Hello. I’m still alive.

Yeah, hello.

So, it’s been a bit quiet (owing to having to steal other peoples’ wifi access), but we’ve now done Montréal and Toronto. The former had lots of old buildings, and the latter had the CN Tower (the tallest building in the world- booyah!). No photos as of yet, owing to the dodginess of this connection (and the fact I’m huddled up in the corner of the room to get it), but I’ll stick some up when I get a chance.

San Francisco tomorrow (with hopefully no more than an hour in Phoenix- aren’t tight connections fun?), and I shall be seeing Cloverfield in the evening. Wooh, and indeed, hoo.

So, yeah. I trust you’re well.

The New York Subway.

Now, let me set this straight. I like the London Underground. I actually enjoy using it, and am not one of the many Londoners who slag it off every time something breaks. It’s old, things like that are going to happen, and I can accept that- there’s no point in getting stressed about it (unless I get stuck at that signal just outside Seven Sisters when it’s crowded and I’m stood up- for some reason, it just makes me uncomfortable).

I also have a minor obsession with it. Some of you will know about my pointless little trips around it, but don’t worry- I’m not sad enough to be classified as a trainspotter (yet).

One of the things I was looking forward to was getting to grips with a whole different beast- the New York Subway. It’s much bigger than London’s, and it runs 24 hours (something which is, sadly, impossible back home), and should (in theory) be utterly wonderful.

But it isn’t. It’s rubbish.

Granted, it lacks the weirdos that inhabit Paris’s Metro system, but the first hint that this isn’t going to be plain sailing is this free ‘pocket-size’ map.

Not only is it massive, but it’s also ridiculously confusing. For example, let’s say you wanted to go to 23rd St. The logical thing would be to go to 23rd St station, right?

Five different stations, five different lines. Actually, no- make that seventeen lines, because some moron thought, ‘oooh- wouldn’t it be great if four lines shared the same color?’

Well, two things to him. Firstly, it’s ‘colour.’ Secondly, you, sir, are an idiot. It’s the most stupid possible way of mapping numerous different routes. I don’t care if they run on the same track for large portions of the line- some of them don’t actually stop at all the stations on that route! How the hell am I supposed to know that?!

It’s therefore safe to assume, then, that it’s also the same moron who decided not to bother putting up signs on the platforms telling you where you’re going- or even where you are, for that matter. There’s a sign that says ‘Uptown’ or ‘Downtown,’ complete with the terminus, but forgetting to mention where else the trains stop. There are hardly any maps on the platforms (or in the ticket offices either, for that matter), there are express and local trains that run side by side (meaning you need to switch platforms to go in the opposite direction), nobody seems to know which stations the express trains skip (unless you can find the one bit of A4 paper stuck to one of the hundreds of pillars on the seemingly endless and overcrowded platforms), and the whole thing is just disorganised chaos.

There’s no ‘escalator etiquette.’ If you’re in a hurry and want to walk up the escalator (or you just want to go slightly faster than the pathetically slow speed they run at), you can’t. You’ll find your path blocked on both sides by people who aren’t going to move for you. They’re generally the ones who shoved you out of the way to get on the thing in the first place.

Then, there’s the ‘regularity’ issue. Even on one of the four line platforms, it’s not uncommon to sit there for 15 minutes with NO trains whatsoever passing through (either express OR local). And there’s no indicator boards to say how long you’re going to be stuck there sulking, and only the occasional unintelligible tannoy message at certain station, telling you your train is miles away. It’s usually around this point that ‘the subway’ becomes ‘the bloody subway,’ before becoming something slightly less polite.

I’ve tried to get along with it- I really have. I’m generally quite good at getting to grips with things like this, but even after two whole weeks here, the whole thing STILL makes no sense. But the odd thing is that the only people I’ve heard complaining about it have all been British.

So, what does that suggest? Are Americans just more tolerant of things being rubbish, or are the British a nation of whingers? Either way, I’d be curious to see what some of these people are like next time there’s a delay on the Piccadilly.

Question.

How many Les Pauls are in this photo?

Answer: Three.

The legend who gave his name to Gibson’s guitar has a Monday night residency at New York’s Iridium Jazz Club. Every week, he plays two shows to packed out crowds. Oh, and he’s 91.

While I’m not normally phased by the age of a performer (see Chuck Berry last week), I was slightly worried that, at that age, he’d be a bit… rubbish. But sure enough, he can still play lead guitar VERY well. He’s also incredibly chatty, telling stories and making jokes between songs.

He’s also backed up by a more than competent band, who take it in turns to sing. His double bassist even did a song on his own- something I’d never seen before, and never really thought possible. His lyrics also resinated with me, as part of the double bass-playing world.

“If you wanna cause some problems, if you wanna cause some pain, go down to your local airport, and try to put your bass onto a plane.”

Touché.

Anyway, despite it being another BB King’s-style venue (how you can justify charging $50 a ticket, and then imposing a food and drink minimum is beyond me), it turned out to be another fantastic night out. If anybody happens to be in New York on a Monday evening, I’d thoroughly recommend popping along!

The bits that Chris missed out.

Being a newly acclaimed atheist, I thought the best thing to do would be to check out some places of worship. First up was St John the divine, the largest gothic Cathedral in the world

The Cathedral is beautiful. You know that saying that something is ‘jaw-dropping’….well upon entering my jaw did actually drop quite a long way. So long in fact, that my chin bruised itself on the floor, and I stood there looking profusely stupid, until I managed to pull my mouth back up and hold it together while I raised my eyebrows instead. Inside the roof is so high, that I could barely see the ceiling. There is detailed ornamentation typical of ’supernatural castle on a hill’ type architecture (my favourite), and there are lots of crevices to explore, where darkness clings to the walls. There were also stained-glass windows, and incredibly cool dudes like this guarding the place.

In the summer, they have brightly coloured peacocks strolling about in the ‘peace garden’. But in winter it is too cold for that, so there is just a sculpture of excessive violence. The picture is a bit dark to tell, but there is a decapitated head hanging by a crab’s claw at the bottom.

The next visit was to hear the Harlem Gospel Choir in concert. Ever since I saw Sister Act 2, I have wanted to go to see a full-on gospel performance. Some of my friends already know this, from when I was handed a leaflet in Liverpool which advertised such a thing. I got very excited and convinced a lot of people to come with me, only to find out that what we had actually come to see was a very scary cult. Said cult then turned up at my friend’s house the next day and told him that the tsunami was sent by God to punish evil people, and that if he didn’t join their community, he’d suffer a similar fate. Charles, if you are reading this, I’m sorry.

Knowing that most Christians are lovely, not not a bunch of psychos, I decided to try gospel again and dragged Chris along to sing some hallelujahs.

This time, it was everything I could have expected. They sang Oh Happy Day, had amazing harmonies, wore cool African clothes, and screamed ‘can I get a witness?!’ a good number of times. So I was pretty chuffed. As an added bonus, their show raises money for a variety of children’s charities. So if they are ever in your area, get in the groove and do some hand clapping.

IT’S ALIIIIIVE!!!!!

Hmm. Four days and no blogging? There’s alot to catch up on.

A few days ago, we ticked the obligatory Broadway musical off the list of ‘essential things to do in New York’ with the help of Young Frankenstein.

If you’ve ever met me (and, to be honest, even if you haven’t), I’ve probably told you that seeing Mel Brooks’ The Producers on stage provided me with the single most amazing night of my life. Which it was. And ever since the rumours began that he might follow it up by adapting Young Frankenstein for the stage, I got excited. Finding out it would open in time for me to see it with the initial Broadway cast was rather fantastic.

And so, off we hobbled to the Hilton Theatre, Row R tickets in hand, and I prepared to brace myself for a disappointment. The Producers seemed a natural fitting for the theatre, but Young Frankenstein would require a bit more effort to make it work. And it did.

From the set (the laboratory was absolutely astounding- everything it should be, and more) to the absolutely perfect Puttin’ on a Ritz, it really delivered. It didn’t quite match the previous effort, but then, how could it?

Earlier on in the day, we’d been for a nibble at the Hard Rock Café. I’d never actually made it inside one before, and was astounded by some of the stuff in there. From the entrance, you walk down some stairs and are met with four grey suits worn by some 60’s liverpudlian lads who made quite an impression on the world. One of them, George, even had his guitar hanging on the wall next to them.

Played at the Concert for Bangladesh, this one doesn’t seem to have been used in the Beatles era. But Macca’s Bass is also hanging there. Walk around, and you find the original doors from Abbey Road Studios, Elvis’s suit, the first square guitar Bo Diddley ever made, John Entwistle’s original drawings for the Who by Numbers album cover, and Jim Morrison’s trousers. And we got put next to Madonna’s dress. Typical.

According to the accompanying plaque, Gibson gave Hard Rock 300 guitars several years ago. So they did as they saw fit, cut them in half, and glued them to the wall. While it looks quite impressive, I would have made FAR better use of them. Grr.

But it doesn’t end there. The location hasn’t always been a Hard Rock Café. It was once the Paramount Theatre (scroll back up, and you’ll see the sign’s still there), which housed the premiere of one of Elvis’s films. It was also here that the Ed Sullivan show was recorded, and subsequently where America was introduced to The Beatles. Impressive.

In fact, it proved to be the beginning of an Elvisy day for us. After leaving the Hilton Theatre, we ducked into BB King’s a few doors down, and had a sneaky peek from the box office area at the Elvis Birthday Tribute taking place with the legend that is Chris Spedding.

He wrote this.

New York’s ‘city that never sleeps’ title is, surprisingly, very true. Even the museums are open until around 1am. So, we headed over the road to Ripley’s Believe it or Not, a chain of circus sideshow-like museums, featuring freakish oddities and other relics. And it’s all real.

It also contained possibly the best thing I have EVER seen- a mass-produced Vampire Killing Kit.

In it, you would find a gun, silver bullets, wooden stake, an ivory crucifix and, of course, garlic. There’s also an accompanying inscription that confesses that very little is known of Vampires, but that this set capitalizes on what we do know. And one of these things recently sold at Southebys for $20,000. None of them have probably ever been used.

To complete the Elvis hat trick, they had a strand of his hair on display, along with similar strands from various US presidents, and even Napoleon. My personal favourite thing on display, though, was an unintentionally hilarious public safety film produced by the US Government, telling children what to do in the event of an Atom bomb going off. Entitled ‘Duck and Cover,’ you can see it here. Admittedly the version we saw had been shortened to a few minutes, but it’s worth a watch if only for the idea that, in the event of a major explosion leaving a huge radioactive trail, all you have to do to stay safe is jump on the floor and put your hands on your head.

Enjoy!