Ground Zero

So I took a cab Downtown to Ground Zero the other day and the driver instantly got into a monologue, reflecting on 9/11...

Man that day was crazy, you know? I was in Queens and you just see people crying down the street, you know? We just rushed to the nearest TV trying to find out what's going on, then you just see the smoke come across the river and you know shit was going down. It's strange not to see them there any more, you know? Like the city sky line is just, it's just empty...

In the middle of the Financial District of the world there is a huge block fenced off, empty. It felt really strange being there on a beautiful holiday day - I have never been so close to such a tragic site. I walked around the empty block, trying to imagine the day as best as I could remember it from satellite images, piecing together the smoke, and the people, and the falling debris and the general chaos. It was the first time my stupid I'm-holidaying-in-New-York smile was wiped off.

I crossed the road to St Paul's Chapel, which should mean a lot to American history buffs and little to everybody else. I went there for a better vantage point to take photos from, but got sidetracked reading headstones and other items. The Bell of Hope, that was given to the USA by England after September 11, also lies here.

The walk up Broadway was beautiful - I passed through the tail-end of the Financial District and into the streets that turned the neighbourhood into SoHo. This has to be the fucking coolest neighbourhood I've ever walked through - not because of the designer stores and fancy restaurants, but because of the people - it felt like a fucking parade for the next two years' winter haute couture. And unlike Sydney's equivalent of Bondi and Paddington, these people were actually cool - no condescending looks, no stupid gym junkie walking, just a let it be mentality.

As I took in the sights I felt something brush my man-bag. I turned around to find a beautiful girl who blushed when I caught her. She apologised, smiled, looked all embarrassed, and just ran down the street. I didn't know what to think at first, so I checked my bag, found nothing had been stolen and sat down at a nearby cafe to stop and scold myself for the close encounter. And for not asking for her number.

On the taxi ride home I told my driver what happened...

Damn man, did you get her number?
Hhahaha, nah, she was running pretty fast...
That's the problem you know, these girls be working out and shit. Maybe she just wanted to give you a hand-job.
She needn't apologise for that
Hahha, I'll say. So hey have you checked out the Red Light district?

What is it with taxi drivers trying to pimp red-light areas anyway?

I just wanted to get back to my apartment to check out the city lights for another night.

Real Versus Ideal

These were his exact words as he tried to explain the situation to her. I'm not too sure what this meant to her, or if she even accepted his offer, but I knew exactly what he's talking about.

Landing in JFK on Christmas Day, after leaving Charles-Kingsford on Christmas Day, was strange. It didn't snow when I walked out with my suitcases, which was disappointing because I had an image of white flakes slapping my smiling face awake whilst I tried to light my first cigarette in New Yawk, New Yawk.

I got to meet T's boyfriend on the drive to Gramercy Park and I was relieved to find a cool and nice guy. I felt quite sorry for him when my parents, especially my Mum, decided to play good cop, bad cop with an hour-long interrogation at Red Lobster in Times Square. My Mum and Dad can be very intimidating people for their size.

The neighbourhood here is beautiful - the trees have shed their leaves for winter and the streets are swept clean by a cool breeze. On the face of every building there is a zig-zag of firestairs that run between floors and windows, and on the rooftops of these apartments old chimneys and ventilation exhausts are reaching to the sky. The people here keep to themselves, huddled in warm coats and gloves with coffee in hand and listening to their ipod. Flip-phones are definitely the flavour here, connected to a bluetooth earpiece, and they walk the streets talking to themselves.

I spent the afternoon on foot, passing through Chinatown, Soho and parts of Little Italy. Although each area had their distinct flavour, I found that for every two or three blocks, there is a park, usually on the corner of a block, or occupying a block itself. I spent time in Stuyvesant Park, watching a Father teach his Daughter how to ride a bike, squirrels eat nuts from a homeless man and a Jewish couple laughing about a text message. I thought that it would be much grittier or tougher around here, but it's not like I'm in the middle of Queens.

They absolutely love dogs around here, and I've seen all kinds with all types of different owners. Even at 1AM I came across at least five people walking their dog. I'm told that the most popular breed at the moment is a puggle - a cross between a pug and a beagle.

The Tyra Banks show is doing a special episode regarding breasts, so I can't think right now.

Coming Soon - M in Soho, Big Yellow Taxis, Ground Zero, The Plunger and my brush with a beautiful pickpocket.

Stay Tuned.

High

Last night I went for a drive with H and we were going down to our local dealer for stock. All of a sudden I was in High School all over again. But this time it wasn't for us - it was for his cousin who is here with twelve other friends on their Schoolies vacation. After the initial call for a twenty, she called back and asked if she could cancel the call because everybody in her group were too scared to hold on to it for the night. Amateurs.

Well, the more I think about it, the more cute it is. You know, like these reluctant rebels are a twelve hour drive away from home and celebrating their freedom and making the transition from teens to adults and all that shit but they are still worried that their parents will be there with their watchful eyes and shaking their head disapprovingly at their daughter's first cone.

Whilst enjoying my flat white and an article on junkies, and their stories in the wake of Katrina, I listened in to the headhunter sitting nearby. He had a smart suit and worn shoes and an open list of phone numbers with neat notes scribbled around each name. One by one he'd give his spiel and one by one he'd cross the names with disdain and frustration, knowing that the commission is still a long way away and Christmas is only two weeks away.

As this was happening in the background I read the story of Moe, who was shooting-up at the time of the hurricane, unaware that the world was literally spinning, and that it wasn't just induced by the injection. The most striking details were associated with his withdrawal symptoms as there was a four day drought for his next dose.

It's not that hard to sympathise, I guess. Nobody likes to wait too long to be happy.

Priceless Things

I'm trying to backtrack on what has made me a faithful believer in fate and the signs along the way that are pointing towards the 'right' direction. I don't know what it is that got me here, but I'm starting to realise now that it has made me really susceptible to suggestions from any stimuli. And it has also aided in helping me become more 'introspective' (read: selfish).

I watched Shopgirl tonight and was very impressed. I love these caustic romantic movies because they just seem so real to me - like Lost In Translation, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and Punch Drunk Love. Why they seem real to me is another matter altogether, and I'm planning to save that rant for my future psychiatrist or good friend.

Anyway.

I guess the scene that really hit home was Mirabelle's decision on whether or not to postpone due payments to pain.

And, that's all I have to say about that.

I watched Citizen Kane the other night, too, feeling guilty and rather ashamed that I hadn't seen what many critics dub as the 'Best Movie of All Time'. I wasn't that impressed, to be honest, but was quite pleased to finally understand all the references I have encountered. It's a wonderful thing when light is shed on uncertain areas.

If you're interested, my Rosebud is Aboy.

Impressed by a website on case modifications, I spent the weekend tinkering with my computer. I decided to go for a geek chic case, complete with blue LED's and a lot of fans. I love the lightsabre blue glow that now emanates from the case, it gives it an aura. And aura's are cool. I wish I had an aura radiating from me - magnetic and vibrant. Is it because all the people I admire, and am impressed by, have it?

Another item to add to my wish list of things that money can't buy.

Questions From Idiots, Answers For Idiots

FAQ's - Life Insurance

Why do I need to go for blood tests?

Because we're Vampiric beings and we need to make certain that we won't get HIV from our midnight snack. This whole Life Insurance business is just a front.

Are these disclosure statements absolutely necessary? Is there any way to customise the wording?

No they're not necessary, we're just doing it to waste paper because we can. That's what companies do - they try to be as inefficient as possible. This isn't a car, you can't drop the text 5 points or change the font to a fully sick metallic black.

Why do you need to know our height and weight details?

Because insurance companies don't like to insure freaks of nature, or short fat chicks, it's bad publicity. We only insure ambassadors with great bodies.

Can you please mark this item as urgent?

Yes, that's what my stamp is there for. I also like the 'click' sound it makes so I can mark it as urgent x 3 if you really want. And of course it is, just like every other case we handle.

Why is there an exclusion/loading for my pre-existing condition?

Because our underwriters are prejudiced. Try changing your name to Smith and re-apply. *wink*

Why do you require my income details?

Well our pay isn't really enough to support my Heroin addiction so I need to find some potential sponsors.

Stroke Of Luck

When you miss out on tickets to see your favourite band you start to think irrational thoughts. That is to say you begin not to think at all. What if I die tomorrow and never got to see them? What if they get killed in some freakish plane crash on their way to London? Is all this global warming and icebergs melting, and tectonic plates shifting, and terrorist bombings and tunnels collapsing, and drug mule hangings just a sign to say that the end is nigh and I was never meant to watch The Strokes play?

John Howard, can I get an appeal from you? Or should I go directly to all the world's agents against injustice? That's exactly what it is. If I had ADD and were a Muslim with a pretty face and millionaire boyfriend, would that have helped at all? I could've claim that this shit was prejudiced. Maybe all the good luck in this city had been used up when the Tigers and Swans won their respective Premierships, and the Socceroos qualified for Germany. Where was the drought warning for good luck?

The red banners lining George Street are reminding us all to have a Happy Christmas, but I know that today's pain will be with me for a while yet. And to those lucky enough to get a ticket, congratulations.

Charmed

Please don't be like that, with your pretty hair and your pretty eyes, highlighted by expensive eye-liner. You look beautiful with your designer summer dress and costume jewellery, and the whole world is watching you. You know that, don't you? Of course you do. You cause accidents unknowingly when stepping through open doors and second looks in the heart of the city. You leave a trailing scent that's oh-so feminine wherever you go.

I'm finding it hard not to fall for your charms, even though I know that this is just a passing phase. All pretty things are. Like Autumn.

Converse All-Star's

I can't bring myself to throw my old sneakers away. I bought them for $20 from a busy department store in Manila, knowing that I needed them because they were affordable, comfortable and easy to get along with. They could be worn with almost everything I had at the time, and to almost every occasion I needed clothes for at the time. But lately, there has been mounting pressure for me to throw them away.

A hole in the right shoe has grown steadily over the past two years, and it now exposes the ugly toe nails and bare skin underneath. The soles are worn so badly that they have no more traction - they have trouble holding on to the easiest of ground. And the heels are tattered, the canvas split and the binding thread that once held them together, is frayed and reaching out for something. The inside lining, too, is worn, and the Converse All-Star insignia has disappeared.

But they have served me so dutifully for so long, and it seems wrong to let them go. They were my dancing shoes, when I didn't give a fuck about what tomorrow would bring. They were the pair I took to overseas trips, when I could bring one, and only one pair. They were my basketball and gym shoes, when I was still active. They were my Sunday morning breakfast and Tuesday night movies shoes, when I needed something comfortable to share my leisurely moments with.

Do all good things really come to an end? Would it be the same if I bought the same pair and started all over again? Is the past still worth something? Worth saving?

I don't know.

Maybe.

I hope so.

I hope so.

Cumulonimbus

Yesterday I learnt that clouds are actually categorised, based on their height and composition. I'd always thought of clouds as nature's Magic Eye - given enough concentration, and a bit of luck, you may see a 3D image form from a random gathering of water droplets and ice particles.

Today, I see impending rain.

Good Morning

Work has a strange way of making you feel guilty for taking sick leave. I've never really quite mastered the etiquette of a post-sick leave day. So far I've figured that gratuitous coughing really isn't the way to go, nor should I be beaming like sunshine or from a healthy tan. I try to look as pasty as a brown man can, say as little as possible about the past two days and just ask a lot of stupid questions about how work is and who won the footy, even though it is the off season.

Doctor's Certificates don't mean much these days, and I wish that there were some contraption to prove sickness, like a breathaliser.

Sir this is a Random Sickness Tester, RST. Have you been sick the past few days?
Yes.
Please state your name and address to this machine.
M A and I live at...

*beep*

OK. Have you got your papers?
Here's my Med Cert...
Thank You Sir, enjoy the rest of the working day. Your workmates will no longer think that you spent yesterday at the beach.
Thanks. Carry on, Officer.

I stood outside a building today, next to a giant For Lease sign. I'd love to have a photo next to it. It read:

* For Lease
* Excellent Opportunity
* Great Vantage Point
* Short-Term Possibilities
* Bargain
* Highly Sought After

It would be the start of a photographic work that I would name Signs.

Promise

Before we die, or grow up, promise me that we'll see and experience The Burning Man at least once in our lives.

It looks so beautiful in pictures.

Thought

I thought that by having the net at home I'd suddenly find content for you. But, like many thoughts that have come and gone before, this too turned out to be quite wrong.

I took this photo on my latest visit to the Philippines.

I guess it best describes the I-know-that-no-man-is-an-island-but-I-don't-care-I'm-gonna-sit-here-by-myself-regardless feeling that I'm feeling right about...

Now.

Picture! Picture!

Yeah.

Life On Marz presents - A Picture!

Hurrah.

I sent this attachment around the office after I had a hearty chuckle - pity nobody else laughed.

I guess it just means that they're all fucked.

Anywho...

This was taken from a London train station:

Privileged

Hey!
How are you?
How are things?
Yeah nothing much... So tell me, what have you been up to?
Yeah, same, I'm just too tired after work to do anything, you know?
We should get together some time. What's the best day for you?
So have you seen the rest of the group lately?
How are they?
Man, I miss the old days.
What are you having? Nah, it's cool.
Get me a round later.
What's your email address? We should really keep in contact.
That's great news! When did he get that promotion?
Cool.

So...

How about that War in Iraq?

Bruxism

I've been grinding my teeth lately, and I'm not too sure why.

From a quick Google search I've discovered that somewhere between ten to forty percent of adults are doing this, so I'm in some sort of club. Yay. It is reassuring in a strange way - probability tells me that I can stand in a morning rush crowd and know that of the people surrounding me, somebody else has worn down their teeth last night.

It's nice like that, to know you belong in a dysfunctional group, a family of some sort.

So, if you live in the Inner-West(side!) of Sydney and suffer from teeth grinding, drop me a line so we can have coffee and talk of ways to get around our problem.

Hopefully, by the end of it all, we will no longer have Bruxism in common, but something more.

Broken Umbrellas

I'd never seen so many broken umbrellas before. The bins and streets were littered with inverted umbrellas, umbrellas with deformed arms, umbrellas that were of no value.

They no longer functioned. They were incapable of their sole purpose. They were dead.

These were the umbrellas that bent to the will of the wind, and they were disposed of in disgust and shame.

They were made to work, damn it.

Now, work!

Breathe

The bus windows were fogged today, tinted by the breath of passengers in the morning commute. It exposed the work of the window cleaners the night before - measured streaks with an unruly line on one end, running down the whole length of the far end of the window pane. There were fingerprints too, and you start to wonder who extends their arms to that height just to feel the glass with their palms? And if it were the cleaners, why would they taint their own handiwork?

A heart was fashioned by my window and the initials inside read 'FL' (or 'EL') & 'TM'.

Even as a number of passengers stood by him in a cold sweat, the bus driver didn't look at, and probably never thought of, switching the air conditioning on.

Through my window the city looked different, almost surreal. People were walking in the midst of clouds and their faces were indistinguishable; I could only differentiate each person by the bag that they carried, or by a bright scarf, because almost everybody was cloaked in black.

A child was amused by the fogged glass and he struggled with a smile to write his name on the window.

The woman next to me was dressed impeccably in a dark grey suit and an even darker overcoat. She read the BRW, looked troubled and shuffled uneasily in her seat throughout the whole journey. Insecurity is a terrible thing when your worries are outside of needs.

Therefore I Am

I like it here. The music is good, the company is agreeable and the decorations are tasteful. Well, I think so anyway. I'm not too sure about that poster though. I mean, apart from the title, it looks out of place. I hope it's replaced soon. Oh, I love this song! I hope you don't mind if I air guitar for a bit. Did I mention that I'm going to New York at the end of the year? Well, I am! Hurrah! Imagine, New Years Eve at Times Square, yellow cabs, shitloads of strangers bumping by me as I walk on weary streets covered in snow and shit. It'll be like that James Dean scene they used in the Coke ads, except I'm not cool or good looking. But I do smoke. Yeah. It'll be so like that ad. Fuck yeah. I'm gonna need a playlist for Goldmember now. What do you think of Sudoku? It's pretty cool, I think...

To Ms X

I wish you said hello to me because then, and only then, would I have been able to say hello to you...

You caught the L23 from Sydney Uni, wearing Lee jeans and a jacket I'd seen at a second-hand store. I remembered thinking that jacket was cool, but not as cool as the black one that had Vampires In Venice scrawled on the back with bloody writing.

I tried not to stare at you, because my mother told me that it was rude, and I wanted to be as polite as possible.

At the next stop you sat beside me and I turned away, only to catch your reflection in the window. It shits me when a window turns into a mirrot at night.

I opened my bag, pretending to busy myself to avoid contact. I reviewed a marked assignment. I opened a book I had no intention of reading. I wrote my phone number down on a corner page. I played with my iPod's click-wheel until I got annoyed.

By then it was my stop, so I asked to be excused. I liked how you got out of your seat to let me through - it showed effort and courtesy. People who just swivel to the side have found that I like to crash my elbow and bag into the back of their heads.

I looked back for another glimpse as I walked to the exit, but people we're pushing me towards the door in a hurry.

I tore the corner page with my number on it, and handed it to the garbage bin by the bus stop.

2042

8:30PM - May 8 - King Street

Hi
Hello
Can I have a drag?
Sure
You know... (pause / inhale / exhale) that's what I love about Newtown
The fact that you can ask strangers for a drag?
Yeah. It's like, you know. Yeah...

Her detailed explanation said it all, so I smiled and offered her the rest of the cigarette...

M says he's ready to leave, citing the need to save money for an overseas holiday as his prime motivator. A, too, is keen to jump out quickly and H is wanting room for a pug and a car. So that leaves me as the only person who really wants to stay here, but to start again with three new housemates is just too much for me.

Sometime in the near future I know that the year that has past will creep into my writings, dreams, drunken rambles and even rough screenplays (!) in my head - because that's what memories do, they resurface and take on another form.

I know for certain that they will all be fond, because there's no other suburb in Sydney that can saturate you with all the little, selfish pleasures in life as much as Newtown.

Goodbye.