I felt like I was walking through a copy of Vice magazine. Or an episode of NYPD Blue. I play DFA compilations on my i-Pod for extra added effect. It’s impossible to see the city naked. Our view is distorted by a hundred thousand pop cultural references. Ahh America. The home we know so well yet never stepped foot on.

After comparing Australian TV to British TV, one realises we really do have an absurd amount of American content on our air. And TV is the most powerful definer as well as broadcaster of a nation’s identity. Hence everything in America feels strangely, vaguely familiar. But now, rather than being small and flat on the box, it’s 3D and loud and in and around my face shit! I’m touchin’ it baby, I’m smellin’ it (and often it smells like toilet), it’s nuts, it’s crazy, what the fuck?!

And even more insane, the most insanest of all, — is that fact that I am in it. I mean there’s all those millions of pictures of New York from magazines, music, television and movies in my head, and never once was I in the middle of it, but now, I can see myself in the reflection of the train window, trying on that look of disaffected boredom they do so well, they those special breed, Big N Y New Yorkers, — shit I’m here! In this unreality.

I wanna pass as a local, I want to be invisible and momentarily adopt their skin. So I try not to look quizzically at street signs or maps, or show my inward glee at doing the simplest of things (shopping, taking subways, crossing streets) despite it all being an incredible novelty. And I do like to think I will graduate from tourist just a little. After all I’m (1) Living here for a month (2) In an apartment with local New Yorkers (3) Doing work experience, a.k.a. doing work with New Yorkers.

And of course, it is being with the New Yorkers that’s coolest of all. You never really understand a nationality until you see them in their home territory. Suddenly a light is shone on their personality. While I’ve met Americans before, to be in New York is to be surrounded by them, and a certain kind of American. Most Americans you meet will have a neutral accent, but when you hear a thick New York twang, especially, oh so delightfully, a BROOKLYN accent, then you know you really must be in NY. Kind of like when you’re in Paris, you don’t ever really feel like you’re there until you’re standing in front of the Iron Lady eating a croissant. The Brooklyn accent is “authentic New York,” you can’t find it anywhere else in the world and rarely will.

(Ditto with the Cockney accent in London. I mean you meet English people all around the world, but how often do you hear that full blown East Ender accent? Like never!)

More soon…

Yuh huh, I’m writing for these guys. They didn’t publish my first profile though:

I’d rather not say welcome to a night of Hair Bands but let’s just say you’ll be able to detect the slightest whiff of hairspray intermingling amongst the usual stink of rock fueled beer and sweat. I guess you can’t expect anything less when a motley crew of Melbourne lads crash this city. Look forward to Davey Lane cutting a fine figure against Spectrum’s rainbow stripes as he takes The Pictures to the stage. With You Am I and The Wrights badges pinned firmly to his jacket one wonders how many more bands this man can strum for. The Exploders and The New Black bring up the back, sure to blow away all those pansy Sydney boys with some real meaty M-town musical action.

You know what I’ve just noticed? There sure be some interesting names in that contributors list. Arturo Escartin’s got to be my favourite. Like straight out of a murder mystery caper!

Nothing I do here counts. No tabs dog me, no tracks, no record, no reputation, no gossip flitters around my name. I am delightfully unrecognised, and I get high off the anonymity. This complete liberation has a dangerous effect on my personality. Here I find myself emotionally erratic, bold as a lion, gesticulating wildly without a moment’s censure, blinding as a river of cold crystal harshly forcing its way through the swollen sludge. Having uprooted myself I can discover my self in the purest, most primitive form and having turned inside out unleash, to mix with the raging city. I am more myself here than anywhere and with some small shock have discovered myself to be a complete arsehole, a tender baby, a wreck, a crude and flamboyant dictator.

(In addition, my neuroses have been allowed to remain completely unchecked and it grows by the day in twisted new forms. Home acts like a clipping to keep the jungle in my head from taking total control. The flatness, safety, warmth and predictablity of life in Sydney is both a relief and a curse.)

Being a total blog-aholic, when I noticed that Vibewire now have a members blog function, true to form I took a big addled snort and dived right on in. I’ve decided to write all my blog entries there in reponse to other people’s blog entries. Sort of like doing a cover song. Here’s the first one: ???

Note: Lol, before the days of Tumblr. – 18/05/2009

I made this for Mick’s radio show on FBi: Letter from London.

Note: Listen to an archived version of the show here, plus more of my archived podcasts here. Oh yeah and … LULZZZZZZ! – 29/05/09