Dear Mum,

I apologise for not doing a blog post for the previous few weeks. I have been busy.

I love the fashion in NYC and have brought some of it home, but I actually place less value on the way others think I look. Being in a city of millions makes you realise that no one is actually getting caught up in how you dress and how you look. It’s liberating and also gives me confidence to wear what I want. Creative expression through fashion is fun but I really don’t need to be caught up about what others think of it. 

Not being 21 in America is terrible. Not because I can’t drink but because not being allowed entry into pubs and bars prevents a lot of opportunities to meet new people. There were times when I got pretty down that I wasn’t allowed into these places. I was trying to go outside of my comfort zone and meet new people but this law was restricting me from doing so, especially because they seem very strict on checking ID.

I tried to get into a bar with my Aussie mates Rory and Dan but the guy at the door asked for my ID. I gave it to him hoping he wouldn’t really look and just grant me entry. He took it and stared at it for a while. He asked me how old I was. I said 20. He looked at me as if to say “Really? Really?? You actually just tried to do that? Ya dumb shit.” I wasn’t allowed in.

-Skippy Niggers. Rory and Dan-

One morning at around 3:00 I was walking home and tried my luck at the pub on my block. A place called ‘Sophies’ that had been around for many decades. I walked in, sat down at the bar and confidently ordered a beer. No ID. No questions asked. Beer served and paid for. I found it! I stayed ‘til maybe 6:30 that morning talking to the guys there about American politics and their memories of September 11 and what the anniversary meant to them. I came home feeling really good. 

-Sophies- 

So for the last few weeks of the trip I went to Sophie’s most nights. Or should I say mornings. My great buddies Dave and Max went there most nights and we usually met up around 1am and stayed there ‘til the early morning. Never once did they ask me for ID.

Now for those of you asking about the girl that I met on the subway.. Sorry to tell y’all, she didn’t reply. I thought I saw her walk into a store so I followed her in but it turned out not to be her. It would have been a very great movie moment if it was her though right? Out of the millions of people in NYC I find her. Serendipity? The fairytale never happened. But it made for fun blogging right?

I did however accidentally slip on a vacuum cleaner and get a bruise on my neck where it sucked the skin. Well Mum, at least that’s what I told you happened when you saw the bruise on my neck. This ‘vacuum cleaner’ also enjoyed sucking up cocaine far too much. I decided not to see the ‘vacuum cleaner’ again. 

Homelessness in NYC is very confronting. There are a lot of people who sleep on the street and who ask for spare change. For the most part, if I had coins in my pocket I’d drop it in their cup. But it was still upsetting to see. Some were really rude if you didn’t give them money but most were very polite. 

People said that they don’t give money to the homeless because “what if they spend it on drugs?”. To that I say, not giving someone who you suspect of being an addict a dollar won’t stop them from being an addict. But giving someone who is probably very hungry some money will help them with food. I chose to see the best in these people and usually gave them a dollar. But I felt as though a dollar wouldn’t go very far in getting them out of their situation.

On my block there was a guy who sat on a doorstep most days doing crossword puzzles in the newspaper and keeping to himself. For a week or so I didn’t speak to him at all. One night after buying myself a gigantic New York slice of pizza I had a handful of change as I walked past him- I decided to give it to him. I was met with the most beautiful thick and husky NYC accent “Thanks man!”. The New York accent is somewhat rare to hear- but when you hear a born and raised New Yorker speak it’s amazing.

The next day I walked past him again and he said “Hey man, was that you last night?”. I said yes and we started talking. His name was Edwin. We spoke and he told me about his life. He had been on this block since the 70’s and on the streets for 14 years. He told me he preferred to keep to himself rather than stick with the other homeless people in NY. The reason he was on the street is because of his health, he has been in 9 comas over the years and his health prevents him from working but he is still unable to get government health support. I asked why he chose not to stay in shelters and he said that you’ll get robbed if you do. “You got nothin’ but they’ll rob you anyway.” He was missing his front teeth from where someone had kicked them in while he was sleeping. He said on the street he’d been set on fire before. I told him that I appreciated the way he wasn’t rude at all and kept to himself. He said he doesn’t like to ask for much. He was a real cool dude. 
I ended that first conversation by saying if there is ever anything he needed then he should just let me know. To which he responded in the most beautiful way- “Yeah me too man, I don’t got much, but if you need help or anything just let me know, I’m happy to help.” I realised that this was a good dude. He was smart, well spoken and kind hearted. 

Whenever I saw him I’d stop and chat for a while. I’d ask him how he slept the previous night and if the cops had given him a hard time. I’d ask if he’d had anything to eat and if not I’d buy him a few slices of pizza. Whenever I found him going through the bins for food I’d give him a couple of dollars to get himself something to eat. But more than anything, I felt that talking… or rather listening… was the greatest thing I could do for him. I was really humbled by Edwin. He told me that he wanted nothing more than to just get a job and have his own place. He genuinely wanted to work and I couldn’t help feel that the government health system had let him down. 

-My buddy Edwin- 

The day before I left I took him to Black Iron Burger for a meal, the burger shop that Max and Dave worked at and the shop responsible for me gaining 4 kilograms on this trip. He told me that he didn’t want to eat inside because he was embarrassed about the way he looked. I said he didn’t have anything to worry about but understood if he’d rather eat outside. I ordered the Iron Horse, a double beef patty burger. So good.

When the order was ready I grabbed the burgers and came outside with him, he was confused. He thought that I was going to be eating inside and that he’d go outside to eat. I told him that the point was to eat the meal together so I was happy to come out and eat with him. It might not seem like much, but he displayed enough bravery to change his mind and come eat inside the restaurant with me.

There we chatted about how he felt being on the street and he told me about the times when he’d gone up onto the roof in winter time and hoped he’d slip off because things were just too hard. As hard as it was to hear all this stuff I felt as though it was really healthy for him to be able to share it with someone. He gave me the address of his friend and I gave him mine and we agreed to write one another. His story really moved me and made me grateful for what I have.  Edwin was a bloody good bloke. 

Now Mum, here is a story that will get you a bit worried. One night after the pub I was really drunk. Proud? Yeah. It was about 6:00 in the morning and I decided to buy a packet of my favourite guacamole chips and go up to the roof of my apartment complex. I hadn’t been up there yet and obviously this was the perfect opportunity to head up right? 

So against all inebriated odds I made it up the 7 flights of stairs onto the roof, found a place to lie down, pumped some Kings Of Leon on the iPhone and had a little snooze.

After my rest I decided to head down to bed. So I went to the door and twisted the handle to head down stairs. Locked. Really? I thought it might have just been jammed so I gave it a good twist. Definitely locked. Tried to shove it open. Locked. I got the keys for my apartment out and they didn’t open the door either. At this point I started to panic a little. In my state of mind I imagined I’d be stuck on the roof for days with out food or water and die!! Bit dramatic.

So I made the decision to get down stairs by any means necessary. With my big trusty boots I started kicking the door. I was booting the absolute crap out of it for about a minute. Surely it’d break soon. With all my drunken strength I was almost putting my leg straight through the door. After several hard and heavy kicks to my surprise the door opened at last! But not from the mighty kicks. It opened from the other side. As it opened I noticed to pyjama clad gents standing there. They didn’t seem happy at all. Well neither did I right? I quickly realised the reason why they seemed less than impresses. Turns out the door that I thought was to the staircase was actually the door to their apartment! They were furious and used some foul language. Rude much? I am so lucky they didn’t have a baseball bat or even a bloody gun. To calm them I offered them some of my chips. They didn’t seem to impressed by that either. So I asked where the stairs where and left them to go back to sleep. Closest to death I’ve ever come :)

 

This trip has been a really healthy experience for me. I’ve been humbled and inspired. It was very calming as well. I need to work hard for the things I want and not get too stressed about things that truly don’t matter. I am one of many creative people and despite being a minority in the suburbs of Sydney there is a whole community who value creative expression.

I love acting. I love theatre. I love film. I want to work so hard to be able to do that for a living. I can do it. 

I love New York City.

I love you Mum.

I love my family. 

From a bloody happy son.  

Dear Mum,

This is my experience of the 10^th Anniversary of the September 11 Attacks.

For the past few weeks my sleeping patterns had gotten really crazy. Going to bed at 5:00 in the morning, waking up at 2:00 in the afternoon then having a nap at night- waking up and staying awake until early morning. On Saturday I woke up at 2:00 in the afternoon and went and walked around Soho then up to the Lincoln Centre where New York Fashion Week was being held. I got home at around 6:00 at night and crashed- waking up at around 10:00 that night. I stayed awake in my bed watching Netflix until the early hours of Sunday, Sunday September 11 2011.

I’m sure the media back home reported how much of a big event this was and showed how intense security leading up to the day had been. I had no intentions of going downtown. No intentions of going anywhere near Ground Zero- not for fear of attacks- but because of the impossible crowds. I’d already visited Ground Zero and seen the One World Trade Centre that is currently under construction. That experience alone was moving. I’d had many conversations with New Yorkers and gained a new perspective of what that day actually meant to the residents of this city. But at 5:00 that morning I decided I wasn’t going to spend this momentous day sleeping until the early afternoon. I made an impulse decision to grab my camera and I walk out the door- not knowing at all what to expect apart from insane security and huge crowds.

At that time of the morning the streets are pretty quiet- by New York City standards that is. There were enough people around to make it safe but still quiet. Even close to the East Village the Police presence was strong. There were at least 2 Police Officers on most intersections as I was heading downtown. It was about a 45 minute walk. As I walked I wasn’t sure exactly how close or far away I was from Ground Zero so I kept walking in the direction. I thought I was still a fair few blocks away from the site when I turned a street and saw the One World Trade Centre with its red, white and blue lights shining. It was still dark and that sight alone took me by surprise and moved me. Ten years ago that day I’m sure someone had seen the skyline from the street I was in at that moment and not realised how drastically it would change that day- along with the country and the world we live in.

-One World Trade Centre. Red, White and Blue-

I knew I wouldn’t get very close to Ground Zero because of security and because the President would be in town. At a certain point the street was blocked off and a pass was needed to get any further in. I figured that I wouldn’t get any closer and that my experience of that day would not be much different from taking a few photos of One World Trade Centre.

I got to the South of Manhattan Island and saw the Statue of Liberty. On the riverside there was a small group having a memorial. It was a beautiful sight. The sun had come up and the sky was clear. The sun was beautiful and the city was looking at its best, just as it was 10 years ago.

-Memorial-

I spent the next few hours slowly walking around downtown as the crowds picked up. At one point the whole of downtown went into lockdown as the President arrived. No one was allowed to move. Traffic on the road and the footpath was at a standstill. At one point someone broke past the police barricades and I was ready for some hardcore police action but it turned out it was just a very confused homeless man who didn’t understand why he wasn’t allowed to walk around.

-The streets in lockdown whilst President Obama travelled to Ground Zero-

- “There were explosives in the elevator shafts”-

One thing I didn’t anticipate was the protesters. I knew that there were people who believed that it was an inside job but I assumed that most of those people were nerds who wanted to cause a stir on the internet in order to get attention. But I saw some wild protesters who were filled with genuine anger and pure belief that the government had orchestrated the attacks 10 years ago- a very different picture from the image I had of what these conspiracy “nerds” were like.

-Protesters calling for an investigation into 9/11-

There were people who looked like every day New Yorkers among the screaming group. In my opinion I felt that the anniversary wasn’t the day to be doing that in front of the families- but half the world’s media was in town and these people wanted to be heard. There was also Dr. Terry Jones who was in that crowd of protesters preaching against Islam. He got into a big verbal match with conspiracy protesters because they wanted him to leave because he was drawing attention away from their agenda.

-Dr Terry Jones preaching against Islam-

 There was a lot of the annoying attention seeking people in that crowd- but I felt sorry for the people who were obviously so hurt by their belief that the government murdered its own people. I didn’t expect to feel sympathy for people who I’d dismissed as crazy attention seeking nerds.

Another thing that shocked me was seeing the families of the victims. Most of them were sticking together and being strong for each other, knowing how hard this day was. But some of the families were so angry and rude- which I’m not condemning- I mean I can’t begin to imagine their pain. But some were swearing at people to get out of their way and were filled with anger and hurt. It was a hard day for them.

-Family Check-In for the Memorial ceremony-

I managed to find a side street that had a good view of a screen showing the ceremony. It was about 100m away from the Ground Zero site. Unfortunately the Westboro Baptist Church was picketing next to it. These are the group of people who picket the funerals of dead U.S. soldiers and claim that the deaths is God’s way of showing his anger at the sinful country. They have a very anti-homosexual agenda and hold signs saying “FAGS BURN IN HELL”.

They were screaming and ranting at this memorial and thanking God for the September 11 attacks. “Thank God for 9/11”. It honestly made me feel so sick. They didn’t stay for long which is good but I knew they’d be going somewhere else and spreading their disgusting hate filled messages.

There were a few people standing in the street I was in watching the ceremony, most of us in tears. To mark the times when each of the 4 planes crashed that day and the time each of the towers fell a bell was heard and a moment of silence taken. I looked up into the sky and couldn’t imagine being here ten years ago.

-10:28am North Tower falls-

I was 10 years old when it happened. It truly didn’t mean much to me. I knew it was big and bad. But I didn’t understand what the event as a whole was. I feel as though the event has almost become this piece of mythology. If the attacks never happened I don’t think anyone could ever just imagine that sort of thing ever existing. It’s such a foreign and surreal thing. It was such an out of this world event that I never really thought about how it would feel to experience it as a normal human being. I’m sure this is the case for many people in my generation who are growing old enough for the event to somewhat make sense, even though it’s still incomprehensible. I’m not sure how clear what I just said was but simply put- standing there watching the sky it became a real thing for me.

The family members read out the names of each of the victims. Two at a time they’d stand and read a list of 20 or so names out- ending with the name of the loved one they lost. They read their name and said a small message. Grown men holding back tears for their lost brother. Young women who’d lost their husbands. Children that has never met their mother. Mothers that lost their sons. Everyone. It just completely made me appreciate my family like nothing else. It broke my heart and made me realise how lucky I am. I also realised that this display of loss is a microcosm of what goes on every day. Everyday people lose their loved ones. Every day people feel such unbearable pain. There are events that don’t make the news and don’t have huge ceremonies that are devastating to people. I’m so lucky that I’ve never personally had to experience that. But it’s a fact of life that I will surely face.

Now, many times before I’ve heard people ponder on the thoughts that I’ve just had but I had a true understanding of it that day.

I experienced so many facets of humanity that shocked me and moved me.

It’s so easy to be loving towards one another. It’s also so much more rewarding. It’s much better to build something beautiful than to tear something beautiful down. My experience made me know that I need to forget a lot of the silly bullshit that concerns me and just show love.

I had a day that I will never forget.

From a son who loves his Mum… and entire family and friends.

Yo Mumma,

(WARNING) : This blog entry is pretty boring.

It has been over a week and I haven’t received an email from my subway lass. Turns out my email hadn’t been working properly and hadn’t been receiving all emails. So instead of accepting the fact that she wasn’t actually interested I’m going to just go with the idea that my email hasn’t been working. Her loss, right?

I have heard some of the most intense arguments over here. People on the phone truly don’t seem to understand or care that everyone around them can hear them. I’ve heard accusations of infidelity and incest all in the one telephone conversation.

Now, I survived a bloody earthquake. Pretty ballsy right? Yeah, well I also survived a hurricane. Hurricane Irene was quite the saga in NYC. The government was putting us all on high alert. Over 300 000 people had to be evacuated and the subway had to be closed down for the first time since September 11. Irene was heading towards land and there was talk that it would be as bad as Hurricane Katrina which devastated New Orleans a few years ago. Of course you had heard all this and has lost your shit! You were so scared and this time it was within reason. I was actually also kind of concerned. Death wouldn’t have been ideal.

We were told by the authorities to stock up on non-perishable food and clean water. We were told to have a ‘Go Bag’ in order to leave if things got far too crazy. I went to the super market on Friday afternoon. It was chaos. It looked like scenes out of a film. The aisles were full of people. Shelves of bottled water had been emptied. The line for the checkout was literally over 100 metres long. I bought some baked beans and other assorted things to keep me alive and lined up. Now, waiting in line with impatient Americans is pretty terrible. Again on the most part Americans are lovely, just a small minority are terrible, terrible people. Impatient loud mouths who can’t appreciate how lucky we are to have the shelter and food to survive an event like this. I was very close to telling some people to shut the hell up and appreciate how lucky we are- but then I remembered I don’t have the balls to confront people. Good thing I remembered that before I got a beat down from a Yank.

From Saturday night we were meant to stay inside our houses if we weren’t in the evacuation zone. Times Square was empty. Grand Central Station was empty. The streets were dead. By 9 pm the weather was meant to become a tropical storm and by Sunday morning shit was meant to get real. Flooding, flying debris, falling trees and loss of power was expected throughout the city. This was the closest I’d ever come to something this serious. This event had serious potential to make my trip one to remember for all the wrong reasons. I am staying in a basement apartment. Ground level is at about head height. If anywhere was going to flood in this area then it was likely that my room would. I was anticipating the alley way outside my window to be streaming with flood waters and for it to break through into my room and for me to be floating near the ceiling, gasping for air. I’ve never been one to be overly dramatic though… If I was about to die I needed to do something I’ve never done. Have a cigarette..

I hope my singing teacher isn’t reading this otherwise I’m expecting an ass kicking when I get home. So I’ve never had a smoke before. I got a cigarette from my roommate and went outside. I lit it up. I, along with every other male smoker, was deluded enough to think that smoking would make me look like James Dean. What a dumb ass. I inhaled the smoke and nearly friggin’ died! It tastes terrible. Worse than I imagined it to taste. Oxygen tastes so good. I took another puff and once again it tasted like shit. I decided to take the hard step and quit. Cold turkey. The hard way. I threw my cigarette in a puddle on the street. Then I picked it up and put it in the bin. Smoking wasn’t for me. But I could tick it off my hastily formed, hurricane induced bucket list. I hope pot doesn’t taste that bad…

I went to sleep on Saturday night expecting to wake up on Sunday morning floating a metre from the ceiling. Good night cruel world. It’s been a good run.

Sunday morning. I woke up. Looked outside- the storm mustn’t have hit yet. The glass bottle outside my window was still standing. I went onto Twitter and found out that the storm had been down-graded. It wasn’t going to be the disaster that New York had braced itself for. All this build up and nothing happened but a light breeze and a few branches breaking. I know that there had been flooding and in other states there were some deaths but New York had faired pretty well. No deaths and minimal damage. I was surprisingly disappointed. I was glad to be alive but there was a build up of tension and no release. I was fine. Glad to be alive. I survived Irene 2011. It took a few years off your life and added a few more grey hairs to your extensive collection.

I love you Mum. Apart from the near death experience I am having the best time. Struggling to meet new people a bit but still loving the things I’m seeing. I could live here. 7 weeks is not enough. This experience is filling me with confidence to be my self- wether that’s accepting my terrible sense of humour or accepting my own insecurities – I’m so glad I did this.

From a son who is more likely to die from smoke inhalation than from flying debris.

Dearest Mummy,

It’s been almost a week since my past blog. I apologise. I’ve been busy ;)

Here’s an overview of my last week.

I went to Central Park Zoo. I was very disappointed. You base a lot of your expectations of New York on films that are set here, which seems to be every second film. The film ‘Madagascar’ is set in Central Park Zoo (and Madagascar). So I was anticipating lions, hippos, giraffes and zebras. There was a polar bear and heaps of shit birds, not even a red tailed hawk. So after walking around there for no more than an hour I continued on to the Metropolitan Museum of The Arts. Outside was a group of 5 buskers. 4 African American singers and 1 white guy on the double bass. They were incredible. Such amazing voices. I stayed and watched them for well over an hour. I even bought their CD.

I walked past a protest in Central Park. There were a group of people with pots and pans and drums and dreadlocks outside a restaurant called The Boathouse. From what I could gather they thought that the owner was mistreating workers and had been accused of sexual assault. So they were singing and dancing and yelling. I stood around just watching for a little while. Every time someone walked into the restaurant they would boo and hiss. They’d make the person feel terrible for not choosing to dine at the ‘Boathouse Grope-house’. Sometimes they even booed so hard that the person would turn on their heels and walk away from the restaurant- which was met with an almighty cheer. I was tempted to pretend to be heading inside and then turn around so I could feel the almighty hippy cheer sent my way. That’d be a good way to give you a little boost. Another way to feel great would be to walk around with a jar of coins and give them to all the beggars, there is certainly no shortage of them. I was with some guys when a very polite hobo requested some monetary assistance. The other boys declined but I had a few quarters in my jean pocket that I dropped in his jar. He thanked me by saying “Why thank you sir for being so optimistic. You’re going to have a wonderful day unlike these two gentlemen.” So If you’re ever feeling lonely in NYC- do these things.

I popped my Broadway cherry and saw ‘The Phantom of the Opera’. It was glorious. Obviously not as good as Anthony Warlow’s performance, but still an amazing experience to actually be doing something I’d dreamed about doing for some time.

A few days later in Times Square I noticed a crowd gathering around a barricade. Inside the barricade were people dressed up as Lady Gaga or in honour of Lady Gaga. They were outside the MTV building and word on the street was that Gaga himself was going to show up. I’d had a lack of celeb spots and a half hour to kill so I decided to wait around and see what became of this. After about 10 minutes I got bored and reasoned that if I wanted to see someone who dresses weirdly and has terrible music I could easily go find a homeless subway busker. So I left.

I moved from my first hostel to my new one which was uptown. I wasn’t sure what to expect. First thing when I arrived on the floor that my dorm was on, a ripped tanned guy in his underpants casually walks past. Good for him. Then I heard him speak. Fruggin French. Can’t escape it! But this hostel was considerably larger than the previous one. Plenty more lady fish to hook. So poetic. So many beautiful young girls to choose from. Who am I kidding? The choice wasn’t mine. Take what you can get. Not really. If I took from some of the girls I’d be sure to get an STD.
When flying over here I think I pictured myself landing amongst a group of single American ladies who would be thrilled by my Aussie accent. Apparently they weren’t waiting for the arrival of a naive 20 year old Aussie with a terrible excuse of a beard. With beautiful ladies come beautiful men who I’d have no chance in hell of competing with.

The new hostel was fun though and I met 2 great Aussie blokes named Dan and Rory who I’ve been hanging out with a fair bit. We went to the top of the Empire State Building a few minutes after an apparent earthquake. I was in a taxi at the time so I didn’t feel an earthquake. I was so bummed.

Walking through Times Square, as I’m sure some of you know, there are a million people trying to sell you tickets to shows and comedy clubs etc. I have mastered my foreign accent as to avoid having to interact with them. I was with Rory and Dan and one African American bloke asked us where we are from. We answered “Australia” to which we were met with “Ohhhhh skippy Niggazzz.” It was hilarious. Maybe I didn’t convey the hilarity here on this blog Mum, but it was funny.

I met up with Edward and Kara who are the couple that own the East Village apartment that I’m staying at now. They’re brilliant. So lovely. They’re away for the first 20 days of my stay here but will be here for the last 20 days. It’s really nice to have a room to myself after sharing with so many French chaps for so long.

Since seeing ‘The Phantom of the Opera’ I have seen ‘Avenue Q’ and ‘The Addams Family’. Both good in their own right. Brooke Shields was in ‘The Addams Family’. I didn’t enjoy her performance particularly. Mmm. Feel the burn Brookey.

Tonight I saw ‘How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying’. The lead was an impressive young chap. Daniel Radcliffe. I doubt you’ve heard of him. Well known amongst theatre circles for flopping his Johnson out in the play about a dude who loves a horse a little too much. He was mighty impressive. I was expecting that he’d be crap and just a name to attract the crowds. The boy can act….and dance!…and sing!….well not really sing. But he can dance and act. Good for him. The show was truly amazing and such a fun time.

As I was walking through the train station on my way home from seeing the show, the all too common sight of a beautiful girl caught my eye. It was like dangling some bacon in  front of someone doing the 40 hour famine. Teasing me. Look but don’t touch. Don’t even look you creep. Again, I have such an amazing grasp of the English language. Like dangling bacon… Let it sink in. Genius.
Anyway… She was a good 30m in front of me and I hadn’t seen her face yet. I’ve been stung by the hot ass- ugly face bug before. Good thing I only care about what’s on the inside  right? I hoped that she’d be going to the same platform as me. But much to my despair she went down a flight of stairs that didn’t appear to lead to the M line, which I was taking home.
Not overly bothered by letting this one get away I continued on to the stairs that lead to my platform. I got there. I took note that a few different trains were running on this platform. Not just the M line. After finishing observing the train line board I casually looked down the platform. A shining light burst down the tunnel towards me. Surely a train? Neigh. A female. Blonde and stunning (from what I could gather considering I still hadn’t seen her face and she was again 30+ metres away from me. I casually strolled down the platform to gain a closer proximity. I casually managed to stand a few metres away from her. I probably made it obvious as all hell what I was doing. She’d be used to it though. I caught a glimpse of her illusive face. Good. All systems go. We’re ready for lift off. We are good to go men. Oh… wait. That’s right. I suck at talking! How could I forget?
I needed to think of something to say to her. The perfect line? Perhaps? I definitely took the ‘got nothing to lose’ approach. If I make a dick of myself I can call it just another normal day. So, the line. Hmm. “Hey, I’m Aussie. Do you have a boyfriend.”- seemed a little weak. She had a fit figure. I got it! The perfect line. “So are you a dancer?” Irresistible right? Yeah, I thought so too. Just as I had  this genius spark I heard a train coming. I hoped it wasn’t another train or that it was the M train and that she was getting on it too. Thankfully she didn’t get on it. Relief! My heart was pounding like a little sissy boy- well, that’s not actually an inaccurate description. I was going to use my killer line when I heard another train coming. No, no the M train. I turned to see if she was getting on it and saw that she was picking up her bag. No. Dear god no. It took so much to get myself psyched up enough to actually contemplate speaking a word to a girl 10x out of my league and now the opportunity had slipped through my hands. But then by the grace of god (not literally him) she turned around and went to sit on the bench behind her. Good because she hadn’t left yet and bad because I’d have to sit down next to her in order to talk to her. I didn’t want another train to come before I could get the chance to talk to her so I sat down. I’m almost certain it was completely obvious once again. I started to psych myself up before the next train came and she got on it leaving me heartbroken. I was in the zone when I heard “Is the M line on this platform?” The heavens opened up and the angels sung and danced. She spoke to me. She was catching the M train. Her accent? All too familiar. An Aussie! I said yes and we started speaking. The train came and we continued speaking.
Fast forward 5 or so minutes and I told her to give me her iPhone so I could give her my email. She said we should go see a broadway show together. I said goodbye to her and got off the train.

What  if she didn’t write down the email correctly? What if my email doesn’t work? What if she facebook stalks me and sees my pathetic love seeking endeavours? What if she’s stalking and reading this blog right now? (Hi, I’m so sorry. Lovely to meet you! Do you dance? You look like you do. I was looking at your body and thought you might! Umm yeah, your fault for stalking me). I am seriously 12 years old still. Mr Reason knocked on my door and suggested that two adults can go and hang out and it be nothing more than meeting new people. Mr Reason suggested that a beautiful girl like her has probably hung out with a million guys. Mr Truth then joined and said “How the f**k are YOU supposed to impress a girl like her?” Then Mr Blissfully-Ignorant came and told the other Misters to piss off for a while and let me enjoy my triumph of a successful interaction with a real life actual girl.

I skipped home and gave a dollar to a hobo. I was feeling generous.

I hope she emails me. I hope she doesn’t email me as well because I can’t hang out with a girl! I hope I can get a level head to realise that I should stop effing worrying so much and just do stuff without caring so much about everything I say and do. Just do it. Relax kid. Just enjoy the company of another person.

From a son who needs to settle the eff down. Love you Mum.
 

Dear Mum,

Walking through Central Park today I saw this incredible bird, literally. It was a Red Tailed Hawk and it had just killed a pigeon! Standing nearby watching the hawk was a Mom. She was hot, a bit taller than me and probably in her mid to late 40’s, and definitely not too old for a 20 year old kid. She explained to me that she was a wildlife activist form Chicago. Apparently this particular bird is a famous New York bird called Pale Male? Who cares right? She said “It’s such a beautiful bird”- I resisted the urge to look deep into her eyes and say “…no you are” and go in for the kiss. Then when she said the female bird is usually bigger than the male bird I again resisted to say “That’s the way I like it.” She kept talking about birds and crap and I didn’t really care, although this bird is pretty bad ass so I didn’t mind watching it for a while. The lady then pulled out a cigarette and started smoking it. She continued to talk about different birds whilst the smoke danced around her beautiful blonde hair. When she’d finished her cigarette she walked over to a drain and threw it in. Wildlife Hack-tivist more like it. I can’t be dealing with that, so I let this one go.

I am terrible at remembering names here and I think I have figured out why. I have always been a nervous hand shaker. I have a tendency to go the limp wristed hand shake for some reason- or I just grab too early or too late. So when I first meet someone, they’ll say their name and I’ll be already concentrating on the handshake so I’ll miss the name entirely. I’ll soon be able to master both a successful handshake and remembering the name. A perfect man in the making.

Speaking of names, here are some I shall never forget. 3 guys from Belgium moved into my room the other night. Really friendly and they can speak English really well. Their names… Burt, Bart and Bruno. I kid you not. It’s the cutest thing ever.

Initially I was only one of a few Aussies in the Hostel. Then I found some Aussie girls from Castle Hill who know a fair few people that I know. They were really lovely and it was just nice to be able to chat using our Aussie slang. A guy from Perth arrived a night ago and then a few girls from Melbourne. What’s even better is that a lot of the French guys left! I’m joking. They are really nice- especially one of the French blokes in my room. His name is Mahwell (not sure of spelling) and he speaks English really well. He’s a very kind and level headed bloke.

It’s true what they say- no one else understands the Aussie sarcasm, which hasn’t gotten me into too much trouble thus far, except with Lizzy. In Australia we can take the piss out of each other and not think much of it. So second we can say something mean and then something nice and people don’t get offended. Well, when you do that to other cultures they think you’re bipolar. Because I’m a smart ass (it’s the only way I know how to impress girls…) I continue to take the piss out of Lizzy. Last night when she was going to bed she went for the high five and I pulled away at the last second- as you do. I was met with “I’ve had enough of your fucking shit!!”- Then she stormed off to bed. Playin’ hard to get. Obviously.

We told the Germans about the serious problems we have in Australia with drop bears. I said they shouldn’t joke about it- because it’s affected so many people. I may or may not have said it’s like joking about Germans by saying something about Nazis. Too far? Always.

From an Aussie son.

Dear Mum,

I went to the Museum of Modern Art. I loved it. I spent ages walking around there by myself. There is such a large arts community here who seem to value creativity and freedom of unique personal expression. There is a rich history of the arts in New York City.

I saw a funny piece- it was an electric collar that goes on a human. It tightens every time you text or call a specific number. Kinky distance intercourse… Such high art.

It was another sunny day so I went for another walk through Central Park. This time I came across a perfect opportunity, a little grassy section of ladies sunbathing. Because their flesh was exposed I reasoned that this must translate to them being more open to romantic advances from a fumbling Aussie. Then I walked away..

I’ve seen a fair few homosexual couples walking the streets holding hands. How offensive. Like, their personal choices affect me so much… Again, another win for tolerance.

In my hostel there are so many French people. God love them. They are real nice, especially with the ladies. I was told that the girls love the Aussie accent. Well it seems like a bit of a David and Goliath story here, with the French being Goliath and the Aussie accent being David… except Goliath kicks David’s midget ass. My apologies for skewing a Biblical text to suit my own agenda- I’m sure it’s the first time in history that that has ever happened J

American: “So what’s your name?”
Me: “Rhys”
American: “Race?”
Me: “Rhys”
American: “Can you spell it?”
Me: “R H Y S”
American: “..ummm?”
Me: “Reese Witherspoon.”
END SCENE

At Jamba Juice they asked for my name. I said “Rhys”. When my order was ready I heard “One large Apple & Carrot Crusher for Grace”.

Again back at my hostel, I was sitting in the common room writing this lame ass blog when walked in a gorgeous young girl. Holy Shit 2.0. Blonde and tanned and young. My quest for female company (definitely just friendship Mum) intensified. Game on Rhysy baby. Go hard son. You were born to do this. (I had to pep talk myself because the only people around were French and I didn’t want their croissant smelling mouths whispering encouraging words into my ear). So pep talk completed. We started talking. She asked me my name. I said “Rhys” and she understood. I still couldn’t determine her accent just yet from the few words she’d spoken. I thought maybe American but I wasn’t sure. I asked her what her name was. “Lezzy”… Lezzy? Like lesbian. Hot. Umm… I said “Lezzy?” to which she replied “Like Elisabeth”. Her name was Lizzy. She was Scottish. But her hot ass personality outweighed her less than ideal accent. She was really friendly and great to talk to. As a group from the hostel we were going to the Rockefeller Centre (I don’t think that’s how you spell it). So on the way there Lizzy and I were talking, it was going real well. She mentioned she’d been on a summer camp. Oh cool. Yeah, a Christian Summer camp… Oh… “But I still drink and party” she said. So the rollercoaster started going back up after the sudden drop as a result of her revelation. We went to the top of the Rockafella or as it’s know ‘Top of the Rocks’. The view was great- then I stopped looking at Lizzy and started looking at the beautiful Manhattan skyline. It was beautiful. On the Subway the rollercoaster took another downward drop. Lizzy mentioned her boyfriend. Damn. I mean, she was a real fun girl but if I was honest, which I have been very much so far, I was disappointed. Then she said she’d cheated on her boyfriend this summer. I was getting sick from this rollercoaster. At first I thought this was might have been good news for my chances of havin’ an old smooch, but this was too much. A Christian, cheating, drinking, hot Scottish lass. I need a girl who is a calming influence. Lizzy seemed to not be the one. Then again beggars can’t be choosers. I just begged her not to choose to me.

Back at the hostel the drinks were flowing. Alcoholic drinks. I may or may not or may have had some. I didn’t vomit and no one got pregnant (good thing I got the durex from the drug store). Skip forward a few hours and golden girl Lizzy had kissed three guys and almost gone upstairs with one of them. Now I’m not going to reveal if I was one of the three, but I will say the one going upstairs to the bedrooms wasn’t me. I mean, if I was one of the three I should be disappointed in myself for not having higher standards, If I wasn’t one of the three then I should also be disappointed in myself for not making the cut. Effin’ French.

There were also some lovely and certainly more stable Swedish girls staying at the hostel, but I only found out that they spoke English a few hours before they left. Ahh well. One of them told me to add her on Facebook. Woo. She gave me her name, and I was sure she’d done the old fake name to try and get away from an undesirable person. Here is her last name- Kristjansdottir… Keir would be so much easier to spell.  Anyway, after testing her to see if that was her actual last name I believed her. Then she went to bed, alone. I went to my bed, alone.

In the morning Lizzy invited me to Church… I didn’t go.

From a son who still has standards.

Dear Mom (Mum),

I love you heaps but truth is I am not missing you, yet. Those are the tough facts. Deal with it. You’re the best.

So after my ‘holy shit’ moment of realising the reality of my present circumstance I decided to go for a walk around. Luckily the streets here are set out in a grid system with the streets listed as numbers that increase as you go up town. The streets go west to east and the avenues go north to south so it’s very easy to make your way around. You could make your way around even if you were a blind person living here. Or a blind person sightseeing…

I went to the drug store. They sell beer there! Mental! Don’t worry, I didn’t buy and drugs or beer. Just condoms… Kidding.  Love  you Mum. At the counter they said “So where are you from?”- to which I replied “Australia”- to which they replied “G’day Governor”- to which I responded with a smile and nod.

I then got my tourist on, threw my camera on and set off to walk around the extremely sunny NYC (haven’t got a tan just yet ladies). I headed uptown along the border of Central Park taking heaps of photos of manholes and hobos (which I think I wiped a few hundred of… the photos I mean, not the hobos. Real bummed to not have the photos. Nerd needed). Unfortunately I only have one camera lens at the moment and it doesn’t have a zoom function so in order to get my hobo snaps I needed to only choose the sleeping ones, which is most of them. I had to sneak up real close and take the photo then run before they could grab their trolley and chase me.

I walked past 72^nd Street which I knew was where The Dakota Building is- the place where John Lennon and Yucky Ono lived- outside of which Mark David Chapman shot and killed John Lennon. ‘Imagine’ that. The entrance of the building is where he was shot- but surprisingly there were no memorials or flowers or candle- just a few tourists taking pictures of a seemingly mundane building entrance. Ol’ Steph Harrison told me to go visit Strawberry Fields which is memorial parkland in Central Park for John Lennon. I was not planning on finding this secret little hidden park for another few weeks but I walked past it when I was leaving the Dakota. It was real nice. I sat down and watched and listened to all the beautiful nationalities and languages of the tourists gathering around. I started talking to John- a 50 year old NYC local. He was lovely. He explained to me a few things about NYC and asked if I had any questions. He told me that NYC locals are very friendly and happy to help.This seems to be the case based on my experiences thus far. But it also seems that the locals feel that other Americans aren’t doing them any favours, the rude and impersonal Americans who come to NYC. So the locals make it very clear that they are friendly and happy to help.

I bought 3 bananas for $1. Down, down- prices are down. Effin’ Coles. The food here is really cheap, although it is very easy to eat junk all day long so I’ve made the effort to find a wholefood market which is amazing. The sun, fresh air and food are doing me some good.

You know how in Australia we drive on the left side of the road- and how here you drive on the right? Well I’m not sure if this is common knowledge- or even true- but I think when walking on the ‘sidewalk’ we naturally go to the left side because that’s where we drive. Is that true? Well for me it seems to be. I am continually going to the left side of the sidewalk and almost bumping into people then switching to the right side. Interesting huh? Aren’t you glad you’re reading this…

There are a lot of buskers here- some are terrible- some are magnificent. I saw a guy with his arms missing from the elbow down and he only had one leg. He was playing drums- or should I say drum. I’m way better than him at drums. Is a joke about using double pedal going too far? Yeah, probably- good thing I didn’t make the joke.

I walked down to Times Square and just sat and watched for about an hour. So many bonkers people! One guy was on rollerblades with hockey pads and a hockey stick- his headphones on- and he was singing at the top of his voice whilst going full pace through crowded Times Square. At select times he used his hockey stick as a pretend electric guitar. The truth is I do actually love that. There seems to be a freedom of expression and a certain level of tolerance for unusual people. Like the guy who’s outfit was made entirely from different coloured plastic bags. He looked like the child of Lady Gaga and a hobo.

Walking back to the hostel an African American youth had a good old stare at me. I was going to beat his ass but decided to be the bigger man. I’m sure him and his 5 homeboys were grateful that whoop ass didn’t come their way.

I saw a guy with a gun on his hip. He wasn’t a cop…

Back at the hostel I met some Aussies. We went to the movies and saw ’30 Minutes or Less’. It was great. I was tired and almost fell off my chair once. American audiences seem to be a lot more openly reactive to the films. They laughed and clapped and had a jolly old time.

I have seen some of the flippin’ weirdest hairstyles ever on the African American women over here. Not racist. True. They look like they all went to primary school for arts and craft and the kids got to do whatever the hell they wanted with the ladies hair. Now obviously some kids are better at this creative activity and some are shithouse. So some of the hairstyles look really unique and borderline not terrible. But some look like they were done by a developmentally delayed 2^nd grader with a bottle of Clag clue and a hyperactivity disorder- represent.

I’m having a great time over here. I love it. But I am expecting the frequency, length and the humour (if there is any) of this blog to decline in the coming weeks.

I am finding out that I am really terrible at conversations. I am glad that this is becoming more apparent to me because I do want to practice it. I’m sure more shortcomings of my behaviour and personality will become apparent- and I hope I can use this opportunity to learn. Perpetual student.

From an unfunny but happy son.

Dear Mum,

Here was the plan.

·        Leave the house by 5:30 in order to be at the airport by 7:30am.

·        Check in at 7:30

·        Fly out of Sydney at 10:25

·        14 hour flight to LAX

·        1.5 hours to get through customs and on to the connecting flight to JFK

·        6 hour flight to JFK

·        Taxi to Hostel.

·        Party in the USA

I had to wake up at 4:30. Not because that’s what time I needed to get up in order to be at the airport in time, but because I had to tidy my room. Mum, come on? Apparently some chick is staying in my room while I am away. I hope she makes it smell good. Also, I left a pile of washing, please ask Tara to do it for me. Thanks.

This trip had been half a year in the making. The anticipation of it had built up for the entire 7 months that I worked full time in order to pay for the trip. But at no point leading up to this adventure did I have a ‘holy shit’ moment and fully comprehend what I was about to do. I wasn’t sure if it would hit the week before, the day before, when I said goodbye? Not sure. It still hadn’t hit when I woke up, or when I left the house.

So we left the house at 6:00 (probably Tara’s fault that it was late) and drove to Sydney international airport. You were crying most of the time. We arrived at Sydney Airport and checked in at 7:30ish.

During Hungry Jacks breakfast we met up with Tara’s friend Lindsay and her friend Steph. Coincidently they were both going to NYC with a stop off at LAX, the exact same flights as me. As we both anticipated the 1.5 hour window of time to get to our connecting flight not to be enough we decided to stick together to navigate our way through customs and get to our gate on time. You told me to stick with them because they’re both pretty and they’re prettiness would make it easier for them to get places. This was good advice. I mean, I wasn’t planning on hanging out with pretty girls in NYC but I guess I should. With them smiling for the boys at customs and the airlines and me charming the ladies this made things easier. I will hang with pretty girls more often. Thanks Mum.

The time came to say goodbye. Now, you’d been crying about 15% of the time at 40% intensity in the days leading up to my departure. I figured this meant you loved me more because when Tara left for Bathurst you only cried at about 20% intensity. I was anticipating that at the time of my departure you’d peak at a 70% crying intensity. Turns out it was more like a 90%. Good thing you left 10%. You now have room to move when I die.

I said goodbye and we took some photos and I think I gave the rude finger for one of them. As I went down the tunnel to customs the last vision I saw was Tara taking photos and you crying at 92% intensity.  Still though, no ‘holy shit’ moment where my stomach dropped and my heart went into overdrive. I felt strangely calm about the whole thing. 

I boarded the plane and for about 15 mins while I was sitting in my seat on the run way the two seats next to me were vacant. This wasn’t a bad thing because it still meant some hot chick could sit next to me and I could spend 14 hours convincing her that I’m a real catch. But it also meant a fat person could sit next to/on me. A skinny brunette sat next to me. HE was nice enough. His breath wasn’t great but I have blocked sinuses which helped. He was with 4 other guys and they were going to Vegas to get their ends away. He explained that 4 out of the 5 of them had broken up with their girlfriends within the last 6 months. What a sorry bunch of kids. I didn’t really converse much with them for the flight except to say where I was going and what I was doing.

I had a dilemma whether or not to take my ADD medication for the flight. On the one hand it would make me less restless and able to concentrate on reading and watching films. But on the other hand it would mean I wouldn’t be able to sleep easily. Not having medication doesn’t always make me hyperactive and restless. When I’m not on it I get really tired after a few hours. I decided not to take the medication in the hope that some of the 14 hours would be spent sleeping and dreaming. Well… I slept for about half an hour. I couldn’t concentrate enough to read much of the 4 magazines, 1 book and several audition monologues I’d brought to pass the time. Just 14 hours of restlessness. Boom. But all was not lost. I was planning on spending most of my 14 hour flight watching films. I love films, right? Yeah, well. Again, I was too tired to watch all ‘arty’ and ‘dramatic’ films. I watched ‘Tangled’ and ‘The Simpsons Movie’. I am ashamed of myself. A wasted opportunity.

I did talk to a real life African American flight hostess. She was lovely. Speaking of flight hostesses, none of them were hot. One of them had a goatee and an ear ring. Babe. He was great.

I got a blood nose for about 15 mins on the flight.

I arrived in L.A- but still no ‘holy shit’ moment. Starting to get worried. What’s wrong with me? Ahhhh. Dramatic.

Speaking of dramatic. LA Customs? Get your act together. I shat myself. The Customs officer asked why I was staying in NYC for such a long time. I didn’t know how to answer. 7 weeks is a good amount of time right? Maybe she is jealous that LA doesn’t have enough cool stuff to fill 7 weeks. I should have said that. That’d show her. Eventually I convinced her that there was no heroin filled durex in my butt and rushed along to try and get through baggage check. Remember I only had 1.5 hours to get to my next flight? Yeah, turns out that wasn’t enough. I missed the connection by no more than 5 minutes. Bummed. But I was with pretty Lindsay and Steph. Apparently not pretty enough to make an airplane re-open its doors and let me on. So we missed the 9:30 flight. They gave us the 1:30 flight but put us on the 11:30 flight waiting list.

We killed the time in LA eating Nachos and trying to sleep. The girls had margaritas. It was 9:30 in the morning. Classy. I wasn’t allowed one. Not old enough.

We made it onto the 11:30 flight. Wassup! But, worst flight of my life. So much worse than the 14 hour flight. I was so tired but I couldn’t get comfortable at all to sleep. I think the Swedish couple next to me thought I was on some bad ass drugs. I again managed to get about 20 mins sleep on the 5 hour flight. At the end of the flight I was talking to a guy who said he was the technical manager on the Hamish and Andy show. He said they were real keen to get Aussies on their show. He might be trying to scam me but he gave me his email address and said he could get me in the audience. Worth a shot right?

Lindsay, Steph and I arrived in NYC. Guess what? Our bags didn’t. I was definitely too tired to give a shit let alone have a ‘holy shit’ moment. We got a meal voucher for the JFK airport food court and waited around for an hour and a half and finally got our bags. Mine had a white stain on it. Baggage handing… Hmm.

We waited for the car that the girls had ordered but it didn’t come for ages so we hopped in a yellow cab. The taxi driver was Indian. See, NYC isn’t that different from Sydney at all. Not racist. True.

Driving towards Manhattan I was sure I was going to have my ‘holy shit’ moment. Not the case. We didn’t really drive through Manhattan much so I wasn’t overwhelmed by the bustling crowds and towering buildings. I thought I lost my phone for a bit. Nearly cried. Too tired to cry. Found my phone. Sweet.

Said goodbye to Lindsay , Steph and their friend that they’re staying with. The taxi driver (who has been a taxi driver since 1985 apparently) dropped me at my hostel. It was midnight.  I was having trouble with getting into the door. Then a voice from the darkness said “Just push it”. To which I replied “Thank you friendly hobo.”Not really. His advice was better than his milk crate seat. Pushing the door opened it. I got inside. Paid. Went up the stairs. Past all the Frenchies, found my room, had a shower and went to bed. I was stuffed. Out like a light.

That was my day yesterday….

This morning I woke up, in New York City. New York City. I, socially awkward Rhys Keir, just woke up in New York City. Then out of the blue a moment came…HOLY SHIT!

From an extremely excited son.

Dear Mum,

As you know, in 2 weeks I will be leaving the safe haven of Kings Langley and flying to New York City. Thank you for offering to buy me a rape whistle for when I’m over there. Classic Mum. Bit rude.

So. You’ve asked me very nicely to keep you up to date with what I’m doing, so here is a place where you (and others) can read about the mischief that I’m getting up to. 

Many before me have done much braver things than what I am about to embark upon. My friend Ed went to Canada by himself for half a year. Brttney Kleyn (whose blog is one million times more insightful, articulate and well written than this could ever be) left home for a year. My new Canadian friend Devin stayed in India! How nuts is that? Now he is in Australia and planning to stay here for at least a year. In comparison, I am going to NYC for 7 weeks. But truth be told, this is by far the biggest thing I have ever done and I am so excited…and scared shitless. Sorry for swearing Mum. 

I’m a young kid who is aware that there is so much I don’t know and so much I want to learn. Don’t expect this blog to always be funny. Don’t expect it to be filled with wisdom. Don’t always expect coherent or fully formed opinions or learnt lessons. Do expect spelling errors and imperfect perfect grammar.  I’m sure this blog will show the maturity I have gained and blatantly highlight the maturity I am yet to gain. I’m sure you’re pleased to know that I’m trying to gain some maturity. 

In order to save for this trip I have been working full-time since the beginning of the year. It has done my head in. The people I work with are good people, but they are very different from me. Creativity and unique expression is not held in high regard where I work- which for me has been tough. But the fruits of my labour are about to pay off.

 The main reason I chose NYC was because of the theatre. In my NIDA audition at the end of last year I was told that my performance was too filmic (full of small nuances that couldn’t be read in a huge theatre) and not theatrical enough. 
I was told to:

1. Go see more theatre.
2. Go travel.

The choice was between Europe and NYC. So with the dollar so good I chose NYC as my destination. Why 7 weeks? I don’t know. I think I wanted 6 weeks and 7 was just easier. Or maybe I wanted 2 months but was a tight ass. 

For the first 12 days I will be staying in 2 different Hostels on the Upper West Side. Both are 10 bed male dorms. Should be interesting. Then for the remaining 40 days of my trip I will be staying Downtown in the East Village. There is a website called airbnb.com where people rent out rooms or beds in their apartments. I found a place for really cheap. It’s a small basement apartment owned by a lovely young couple. The apartment is so tiny. They live there with a flatmate and a spare bed. For the first 20 days they will be traveling and I will be staying in their room. The flatmate will be living in his room and a dude from England will be in the spare room. Then when they get back I will move into the spare room and the Brit will move out. Sweet. 

I plan to see as much theatre as I possibly can. Not just the big mainstream musicals but the smaller (and cheaper) off-Broadway plays. Also I am hoping to find some private tutors who can work on my end of year audition pieces with me. As I reflect on my artistic experiences I have no doubt that I will sound like a pretentious twat. It’s hard not to when talking about art. But the workplace is where I put a leash on my creative obsessions- surely here is a place where I can let them run free…So pretentious :)

I don’t mind that you’ve been hugging me about 3 times an hour and I’m sure that number shall increase as my departure draws near. Dude, the flight is going to suck! ADD + sitting still for short periods of time sucks. ADD + sitting still for an entire friggin day is the worst! 

Love you :)

From an excited and nervous son.