Yankee Bayonet

Now I really want to do them justice. So I’ll try and do this well.

This weekend I get an email from a friend saying he’s going to see a band play and since I’m of the musically inclined variety, would I be interested?

And if I was constrained to use but one sentence, that is probably how I would let you know I came about to see a band that goes with the name of “The Decemberists”. Live ofcourse.

That was the first I’d seen or heard of them (I know, it hurt me to realise I was so out of it. Especially in the music side of life. Celebrity gossip, TV serial knowledge, movies etc I don’t give fuck all about. But this hit where it hurt. Sigh.)

Now I’m in love with them. The unconditional variety. They’re mindblowingly good live. And that just might be me making an understatement.

You know, they didn’t have a set prepared. The first words the lead singer uttered was “this time we’re leaving it to fate”. Then they brought out this master-of-ceremony guy who rolled a big lottery drum and choose songs out of it. He did have a strangely put on british accent, but the Decemberists obliged every time. No set. Just fate apparently, albeit through the mouth of a fake british accent.

It was such a different experience. And New York laps different. Hell even I lapped it up.

On one particular roll, the master of ceremony said “Fuckin 'ell. All this ball here says, is that Colin is to make up a song right now." So Colin, got up to the mic and sang a song - about new york city and how when he’d come here the first time he stole something from the empire state building's gift shop. And he’s not returning it back.

Oh and you know what else he did. During the song “Culling of the fold”, he jumped into the crowd, while doing the hand touching thing with the front row he took someone’s cell phone, went up to the stage, dialed a number from the phonebook and kept singing loudly into the phone. If you know the lyrics to that song, you'll know that that someone on the other side of the phone lived through a lot.

He did return the phone back. Most likely since it had nothing to do with the empire state building.

And he wore suspenders. Fuck I really want suspenders now.

Where The Wild Roses Grow

Well then, I survived the psychological experiment fine and ok. Boss didn't notice. Maybe I should be worried. bah...Although, please don't be trying this at wherever it is you call work. Only trained artists please.

On other fronts, this city has been besieged by rain clouds. They’re nice though. Just stick around, drizzle on you and make you happy. Well one person's version of happy at least. I love rain clouds man. They’re like the official flag of the hill stations in India. The light chill, the mist everywhere, the view from your window when rolled up in a blanket near the fireplace. I love hill stations man.

One side effect of the rain clouds though is that they’ve rendered me a hopeless romantic. It’s like a chemical reaction. And I just saw someone’s holiday pics on facebook, from Greece and Puerto Rico, and now I’m a jealous hopeless romantic. That’s not a chemical reaction. I hate facebook.

Talking about weekends, I did a house movie night where we saw Watchmen, followed by poker. I love that book man. Perhaps the only thing that stayed with me from the movie though, was that I’m definitely going to make out to the song hallelujah playing in the background. But the Leonard Cohen version. He does it so much better.

Went home and saw Wall Street, again. Now I really want to wear suspenders.

Fiction affecting reality. But ofcourse.

Stir It Up

So I did a naughty thing.

I did two days of golf in a golf resort this Friday and Saturday. 3 friends; 4 rounds of that old picturesque, beautiful and yet frustrating game; blissful dinner with tired hands that could barely lift the cutlery and a countryside that probably inspired poems and sketches (that most likely hang on banker walls).

This country has it easy man. The fertile soil, the sun tanned climate, the frolicking wildlife. My development economics teacher always touted the golden rule of these developed economies as “Location Location Location”. So he stole it, but he used it well he did.

And then as I hit Manhattan, the ugly smell of perfume, deodorant, high heels and concrete brought the dream crumbling down...

But wait, naughty thing. That being I bunked work for it. I just plain didn’t show up for work on friday. No leave, no notice. Something like this is very alien to the american psyche, what with their work worshipping way of life.

So what we’ve got here, is a psychological experiment. I’m assuming my boss, never having any experience in this kind of behaviour, either:

1. Renders me insane and doesn’t confront me.
2. Confronts me but stalls for words to form a respectable question regarding my behaviour.
3. Shrugs his shoulders at me when he sees me on Tuesday, sighs and gives me more work. Essentially ignoring the whole absence.

Really, I doubt if he has any other options. It’s that far removed from their way of thinking.

I’m rooting for option 1. I’ve never been labeled insane and it’s been a dream. Wish me luck.