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Howdy y'all,
Let me be quite clear about this. Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, your boys took one hell of a beating. Kurt Cobain can you hear me? Can you hear me? Your boys took one hell of a beating.
Obviously they can't hear me because they're dead, Jim. But if they were alive they would be happy to know I have not dishonoured their ranks by joining them as a member of the 27 club, the collection of legendary live fast die young rock stars who died at 27. Then again if they were alive they would not be members of the 27 club. Anyhow, that's not the point. The point is after a year of casting caution to the wind (well, a moderate breeze perhaps) I've made it to 28. All bets are off now. I thank you.
So then, it's a suitably brash and flamboyant hello from the land of Yosemite and the SUV, Thomas Edison and the Super Abs-normal Weight Loss Stretcher Machine Thingy, spelling bees and color, liberty and Guantanamo bay. I've been out and about in America for six weeks now and I thought I better let you know how I'm getting on. What could there be to worry about? Remember, I am your cultural ambassador. Duck and cover! Duck. And. Cover. At least that's what I did when at an American Football game when I mistakenly wandered a few steps in to the ladies toilets. I was chased out by a particularly scary rotund purple track suited lady and fortunately sought refuse by hiding in the que for nachos; believe me with the enormous size of the average person stood there nobody was going to find me.
LEAVE IT BAZ, IT'S NOT WORTH IT
The great Baz Luhrmann was right. Go to California but leave before it makes you soft and go to New York City but leaves before it makes you hard. Taking the advice, therefore, of a nauseating novelty pop record from 1999 I did just that. San Francisco is a texture of sun and shade upon hilly avenues and golden shore lines. It is a place not hurried, not harassed by the traumas of other people's higgilty pickelty lives. A city made for ambling around corners and slowing the pace at which those little red blood cells hurtle around your body. In San Francisco there may not be any hippies anymore but, charmingly, they have just become post LSD loopy old tramps who ride the buses with you singing "If you're going to San Francisco" (no, really) whilst providing a visual aid for exactly how revolting ones own clothing has become.
Should you sing "...be sure to wear a flower in your hair" on the subway in New York I rather suspect someone will biff you on the nose. For a while I took to imitating the distinctive Nu Yoik accent and phrases of locals as I passed them until Mr John Williams, who fortunately joined me for this jaunt, would say anxiously "I think you should stop doing that now Paul". It's not that New Yorkers are a particularly unpleasant bunch, rather they just operate on a shorter line of thinking. Look at this way, they just don't like being asked or having to ask the same question twice: Places to go, people to knock in to and hey, did you schwipe my pepperoni?
Gotham city is fantastic of course, it's made to be loved. Just look up, down and around wherever you stand. You're standing in streets running like bustling rivers at the bottom of ravenous canyons of steel and glass. Film sets seemingly sit on every corner and surreal yet beautiful palaces of the sky like the Chrysler building hover in the heavens.
By the way, I've also ambled through Yosemite (which I used to confuse with YellowStone and which in turn I used to think was called JellyStone), Boston (to feel clever), Rural coast side New England (to check in with the family), Washington DC (Yo George! you...), Toronto (where it's a tad nippy) and back now to the possibly the best city in the world.
LIVING THE DREAM BABY, YEAH!
You know dear reader, it's no good just visiting a country. Let me overtly patronise you for a moment. No, no, no, you've got to be prepared live it, embrace it and sit for hours on the toilet for it. Surfing in Oz, Tango in Argentina and now an embrace of all things Americana. As I can't afford James Dean's wind cheater coat I settled for a frenzy of food and sport. In the name of culture I have consumed burgers, pizzas, burritos, pancakes, bagels, pretzels, baps, subs, cookies, muffins, nachos, hot dogs and doughnuts. It's quite a thing to wonder what that gnawing feeling in your stomach is that won't go away and then come to the realisation it's a craving for fruit and vegetables.
In the wide world of sport I've been to basketball and American football games. I'm very proud that I actually understand the latter a little. Watching it on TV with other legal aliens in this world I have been happy to impart my knowledge. My commentary alongside the TV is down to a fine art..."They're off. They're running. They're running. Bang". However at the end of all this I am still lagging in my pursuit of the American dream. I still have embarrassingly inappropriate and confusing conversations using the words "pants" or "tramp", and I don't understand why it is ok to say "In God We Trust" on the coins and notes but that Christmas must be called "The Holidays" so as not to offend.
WHAT DID THEY EVER WANT WITH BEAR ARMS IN THE FIRST PLACE ANYWAY?
It would be churlish and immature to end this e-mail with cheap shots at other countries just because they are more powerful than us but hey there you are. Since being here there have been several "Mcfly moments". As in the movie Back to the Future when Biff bangs on Michael J Fox's head and says "Hello, Mcfly is there anyone at home".
Aside of the "slippery when wet" signs it's always good to set out ground rules to your guests as in the TV studio tour I went on which had a list of requently asked questions on their leaflet: no.1 of which was "Can I take a irearm on the tour?", the answer begins "no, unfortunately...". Or in a hostel where a list of instructions include "In the event of a fire in your room, leave the room and close the door".
People are keen to find out about your culture..."do you celebrate Thanksgiving in England?". And finally cultural re-orientation time, here's an ice breaker question to be asked: "Do you think slavery is a good thing?", I suggested that there had been at least a couple of better ideas in the history of human thought and I learnt in reply that "it's only a problem if the slaves are treated badly". What, like when they're not given their weekly tuck shop rations?
SMELL MY CHEESE
Time to end with a tribute though. There is a tv programme here where the idea is a troubleshooter goes to meet failing personal and business relationship and with his brand of help and advice helps the minions fix their woes. The troubleshooter is also a famous TV personality. All familiar stuff. But in an unwitting tribute to Alan Partridge the subtle troubleshooter person is Mr T of the A team fame and his show is called "I pity the fool".
Monkey tennis anyone?
Not long of this searching for beds without bed bugs business to go now. Just for you dear reader there are two new photo albums for your despair on line now at www.statraveljournals.com/mrpaulmullens ("USA & Canada" and "New York") including my new ultra beardy image. Be there or be somewhere else.
Bye,
Paul.
IF I COULD OFFER YOU ONLY ONE TIP FOR THE FUTURE, SUNSCREEN WOULD BE IT.
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