting, and asked our advice on which to get. I joked to Mario he'd be asking us out to lunch next; then he did. Mario was supposed to sort me out with some accommodation, but he had a habit of letting me down. John had said if worst comes to worse I could stay at his place for the night, which I ended up doing. I was struck by the huge posters of naked guys with huge erections, pink flamingos, porn mags and DVDs and other giveaway signs lying around the apartment. They were known as the two Johns. One stood a foot talled than the other, so one was Big John, the other Little John. They often wore matching clothes. I was freaked out by me weekend away, but my friend Khadijah summed it up nicely, "It's a shame you had such a full on introduction to homosexuality". I guess that's all it was. I like to think nothing shocks me, so tend to ignore those feelings when they start to build up. But that is what I felt. I had visions of my food being spiked and waking up with a sore ass. Genuine concerns of course and no way I can describe it now makes me think I did the sensible thing by staying with them that night, but I followed my intuition, thought I could take care of myself and was desperate for a place to stay.

In the gallery I had many taps on the window and thumbs up. I had a few emails and phone calls. People came in to say hi and ask how much a caricature or portrait was. I went to Kinko's and printed out a 6 foot banner with my name and site. I had a few hundred business cards done and laid them on a table outside the gallery with signs and information about the artist. I printed out loads of samples, got my dad to post me some more and quickly started filling up the window with my artwork. After calling around half a dozen art shops, Sam Flax finally sponsored me. Strangely, they didn't do any checkups. I just handed them a business card from the gallery. I walked away with $450 worth of art supplies. Paints, paper, an easel, lightbox and everything I needed.

Going back a little before Father's Day, I'd met a great girl called Paula (where else but Starbucks). We'd spent the next 10 hours together. This was the girl I was going to see when I bumped into Jen that night. I wish I was still in touch with Paula, but it wasn't to be. One night we got together and had some drinks. She'd let me stay at her place. She was getting ready to prepare the sofa for me when I finally verbalised the frustration that had been building up. Being so shy I rarely make the first move. Situations either develop imperceptibly, or the girl ends up doing something. So I went into this lengthy speech about how I'd have this one regret if I left Orlando and that was how I'd always be wondering. whether something could ever have happened between the two of us. She said yes and I suddenly realised we'd fancied each other all along! We kissed, then something terrible happened. A giant cockroach fell onto us. I have to hand it to that little fucker for impeccable timing. Fortunately it didn't ruin anything, though there was a moment when Paula was screaming, running for the spray.

I regret not having sex with a beautiful woman. I can only blame it on my sensitivity or latent homosexuality. Either way, her not calling me ever again made me want her just a little bit more than I had done. She wanted to have sex that night, but it was the way it was offered that put me off. There were comments like "We're both not getting any younger, you more so than me", "Why not, you're only in town a little while longer" and one time, just as things were hotting up, "This is stupid, why don't we just have sex?" I felt that burst the tension of the moment. I'm not saying I wouldn't have had sex, I was getting ready for it the following night, but my saying no must have sounded so final in retrospect. But I thought she was being weird. The following morning I asked what she was doing that night, she said she would call me and that was the last I heard of her.

I'd spent the previous two days with Jen, ever since that first night when I met her. Earlier that Father's Day I'd met a guy called Danny in Starbucks, a friend of Paula's as it happened. He'd seen me passing the bar where he was having a drink. This was the bar where Jen worked. I was on my way to pick something up from Paula. I was none too happy with her, as her attention had been stolen by what many claim is the local social parasite, an elderly man who spends his days between coffee shops, making up tall stories and manipulating people and trying to get young girls into bed. I thought fuck it, Paula can wait now, I'll have a few drinks with Danny instead. I decided to stay there for the rest of the evening as I had nothing better to do. I drew on my pad for a while. I stared into space, annoyed at Paula. Danny said I could stay at his place if I could find nowhere else. Jen was working there all night, occasionally going out for a cigarette break and tapping on the window to ask me outside. We talked intermittently and I thought nothing more of it. I did see her as a rock chick. She was pretty cool. At some point she mentioned an 80's night at a local club, so we ended up going. Afterwards we went to I-Hop for an early morning breakfast. She said, "Do you want me to take you back to Danny's, or do you want to share a hotel room with me?" I said, Let me finish my toast first, then we'll decide. In the hotel I said I'd be happy just to share the bed and have nothing else happen (Mr Sensitive again?). I'm sure she's lying, but today, when I tell Jen this story, she insists she wasn't after sex when she gazed over the table, shortly after asking how good I was at cunnilingus, and asked if I wanted to go to a hotel.

I remember one day in particular (I think the second) when we sat by a lake. It was so romantic. We kissed as it thundered. We sheltered under a tree as it began to rain. The weather was getting worse and wasn't letting up, so we made a dash for the car. We got drenched. I broke my pendrive which was in my money belt. Other events were set in motion that day which I didn't realise till I tried to leave America.

For the next couple of months I spent nearly every day with Jen, which pretty much brings us up to the time of writing. I quickly got used to the home comforts in her apartment and looked back at my nights at the homeless center and airport with cold dread. I knew it was getting bad when one of the homeless recognised me and told me where I could get a free meal for the night. Later, when I strolled the streets of Orlando with Jen, I thought how much had changed. Walking those streets before, I'd felt how everything was so closed off. My perception was focussed on finding nooks and crannies where the homeless could sleep, but there were none. Everywhere was closed off, locked and bolted. Why couldn't they just leave their garages open for poor souls like us? I used to eye the swinging chairs on porches with envy.

The longest I went without Jen was a couple of days I think, shortly after we met. I was walking past Lake Eola when I suddenly saw her slowly walking towards me with a huge, sweet grin on her face. She'd been passing in the car. I like how futures hinge on coincidences such as this. I explained how I was on my way to meet someone called Janet, who I'd met the night before in a 7/11. Janet had ended up letting me stay at one of her empty apartments she was renting out. In return I'd do a little work for her, so she set me to work the following morning sandpapering floors.

I confessed to Jen later, after we'd both met Janet, that I thought I'd sold my soul to the devil. I'm sure Janet would have had me working all day every day, if she could get away with it. Jen's description of Janet as "colourful" is an amusing and tactful way of putting a frantic, volatile personality. Janet started complaining about the oddest of things and the situation got quite tense. Fair enough, I'd spent more time with Jen than I should have when I was on my way back to do some more work, but it all got a little out of hand. I ended up taking my stuff and leaving with Jen. Problem was, I now had nowhere to stay that night. It was getting late and for one reason or another, which I won't go into here, she couldn't help me out with somewhere to stay. If worst came to worse, I could sleep in her car. All this had happened before her new apartment, where I was to stay after returning from the gallery in NY.

Jen dropped me off at a bar for an hour while she did some chores. Writing this I feel like a ping pong ball, being bounced around wherever's convenient. I sat at the bar and looked around. I was fully intending just to sit there but ended up in conversation with some of the locals. One in particular, Drew, seemed quite impressed by my adventures. When Jen returned Drew came over, happy and laughing, tapped her on the shoulder and said something like, "This guy is great." I couldn't have planned it better. Jen turned to me with amused awe and said, "Do you charm everyone you meet?" We spent the night at Drew's place after he kept saying I could stay.

One of the best days I spent with Jen was driving to the Gulf coast, with it's warm waters and white sands. I have this vivid memory of bobbing in the water with Jen, staring into each others eyes. Even at 28 I am still learning to swim. I'd been going for it while in Florida. The first time at Fort Lauderdale when I first witnessed perfect waters and scorching sands that burnt the soles of your feet. I would wade out into the waves and familiarise myself with the sensations of panic. The next time was with the Japanese guy who drove me to Orlando. I jumped into the hotel pool. Now Jen was teaching me to tread water and I remember getting annoyed at why it wasn't working.

When I went back to England Jen came and joined me. Due to missing my flight I would now arrive a few hours after Jen landed. I was meant to fly on Saturday which would have given me time to prepare the ground for Jen's grand arrival. I was stuck in New York for a couple more days. I finally had a chance to meet that philosopher who'd brought Mario and I together! He introduced me to some of his friends and I had a great time trying to fit everything in. One guy was an animator, who'd worked on one of the Star Trek movies. His latest animation, which some of you may have heard of, is the Sex Life of Robots. He buys Barbie dolls, cuts bits off, adds bits on, paints them a rusty gold colour and makes them take part in scenes of orgies and mutilation. He told me about one scene where babies were piling out of trash cans and a gun would blast holes in them. I asked how he was going to do the blood. With tin foil he said. He showed me the gun that would kill the babies. It was life sized, with part of a hand and arm. I reached out to touch it as a swarm of cockroaches starting running around it and dropping to the floor. I'd earlier been perturbed by he cockroach running around on his desk, where he'd shown me the animation to date. It was an epic. I think he'd been working on it for years, with no end in sight. Maybe another year or so. He said the film was getting progressively darker as he spent more time on it.

I remember him going into another room and me thinking I should follow. He'd stopped just around the corner to take a leak. I stepped back as quietly as I could. It was a strange place, if you were unprepared.

I caught the subway to the airport on Tuesday in plenty of time. I went to check in but they said they couldn't accept my ticket. This was no obstacle to me, I had to get back to London, as Jen was already arriving 4 hours before I was due. She was only there for a week so I couldn't afford to miss this flight. The check in girl went away for a few minutes and came back saying they couldn't accept the ticket. Some of the numbers had worn off that day when I'd got caught in the rain with Jen. I repeated the story, a little more insistent this time and she again left, this time for around 10 minutes. I could see her discussing the situation at another desk with a couple of others. I looked on pleadingly. She came back and said they couldn't accept the ticket. I was then talking to a supervisor, who took a stern approach and refused to look into my eyes whenever I looked at him with a growing desperation. Panic was starting to set in. He said, "Sorry sir, we cannot accept this ticket. The next flight is on Thursday." I said I had to get back as my friend Jen would already be waiting for me. She's only in London for a week. He kept saying no. I told him how the woman on Saturday, when I had arrived late for my flight, had stapled together my dodgey tickets saying just bring these on Tuesday. I'd asked her if these were all I needed to get onto the flight, whether other tickets would need to be issued. She said no, it would be fine. Fortunately, she was working there again on Tuesday and could vouch for my identity and what she had said. I told the supervisor all this but he said, "No, she works for me. Her decision isn't final. You cannot get on this flight with these tickets. The best we can do is contact London and get them replaced, but that will take a couple of days."

At some point I had handed him an older ticket. Before I had left for America my tickets had arrived, but had been mistaken for junk mail of all things and torn in half (not by me I hasten to add). They were replaced and arrived the day before I was due to fly out. I'd kept those torn tickets with me. I put them forward to the supervisor in the vain hope they might be able to help. Eventually I was talking to the manager, a stony faced man who would make the final decision. I pointed out the torn tickets and the story behind them and why I had to get to London. He was scrutinising the tickets and I paused. I felt I had to keep talking, so repeated my story, hoping it would somehow sway his decision. I can't remember what he said but there was a moment when the tension broke and I thought I had a chance. Fortunately, there was sufficient detail on the combined tickets to let me get on the plane. One of the last things I remember was the supervisor saying, "This is not the way to travel, sir."

Reliving this story now I can once again feel the panic. I imagined there was a Jason in an alternate universe, stuck in New York and miserable, with Jen in London all by herself. If I'd have had to wait until Thursday, guess what would have happened? That was the day when the whole of New York had the blackout.

12 June 03

Today I slept with the homeless and bathed with the rich.

Last night, stuck for cash, I thought I'd rough it and sleep on a park bench. After a short recon I found a quiet park area nestled in a wood, found a concrete table under and tree and lay down to sleep. I managed it for an hour before the insects got to me. I had the great idea to go to the airport and sleep there, so made my way downtown Orlando to catch the number 11 to the airport. Of course, they'd all stopped by the time I got there, so I had a wander round town and asked a police man if I could sleep at the police station. Before I could ask what crime I'd have to commit to land me in a cell for the night, he told me about the homeless center. That's better than nothing I thought and it's all part of the learning experience, so I made my way there. Inside the first thing to hit me was the stench. Hundreds of bodies, stinking, farting and sweating under one roof. All lying on gym mats spaced a few inches apart. I asked someone if there were any spare mats. I pointed to one, but he said that was standing up because it had been pissed on. I found a quiet spot, against the wall and wrapped my ankle around the strap on my bag (the lockers weren't available till 9 in the morning and I think it was the early hours by this time). I rested ok, but couldn't stand the bathroom in the morning. It was pretty filthy, so I thought I'd find somewhere else to get washed. I didn't even want to touch the cute little cat that was walking about. Everyone had to get up at 5.30am, but I was wide awake by 5.

I wandered into town, wondering what to do with myself till everything opened. I sat by the lake, read a local paper. I had the brilliant idea to find a sports center and use their showers. I asked directions, but found a Starbucks first, so went in to check my email. I went to brush my teeth in the toilets, but this particular coffee shop shared their bathroom with a posh hotel. I noticed on the hotel lifts that the 6th floor had a pool/spa/gym, so I went to have a look. I pressed the button but nothing much was happening. A cleaner pulled his trolley in and asked me which floor I was going to. He said you have to swipe your card first and put his in. He asked if I was a guest and I said, "Yes, just for the one night." Unfortunately the pool and gym were also protected by access cards. I hung around for a while, pretending to be interested in the strange paintings and sculptures, until by chance, walking round a corridor, I spotted one of the cleaners entering the pool area, which was outside on the roof. The door was slow to close so I managed to grab it. I spent a couple of hours there in the pool, in the spa and sunbathing. It made up for the previous night.

I went down to the toilet again (the disabled loo was like a mini bathroom), shaved, put some gel in my hair and now sit here in Starbucks recounting the story to you.

I came to Orlando a couple of days ago with a Chinese guy (could have been Japanese, though I think he said Taiwanese), who wanted to see the shuttle launch at Kennedy Space Center. He let me stay in his hotel room that night, but made me stay on the floor. Now I don't see what's wrong with sleeping head to toe. The sensibilities of the Japanese get to me at times. I remember one Japanese guy from the YHA in NY, saying how he was in a shared dorm once and how offended he was when the girls walked around in just their knickers. Anyway, we missed the launch by two hours. We got in to the exhibits for ten bucks. It was pretty good. We had a disagreement about whether the shuttle was real or not. I was convinced it was the real thing, but I was wrong. Just a scale mock up.

I think I sat in a chair infested with bugs when I was in the hotel room. I counted at least half a dozen bites on each elbow. Now they're spreading, up my arms, down my legs, covering me like chicken pox. It's disgusting and they itch like mad.

9th June 2003

I kind of wish I'd got that job as the cash would have been handy. I'm writing this after my little adventure on the rooftop (12 June). The interview was with about six other artists. You don't really have to be an artist to do the work. It's just putting paste onto prints to give them texture and make them look more authentic. Afterwards I was chatting with Jerry (the guy from the gallery on Las Olas) who asked if I wanted to be his salesman in Europe, so perhaps all is not lost. He said to go over to DCOTA (a building full of fancy tables and chairs, or an exclusive design center full of cutting edge household and office furnishings). He said to blag my way in, saying I represented a design firm from the UK, so I did.

When I left, during the time it took to walk under a canopy, it started pissing it down with rain. It got worse and worse and within minutes the puddles were 6 inches deep and gushing across roads and driveways. I was worried my cheap poncho wouldn't be up to the challenge and my laptop would get it. The thunder and lightning were invigorating. At one point it was directly above me. There was a rollercoaster nearby (within walking distance of where Jerry worked and the DCOTA building). Unfortunately the rain was still threatening on the horizon so I never got to go on it.

I walked for miles. Onto a beach, past a pier, towards some hotels on the horizon. I thought there'd be food around the hotels. Unfortunately there was no bridge across and I checked the map to find I'd walked up a spit of land into the middle of nowhere. I'd walked past a couple of fishermen (who later spoke enthusiastically about snook), across a wooden walkway, straight up against a huge river that separated me from the mainland. The only thing I could do was walk another hour or two back down the beach. I had a moment of depression. I was hungry and tired. Fortunately the fishermen gave me a lift back. They'd stuck around through the rain. They were the only people there. They weren't the most sociable of characters, at least not at first, and a little strange perhaps, I always remember the mad eyes, but they were great. They drove me all the way back home, which would otherwise have taken me hours and hours.

Sunday, 8th June 2003

I've found a quiet spot by the beach to write this. It's nearly 11pm. I took a flight to Fort Lauderdale in Florida a few days ago. I figured what am I waiting around in NY for? I'll probably stay around here till I head back to NY at the end of the month. I sketched a family on the beach a couple of days ago and sold it for $20. I was going to sketch them and walk over and ask if they wanted it, but as it happened he approached me. Afterwards I was going to prowl the beaches for more, but ended up falling asleep on the sand. You know that feeling when you know you want to do something, but the more you feel it, the more you don't want to move from your comfortable spot?

Last night I walked to Las Olas Boulevard. On my return I asked a guy which direction the beach was. We ended up chatting (he was very drunk) and he told me how he was getting married in a couple of weeks. When he heard I'd be walking all that way he insisted on giving me $7 for a cab. Then he said his fiancée could drive me as she was picking him up in a few minutes. He introduced me as his friend Jason. I said, "Imagine that, me and Lance meeting up after all this time, here of all places." When she heard where I was staying she said I could stay at theirs. I told her before she gets carried away that in fact I'd only met Lance ten minutes ago.

On the way back she asked if I wanted to look after their cat while they were away. They were taking the dog (which was in the back seat with me), but the cat was to stay home while they went on holiday in a few days time.

Tomorrow, if I get up in time, I'll go see a guy I met in a gallery on Las Olas, who's interviewing a bunch of artists about some work.

31 May 2003

It's pouring it down in Manhattan. The annoying thing is I was offered an umbrella as I came out the Met, but refused saying I already had a poncho (something else on loan to me). This person had a spare one and in my haste I looked it up and down distastefully, not thinking I could discard it later. This all makes sense on reflection, before I realised I no longer had the poncho. Is it at Hila's? Is it lost on the back of a chair in Starbucks? Hila is a Moonie who's been putting me up at her house for the past few days. Today we went climbing on a wall near Columbus Circle. I often dream about Spider-Man (really), swinging around the city on silver threads and I thought this was my chance. But my fingers gave in half way up. Then we went to the Metropolitan Museum.

I stole a couple of bin liners from McDonalds, in case the worst came to the worse. I imagined I'd put a hole in the bottom for my head, but thankfully I never had to do it. As Hila smoked her 20th cigarette she told me earlier those McDonald's would kill me.

I had loads of invites after posting in my jokes list for a place to stay, but nothing in NYC unfortunately, other than somewhere an hours ride away.

30 May 2003

I'm at the British Embassy. It's the right thing to do. Enquiring if they will sponsor me for my art materials. I'd been offered a spot painting in the window of the gallery on 42nd street (not just for the day, but for a week starting in July). Sid, the artist who was painting there, said he'd been sponsored by the Australian Embassy and that I should try the same. And I just thought they dealt with visas. Apparently they've paid for all his art materials. Now I have to wait till 2 for the right guys to get back from lunch before I can get my answer.

50 minutes to go.

There's no point going for a walk outside. I'm already knackered walking around with my backpack all day. It's now really hot outside. I'll only have to go through all the emptying of the pockets, being scanned, starting up the laptop, if I had to come back in. I'm just making excuses to be lazy.

There was a couple of days at the youth hostel when I hung around with a guy called Leo. That's when I spent most of my money. Going to clubs with $30 cover charges and $7 per drink and coming back at 5 in the morning. You'll notice his name is not dissimilar to Neo. His favourite pastime was asking people to shoot him on the subway, so he could hold out his palm and stop the bullet. Else he would be telling people to 'free your mind'. Rightly so, people thought he was nuts, but his sheer lack of embarressment and sense of humour usually brought people round. I learnt a lot from him. Without his nutty influence I might never have spent nights in that 5 star hotel.

It's a shame we never swapped emails. All I know is he lives in Peru.

That's still 45 minutes to go.

My inspiration throughout this journey by the way is the great line from Pulp Fiction, "I want to travel the world, get into adventures, that sort of thing. Like Kane from Kung-fu." It's great having a tiny backpack and nothing to stop you going wherever you want. Then I become Dicaprio on the Titanic, with just my sketch pad the wind behind me, or whatever he said. I tell people I'm trying to narrow my backpack down to just a toothbrush. It's still a tiny bag, despite this laptop.

Tips for NY: Avoid the black cabs at the airport. You can get to NYC for just a few dollars on the subway. You can get a $15 bus to Washington DC from Chinatown (or $10 to Boston). That's how I'm going to work my way Miami way I think. If you have a laptop make sure you have a wi-fi card for accessing the net from around the city. Or use the NY central library which, wait for it, gives internet access for free. You just need a cat-5 cable.

I think it's time to move on from NY for the moment. The corridors of the YHA were seeming rather hollow last I walked down them, without the presence of Leo and others. My memories tug me backwards and it's an effort to focus on what's the come. You start to set down little roots, which seems to narrow your perspective. The holiday feeling begins to wear off and the last thing you want is to feel you're sat at home. That's what's happened, I've fallen into a routine this past few days. Going to Starbucks and sitting around with Mario, playing on our laptops, checking emails and doing our work. I need to break away from that and I need to battle against my laziness, which would have me just sitting around, staring into space.

NYC

The events of the past few weeks are all of a jumble now, but then, I don't know how much adding dates would add to this weblog. I arrived in America on the 10th May and it's now the 30th. I'm going to dive in and pick out some of the highlights from those weeks and may or may not be inspired to add to this weblog more often. The best things that have happened were the synchronistic, coincidental meetups which led to great friendships and great experiences. I don't believe in the whole fate thing, but to me that makes what can happen, by random chance, all the more amazing. I'm struck by how everything could have been otherwise. For example, I went to see the late show of Matrix Reloaded and had a couple of hours to kill before the film (booked out). I decided to have a stroll around Manhatten and wandered aimlessly round the streets. People sometimes ask where did I go, but I have no idea. I'm not concerned with such details, though I would like to jog my memory, as where I ended up show some great films, apparently. So anyway, I walked up some escalators (not functioning), everything seemed closed. I walked along a corridor. I found a place which ended up being a private party of film directors. Fortunately I was invited in for some food. I'm very practical when it comes to offers of food. On my travels I am on a tight budget, after spending all my money on NYC. (The $80 cab ride from the airport wasn't a good start). I've adopted a Ray Mears survival approach to eating. When it's offered I will not waste anything.

Like all good stories, this one is about a girl. I met a fantastic girl that night, who was organising the party. I remember a few nights later meeting up and being bowled over. Here was a girl who was so creative. She'd made a great short film, used to be a professional dancer, sang, painted and for some peculiar reason, which I'm still working on, she opened me up in such a way that I felt stunned and overwhelmed. Quite embarressing really. Perhaps I should have written this weblog that night, as now my brain closes down, cringing at the effect she had upon me. It was great though, I'd have had it no other way. It was like being in a trance. I hadn't really felt that way in what, about 6 years or so. This next bit sounds strange to everyone I tell it to: I didn't fancy her. Not in the slightest, is the opinion I come to when I mull it over in my mind. She has all the qualities I'd love in a girlfriend, and I suppose one of the thoughts I'm left with is the lonely admission of not having found that person and wanting it all the more.

On our second meeting I thought I'd put all this sentiment into perspective and sure enough the night started out alright, but once again I was opened up and left an emotional wreck. I went home puzzling over the experience. When my thoughts and feelings get on top of me I like to retreat into my bed at night and sleep it off, stringing words together in an attempt to verbalise the experience and so make sense of it. I could talk at length about the strange effect she had on me, but I'm not. I just find it interesting that it happened. Maybe I'll talk about it more later in this weblog.

So, I was having a few good experiences. The following day I met a guy in Starbucks and we've ended up spending many an hour with our laptops open, being chatted up by gay men (another story in itself) and doing our work. I'd just signed up with T-Mobile who offer high speed, wireless internet connection in most of the coffee shops. It's good. You put the widget in your machine, your lounge on a chair (the comfiest we've found were in the top floor at 39th and Broadway). 200k per second downloads in one of the cafes. NY's also great for its wireless coverage in places like Bryant Park, where you can sit on a bench in the sun on a beautiful day and check your emails. But I digress. At some point, ten minutes or so after signing up, I started chatting to Mario, who had his laptop open on the table next to me. He starts talking about a scientist he's been working for in NY, so I'm immediately interested. He goes on (in fact we were there for four hours) and at some point I mention a philosopher I would like to meet in NY. I mention his name and Mario says, "You're kidding, right?" I realise then that we've been talking about the same guy. Mario had been working for the guy we'd both known for several years. In fact, Mario later showed me a sheet with my name and site on, given to him by the scientist some time before as part of a list of to-do's. All the connections had been there, waiting for us to stumble across one, or not as the case could so easily have been. "It was meant to be" I hear some of you cry.

Mario is now the third person to want to be my agent while in NY. Everyone keeps telling me to exhibit my work, that I could and should be famous. I tell them I came here to have fun, /maybe/ to find inspiration and motivation, whether that be in art, or something else, but the idea of feeling like I'm working during these three months turns me off. I felt like I was working today (29th May). A week or so before I'd walked into a gallery to talk to one of the artists. He'd been painting in the window, so all the passers by (some 4,000 per hour) could see him work. I was asked if I wanted to do that too, so I was doing that today. But it felt like work. I'm fully aware of what it could lead to, so am not about to pass that up, but it's something I need to consider.

Crazy things happen in NYC. I now feel I was just unlucky and fortunate enough to meet the few crazies, whereas I could so easily have met the usual, normal crowd. My first impressions were thus created by the crazies and the boundaries between normal and abnormal were blurred somewhat, for a time, as I struggled to understand these people, rightly pushing my comfort zone to experience new and exciting things, but wrongly losing touch slightly with my intuition, which could tell me all along what was bonkers or not. There was the girl in Starbucks who let me stay at her place, 30 seconds after asking her if she knew of any cheap hostels. There was the guy who let me crash on his floor and gave me the keys to his house the next day. This is crazy, right? The film directing girl said I inspired trust, but this is fucking crazy.

That girl by the way, lived in an exclusive area of long island. It was like walking into a 5 star hotel when I showered that morning. A most pleasant experience. "Do you know of any hostels" became my line, but with limited success since that event. I realise now it doesn't always make sense in all situations and if you want to talk to a pretty girl, you should have more to say. I tried it tonight, but how stupid. It was nearly 11pm. As if I'd be wandering around at that time with no idea where things were.