Shitshine

Posted: March 19, 2010 - Yesterday New York basked in a freakish 70 degree March heatwave and out came the inevitable display of flesh. Stoops burst to life with lovers and smokers and The American and I strolled leisurely down to Union Square and felt the first heat of the year on our faces. Then I saw a man trying to do a poo on the street. I didn't spot it at first, at least I didn't catch what he was trying to do. I saw him from the other end of W16th street because he looked as if he was trying sit down on an invisible chair. Some kind of performance art I wondered? He was wobbling around a lot, so sitting on his make believe chair was quite hard. It's not until I'm next to him that I see it's not so much a chair, than a throne the guy needs. Or a potty even. He is fiddling with his jeans zip when it hits me. "Jesus Christ." I say under my breath to The American ''That man is trying to do a poo on the pavement." "Gross." he says and walks on dismissively without looking back. "Honey, look!" and I point back down the street. "Emma, I don't want to look." "No, you have to! Check him out, he can't even get his pants down." "I am not looking!" "Well I am." "You are going to stand here and watch a man shit on the street?" "Yes." "You're grosser than he is" "Just look! There's no poo yet, he hasn't even got his jeans off." "He probably went already in his pants." "Oh. I feel bad for him now." "Why are you still watching him then? "Because... It is morbidly fascinating." "Watch away, I'm going to get cigarettes." He dives into the nearest deli and I stay outside to watch poo man. He is still trying to sit on his imaginary toilet. I wonder what you have to be drinking to think there's a loo right in the middle of the pavement. I raise my head up to the sun, push my glasses back onto my head and breathe in the sun. I hear a loud rattle and look right to see a lady coming up 5th avenue dragging a giant sack with hundreds of empty soda cans in. She stops right in front of me. "Hey honey! I love your top!" she enthuses. ''Umm...Thanks" "Where'd ya get it sweetie?" "Oh, in the UK." "Pretty!" And then she clatters off down fifth with her bag of cans, each one worth a few cents rebate. The American comes out of the deli, Malboro already in his mouth. "A bag lady just told me she liked my top." I say. "Cool!" he mutters, clearly not listening. "Hello? A bag lady just complimented me on my top!" "And that's bothered you more than that guy taking a shit on the street?" I nod. "You're a real New Yorker now honey." For obvious reasons this blog has been somewhat difficult to pictorilise. So here is a picture of my new beloved Liberty London for Target lamp, to take your minds off poo. More blogs http://welshalien.blogspot.com/ Even more rambloings http://twitter.com/WelshAlienNYC

Posted via email from Big Apple Brits - British Expats, Anglophiles and Brit Culture Lovers New York City

How to get a free drink in New York

Posted: January 27, 2010 - Last night I watched four strangers get naked...at Bingo. You don't get that at Gala back home in Wales. I'm sure the most torrid thing that happens there is some Tena lady leakage. Although Mum says there are occasional fights over blobber pens. The Teenager and I and some Brit friends sit agog at the back of a Lower East Side bar as these audience members proceed to do a fan dance with some paper plates. It is 8.30 p.m. on a Monday night. The quartet in question had earlier introduced themselves as an opera singer, a political consultant, an erotic party organiser and a go-go dancer. So you might not be hugely surprised at the last two, who no doubt spend their nights watching arse humping away. However I can't imagine there's that much cock on show at Madam Butterfly and I would guess the Republicans like to keep the tits to a minimum. *Insert your own George Bush joke here* What is most surprising about this impromptu flesh show though is that all of them are doing it for just two drinks each. I have previously blogged about the fact that two drinks is enough to get you hammered in New York, especially vodka Martinis, which seem to be pure Absolut, with an olive for the hell of it. But isn't the point that you would have to be smashed before you got naked? I wouldn't take my clothes off for all the booze behind the bar. In fact, I would probably only just about consider it for the deeds to the bar. You might ask what do you expect at Drag queen bingo? Well I expected some good clean family fun like I had at Lips in my West Village hood. There I enjoyed a fake orgasm competition in the company of my mother and daughter. But real life nakedness? I remind myself I'm on the East side now. There are no trees, Armani gays or overpriced cupcake bakeries but there are young 20something hipsters, lots of entertaining crackheads and really good drug dealers (allegedly). It's edgy. Yeah. I can do edgy. I watch the odd indie film and have fake ray bans. Later that night I am in queue for the toilet wading through a piss leak on the floor and reading the obscene graffiti on the walls. Next to me is a loud girl in American Apparel lurex telling her friend about a film that's "...really, really really old". Turns out it's from 1989. Taxi back to the West Village. If you liked this blog you can sign up to follow it at http://www.welshalien.blogspot.com Or for more frequent nonsense there's Twitter http://twitter.com/WelshAlienNYC

Posted via email from Big Apple Brits - British Expats, Anglophiles and Brit Culture Lovers New York City