August 31, 2004

TUE 31st AUG : BIRTHDAY

It's my birthday, my birthday, going to dance like it's my birthday.

Well, not dance actually - but eat like a king. The Lady took me to that posh Thai restaurant at the Thompson Hotel. Plush place, Chilled. Pricey. Very decent cocktails. The food was amazing : simple explosions in every mouthful. I did wonder whether the Lady was alergic to the peanut sauce however. She starts acting like she's drunk a bottle of red wine. Late in the meal, she decides to start wiggling in the seat. She shakes her big curly hair wildly and it flows so far that the guys at the tables either side of us can feel a small hurricanes across their brow. I ask her to stop but she says she's having fun. Well, it's my birthday and I'm not.

The guy to our right says something and gets a mouthful of hair. I apologise. 'Who's he anyway?' the Lady asks as the head chef comes over and asks him how he enjoyed the taste. I stop the Lady telling them about her new banana flavored shampoo.

Thankfully, she calms down. Maybe it was the peanuts. Somehow the head waiter suggests that we go to the roof deck. I drag her to the top of the Thompson hotel where they have a great view of the city at night. I get a beer, she gets red wine. Oh no - not again!

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August 30, 2004

MON 30TH AUG : CLIENT MEETING

So we pitch up at the client's make shift office: a golf course on the Conneticut / New York state borders. Yes, they've left town during the convention. I think: if something drastic did really happen to NYC do you think your business would really be running afterwards, any business actually. I also think about the pain of getting the train back into the city: half full of over excited protestors damp from their anxious sweat.

Anyway. We meet the marketing team and set out an agenda for the meeting with the CEO on Wednesday. The CEO's son has come up with a concept for a teeth whitening stick that brightens your smile and freshens your breath at the same time. 'Brilliant!' my partner screams. The son is 12 years old. We'll get some money for the work at last, which is good.

One by one they all try a sample of the new stick I decline. As the national sales woman delves her hand into the pot to get hers she says, 'It must be a cultural thing, right? Cleaning your teeth in front of everyone. Us Americans will do anything.'

She cracks the stick open and watches the ceremony of the nib filling with liquid. She puts it to her teeth as I address the next action on the agenda. There's no reply from everyone. I look up. Five people sit around me; their hands just shuffling up and down as they rub the mint flavor stick against their teeth. Their eyes are all glazed and a spittle of dribble hangs from each bottom lip.

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August 29, 2004

SUN 29th AUG : HAMPTONS

Enjoyed a nice weekend up in the Hamptons with the Lady, two of her nice friends and a puppy dog which I actually got on with. Sitting on the beach, riding the waves, bbqs and a hot tub. Very relaxing time especially as the Lady’s friend June seemed to be a bigger alcoholic than I am. Every time I suggested a cold beer she’d cheer before the Lady could react one way or the other.

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August 27, 2004

Why she enjoys telling me off

I'd read this news item to try to understand the Lady better - but I have got to tidy the apartment, go get the dry cleaning before she returns from her conference.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/health/3601134.stm

Crickey is that the time already...

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FRI 27th AUG : AD NEWS

My partner at the ad agency looks up from his desk. We've both been browsing, clicking and fiddling around all morning wondering what to do with ourselves. A small package arrives by courier and he opens it. It's a letter with a small blue stick

'Hey - I just got a mail from those teeth whitening people,' he says. 'Looks like they want us to meet the marketing team, Monday, and then present to the whole company on Wednesday. They want to launch a new mint teeth whitening stick!'

My partner takes out the sample tooth whitening stick and cracks in open. He watches the nib soak up the liquid from inside the capsule and starts rubbing it on his teeth.

'Woo Hoo', I say. 'Here comes a few greens. Just before I head back for a visa stint to the UK.'

There's no answer from my partner. His hand just shuffles up and down as he rubs the stick against his teeth. His eyes are all glazed and a spittle of dribble begins to hang from his bottom lip.

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August 25, 2004

THE PS1 POST HAS RETURNED

Photographs

ps1_1

http://newyorkguide.blogs.com/uknyc/2004/07/saturday_31st_j.html

Oh I also added a post about the Libertine's concert: http://newyorkguide.blogs.com/uknyc/2004/08/mon_17th_libert.html


Food I ate tonight that I wouldn't have dared if the Lady was not at a conference: Fish & Chips at Salt & Battery (I wonder if that miserable bald bloke in there will ever smile).

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How To Meet A British Guy In New York (updated with new option)

Heather & Eleanor write:

Guy,

My flat-mate and I came across your blog because we were hoping to find out where the cute british ex-pats hang out. Please, if you'd be so kind, make a post of it soon (a user's guide if you will) or respond to us directly if you like. Thanks!

Hmmm....

Cute and British.... a difficult combination.

Option 1: Pubs showing soccer
When: Saturday or Sunday lunch times
Type: All sorts of guys from all walks of life with a few American soccer fans too.
Chances of conversation: Let's just watch the game shall we love
Chances of attention: Apart from a couple of soccer crazy a-sexual girls you will be center of attention everytime the ball goes out of play.
Suggestions: Red Lion, One on One, Nevada Smiths

Option 2: Irish / Pub-Bars
When: Most of the week
Type: Young expats, tourists.
Chances of conversation: Likely.
Chances of attention: Catch them when they pop out for a cigarette
Suggestions: Brass Monkey, One on One, Nevada Smiths

Option 3: Brooklyn Bars
When: Weekend inc. afternoons in bar gardens when sunny
Type: Brits who have been here too long: fashion designers / guys who have outstayed their visa 7 years
Chances of conversation: If you catch them out of their clique
Chances of attention: Possible, but don't come across all American
Suggestions: Boat House, Moes, any other bar in Cobble Hill

Option 4: Soho Bars
When: Weekends
Type: Tourists and guys who work there.
Chances of conversation: Good, if early
Chances of attention: It's a small bar, love - you might get missed.
Suggestions: The Room, Cafe Noir, Ear and the like

Option 5: Posh Bars
When: All week
Type: Arrogant dandies with some cash.
Chances of conversation: If you're interesting, transatlantic, monied and up for it
Chances of attention: Use of elbow may be required
Suggestions: Hiro, Soho House, roof deck at Thompson Hotel, APT, Tribeca Grand (party night), any art / fashion party sponsored by A Brit Co.

Option 6: Dens
When: Late night, late week
Type: Trendies, hipsters, scenesters. Alcoholics all of them.
Chances of conversation: They're up for anything. If it's an adventure.
Chances of attention: Buy them a drink, play them at pool or dance in the corner with them and see.
Suggestions: Nu Blu, Passer By, The Hole, 151 Rivington, Orchard St bars, Von.

For a guide to some of these bars, you could check out my other blog site.

Leave any other suggestions in the comments box.

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WED 25th AUG : HYPER MEMORY

I wake up time and time again tonight with a sweat on my brow. I have to shake my head to stop my brain trying to solve the unsolvable dream. My mind clicks into wondering what I have achieved since I have been in New York. Again. Again this night.

What an unoriginal panic attack. Brain, you bore me.

The problem with writing a hyper-available diary is that it becomes a hyper-available memory. Memories that should be a joyful nostalgic blur appear in technicolor detail in my mind's eye. Tonight I am panicking about the fact that Halloween is about to happen. Yes, I know it's not but in another sense it is. It's only 11 weeks to go and my memory of the last halloween feels only 11 weeks old. When my brain puts two and two together time feels like it's doubled. More panic. What have I achieved?

Solution: Sleep again on that sofa made of down.

Until I wake up again.

chasing dreams from the gaping void

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August 24, 2004

TUES 24 AUG : QUENTIN TARANTINO, BLOGGER ?

The blog world is about to get nasty. Quentin T is now writing a blog.

http://qtdiary.blogspot.com/

Or maybe not: http://software.silicon.com/applications/0,39024653,39123541,00.htm

And I thought it was a significant step for Jamie Oliver to have one....


Food I have eaten today whilst the Lady is on a conference that she might not have let me: That lovely Spinach/Ricotta Pasta Dish From Pepe Verde, Hudson Street

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August 23, 2004

MON 23rd AUG : PAT KIERNAN SPEAKS

Got this email this morning. Pat must have read the interview in Gothamist.

From Pat Kiernan

When’s this party that we’re supposed to go to with Roma?

Good boy for remembering. I'll have to find a decent party.


Food I have eaten today whilst the Lady is on a conference that she might not have let me: Turkey Burger & Chips with a couple of pints and some mild cheeky banter with the barstaff at Ear, Spring Street.

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August 22, 2004

SUN 22nd AUG : SUN DAY

I wake up and the TV is already blasting. It's going to be another day of focus on American athletes. But no: all the talk is Paula Radcliffe and her marathon quest. I can't get up to check it out because my head feels like it's split in 2. I do something safe like have a night out with the Lady's brother and his Italian squeeze and wake up feeling like this. Lady won't be pleased.

I hear the Italian girl talking in the other room. This is unusual as she doesn't talk, tends to play I can't keep up card when she's disinterested. With the Lady away at the conference in San Diego I was chaperoned by her brother and the Italian last night. We started last night off in Korea town: amazing food, spectacularly tacky scenery (huge waterfall with no water) and this booze called Subu or Sulu or something. Like sake but like vodka so to speak. Amazing. Clear head, wobbly legs.

The Italian did speak at the end of the meal as I was clearing up the last few bbq pieces: she laid into the brother about how much he ate and how much he drank. It made me feel that I could be in a normal relationship myself. She poked at his tiny pot belly and shuffled the chair closer to the table to hide mine.

We met the English new guy, Adie, at Wallse with Rachel - a slim thirty something geezer bird who has been here ten years. My god she could talk: drinking, eating, smoking, football, English blokes, going out. One side of me the Italian doing her voyeur thing, the other side the English girl drinking my beer.

I missed her at it at first because I noticed Adie take a cherry from the bar for the third time. 'What are you doing, mate?' 'You should try these - the raspberries are great.' 'They're not bloody peanuts mate, they're for the cocktails!' 'Oh, is that why they're in those glasses the other side of the bar.' Just off the boat. See what happens?

With my beer already drunken we lose the English girl into the arms of a chap called Gabriel who works as a waiter somewhere. I get his name wrong frequently. "You don't pronounce it like a girl's," Rachel protested. I drag them round to the Other Room. Popular it is yes, overcrowded with tossers, not quite. Some how I got carried away with the Weisse Beer. It's good stuff yes.

Adie makes a late exit and I swear the brother carried me home but when I walked through the door he was there on the blow up mattress with the Italian. He looks a bit shocked. I grin. That's all over for him

Now it is Sunday and I am awake I am far from grinning. The hangover's just started for me.

I flounce down onto the couch and within minutes two hours has passed, the brother and Italian have gone site seeing (before she catches a flight) and Paula Radcliffe is crying. None of the spectators know where to look. The TV camera does. Well, why was she doing all that altitude training when she should have been doing some running in the sunshine. And up and down a few hills. And anyway, when I had a stitch in cross country at school I still had to walk to the finishing line. Lazy Cow. Altho I don't think Mr Hobson and the Italian Teacher, Miss Nisatitta, minded.

The brother and Italy come back in and are a little surprised I am still there. Surprised? Frustrated? I don't know. 'It's alovely day,' they plead as I make my way back to bed.

After they leave for the airport I get a call from the Lady. I am happy. I am always happy to hear from her when I am hungover. She asks me if I am hungover, I say no. She tells me that I should be proud that her (dear, dear) brother thinks I can drink a lot. I was just keeping up, I lie. She's got to go. 'What, that's all you have to say?' I ask I don't feel the happiness I had when the phone rang anymore and she's got a meeting or maybe a Margarita, I dunno.

Food I ate when I got up that evening whilst the Lady is 'on a conference': Bistro Burger & Fries with a quick McSorleys to help the wait and calm the nerves.

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August 18, 2004

MON 17th : LIBERTINES

Guy Brighton's Nights OutI got an invite to go with the Lady to see The Libertines and a few other bands play at a special party somewhere between 9th and 10th, I think on 26th. Maybe it was a party for the fact that the junky lead singer of the Libertines wasn;t going to show up, I don't know. Place was cram packed of a rock and roll crowd and I soon settled in to watch the ads playing behind the warm up bands' heads.

The bar was free.

About beer number four the band comes on. Their excessive singer absent, his best mate did a good job at being rock and roll. Meanwhile, the Lady had noticed that I was doing a job of being rock and roll. Yes, I was having such a good time I had forgotten to do that trick that I mastered at The Hiss gig: bottle of water in my hand in front of me, bottle of beer in my other hand hid snuggly behind me.

'I don't want you to get drunk in front of my work colleagues,' she said.

I have used the excuse that when one watches a rock and roll band one should have a skin full too many times now. Instead I became a mopey teenager. The Lady wasn't impressed.

As the Libertine's kept on rocking to a smiliar sounding song a bald guy staggers up to the Lady. I have seen him before. They chat for a couple of minutes. He is slaughtered. His girlfriend comes up to take him away and the Lady says, 'He's so sweet.'

Of course I take offence to this. This swaying chap is 'sweet', I - not swaying yet - am a danger to the Lady's career.

Anyway -'He's in rock and roll and you're in business,' she says.

'In business where I don;t get paid,' I reply.

'That doesn't mean you have to raid the free bar', she replies.

I love the way a woman can - in an instant - use her environment for her argumentative advantage...

More mopey teenage behavior comes from yours truly which forces the Lady to dance by herself. That's a pretty serious sign. I drop the empty bottle of Stella I have been holding in the trash and take the full bottle of Red Stripe I have been keeping in my back pocket and hand it to someone else.

This someone else however is the 'sweet' bald guy. He downs it and hands it back to me and wonders on.

The Lady looks over to see that I now have another bottle in my hand and it's empty. Before I can protest tho bald guy is being pulled out of the room by his girlfriend yanking his ear. In his hand are guitar strings he's pinched from the musicians beside the stage.

That maybe the reason for the similar sounding songs I think.

As we leave I think we must be OK and should be forgiven: I am not drunk and someone has behaved worse than me. I mean, it's not as if I am the junky lead singer of the band or something.

Oh, that would be OK though.

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SAT 14th AUG : WAITERS' SWAN SONG

The Lady's mother and father took me out to dinner at Ralph's in Philadelphia's little Italy to celebrate my birthday on the 31st. After the Lady went through each item on the waiter asked the if each and every item was really good - the food came: mussels, veal, penne - all in sauces to die for.

It was getting on and we were the last people upstairs. I noticed that her mother was trying to organize a candle and cake for me. She shouldn't have. I wish she didn't have. The waited looked at me, then the chocolate cake and then called fro Loui, Franki, Georgie, Erik. Crikey - these grown men were going to have to sing me happy birthday. I felt a little embarrassed. Then the waiter called them again, 'come on guys'. I felt a little embarrassed. 'Loui, Franki, Georgie, Rueben' They popped their heads up and saw the Lady. They mustered themselves and came over and they started singing to her 'Happy Birthday'.

When the Lady nodded that it was in fact my birthday, they gave a good impression of remaining interest as their voices faltered. When Rueben sloped off I had to join in a little to keep the momentum going and we got through in the end.

The Lady's mother loved it.

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FRI 13th AUG : GREY HOUND

For some reason we have decided not to go with Chinatwon bus to Philly. We chose Greyhound. My living hell.

The only highlight was to spot a female du-rag in full use.

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August 16, 2004

Last Year's NYC Drinks Bill

Maybe I sent it to the wrong address:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/3563574.stm

;)

Posted by Guy Brighton at 11:03 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

August 13, 2004

THUR 12th AUG : DEFINITION OF A LADS NIGHT OUT

Guy Brighton's Nights OutAs I apologize after waking up somehow head to toe I decide it would be a bad idea to tell the Lady that I had planned a lads night out that evening.

Spent the day doing tail between my legs and running errands. Only work I did was meet with this guy Sean about a video project we're doing next week.

Of course the British boys are calling me in the afternoon suggesting a beer - maybe in the locale. I tell the Lady that we have to meet them for one as I have to say thanks for lending the video camera to Sean. The Lady is suspicious but goes along with it - as long as she comes too. Why not. We pop in to my favorite boozer (my suggestion and 3 small blocks from home) and three pints later the Lady is saying 'don't you guys eat when you go out?' Of course the guys all laugh and order another round.

Her and I end up with the others in that flashing dance floor about 11.30 tottering around with a little wind up us. All is going fine and then this girl approaches me and Al and says, 'Remember me? I was dancing with you at that party at the Marquee.' She's cute but I have the Lady beside me and even tho I pretend to have no idea who she is.

I get sobered up very quickly.

Got a bit of ear ache for that on the way home but I shrugged. Unfortunately the Lady has a far better idea of what we get up to on a lads night out, now. Far better than I do, obviously.

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August 11, 2004

WED 11th AUG : GOOD AND BAD IN ONE DAY

Started running again this morning. The good thing is that we are a block or so further from the river so more distance to run. The other good thing is that we're two or so blocks closer to the British Shop which
allowed me to have a pork pie to recover from all that puffing.

I then proceeded (a little later) to have a drink with a couple of the lads who are in the office space here together with the guy I work in the agency with. Ended up in appropriate dive bar (Blind Tiger) close to home and realised it was happy hour to 8pm. It was 5pm.

Somehow they guys all start talking to some fairly attractive but desperate looking thirty year olds. Sometimes there are good signs to point out psycho women: one of them wore pink trousers and had ridden a pink bike to the pub, the other owned a female football team. It's great to see the different American approaches at work at trying to gain attention: One lad kept slipping his arm round one,
The guy from work bounced into her repeatedly as they stood outside having a cigarette, one guy kept buying them drinks (of course) and, naturally, they loved my accent but couldn't pronounce my name and soccer-boss soon ignored me when I couldn't name my top 11 players in the world.

Of course it was the guy who showed the least interest who got the number. Birds. And guess what - soccer bird got in the basket of the bike whilst pinkie rode her home. Or possibly rode her violently into a curb. They had been keeping up.

Altho the Lady was expecting me home at about 7pm somehow I get persuaded at 9.30 to go to my new favorite pub (suggested by me) for a couple more. Of course the cell phone is ringing - the Lady's face is appearing on the screen - and you have that conundrum: do I answer this and try to answer the ladies pretty reasonable questions about where I am or do I ignore it? The choice of ignoring it always selected. Perhaps unwisely.

I get home at 11.30. I am not in the good books to say the least. I am surprised the neighbour didn't complain again.

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August 10, 2004

WOOSTER STREET COLLECTION

USA Today Street Art NYC
Wicked Witch Street Art NYC

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August 9, 2004

MON 9th AUG : BANGING

Guy Brighton's Nights OutI was at that Arlene's Grocery bar on Stanton Street when the Lady called.

I had been kicked out that evening as the Lady had 'Dinner Club' with three girl friends - no guys allowed.

Larry and I had just calmed down the young Irish (pilled-up?) twat of a barman who took exception when Larry asked when the Punk Karaoke bar. A cover band of the Ramanes sang with mop-top wigs. One half of my brain concentrated on asking the Lady to tell me again what the matter was and the other reasoned whether I should tip a barman in New York who was obviously rude to me. I watched the two singles as the Lady explained to me that the woman downstairs had banged on the ceilign twice: once when her heel-tottering friends entered (8am) and once when they were leaving. She was upset and hated feelign this way in her own home. I was upset as the barman now sprayed the counter with liquid as he filled a glass with soda; the singles now stuck to the bar. Oh well, he can have them now. I looked at the third can of Blue Ribbon on the counter (I had asked for two but the bar man had given and sold me three - even after gesticulation) and considered whether I should stay and drink it or rush home.

I drank it fast but the actions of the barman had got me stoked. In the cab home I stewed: I wanted to defend the Lady's honor. I wanted to bang on the neighbour's door and tell her to stuff it.

When I got in though the apartment block doorway I decided to dance up the communcal stairs and sing, 'Banging on the ceiling' Lionel Richie style rather loudly. That will get her I thought in my blurred state.

I turned to face the final flight. The Lady looked down at me with fierce eyes. Shit. Mouth shut. Silent final steps.

Inside. What the hell are you doing? She said as she looked for something to whack me with. You can't baby. It'll make too much noise!

When the Ramanes toured with the Beatles they had a replacement drummer. At the gig, the cover band actually swapped drummer for the one song that represented this tour. That's dedication. Sometimes I think the Lady wishes I could be swapped - just for a while, at times like this.

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August 8, 2004

SUN 8th AUG : PAINT

After being asked what expenditure I had laid out on the light green can of paint the Lady seemed pretty happy (and relieved) as I took out the roller and tried to recall either (a) DIY programs showing you how to paint or (b) how my father painted a wall. Nothing came to me - except the Cowboy and Red Indian paper I had for 18 years in my bedroom as a child. Even when we moved.

I did a good job - I got rid of that hangover-hell purple - but the colo(u)r didn't quite come out the soothing green she was expecting. More like disco citrus.

Pity as painting was something I never hoped to do again. Back to see my octogenarian friend at the weekend.

I don't think I quite have the DIY gene nor want it.

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August 7, 2004

SAT 7th AUG : SOLO RETAILING

Smile - Pass It On

I still remember the Saturdays of getting slowly out of bed, making egg-influenced breakfast and a nice cuppa tea. Maybe the paper.

Altenratively I had two lone shopping outings today. Well, I had to duck out pretty early: I got the Lady in a mood, especially after I argued last night with her when she asked me what I was still doing at work. Then I broke her oh-so-dear-to-her favourite soap dish this morning. Oh, what a palaver.

Of course when the assistant at Crate & Barrel dropped the metal replacement into the oversize bag with a clang that made even the security guard jump, I realized that it won't be right. There are some purchases that boys can't do. Soap dishes is one of them: My purchase wasn't right. My reasoning for purchase: it's metal and there's a lot of brush metal in the apartment. Her reasoning: I broke a pretty china bowl and there's no brush metal in the bathroom.

In order to 'step up to the mark' I agreed to go get the paint for the bedroom down at that place on Spring & Varick. A loveable octogenarian helped me out and identified me as being British when I asked for, 'I need like a pot of paint, this colour here.' 'We used to call them pots when I was an apprentice,' he told me but things change and now in America it's just called a can.

How language changes: I wonder if I just use use some quaint older language some of which has been forgotten by Americans in their daily use or that the differences in word use is long standing? Am I freak for using words such as 'pot'? And what about 'tin' for a can. Hey they had 'tin can alley'. Surely they used to use the word tin or tinny!

I told my octogenarian friend about my Teeny Bear/Tin of Beer conundrum and he looked at me for a moment. 'Tin? Beer?' he challenged. 'No. Never heard it like that before.'

Befuddled, I carried the paint to ABC Carpets who had flirted a deal for a decent chocolate brown rug for the apartment. Why hadn't I been there to help? Sometimes it's best to keep schtum and not respond. Does the Lady really imagine that this creepy sales guy would give you 50% off if I was hanging around?

btw: Have you ever seen the Queen of ABC Carpets? Everytime I've been in the ABC Carpet store this rather majestic Russian-looking woman sits on a pile of carpets: her back arched, one knee raised up, her arms behind her supporting her pose, her chin pointed as she surveys the scene. Decadent forty something smoldering look. Big blonde Ivana Trump style hair. Fantastic.

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August 5, 2004

THUR 5th AUG : MUSING

It is my birthday coming up: I want one of these : http://www.psfk.com/2004/08/pokia_its_for_y.html

Had a good meeting with the Lady's friend about this new script idea. 'Guy Brighton : The Musical' doesn't work for her. Must think harder.

Everybody round here still patting me on the back for getting the visa. I can't find any joy in it. Maybe I'm being a moody sod or maybe I am being a realist. People say, it must be a weight off you shoulders and I think: I knew once I got the application in that it should come through, what I need now is food money. I mean the visa doesn't mean anything if I don't earn any money or the agency goes down the swanny. And I don't know why people think I should be so grateful. Man, I came here on my tod, set up a business with someone with no backing, sourced and won the business that paid for my visa. I did it all on my own and no one did me a single favor to get it. Anyway, rant over. Sorry.

Things I have forgotten to do for the apt as reminded by The Lady by text message: COME HOME EARLY: GET FILR 4 HOLES IN BTHRM DOOR

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August 4, 2004

WED 4th AUG : STEP UP TO THE MARK

Altho I am still trying to work out what is obsessing The Lady about her new apartment today I have officially tried to 'Step Up To The Mark' and share the responsibilities for the apartment. How? Going to the paint shop and decimating their stock of green sample cards. She's got to like one of these for the bedroom.

I'll get that drill out this evening too.


Things I still haven't done for the apt as reminded by the Lady by IM: Have no suggestion for what color rug we're getting.

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August 3, 2004

TUE 3rd AUG : MY LIFE AS FILM

Busy day today. Proposals, meeting with this DJ guy I know here who wants some marketing help on this project of his.

Also met with a friend of the Lady's to discuss an idea I had for a film script. Now let me think.... 'Guy Brighton Super Blogger'. I see it now - in big letters across the screen. A film of a chap typing incoherent stories every day into an online diary read by a cast of dozens.... maybe we'll kill him off in the end.

Any other suggestions?


Things I haven't forgotten to do for the apt today (as informed by the Lady on IM): Put up the hooks on the bathroom door, get a trash bin for the bathroon.

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August 2, 2004

MON 2nd AUG : H1B VISA

One year, 1 month and a fast-car loan later: Looks like I got my H1B Work Visa Approved.

I am not as extactic as everyone expects though. Why?

There are lots of back slapping and I smile but I don't feel positive.


Things I have forgotten to do for the apt as reminded by The Lady over the phone this afternoon: Realised her friends had a drill we could borrow and ask for it.

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August 1, 2004

SUNDAY 1st AUGUST

It turns out that Sunday is now officially Errands Day.

There is no sitting back appreicating the new apartment nor popping down to the river park to read the paper. We need to get a new bin for the bathroom and -by jolly- we need it now.

Soon we are friends of the staff of Bed Bath & Beyond, the Container Store, ABC Carpets Sample Sale, the Wholefoods Store in Chelsea ('What do you mean we're going food shopping too?!') and the hook lady in the Chelsea Flea Market....

Posted by Guy Brighton at 7:39 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack