Bits and bobs

Americans don't say "bits and bobs".

More unusual names of people I have met (of white folks)
Gidgeon, Jarrad, Bradford, Yaselle, Denise (not exotic but I never met a Denise in UK).

"New York - tolerant of your beliefs, judgmental of your shoes" storage advertising campaign.

A saying: "got your back". Very sweet this one. Just before my gradshow for musical improv level 1, the cast of improvisers, 12 of us, are waiting in the wings to go on stage and make up a show. And so people typically give each other meaningful touch, thumbs up, break-a-leg type blessings. This time a number of people came by me, gave a quick hug and said "got your back bruce....got your back matthew....got your back kathleen....". "Yeah and I've got yours heather". Which I guess means I am looking out for you, I'm sailing right behind kind of thing. I liked it.

Had our annual reviews today at work and I did ok! I always expect the worst but we got a pay-rise and I got a thumbs up. My boss' boss during the 'meeting' said "understand that with the rise comes greater expectation of you..." My boss (who I knew in UK too) said "welcome to America" with a grin. Nobody ever put that sting in the tail in UK.

Met a guy called Ed at at party who puts his arm vertically in the air when cycling in the city here. He said he assessed that many of the high up trucks can't see a cyclist in front of them hence he puts his arm up. As we made are way through the traffics to share Indian lunch - he's a colleague from networks - he did a little 'traffic calming' indicating to drivers that they need to wait their turn as we crossed.

I've been trying to work out what makes some women look quite so New Yorkish. Is it the way the outfits are complete? The shoes? The air of independence? The impeccableness? Something impossible to determine imbibed by the lifestyle I ask as I stop to watch a very white and silver salon on 60th street. It is full of women being groomed - in particular a spotless woman pleasuring her ipad distractedly as the stylist ties her hair into twists with foil or something.
So yes I think I worked out the key thing and I have now been on a dinner date with one of these New York types - having been on quite a many dates. It is indeed the hair. Always long, often like a thick shimmery curtain, voluminous, shiny, of the furcoat ilk, or some biblical middle eastern rare gifted commodity like frankincense - natural looking but at the same time very "done". A weapon! No doubt generated by costly green-goddess juices and smoothies and raw food sugar-free versions of cheesecake made with flax, cashew and raw cacao at $12 a slice.
So my date Audrey had straight red hair, meticulously parted, just above the shoulder length and it swung perfectly around her head with a slight curve at the ends as she ate her medjool dates wrapped in bacon and then excellent almond-crusted chicken....Her dress was body hugging black with dramatic white amoeba shapes all over it (but didn't look like a cow or a camouflage), tights and black knee boots, long chainlink silver dangly earrings. All very accomplished and glamorous but it's the hair that brings the formidability for better or worse.
She was ridiculously able. We sang songs on her 'stoop' with her guitar later on as the evening weather was so mild, and has continued to be. Stoop is the railed staircase area leading up to a brownstone front door. We certainly did hit it off and yes still, no.

Oh Lordy! It's MACY'S PARADE!

I'm kind of quite settled now here in the city - in a way as restlessly content as I was in London, only with added curiosity to explore where I live. It's a curious thing: I can see myself belonging here, I have   a lot of zeal to go and explore the rest of the states, slowly, but ultimately still see myself returning to UK - but to do what? Very strange. Love seems the only thing that could occupy that hole. And that leaves me now, feeling like I'm just having fun until I leave - that is not a nice feeling. But in way that is life no? Ha.

In any case I am certainly ticking the boxes. I ticked a box this last week which I didn't no existed: Macy's amazing Thanksgiving Parade.

Mona suggested we go and watch the parade's balloons be blown up on wednesday night, a classic romantic thing to do apparently, and on the upper west side, which is an area I don't get to that often though I do like it for it's classy avenues and blocks, the ayurveda centre, cosmopolitan-ness and Cleopatra's needle for free jazz. And I thought "hmm I don't think I need to watch balloons being blown up" and I opted for the early night.

Thursday was thanksgiving day itself and so a welcome day off work. And happily I could answer the frequent question "what are you doing for thanksgiving?" with "having dinner with a friend's family downtown". And this was to be in the early evening. Joanne's e-vite "Dinner with the Millers" had said "we will serve dinner at 6.30". I took this to be a note on promptness rather than formality (although the two are related I guess). So I wasn't late, but, what to do in the morning? Well it was a gorgeous sunny blue-skied cooold morning and what with things being closed and the city feeling a bit quiet, I took out on my bike at 8am thinking I might check the parade, which begun at 9am. And I must admit I wasn't really sure what to expect though I know I do like a marching band and I do like cheer-leaders and tight tight marching choreography very much. So after queuing for my splendid coffee beforehand I made my way to 772nd street, upper west to see...

Lots of fathers around with toddlers on their shoulders, one of whom I heard asking a street-bum how he liked his eggs. A fine kicking piles of fall leaves feeling around. Then I heard the voice on loudspeaker of a commentator which usually makes me shudder - oppressive, conformist and too loud and electric. This lead me around the corner to...a giant Sonic the hedgehog balloon bobbing facedown in the street with about 60 blue-suited humans beneath and around him pulling on strings which attached to him like in Gulliver's travels when he wakes up on the beach. BIG balloon - the size of a juggernaut (see pics below of course). What a thing! And funny to watch all the whistles being blown and co-ordination below to get the bobbing mono-expressioned game character edging towards Central Park West Avenue where the parade was processing.

Then I started to see the magnitude of the parade, which is in its 82nd year apparently and sponsored all this time by the family department store Macy's. So there are dozens and dozens of such huge balloons in gradual convoy bobbing above Central Park's trees, and the crowds (who assemble from 6am to get good spots), dancers, other floats and yes, majorettes trotting along like horses lifting those feet up waving first left then right in unison. Works for me!

Then the commentator, pointing out celebs like Woopie Goldberg on a pirate ship float and balloon characters just joining the parade from a tributary street like Sponge Bob Square-pants. Here is some commentary which I mind-snapped:

"and what's this! It's Sid the Centipede - the wildest insect in town! Over 70 feet in length and with no less than 30 controllers. He's capable of making some fun manouvres as he makes his way down the parade."

Once I remembered that I didn't like huge static crowds and that my bike was a major hindrance, I elected to try to race the parade on my bike down a parallel quiet avenue. This was actually more surreal. I would stop in the cool air and watch the space between 2 scrapers in the distance.

And lo! A giant crawling Spiderman would start to emerge between the buildings at about 6th story, above the park trees in the background. Very funny sight. And so it went on as I cycled and watched all the shapes, going in close towards the end so that I could see more bands and drummers.

And I made it back for 11pm for a parental skype. Somehow crazy, very American and traditional, not my thing at all in a way but definitely magical.

I wondered how far into a depression the US would need to be before a parade like that was considered an extravagance. Maybe they would do it anyway - who knows. Just such a strange juxtaposition when there are still 1000s of unliveable homes by the ocean after the hurricane. I'm not moralizing at all - just reflecting on the colo(u)rs life has.
I also now get how watching the balloons being inflated with good company, a slice of pumpkin pie and a flask of chai might make a fantastic evening.

In which I qualify as a New Yorker in one more respect

There has been a mouse in my house for about 6 weeks. After dark and I'm in bed, I hear her scuttling and gnawing behind the fridge area. I don't know what she does but I've gotten used to it. Sometimes I put in earplugs. We tolerate each other. But then! One day I came home to find...droppings under the grater on the counter! Now it's got serious. How does she get up there? And suddenly I can't eat at home until I've solved this one. And I'm biggest and I pay rent and I have artistic projects, so she has to move out. Now the hardware store offers the following methodologies: poisoned, twatted hard with iron bar on spring ("blood everywhere!" the Hispanic owner says triumphantly), or get stuck to gluey surface and rip off your fur/tail as you die of thirst or of squeaking. The internet has traps where they walk in to a plastic room and can't get out - sounded good but it got me thinking: can't I make one of those? Hmm maybe not. But surely I can trap a mouse....I use more internet and...

I get into bed at 10.30pm and start appreciating my memory foam once again and the newly applied duvet now that it is cold here. My mouse trap is set and I start to get out earplugs ready to cocoon off into slumber. Bang! My kitchen trash can receives a visitor landing from on high! "Dang!" I think, having only set it 4 minutes before. "I guess I set it much too teetering and its gone off on its own". But no! I hear intermittent scampering sliding little body sounds. My trashcan contains mouse! I get up, light on, absurdly slightly nervous checking out the can for my roomie. She's not there! Ah! But she is...and no bigger than my thumb and doing the stealth thing in the shadow of the corner keeping everso still. I give the can a shake. She squeaks and does several jumps up the can's plastic walls. I am glad I used the can and not my slow cooker now as vessel now that I see that a mouse really can jump 18" like the internet said.

Here is the trap:

1. Make a long cardboard tube.

2. Wipe blob of peanut butter on inner lip of end of tube.

3. Teeter tube over edge of kitchen counter.

4. Place trashcan beneath counter and tube.

5. Go quiet and wait.

Mice love a) peanut butter - oh yes they do! 4 minutes!  b) tubes - they just gotta do a nice tube if they see it!

So I put a tablespoon of water in the can and a little more peanut butter (pilfered from dandy 'olde' style peanut butter machine at work) to see her through the night. She jumps all night on and off - I shout "you're not going to die! Get some sleep..." She jumps and slides more.

In the morning smell of piss. I try to coax her into empty olive-pot for transportation but she is extremely skilled at fast slither manouvres though squeaks a few times at possibility of failure. So...she comes on my trip to work with me in the open-top trashcan. I resist introducing her to fellow pedestrians at numerous traffic lights. I walk 6 whole avenues to reach Central Park where she now resides. I place the can horizontally angled down a bit on the wall. She comes sliding off like a bmx rider and plops on the leaves a few feet below. She scuttles and sniffs. I take in her teeniness compared with the big bad city and of course...she finds a little pipe, a little hole, and I get why mouses love tubes. Safety! They can't be got.

The night is very quiet without her. I fantasize about her finding her way back from Central Park to her gnawed kitchen home. But so far the counter top is disinfected and sporting guacamole, sourdough, pickles and salads again....all for me.

Public chats of no small amusement

3 older women.

There was Carlotta who sat next to me on the bench outside nearby coffee shop of a sunday afternoon. She wore copper chords and tall boots, a long tawny merino cardi to her knees, Raybans, a little purse-bag - subtle green old suede with a big solid silver fastener, lots of blond hair, immaculate. Must have been nearly 60 and looking well. She used dowsing to sell paintings, was a health consultant (private) and was currently dowsing for gold in Colorado as a project. Her mother told her on her deathbed never to give up the pendulum. She came across sane but certainly eccentric. She said there were 6 rodents for every human in the city when I told her about mine. She believed life was too short to buy 'nack-offs' or copies of designer items. We celebrated Wholefoods.

Patricia, over 60, sat opposite me in the big well-lit cafe upstairs of Wholefoods near where I live with a big smorgasbord help-yerself cardbox box of raw stuff. A cold day, I was glad of choosing hot macaroni cheese and hot provencal white beans with some roasted tomatoes. In her brown broad shouldered suit and stretched tight facial skin and small eyes, she owned a Broadway theater and nonchalantly said she'd just bought Charing Cross theater in London with joined pub and was offering membership deals to the PriceWaterhouse-Coopers employees who worked in the stories above it. She didn't smile once but seemed to be enjoying things. She told me that Romney promised to make women   into prisoners if they had abortions. Why are women voting for him she exclaimed - I dont understand! Crazy times.

Adele I met on a bench outside the library. A character full of humour with a worn serious face. We enjoyed bitching about the miserable library staff, one of whom had told her off for being loud when she had a stern word with a child who was being loud. They are a funny staff. Adele must have been 70 - loads of rouge and black eye-liner and copper died hair. Black velvety outfit on her teeny frame sitting there with crossed arms and legs unamused by it all. She had worked in PR all her life and said they were all sleaze-bags. They had tricked her out of an artistic career. I described Madmen to her and she nodded. She added that PR were way ahead of advertising. I described Downton Abbey to her and we seemed to agree, based on my descriptions only, on its superiority owing to the couple of redemptive characters in it - who were kind and noble and interested in justice. I mentioned the wife in Madmen as a victim. Fascinatingly she took real objection. She closed her eyes and shook her head and said 'dont call her a victim - it's far more complicated than that.' I laughed and we chatted on. When I handed her my book 'The joy of living dangerously' (which I'm not yet but have made in-roads there) she held it one INCH from her good eye and scanned the title letter by letter. Her advice on buying a card for a pretty woman at work who only wears black ever and who I don't know, was not to risk a colourful card. She said she might freak out. I agreed.

John, my musical partner pointed out that the closeness of everything in Manhattan/Brookyln meant that you can get a lot done in a day in the way of meeing people, short trips etc. Made me think how that coupled with the ease of public chats must do a lot for business and development.
Carlotta claimed that staff in stores are expected to bring in clientele - a bit like having your own business but she dowses for Gold in Colorado.

Photos just uploaded!

http://www.flickr.com/photos/debrooze/
I just began using my flickr account. Now it has pictures from trip to Portland, Oregon and Cold Spring, New York.
Will post some writing soon.

The Girl With the Long Pretty Hair

I met a musician guy to play music with the other week. A guitarist, turns out he "majored in music/guitar man". He responded to my vocal advert for such when I played open-mic a few weeks back, and we finally had a play to see if it was fun. It was fun - he writes good music, excellent guitarist and good singer and we sounded alright together. But what is most story-worthy is the way he makes it work for him in the big city.
So John is Californian, about 30, muscular, deep tan, thick 5 o clock shadow - especially under the nose which makes him look slightly Spanish or Greek maybe. But generally looks like a regular Californian dude.
I make my way to N14th street in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. A confusing angular part of the road grid, I am guided by the streets to my left which end in water then scrapers, and to my right a parched park of baseball players enjoying the hot sun and lazy days. The neighborhood changes flavor very quickly; from pretty treed brownstones with folks tapping on ipads on their staired porches, to flip-flopped dog-walkers walking through chicken-wire fenced nondescript lots and half-finished looking corner shops (hand-written names) with tons of water melons outside. I arrive at N14th, which is a long typically empty street of huge abandoned looking warehouses, graffiti and has-been garages.
But today it is full of roaring Harley-Davidsons, tattooed and leathered folk and a loud live band playing at 1pm it is, with 3 lone sweaty moshers. Quite a sight and sound.
I call John from under a scruffy tree and he agrees to walk out as I cannot see number 180 for guns nor roses on any warehouse anywhere. He emerges from behind a chilli-dog BBQ table, with his slow Californian pace and I follow him into the huge blue concrete building.  He says he had no idea at all that this was going on. How? I think.
It is cool and shady - and quiet, apart from a distant crazy drummer practicing. The corridors of identical padlocked doors put me in the mind of the store of all my worldly goods in London, only here the rooms feature concrete rather than corrugated iron - and they are more cramped and a little less loved. No paid cleaner I'd say, scruffy but uniform. And pristine in the sense that the outside world ie. bikers party is completely shut out. Not a sound nor window.
We are standing in John's rehearsal space - which he mentioned when we first spoke. 8 foot square room, musty, industrial carpet, lit only by laptop as apparently the makeshift and very low metal overhead lamp heats the room quickly. As my pupils widen, I begin to see...guitars! Leaning, propped, hanging, dangling. Speakers. Oh a vinyl record collection. And what's this: a commercial food blender on the floor. How interesting.
"Your den of creativity!" I say - referring to the pretty good set of uploads he has on youtube.
"Ya..."
"And so you sleep here too?" I say in gest. And then I wonder - because I now can see carpentry - a permanent step ladder arrangement leading up over his shelved record collection.
His yes response puts me in the sweet spot. Are we joking? There is no window. It is teeny. What?
"No I really live here" he states indicating a bed shelf above our heads. He doesn't look remotely offended and my mind fills with questions. So he washes in the gym. He knows the super (-intendent aka caretaker) who encourages this economical choice. And on our 2nd rehearsal, he is drinking directly from the large blender goblet. He gives me the secret recipe. No trendy kale/spinach green-goddess inner brush here:
1 banana, 6 eggs, 1 T Hershey's chocolate powder (which he brandishes) and peanut butter.
Now if I ingested that, my digestion would cross its arms and say "and what do you suppose I can do with this?" But the whole arrangement comes to settle in my mind and on the side of charm rather than horror. I am reminded of the year in my early early teaching career where I slept in a tiny room in a sleeping bag, rolling it up in the day. I got off on the monkishness of it and enjoyed the low cost. But sleeping through guys rehearsing rock and roll down the corridor - one of the bands has a cracking drummer who can play double pedal bass like Napalm Death! Later we feel it pump in our ribcages. He says he sleeps through it all and does odd jobs. Rent is $300 pcm. Makes sense.
The fact that he has the sweetest song/video called The girl with the long pretty hair (very Californian sounding) adds to the contrasts around perfectly. ...which we harmonize and play with a huge whirring floor fan making us feel cool.

Male company!

Some more great characters last night in the city.

I met with a bunch of guys to go out to bars to people-watch and talk to the ladies on saturday night. The lady stuff was very fun - I met the perfect bunch of guys for enjoying it with.

They included a young French guy who is trying his luck as a magician in NYC - his card tricks were mind-blowing but he preferred not resort to those for his flirting - I guess as it his day job he's had enough. And a long dread-locked Carribean guy called Thol whose approaches were hilariously relaxed and with whom great exchanges were had about music. He seemed pleased that a Brit knew as much as I did about that, and gave a very nice compliment having established he liked British women and wanted to visit:

"Well man, you know having met you I'm gonna put another extra dollar in my trip to UK jar"

And Al, a guy who spoke like Al Pacino. Turns out that Al works in NYC for the UN and had a 2 year clandestine relationship with somebody much younger at work - and which was very much disapproved of for various reasons when it got out (the policy is "don't shit where you sit - don't screw the crew!"). But you have to imagine him recounting the situation in his accent. He was explaining how he dealt with all the gossip once it got out. Seemed like he knew how to handle the politics and information flow of it by starving it out when people asked him. He basically gave nothing away:

"Oh really, is that so? We lived together for 2 years? And no one knew? How many kids did we have? Well l must be fucken Houdini..."

We're all a bit backward at venturing out and talking to beautiful women so to help ourselves out we put it that it was all about rejection - let's see how many we can get, rejections that is. I must say I found it very funny talking to women having removed the need to succeed. I found myself bursting into laughter half way through the interaction which seemed to come across as happiness. Plus it was a noisy bar which covers, and generates, a multitude of sins. I got lots of tips on where to go later on in the night. Which isn't my thing so I went off home to bed, this time anyway.

I reflected on how city bars are probably very similar the world over now - same drinks, same music, same lighting, same crowd. 

First snaps with sony nex5

Double-click on image to get slideshow...

a/c colony

on brooklyn bridge

one-handed bike ride through brooklyn heights

statue of liberty

my street

sunday evening south brooklyn

view from my bloomberg tower 24th story with black corners

still don't know how to use new camera

Blue Smoke

I now know where I'd take visiting friends for an American night out. The perfect blend of a bit of class with something very American (Texan really), very enjoyable and quite special.

So Daphne, an improv buddy invited me along with some of her family and friends to Blue Smoke, a rib joint on 28th street in Manhattan. 'You eat meat don't you?' she asked. 'I do' I replied though my policies were rapidly kicking in: not to eat heavy food late at night, especially a school night, and not to eat beef as it is chewy and heavy.

'What do they serve?', I asked. 'Meat' she replied with a slight no-compromise-possible-there shake of the head. And I went for it as she is great company and the whole thing seemed like a good idea. Plus I really liked the way one of her friends initiated a chat with me in the bar where we were. Rather than introducing herself or worrying about names etc., she leant in as if we'd already been talking a while and said "I eat one hotdog a year - just to acknowledge that its' summer" and we were off. 

So Blue Smoke. Love the name. A big restaurant with booths aswell as Walton's kitchen table type tables. We took one of the latter. There was a huge broken mirror on the wall near us, very high ceiling and a feeling of enjoyment in the place. The slightly ramshackle nature of the mirror and scrubbed wooden floor resonated nicely against the more chic soft blue and white lighting and excellent quality feel of the intelligent menu.

I say intelligent as the specials were exciting, the crisps (chips..) with blue cheese dip were made on site (and were truly amazing - the dip was so cheesy and fresh tasting - but not to fill up on those!). And there was a nut-free menu which is why my buddy, who is very allergic and has made into her career as allergy-expert very successfully, had chosen this joint. 

Soon after we'd settled in, we were getting impatient. The flow of huge creamy plates of arrays of curving Brooklyn-bridge shaped ribs with pickles passing by were really bringing out the saliva and the caveman in all of us. The juicy evil glistening dark brown kill on the plate! 

But then our waitress introduced the table to another waitress, Rio, who would apparently be taking over our table. Once this had been done, the new, funky looking spiky-haired waitress promptly marched off.

Monica said "where's she going? What about our order?"

Daphne "oh she needs to put on more sparkles and do a little dance out the back before she can do that..."

then later when she re-appears:

Daphne (to the waitress) "We are sooo ready for you!" (meaning we are getting very impatient - but said sweetly and firmly)

Rio (opening her arms and doing a slow, high amplitude shimmy looking up to the sky): "And I am so ready for you!" (winning endearment)

Then later, once Daphne had asked why the slaw was not on the nut-free menu, as the waitress came back from enquiring:

Daphne: "Oh is that a bad face?" (frownsome face seen as she approached)

Rio: "No, it's a trying to hold lots of information in my head face".

You can probably tell I was enjoying the forward nature of the interaction with the waitress. Very fun.

Soon after that our ribs appeared along with a brushed aluminum bucket centre-piece, for....the bones!

And bones there surely were.

I now understood Daphne choosing the rib joint. I know that she is sensitive about what she eats and when - she is digestion-concscious.

I've never had ribs before and was fascinated by the animalness of the ends of ribs - the visceral nature of them.

And while there is plenty of meat there, the impressive volume on your plate and in your caveperson hands, is mostly bone. And the meat strips off and melts in your mouth! And so tasty and ...light! Doesn't feel like beef. Fang, the Chinese guy who sits behind me at work commented that meat near the bone is the most tasty. I would say Chinese might well be the authority on that.

We all had salt and pepper rubbed ribs which were just lovely. There were also dishes of slaw and southern greens - very fresh and super tasty. And we had doggy bags to take home - a rib for breakfast!

So come ye to Manhattan and stay that I may ply you with beef like satin, and comments like this from our waiter:

"Here you are you lovely people"

Said with affection on presenting the bill.

Ha! Quite separate occasion. But this seems like NY wit to me:
Daphne walks down the street with me on her right and Scott on her left and says to me:
"well as Chris here was telling me"

..then immediately on realizing that it was Scott, added as if planned all along:

" who looks a lot like Scott" (without a blink or a blush).

More deltas

Wait!
When folks are chatting in a group, let's say someone starts a joke by saying something funny and everyone laughs. If another member wants to add to the humour or chip in, they say 'wait!' or 'but wait!' e.g. 'wait! She was also the one that was late for the after-party' ah haa ha haa hahaa.. etc.

Very mixed feelings about
Pet shops (of which there are very many) sometimes feature puppies or kittens in the window. Very sweet to watch tumbling around in the shredded paper.

Advanced society
There is a hardcore cyclist presence in Manhattan and especially Brooklyn. An undergoundy group called times-up organise all kinds of free events from moonlit park rides to fountain rides, involving jumping in public watery areas in the heat and most inspiring of all to me: on a Thursday night you can take your bike to a free drop-in workshop and fix it/ change it/ service it using tools and kit provided there, helped along by an expert volunteer cyclist.

Salmoning

Cyclists who cycle the wrong way along NY streets/avenues which are mostly one-way. They irritated me a lot at first but now I just steer around them and that's that.

High temperatures
The first milks I bought here, I enjoyed the creamy taste of and felt fortunate in a shoulder-shrugging way at just how long the large carton lasted in the fridge (well over 10 days!) But then I always did like the taste of UHT milk when camping - which doesn't need refrigeration and lasts and lasts because the bugs/bug-supporting stuffs in the milk have been blown into high heaven by ultra high temperatures. And unsurprisingly this treatment destroys the enyzmes and some of the other good things in the milk.
So I read on the packaging of even the organic milks here that they are 'ultra-pasteurized'. And on the web I learn that UHT = ultra-pasteurized. This suits the retailers/providers who can manage their supplies better but makes for a lower quality product. So far I have only found one store in Manhattan (Food Emporium - an expensive chain) which carries a non-UHT milk, which happens to be organic too. Which makes me feel like I'm getting something terribly earthy when it is just basic pasteurised stuff (60oC treatment) normal to the U.K stores.

Improv 1

My improv class ended this week.
It's been great, a wonder-choice for entry into New York city life. Partly because it gives me instant contact with people socially at least once a week. So my Tuesday evening 7-10pm slot has been enjoyably anticipated (I even took to having a tasty 'mini-tiffin' thali at one of the celebrated Indian restaurants in the area around 28th/Lexington beforehand, to add to the routine!) Also because playing about like children is great after serving the machine all day. But mainly because a fundamental part of improvising with other people is to develop a sense of trust and rapport, which involves of course listening, taking risks and inevitably looking stupid and breaking ice pretty quickly. So quite quickly I had some new friends, including 2 who I am sure I will continue to see now that the 8 weeks is up.
And part of the course is that we get to do a 'grad show', a 50 minute set of improvised scenes based on audience suggestion. We are still pretty bad at it of course but it went well. Interestingly the qualified regular actors on our 'level 1' course, weren't necessarily the best at improvising, but were the best at doing characters/emotion, being on display and projecting.

There are no less than 3 improv schools in NYC - they all have their own impressive premises with lots of studios for classes and a big theatre and bar - which are a bit studenty but great for that too. So interesting that there is such a buzz of improv in New York. The equivalent in London has a pretty loyal following and is very good quality but it does not have the turnover of students evident here.
Standing backstage having been told 'places' by the front of house, I loved the signs on the stage entry door like 'what to say next is in your partners eyes'. Also 'yes, and...' which is the universal improv chant, the idea being that when your partners on stage imply or direct the scene a certain way (e.g by saying "so it's great that you agreed to come and get a Brazilian done with me Janine", you must  comply and then build on it rather than deny their idea either subtly or crudely ("er, we're fighting a war in Iraq!"). Which means you really have to bend as the idea you just had may not fit.

I did a scene where Chinese Emelda (BioChem Phd student moved to US 7 years ago) taught me to shoot a pistol as a keen apprentice cowgirl.
And I did a scene where Stan (Chicagoan young buck commercial realtor who uses the word 'man' in sentences addressing men so very authentically) helped me to prepare a shepherd's pie for new girlfriend, which began with me celebrating love with moans as I mashed the potato.
Good fun!

And tonight I saw one of the dozens of nightly improv shows on every night of the week. The suggestion was the Olympics of course and the team of 3 women pulled out the most entertaining set of scenes for us - so convincing and natural. They ranged from a female archer who was denied being seen in press interviews by her team because of her unsightly mustache. In another scene later on, a news TV show, she was then announced as being disqualified for turning out to be a man....etc. They did it very well.
Olympics! I youtubed the opening ceremony to find it wasn't on there disappointingly. I wonder how it is for y'all in London.
Anyhow their skill at making interesting moment to moment scenes reminded me of something that buddy Darren said once, something that I realised I had assumed too but hadn't crystallized into words. And that is that he gets the sense that good improvisers are fundamentally different from good tennis players, knitters, cooks, musicians etc. in that we (Darren and I) get the sense that they are just better..... people somehow - because the art seems to be part of being human in some intrinsic way. It has totally to do with having your attention on yourself and others in balance, empathy, tracking the moment as it unfolds and being able to draw naturally on everything you have ever experienced as well as abandoning control to your silent instincts as they flow. All this as a simple thing rather than as a mighty conundrum. Children seem to do it effortlessly before they get self-conscious and sassy.
I haven't concluded that this is all true at all, but it is an interesting one.

A few times in yer life you get really really wet

This Sunday night was good:

4 of us on bikes through the city. We follow Mona who rides like Spiderman in her red poker-dot dress which flies up above big pink knickers, through the skyscrapers - a daredevil! We wait for each other at junctions. Solidarity! Yellow cabs parp! We make it to Central Park after dark in search of the Woody Guthrie family concert. It has finished but we don't care. The park is beautiful and empty in the moonlight, we cycle fast down the hills and Mark says his long bike is his pirate ship. He has a pirate's beard and loopy mustache. He says my name for no reason. We sing a pirate shanty. We head towards the drumming. We lean our bikes altogether in a locked huddle. It has begun raining. There is a big group of French-speaking North Africans drumming and piping on huge homemade colored trumpets in a very foreign manic rythm. We dance in the rain on and off madly. Mark hides in the shadows. We dance with children. It feels a bit hippy, a bit wild, slightly dangerous but mostly just warm and wet and matter-of-fact. I feel the abandon is anti-doting the hours in front of the screens. Mark says he senses psychoticness in the vibes. Barbara says lets go. We saddle up and then her sister joins us. Then it REALLY rains, torrents and waterfalls. It makes us laugh. We head for the huge stone bandstand where another group of black guys are listening to my favorite other music on a big speaker: Shalamar (early 80s black soul). Mona dances in the rain while we watch from the bandstand catching the water dripping off our noses with our tongues. Mark says it is like the jungle: the lions, cheetahs and gazelles shelter near each other even though normally they are not friends. The rain is literally a rain-check. I liken it to not shooting at tea-time in Burma. I enjoy being near the black guys in the rain. Then we go for late night burritos and cocktails(virgin for me) before bed. There will be more screens in the morning.

Spoken things


These exerpts seemed somehow a bit American - or maybe not. But they seemed slightly different to the banter I'm used to....


Mona: Did anybaardy see the new Men In Black movie yet?
Jo: 'Black in time'?
Mona: That what it's called? - that's so stoopud
Jo: Not that but somethin like that
Mona: yah-ha
Andy: Right - it *is* as stoopud as that, it's just not that.


 * * *


Judy cowering on her bike as it starts to really pelt it down:
Yikes! I furgaart my invisible shield


 * * *


We were talking about the different places we had to get back to in Manhattan on our bikes at about 11.30pm and realised how near we were to Judy's (77th) whereas I am on 61, Mona on 45 and the others further down. We'd only ended up on 77th because of the Guthrie concert in Central Park and then sought refuge in a nearby eatery from the rain.
Judy in the middle of the throng of conversation: 'Yeah thanks for coming uptown to see me guys'


* * *


Barbara, 47 years of age, on being asked how she would describe herself in one word by Mona:
C*nt.
(I have no idea where that came from by the way - but it was very funny at the time.)


* * *


Mike (guy sits near me, describes what it's like being in his new team to an ex-team member in the elevator going down):

There's quide a lard of starrt-up time workin out what's going arn up there

How I would say it:

It's taking me while to get used to everything before I can actually be useful to the team

First night with native showing me lots of fun things

Online dating is great for socializing, whether or not it is for anything else I've always found. I have many times wondered how there could be a 'friends' equivalent, but I guess it doesn't have the same massive evolutionary force behind it. Anyway it seems like folks in US, or NYC anyway, are quite keen to meet daters fairly soon after making contact. So I have met one lady who has certainly shown me some good times. And I'm not in the market for other than good company just now, when everything sparkles so much that I can't think of focusing on one sparkly person, and therefore the good times I speak of, can be spoken of in detail here! If you get my drift...

So Mona, we'll call her, told me she liked me after about 3 minutes like this "I like you!" Funny how you do know pretty quickly. Even funnier when people say what they think, especially if it's good news. I think another lady I met could have said the opposite equally quickly. I met Mona at an intriguing spot in NYC, actually a very well known one which she named and which I had never heard of.

She was sitting on the grass next to her very flowery very hippy bike, wearing a pink dress, shoes off, having just been woken up by a very cute little boy which brought tears to her eyes. We were inbetween the glory of 2 bridges: Manhattan and Brooklyn, which spoke off over the river in their spectacular paths. There is a park area underneath the overpass (flyover) which leads up and around to the bridges. Infact we were down under the manhattan bridge overpass aka DUMBO. There was a Jewish wedding going on next to the beautifully restored old carousel there and the sun was setting - the best of which I caught on the ferry over the river from 35th street. I chatted to an English woman whose hair shone and blew in the wind next to her lacy white dress on her way out for the night with her fellow holiday-making friends. We established that folks are not friendly in New York. Nice, helpful, yes. But not friendly. A curious thing to feel more and more resident, accentuated by talking to a fellow Brit as tourist.

But my talking to strangers has got absolutely nothing on Mona's - she demonstrates unwittingly throughout the whole evening. She plays with fierce looking dogs out with their tattoed muscley owner, chatting to him who stands their coyly proud of his dogs. She asks a group of girls on the grass if they know the song 'Call your girlfriend' - as she is trying to win a competition with me about song lyrics. She asks as if she was their sister. They reply as if she was their sister. 

She asks the people next to us at a gorgeous little bar in Red Hook in Brooklyn what they ordered, covetting their dishes. This we cycled to - first on cycle path and then through the very quiet residential but funky streets. There are cool warehouses turned artist studios around, like at Hackney Downs and lots of sunbleached young folks literally hanging outside bars in the heat with flip flops, looking gorgeous and young. And they are more friendly - especially because of Mona though I think, who has the open to connection vibe a bout her, despite being many years older than most of them, and a good few more than me.

I particarly enjoyed how she says to the barman in one breath: "what's your name? Oh I love that name" (Zak his name). She flirts with him and then speaks across to the guys around the corner of the bar, who are finishing up their delicious plate of mushroom-stuffed chicken breast with kale (big in USA is kale - you can get it dried as a snack, shredded raw as salad, fried with meat, steamed with garlic dressing - it's everwhere) and roasted polenta steak. I know it is delish as we order the same to share with a cocktail that I don't recall, but it has whipped eggwhite on top dotted with orange bitters. All very exciting and tasty to me. 3 cocktails and one main (entree in US parlance) = $60 = £40 ish.

When she speaks to the guys she asks if they know the black lady next to them who has just left. They say she's local which interests her. She then asks them where the girls are. They dutifully excuse their partners and she teases one of them about not going to the wedding with the girl in question, who has gone to the wedding. He responds saying it's early on in the relationship.

So you can see what good value a date Mona is. I get to hang out with locals and watch her at work, and eat at fabulous little places that do thoughtfully cooked food.

It gets better twice though. First we head off to Sonny's, owned by Sonny who Mona knows, a music bar nearby which features a fantastic blue-grass jam every saturday night. The great things about it were:

- 10+ musicians taking part on the low stage, rotating

- some musicians were girls

- banjos and guitars and passionate vocals everywhere

- beards everywhere (the sudden appearence of beards as you cross from Manahattan to Brooklyn is I expect a well-used source of standup humour)

- guy on harmonica *very* animated with his long swingy curly hair bob and short beard - plays it mean

- house double bass! - this I have no problem picking up and playing along to a few - love the way the next singer approaches me to teach me the chords in 20s to the next song. The harmonica guy says later on to me "you don't have to slap it  - your are putting other musicians off". So I 'walk' the next 2 numbers before joining the audience who are very attentive and into the music. Great atmosphere and they play til very late.

Secondly we go back via the famous Brooklyn Heights. There is a cycle path which leads up to a silent benched lookout. And boy does it lookout. It's tremendous and I now learn is famously so at night. For a few hundred metres across the black water is the statue of liberty, very small and lit up all green and splendid in the distance, tourists subsided for the day. To her left the low bright lights of New Jersey and a couple of islands. And then to her right Manhattan rises up out of the black like a stretched up space city of lights. Breathtaking.

We cycle back over Brooklyn bridge at gone 2am and I am in bed by gone 3am. I suffer terribly from the exhaustion of it all the next day with a class A migraine. Cocktails with not enough water probably didn't help. Mona apparently is fine. She is a casting director for commercials and she is up and bright-eyed for work. Some people's constitutions, my oh my.

Shot is Brooklyn bridge from DUMBO.

Sunday p.m. quickie

OK I really need a camera now as it would really enhance things here.
I missed the last 8.20pm East River ferry bus home from Williamsburg, Brooklyn tonight on account of the open mic session being worth it.

Therefore I cycled back over Williamsburg bridge. It's a good 15-20 minute ride across as it spans a lot of land from high up, aswell as the river, to plonk you down near 1st Avenue. The land part is fun in itself as you get to peer down into villagey areas with planned blocks of accommodation, and spy Manhattan bridge in its majesticness playing peekaboo behind the blocks as you scoot along.

Most poetically tonight, the metal caging around the wide cycle-path forming one of the corridors that is Williamsburg bridge (there is a separate corridor for subway trains and others for vehicles), is colored a dark pink which matched the gorgeous sunsetting sky straight ahead as you go. Really beautiful balmy evening, and several lone people going hard with their cameras at getting a great shot of the sky and the buildings.
I like the cage as on Manhattan bridge the cycle path has less protection from the side and I couldn't stop fantasizing about slipping under the railing and falling down down - it's a long way up. Exhilerating though.
It made me want to keep a second bike for visitors as there is nothing like the freedom of cycling these beautiful routes at the right time of day. Eager to taste everything, I did hold my hand out for the slightly painful high-five which was offered to all, by a guy coming fast the other way.

And what a fun offering I returned from. An open mic afternoon before the real live set of the evening in a characterful wooden bar called Pete's Candy Store in Brooklyn. Very similar to London of the same - a line of white guys with their guitars patiently watching while they wait to go on. Only this one this afternoon anyway had lots of women too and to my equal joy a black couple, who won the prize for me:
Guy with afro and beard on funky stratocaster guitar who did some very soulful backing vocals in the bridge to chorus "oh no no no no noooooo". And a beautiful woman with long hair and a yellow dress, very many white teeth and excellent microphone control - holding it down for the high loud held notes. It was a step towards Womack and Womack or Minnie Riperton. The chorus went:
Tight (pause)
Tight (pause)
Tight (pause)
...our love is...
I laughed at the upbeat soulful sincerity of their song. Solid as a rock...that's what this love is.

Hard to look cool at the moment in the heat. Or at least to look vintage for guys. Shorts and t shirt, which is all that is tolerable under the furnacing sky just now just isn't very retro. And everyone looks the same.

Space 2 (or Bruce's space saving discoveries)

(I will actually write about New York rather than my apartment eventually!)

So if John, or Jaarn as he pronounces it (which curiously is the Nordic sound of the same name I guess), was to come and see my pad, his reaction would probably be: "but it looks the same as mine before I put anything in it!"
And my reaction would be "yes - that is what I loved about the place when I first saw it, the shellness of it, the empty space."
So my whole endeavor has been to make it livable, which means adding objects, without spoiling it!
There is a shop next to work called 'The Container Store'. Maybe they have them in London, probably do, or similar. But it is hard not to get enamored with the sets of boxes, racks, hooks, velcro wonders, hangers, frames, buckets, and shelves. One can make a whole hobby out of containing things.
So here is my handy list of discoveries from trying, stroking my chin and looking and also listening to New Yorkers:

Bed - just have a mattress on the floor.
It saves space - vertically, which may seem irrelevant but the body/eyes feel the difference when that unused space is empty, its more relaxing. But also horizontally, the frame does take up space.
And extra fabulously, if you make your apartment a no shoes zone, then this kind of bed dramatically expands the walkable area of your apartment. I walk across my bed to get to my shelving upon which are sets of nice looking bamboo boxes full of all manner of necessary things.

Fridge - use it to store anything.
So I like the huge fridge as it makes me feel I'm abroad. But I can't fill it. It's a waste really. Although I've taken to putting all kinds of things in it:
Cereal, oils, condiments, flour and grains -> in the fridge.
Rolling pin, empty plastic containers and cheese grater -> in the freezer compartment.

Table - choose the right one.
Get one with a central pedastal rather than legs, then you have more space at your disposal. At dinner parties more can fit comfortably around it and there is less framing of space going on - restrictions - it feels more spacey.
I managed to get a nice old oak one with central support secondhand.
Its the same with chair-side drink table.

Teeny shower room (ie sink, shower and w.c in unfeasible space)
The main thing I found is to keep clutter out the way. Put unused things out of sight or throw them out. Buy a transparent shower curtain to keep the space open.
And to cheer up what can otherwise be quite a grim dark room, put up a shelf at shoulder height above the w.c and put a pophos or peace lily (shade tolerant) on the shelf to cheer the room up a bit.
Hang towel on shower curtain rail of course.

Walk-in Closet - maximize use
From my realty broker - put up 2 clothing rails: one at normal shoulder height and another up above.

Kitchen area - optimize!
I have a dish drainer attached to the wall above the sink/surface now. It acts as drainer and storage. And as there is only 2 foot square kitchen surface (imagine it!) and NO draining board, this is vital. And it frees up kitchen cupboards for ingredients (that are not in the fridge!)

Plants - hang from ceiling

Shelving - vital
I have a low shelf next to my bed(mattress) for bedtime things. And under it are 2 metal gauze containers (from The Container Store of course) with smalls in.
And extra gloriously: what the heck to do with the enormous costly suitcase that is ugly and won't be used til I move on? And what to do with shoes?
London buddy Suse P had an inspiring shoe solution with a tall thin vertical hubby-hole unit, custom made for shoes. It takes up little space and looks attractive.
Then Toronto Helen suggested having a wide shelf with a curtain hanging from it in the kitchenish room. So behind the drape goes the cheap and less attractive shoe rack (the only sawdust and glue thing I have put in the place I am proud to say) and the suitcase.
And happily on that shelf goes the toaster. A place for everything. I even managed to get some really cool fabric for the drape.

And most of all - space is inviting if clutter is kept out - vigilance!

Space 1

Went for a health screening at work last week. Flying colours! Low cholesterol, correct blood sugar levels, fat, weight, low blood pressure - she told me to get out of bed slowly and its true I do stumble a bit in the mornings,
Not too long before that I had an ayurvedic checkup in a welcome random ayurveda center on the upper west side. I attempted not to fall in love with the young Indian ayurvedic doctor, who was reading her bhagavad gita when I went in, as she gently but tightly closed her exotic eyelids so that she concentrate on feeling my pulse with her right hand.
Result? I have an exhausted nervous system due to overstimulation, I am impatient and likely to get skin problems and my digestion is sluggish. I smiled at the report as I have heard it all before from folk in UK, my Dad being one of them. Plus I more or less knew these things from just being me.
Amongst many remedial measures, she told me to eat for lunch a soup of rice and lentils and zucchini which I could cook in a crock, a slow-cooker in the morning.
So this weekend I went on to craigslist.com to hunt for a crock. And whaddyaknow, there is a guy called John on the upper east side (ie same side as me) selling his black oval crock for $15.
I mailed asking to come and buy it. He replied asking what sort of time. I replied stating my addressish and when I would leave. He replied with his full address. And whaddayknow again, it is the John who lives in the apartment next to me. We sleep feet away from each other. He watches tv while I watch my laptop.
So the deal was done. But the cool thing is that I got to see another treatment of exactly the same shaped apartment; somebody else's take on the space. So interesting!
I recoiled!
So John has lots of big dominating bulky, cloggy or at least light cutting objects in his place:
Big floppy curtains
Normal double bed with lots of duvets, pillows etc.
Big wardrobe
Big sofa
Rug
Huge black plasma tv oppoite sofa
Weight training machine thingummy
Other cabinety things

And generally very little walkable area from which he produced his crock.
And no space for a table.

This is the exact opposite to my philosophy, as you can probably tell, when trying to make the most of small space anyway. I could dig watching a movie on his tv though.

In which smell-shiners are accepted

It's been super hot and muggy the last couple of days in the city. There was even an announcement from the electricity company (ConEd) in shops for people to turn off unused lights and computers as the cooling equipment used in this kind of 'event' uses bezerk amounts of electricity.

I still haven't gotten around to buying a cooling/airing device though I continue to gaze at them - both up in the rises, and on street level where they buzz away like a sort of insect doing a soft mating call and yet serving humans at the same time.

I am lucky, apparently, to have 2 sets of windows in my place. There are 2 big windows that look out to the street and other apartments across a tree. And there is a back window which opens out into a light/air-shaft that comes down in the middle of the block. It is a long narrow shaft meaning neighbours in the same block have facing windows only about 8 foot away. They remind me of staying in unluxurious city hotels and my sister's room in the nurses accommodation she had in Paddington when I was 14.
It's a peculiar thing the shaft. It is a totally inaccessible space and therefore is unloved and dirty. It allows light and air from quite far above, rendering the room depending on it, still pretty dingy. Air quality isn't great anywhere and this shaft is worse because people have their aircon machines perched on the sills shining out their living smells and air into the shaft - and at me! who hasn't got one to shine it right back!
One night when I had a bad headache I got quite down about it. The light coming from windows when I needed dark, and the musty smell from the shaft. It smelt sawdusty and furry - not awful but just not fresh. And I began to smell things into the sawdusty smell, like pet's piss - only very slight. This was worsened on my first night sleeping in the backroom (which is the kitchen) by the large US fridge coming on abruptly through the night: Ber-kw-ARP! a-dum-whirrrurrrurrurrurrurrurrurr.

Headacheless and rested though it's fine. It's not that bad at all. And now I'm 4 weeks in this place I don't notice any smell. In fact it got better in a jump last week when I realised that the sawdust part of it was coming from my homemade shelves near my bed! Which I am pleased with. I was breathing the wood. Funny how once you know the source of the smell, it becomes ok - mind stops running riot.
Then the shaft reminds me of the ugly naked guy in Friends which makes me laugh. For I am naked in the apartment often, or atleast underwear only and cannot be bothered to worry about the fact that neighbors can/could/do see. I notice that they keep curtains and net curtains and other things which gather dust, restrict light even more and just look depressing to me.

The fridge cure came from my mother's practical influence as a child. I remember her explaining that an ice-pack made a cavy type space cool, and that a sealed metal container heated, is an oven. Wonderful to find that you can bake scones in a pan therefore. And you can turn a box into a fridge.
What am I getting at? Simple: keep a large bag of ice in the ample freezer box in the day. And transfer it to the fridge in the night; and turn the fridge OFF! Victory.

The shaft also reminds me of a large seemingly bottomless black round hole in the ground in Malawi called Chingwee's hole which terrified me as a child. It reminds me because I can't lean out far enough to see the shaft's bottom. I've been having wild dreams in NYC too and a dear friend fell down the shaft on a visit in one of my dreams last week. They were ok though...

So I do plan to buy an aircon machine - but I shall shine it out of the windows in the gorgeously light end of the apartment. There is lots of good influence in the room to balance out its crude technological insectness. I guess when its wafting back its cool air, I shall come to love it as a friend. The good influence is the rich brown oak table, large wooden-framed mirror, mahogany guitar and comfy black beautiful leather Danish futon. Massive bunch of daisies in a wine decanter on the table aswell.

I've gotten used to the fridge now too at night. And why sleep in the kitchen or rather, have the kitchen in my bedroom? I want the light and beautiful room, with its 'view', to be a place to sit uncompromised by a bed - albeit by an aircon machine eventually.
But the main thing is I sleep well and can achieve a level of comfort where I feel rested and good walking out into dreamy Manhattan. I'm sure that those of you who visit, or use it as a vacation pad will really enjoy it too.

American sounding names in my evening class

(All women)

Ashleigh

Rooey

Delaney

Roxanne

Sloane

Lois

Day out with first guest

Be warned!
My apartment is lovely for one. But it is small.
I had my first guest this long weekend. Helen, from Toronto. She was so very tolerant of me in the space - I find cramped spaces pretty tricky. I am going to get better. So the gates are open! If only a little...
Anyway it was lovely with Helen. Hot in the city so we took ourselves on the 25 minute river bus ride to cool and no high-rises Williamsburg of Brooklyn, where everyone thinks they are a rockstar. We looked back at the high-rises and breathed in the sensational clear sprayed air. There was excellent coffee and organic homemade raspberry popsicles, with seeds in of course, once there. There was the flea market! Over-priced but lots of lovely stuff and you can haggle.
It was fun getting the 5 foot square mirror that I bought home on the boat together. Involved lots of photos and a nice ice-breaker with other folks who looked in it, asked how much it was - one lady bit her finger and said I'd been had. But it looks grand in my 'lounge'. I'm thinking of getting a hanging plant and soon there will be a double bass. Just like in London!
The mover guy who moved my second-hand oak table said I'd been done. The old Bronx guy who sold it me was such a character - giving directions LOUDLY and s...l....o....w...l....y. And he told me I was a nice person. Which might be code for 'you have been shafted.'
Online dating is proving interesting. Far more lively - far more folks say hello. And I've got interest - textually anyway - from black ladies in Brooklyn. One lady is a little bit Alicia Keys and the other lady reminds me more of Floella Benjamin. Very curious by the black folk in NYC. Sorry to keep mentioning it but I am.

Of smelling,tasting and shelving

NYC is noisy and smelly. Mostly it's the sooty traffic smell you get coming through, big blasts of it sometimes on the streets, and other times just a feeling of lack of fresh air generally. Certainly on the bike, my glands swell up with the fumes and I feel the membranes in my nose sooting up - they speak to me: "Bruuuce - what are you doing?" It's a tricky one.
And the avenues, as in '5th' and 'Lexington' (still love the names), which go in long straight lines all the way from up to downtown, are sometimes 6 lanes and usually one way. This means you get a free for all river of vehicles teaming down, including beefy great trucks with horrendously loud engines. No surprise at the volume and smells.
So far I am mostly on my own! This is good because I hate shouting above traffic.
And then every now and then, I don't know if it's the heat, but unlike London also, you get a sudden waft of something organic and unpleasant, not exactly sewagey, but reminds me of some of the wafts I remember in Malawi as a child. Stinky!

There is no equivalent of Yeovalley plain yoghurt here.
Its hard to find bread as tasty as in London. Even the 'artisan' loaves in Wholefoods chain and in markets are just not as tasty and satisfying as loaves easy to find in London.
Coffee - also rare to find a delicious cup.

I had a tomaydoe/tomarto moment in beloved Wholefoods. I wanted 'butter'. The guy said 'pasta?'. 'No...butter'. 'Hmmm. I don't think we have thayat.' 'Oh I'm certain you do....butter!'
Rather than adopting a US accent I find myself pushed further into English, even though it makes me feel isolated and prim. This was after a lady said she was disappointed at the weakness of my accent! And also after one alpha guy called Ken spoke of his respect for grammar and clarity in the English.
Anyway to get butter, I did an inner shrug, captured the 'r' with lips opening out, softened the 'tt' do 'dd' and was shown where the budderr was.

Manhattan, mid-town atleast - where I am living/working, there is NOwhere to sit and eat a homemade sandwich. I stand on the corner feeling trapped in a desert of road-grid and office blocks! In London you don't have to go far to find a backstreet doorstep or an alley or pedestrianized bit to sit and have a quick lunch. But here there is often absolutely nowhere to perch. What a strange discovery.

Work lunch choices are humungus. There are so many places to go. So much choice. There's quite a few in London but it's not the same. There certainly aren't the hot/cold buffets which are very common in Manhattan. You can buy by weight: a fragment of baked salmon, some roasted vegetables, a chicken wing and some bacon beans with a teaspoon of melon salad if you want. And they are tasty and decent.
I seem to be fussy however and after most bought lunches, feel a bit lacklustre in the afternoon, in a way which I never do if I bring food from home. And so I'm forming a list of so far 3 places which make me feel energetic afterwards. Which is the same total as in London. One of them is a great Mexican chain called Chipotle - really fresh, really well designed - a good quick, full veggy meal for about £5. Pizza slice is another really good option. They do it so very well.

Had a funny 'have a nice day' moment yesterday. Store staff are good at varying it. Sometimes it's "enjoy your day/afternoon", or "have a good one", or "you take care now".
I was coming out of Home Depot - essentially a really good B&Q - which is round the corner from my office - an underground warehouse of DIY goodies. Sometimes a sweet old lady asks what you are after when you come in and then remembers what it was as you go past on the way out: "did you faand your shelves?" Which I had. I bought wood opting to make my own so that my apartment isn't too instant/consumery.
I've been to Home Depot many times in the past week and each time I get asked at least twice if I need help by a wondering employee. This is excellent as I nearly always do as it is so huge and my knowledge a bit limited. Bravo Home Depot.
Anyway on the visit in question I got to the exit about 0.5 seconds behind someone else. An assistant said "have a nice day" to them, not noticing me at first. And then the sincerity of it got somehow tested as I detected he didn't want to say it to me quite that quickly afterwards upon noticing me (you have to envisage it); the mechanicalness of it would have become too glaring. He could have said "and you too sir" but having not noticed me he was momentarily thrown. I grinned. I still had a nice day.