The update to update all updates (sorry!)

How do I start a post that's purpose is to fill you in with about a month's worth of goings on here in NYC and on my related travels. Such is the enormity of this pending task that I have applied my age-old, tried and true Nick Bull technique of project management - procrastination. And if anything, I have been supremely successful in applying this process - reflected in my lack of posts for over three weeks. Pat on the back for the big fella.

In a way my reluctance to make a post was born out of the fact that so much has gone on as my time in NYC drew to a close. My blog was intended to be a receptical for amusing photos and quirky anecdotes - it was meant to be a method of communicating my adventures to those who were interested - and it was intended to avoid my number one all-time pet hate - the dreaded "and then did this" group email that waffles on for ever and ever. Don't get me wrong - I love receiving such emails when I'm away (by the way - Rusty when are you ever going to email me you slacker - are you still alive?!?) but when on the receiving end the tables are well and truly turned.

But alas - I am quickly running out of time so this monster post which qickly resembling that which I abore - and although regrettable in a way it is justifiably necessary. My salvation is that you can chose just to look at the photos - the ball is in your court - so here goes...

Well when I last left you I was headed off to Sin City - the city of blinding lights - and the home of CSI - Las Vegas. But in the week prior I had joined my esteemed flatmate of almost three months Wilks for what I have decided (upon reflection) was one of the highlights of my time here - being in the audience for the recording of Late Night with Conan O'Brien. Not being that big a fan of late night talk shows (which by the way is like a religion here) I agreed to go along tentatively but with an open mind. The warm-up guy was sort of funny. But then Conan came out and completely rocked my world. His guests were Martha Stewart (fresh from house arrest for insider trading), Macauley Culkin (or as I now refer to him as Freakboy) and Billy Bragg (who is an absolute musical gem even if Tony Martin continually took the piss out of him on The Late Show). The taping only went for an hour but I left with that pain in the neck you only get from continual fits of hysteric laughter.

The next Friday was St Pats - and I know the photos have been up for a while - but they only tell part of the picture. Me, Wilkie, Christiaan and PDV hit the Union Square area looking for outfits and stumble across some massive green afros. We quickly snapped up the vendor's complete inventory of 3 wigs - PDV allocating his to The Dude as he planned on wearing his Mardi Gras jokers hat?! Rookie mistake. Wilkie got herself a green bob which looked awesome on. She also had a visitor in Danny (one of Robbo's mates from Melbourne also living in Bermuda) who got into the spirit by dyeing his hair green. It was going to be all on like Donkey Kong.

Friday morning couldn't pass quick enough. We headed out to check out the parade down 5th Ave - to be honest very boring yet it did little to dampen our spirits. Wilkie 'disappeared' after the parade to go get Danny and prepare for the festivities. Unluckily Christiaan was given an urgently required task upon our return from an unnamed but thoroughly unliked manager. I dropped whatever I was doing and ensured that we could leave by the pre-agreed 3pm. Not long after that me and the 3 Proteas jumped in a cab to their place to get ready.

As soon as we stepped onto the street it was clear that we had struck a chord with the American psyche - a culture that puts abnormality on a pedestal - and ours was high enough to cause Vertigo (please note obscure U2 reference). By the time we hit the subway we had posed in countless group photos for innumerable requestors. Unfortunately we had to physically remove Mardi Gras Boy (PDV in his out of theme cap) from several of the shots as he was interupting the Irish energy flowing so vibrantly through our trio.

We finally arrived at Mercury Bar - a great little "Irish" bar on 3rd Ave which played such classic Irish artists as Ashanit and Sean Paul ad nauseum. The reception we recieved was phenomal - some random guy turned around and gave us a Bud Light each in return for a photo with him. After half an hour of unabating adoration Christiaan turned to me and said "I love being a celebrity - I never want this day to end". Neither did I.

Time pushed on and despite our best intentions we could not escape the Mercury's clutches. This was the apparent cause of The Dude's latest onset of narcalepsy - not even the wig's power could keep him awake. Christiaan and I pressed on as even more Irish wannabes walked in thinking they looked special in their 'costume' only to be confronted by The Wigs - which I took pleasure in pointing out accompanying with 'of all the bars in Manhattan you walk in here and are confronted by this - unlucky.'

As the night grew long the punters got more and more animated in their adoration of the wigs. We were offered money for them, bribed by barmaids with drinks for 5 minutes wearing them, and eventually some cheeky little chick tried to steal mine and them Christiaan. Being the nice guy that he is, the man now known as Thirsty allowed her to dance with it for 10 minutes. she quickly disappeared until I spotted her rounding up her mates for a pending departure. I forced my way through the crowd to the door and stood out the front waiting for her to try to leave. Sure enough the little tart ran out - Christiaan's wig in hand - and started flagging taxis. Still donning my own green afro and now a burgeoning rage, I charged the little twerp and delivered a trademark hip and shoulder which she never saw coming. As she looked up, I snatched the wig from he hand and snarled "this isn't yours - you're not even Irish".

Feeling satisfied with myself I tried to rejoin the other back in the Mercury. Unfortunately the doorman didn't care too much that she was trying to steal the wig and I was just reclaiming it. I was not getting back in. I didn't put up much of an argument as I felt it was probably a good time to retire anyway. And I had another big week ahead of me - one last night at the Black Finn and a trip to Vegas. My head hit the pillow fully satisifed that I had done St Patrick proud.

The events of the Thursday night prior to Vegas have been censured following increased concerns over boozy behaviour from various NYPD Bule subscribers. The details approved for disclosure are as follows: Rob Dubs and I both received calls from the Black Finn informing us that we had 'won' a free two-hour happy hour from 5-7; the rest of the Eisner crew followed; Dubs had an allergic reaction after 40 minutes and was taken to hospital; I suffered an upset stomach 50 minutes in and was found by the Highlander 'talking to god' in the upstairs bathroom; Christiaan became so delirious after an hour and 20 minutes that he was ejected from the venue for the third time in a row. All that was missing was The Dude falling asleep at the bar - it probably happened but no one was there to notice. You will all be pleased to know that the three 'victims' mentioned above have subsequently decided that it would be a good idea to travel around Europe together. Deep breaths Mum & Dad - it will be ok.

Check the next post for my Vegas adventure.