Some things change but Blue Steel stays the same

After my sensitive and sentimental last post I have received mixed feedback including a right royal tongue lashing that questioned my masculinity and several individuals expressing concern for my mental wellbeing. But fear not kind (and not so kind) souls, all is well in the state of New York.

Those who know me too well would be familar with my penchant for finding lyrics consistent with my underlying mood. If life is a journey then music is my radar. And New York has given me a whole new soundtrack. And I'm especially excited this week as I will definitely be seeing The Strokes kick off their US tour at the Hammerstein Ballroom on Wednesday night and I may be lucky enough to see MC Hammer (yes the MC Hammer!!) tonight when he fronts a live audience for the first time in 6 years for a Mardi Gras charity benefit concert at The Roxy. I'm also chasing tickets to Coldplay & Richard Ashcroft in late March.

But I'm they'll all be subjects in later posts and I had a massive weekend to fill you in on. It all started rather inauspiciously on Thursday night when I was contacted by Shamus "Barry" Gibb (a former PP employee now living here in NYC) who had a work function at bar on 53rd St called The Black Finn Inn. Rumour and innuendo had floated around that the bar offered $10 all-you-can-drink (full bar) from 6-7. I could not contain my excitement and immediately drafted in the Poms to join the sortie on this unassuming bar.

As I watched the clock tick down towards 6pm, the nervous energy became too much and relief was sort in a visit to the restroom. Given the litany of blatant contraventions of toilet etiquette I had been subjected to in the past (somebody report these guys to The Hague please!), I approached the door hesistantly. As I reached for the door my phone buzzed twice in my pocket signalling the delivery of a text message. I reached for my phone as I rounded the corner towards the awaiting cubicle.

Oblivious to the disaster that awaited me, I read the text message from Shamus and began the necessary movements required to return the phone to its rightful place in my pants pocket. I can't explain what eventuated in those few seconds but before I knew it I was watching my Nokia 6600 spin end over end in slow motion towards the toilet bowl. I dived forward in a vain attempt to deflect the phone from its path but my efforts went unrewarded. I cursed as the phone made the sickening splash-thud into the pan's murky contents.

After years of unsubstantiated claims that I talk shit - it would appear there is now irrefutable evidence. I plead the fifth.