Day 3: America, I am addressing you.

A very old friend posted a comment on the blog wall before, it was something I wrote when I was 16. He kept it, and still has it after all this time.

Andy Wilkinson, you're an industrious little fucker.

It's a pretty fitting way to begin.

#What is America?#

America is fat, America is phat, America is black, America is white, America is trailer trash, prostitutes, popcorn and Paris Hilton. America is crack, America is candy, America is coming home to find your mom's had a boob job. America is rap, rape and rollerdex. America is George Bush fucking the world over, America is crime, America is finding a chicken abscess in your wendys. America is waking up to find your life is being governed by the terminator, America is kegs, killing and contradiction. America is calling your kids Britney and Courtney, Lorryanne and Grechin. America is a year in rehab, AA and juvenile hall. America is a crack dealer tattooing a g-unit sign onto you're chest. America is greed, gluttony and oversized pretzels, America is blonde bitches faking an orgasm. America is...'

* not sure if there is anymore.

'You wrote that back in school, kept it all these years, looks really old and is covered in stains that one can only describe as either blood or Alex's brown make-up.'

Andy's take on things, and mainly my rebellious nature, which Mandy was desparing of:

'She stands at the gates, laughing about the escapedes of Natalie White AKA NOL (Not out lesbian) as she was then known as, and her unfortunate incident involving an overpriced slice of pizza on the night bus back from G-Bar.
She was too casually dressed down for school, heavilly ripped jeans on bottom, a retro Adidas, orange jacket on top. She should of been at Mrs Upton's psychology lesson, not standing at the school gates, sniffing poppers.
That was when he walked towards her. That, short, round bald man. Mr Price was the crazed R.E teacher who still had it in for Anna for her part in the execution of numerous 6th form centre windows involving Miller, and Andy, the biggest scally in Seacombe and a famous rugby ball.
Anna knew that smoking at the school gates was strictly prohibited, but of course, Anna liked to break the rules. He approaches the gates, the crowd gathers, this was Anna's stage, the fresh cigarette smoke O's elagently exit her mouth.
The tension rises, everyone knew that what Anna did next was gonna have a detrimental effect on her already 'falling from grace' reputation amongst the Mosslands elite.
He begins to scream and shout, she turns to him and awards the crowd by slapping the inside of her thighs and screams at him, KISS MY F*****G GRITS!

Those were the reasons, and this is New York.

Yesterday saw me walk a good 7 miles of the city, and I actually met some pretty friendly people. There is no denying the sheer size of this place, and all the buildings, including the Empire State, it is sickeningly big.

After a few hours I found Dixon Place on the Bowery. A tiny little building, but once inside the shrine opens up and there is a beautiful space where much of the action will be taking place.

It is hard to believe that this all began in Ellie Covan's living room in 1986. One year she hosted 400 shows there.

How far it has come.

The festival was kicked off last night with a party. Boomtown.

Met the team all ace, and then was introduced to Annie Lanzillotte. I think the shared heritge was a bonus. We chatted, which means she mainly quizzed me. What a woman. To top it off, she got me up to introduce myself, and we soon discovered that no New Yorker has ever met an Italian scouser.

Today is Pride.
Time to go and be Proud.

Danger prone, with too much gel and a whiff of my dad's cologne.
X

47th and 10th Street. Day 1. Chicken, or Beef?

I have arrived,

and thought the best way to keep up to date with everything and everyone would be to start a blog.

Today, I have:

Seen a crack whore and in the process was offered crack/crank.
Been honked at, sworn at, and got the bird!

Ridden in an illegal taxi with some sweaty Germans, all of whom I tried to talk to about the football.

'Hey you're German right? I'm English, the football, excited?'
*Vacant stares* *German ramblings*

Everyone is either rude, gangster or rude.
It stinks.
I passed a live art event in Hell's kitchen which involved 'taking back the city' (not sure what this means).

I have befriended a Jehovah's witness, and a fireman.

I'm sweaty, tired and it's all very surreal.

Rip it up
Kick it
Spit out the views.


xxx