A Magical Place

On December 26th family Gilbert made the journey to Disneyland, Anaheim. As can often be expected with these things it was eventful. I will start by running down each family members take on roller-coasters.

Dad - Hates them. Would rather watch the Disney parade.

Mum - Despite a bad back is always game.

Me - I'll always go but can be easily dissuaded into chickening out.

Claire - Loves them and will ride anything.

Elizabeth - Is scared of the teacups.

So with this in mind we all made a pact to do everything and anything. We raced into the park and made sure we had our fast pass tickets to Space Mountain so we wouldn't have to que later. In order to pass the time we decided to jump on a couple of other rides. First up was the Buzz Lightyear ride. A slow moving, slightly spinning ride in the dark. It was full of fun and merriment.... but no for Elizabeth who felt sick afterwards.

A fact you need to know for this tale is that Claire suffers from Vertigo. Basically if things move fast she becomes dizzy. After the Buzz ride she said she felt a little dizzy but would carry on. Next up was the relatively tame rollercoaster 'The Matterhorn.' Elizabeth spent the whole time before we went on crapping her pants with Dad slowly turning whiter at the prospect of moving fast. We made it to the front of the line and all jumped aboard. 30 seconds later the tame ride finished. Elizabeth had survived. Dad had survived. Claire had not. An attack of the dizzies had struck her and she had to be helped out of the children's ride and onto a bench.

She then made the executive decision that she couldn't ride anything that moved. Fun. So the family had been beaten by Buzz Lightyears's ride and The Matterhorn. The problem was it was 11am at this point and we still had plenty of time in the park. We were then reduced to riding the Winnie the Pooh ride which crawled along whilst robotic characters ate honey. Claire felt a little dizzy after that but maintained that was the level of rides she could cope with. Elizabeth was pleased.

Elizabeth was even more pleased when we stopped off to wolf down hot-dogs for lunch. Lets not beat around the bush here, the food at Disney isn't exactly gourmet! The hot-dogs were disgusting, like a dog had just curled out a crap and it had been placed between a bun. Even fouler than the hot dogs were the abomination that was 'Meat on a Stick.' The world 'Ronseal' hasn't ever been more appropriate, it does what it says on the tin. 'Meat on a Stick' was a lump of meat on a stick. Even better than seeing the foul processed food was watching my pescaparian mother gag at the sight of fat Americans and camera happy Japanese chowing down on the meat.It was the closest anyone came to throwing up all day.

So a day of crap food and crap rides as the family all left the park feeling queazy because of Matterhorn's, Toys and meat. Still at the end of the day it's all about spending time with family.

Arctic Conditions

On Thursday night I removed myself from American culture for a slice of Britannia in the shape of a ticket to see the Arctic Monkeys. Dylan had lovingly found the tickets via some means on the internet and we were off to look good on the dancefloor.

Ladies and Gentlemen the weather in new York has turned, it is absolutely freezing. The kind of freezing that makes your hands so cold it's like you've been jerking off a Polar Bear. I was ill prepared for this cold snap and had not really dressed accordingly. Having lost my gloves in a drunken mess on Tuesday I was struggling against the biting winds as my body slowly started resemble a popsicle.

I arrived at the venue 5 minutes early and waited for Dylan, he had a work engagement so we decided to meet there. At 8:45 (meeting time) I received a message from Dylan asking for the address. I was not best pleased. By now the weather had turned and a smattering of snow was falling, my nuts weren't having any of it and retreated into my body to find warmth. Of course Dylan couldn't find a cab because they were all taken as no one in their right mind would want to stand in the cold longer than they had too.... except me. Of course I'm my own worst enemy and should have picked up my ticket from Dylan earlier in the week. The next 10 minutes a barrage of messages were exchanged as I demanded to know how long he was going to be. I ended up calling Dyl and telling him to run the final few avenues if he was stuck in traffic.

For those not up to date on their pop culture the singer of the Arctic Monkeys is currently dating a TV presenter called Alexa Chung, she is beyond beautiful and needless to say I am a little bit in love with her. As I stood slowly freezing to death I noticed a tall attractive woman standing next to me.... then I looked again, holy fucking shit I was standing next to Alexa Chung! My balls were no longer afraid of the cold and decided they wanted to see what the fuss was about. I stood gawping, heart aching and longing as she too waited for a friend in the cold! Annoyingly for me her friend showed up after a minute and she swept inside via the VIP entrance. Then I saw in the distance a mound of flustered curly hair come jogging down the road.... finally! There was one problem though Dylan had been at his work Christmas party and was down 4 gin and tonics. He had just run halfway across Manhattan in the freezing cold and he looked like he was about to die. He excused himself for a moment, walked across the road, probably vomited and then it was time to go inside.

The olden days of throwing myself about in the moshpit are long gone. Instead Dyl and I met up with his friend Tiff and her roommate and decided to stand on the edge and frown on the shenanigans of the youth of today. A few songs in I suddenly felt a searing pain in my foot. Some fat Irish girl had stabbed me with her high heels, her and her equally tubby friend apologized and then started asking me a plethora of questions I was not interested in. They were soon given attention though by the drunk swayer. The drunk swayer was a man who was off his face and was standing around swaying uncontrollably pointing a random people and singing to them. He, Tweedle O'Dum and Tweedle O'Dee were soon the best of friends, stabbing and swaying along to the music. The gig changed pace when the band played one of their slower songs, Cornerstone, somewhat of a love song. The swayer saw this as his chance he grabbed one of the fat girls and started singing in her ear before leaning in for the kiss, unfortunately for him and luckily for the watching crowd he was presented with the cheek as oppose to the lips.

As quickly as they had all fallen in love the trio were no longer friends. The Swayer wasn't done there though. He set his sights on Tiff's roommate. As he moved in for the kill in stepped that colossus of a man and protector of women's rights, Dylan Viner. Bristling like an angered wolf he told the Swayer to move on or there would be trouble. The swayer moved on very quickly, as quickly as a 9-1 victory can be forgotten (no plethora of status updates after this result guys? Shame, I love reading them. COYS) . His next target was Dylan, he leaned in and rested his head on Dylan's shoulder, a quick push and he disappeared into the crowd. we saw Swayer later squaring up to some guy about to get in a fight, I assume they kissed and made up though.

As I braved the cold home Dylan and I reminisced about the old days of attending gigs, and we both agreed by far the funniest two things we have seen both involve out friend Jeremy Elster. The first was when he arrived at a gig for the last 3 songs, because Shabbos went out late that night, yet still insisted he enjoyed it and it was worth the money. The second was waiting for Oasis to take the stage at Finsbury Park only for a bowl of pasta to come flying through the air and land of Jeremy's head. Good times.

Murder Bar

They say where you drink is a reflection of you.... If this is the case then man am I in trouble.

You see I don't like the bar where I regularly drink. It's dark and dingy and has a terrible selection of beers, however I find myself there at least twice a week.

The Watering Hole is less than a block away from work, this means that after a stressful shift where you reek of Barbeque sauce there is really only one place to go. I've tried to champion other bars, in fact Crocodile lounge with its free pizza with every beer threatened to topple the hellhole that is our local, it just couldn't bring in the numbers and fell by the wayside.

Perhaps the worst thing about The Hole is the karaoke, dear sweet lord the karaoke. I have had some interesting experiences revolving around that microphone. Hell I've sung when I've had a few to many and I can just about get away with it, but the problem is when pissed up girls belt out 'It's Raining Men' it makes me want to cry. The most interesting aspect of karaoke is when the Mafia come to drink in the bar. You see the Mafia get what they want and when they say it's their turn to sing, it's their turn to sing. There is a catch to this, you see they sing the same fucking song every... single... time. Even more messed up is when you try to sing the song that they always do. Halfway through your rendition you will feel a thick Italian hand hand on your shoulder followed by the pasta breath of someone quietly explaining that you can't sing that song because it is reserved for a friend. It is at this point you drop the microphone and leave the bar.
Perhaps the most surreal moment was watching actor William Hurt singing the song with the Mafia before hitting on every young black girl in the bar.
No matter how drunk or sober I am, no matter what day of the week it is I always seem to end up at The Hole. Even on my birthday at 4:30am I suddenly realized that I was standing in a room with a familiar dank smell. At the point I stumbled home.

But by far and away the most frustrating thing about the Hole is the fact there is no reception there. It's like it is a vortex and once inside you can never escape, at no point can you call a mate to see where they are because that involves walking outside into the cold New York air.
Nothing good comes of a night in The Hole, you either leave to drunk and are annoyed you got wasted for no reason, or you leave sober and are annoyed you bothered to buy a couple of drinks.

So Ladies and Gentlemen the reason you haven't heard from me for a few weeks is because I have been trapped. Trapped inside a bar full of shitty sports memorabilia, bad singers, weird smells, terrible beer and a lingering sense of guilt. The Watering Hole. I tell you, if drinks weren't $4 for regulars I'd never go.