Brain Melt

I know I've been a bit useless on here lately but it's not because I don't care. I assure you that you're the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing before I go to sleep; but you must understand that summer is here and between life in the sunshine and the general exhaustion from life in the sunshine it's been difficult engaging the third of my brain dedicated to writing. The heat and humidity also seem to be affecting New Yorkers' brains too. Two events lead me to this conclusion. Last Sunday I sat in a bar and watched a less than sober patron thrown from the premises, as he landed in the street he promptly righted himself and proceeded to hurl his body at the locked door. It's a scene I've observed in London a few times, I think with the limited drinking hours there everyone tends to go a bit doo lally squeezing in their drinks before the 11pm cut-off. Here, though, it was a new experience and the second time I've seen the inebriated cross the line since the temperature ticked over 85degF. Not content with putting dents into his shoulder the chap took one look at the large plate glass window and, after a good little run up, placed his size 9 through it showering yours truly and friends with glass.

The second logic-less act came yesterday. There's a spot in the city famed for its burgers, fries, shakes, basically anything that can put a stop to your heart. It's a little shack in the middle of one of the parks and appropriately enough it's called "The Shake Shack". Now, when I say that this place is 'famed', I'm serious. We're talking regular queues from 11am to 11pm for its delights. Quite sensibly they've got a double queuing system in place. A "B-line" exists for orders of "Cones, Floats and Beverages"; for everything else you've got to stand in line with the other 63 people.

With the mercury touching 220 degrees and the humidity causing localised showers around your head it's a shake or nothing for me. Through the B-line I went.

Next in the B-line!" the teller shouts. That'll be me then.
"A chocolate shake please."
"This line is only for cones, floats and beverages. You need to get in the other one."
"A milkshake is a beverage though."
"Next in B-line!"
And that was it, I was cast to one side. I had a good look around but sadly there was no glass window to put my size 8 1/2 through.

American Heritage Dictionary
milkshake n.
A beverage made of milk, flavoring, and ice cream, shaken or whipped until foamy. Also called shake; also called regionally cabinet, frappe, velvet.

--I'll take that back with me next time. I'm sure they'll be happy to debate this one out.

BIG!

I love that film and this scene is a movie classic. I went up to FAO Schwarz recently and the keyboard's still there and what's better is that you can buy one for a cool $250k! Apparently it's recommended for ages 1 and up... which would be an interesting first step for a child to take. "Oh yes, our little Johnny, we're so proud. He just stood up and started springing around the keyboard. 'Heart and Soul' wasn't it darling?"

Speaking of big things. Some of you who have been paying close attention when reading this blog will know that my cereal of choice is good old Kellogg's Cornflakes. Imagine my surprise yesterday morning when I poured out what I believe may be one of the biggest cornflakes ever. I was so excited that I just had to pull out the camera and have a bit of a photoshoot with it.

You'll note that I've given you some degrees of scale with a regular sized flake. You'll also note that I have black marble counters in the kitchen which show up all sorts of things. I don't recommend them if you have the option.

Something else also struck me about the mega-flake: its striking resemblence to the shape of the United States.

See!
Understandably I was late to work yesterday.

Gently heat to minus 10 degF

It's time to pack up the winter clothes and pull out the linen shirts and shorts - summer's here! Or so I thought. At any one time in New York there are parallel seasons running: one bestowed by Mother Nature and one bestowed by the man charged with controling a building's thermostat. The latter, I suspect, is a lone individual in a small subterranean room somewhere, a plaque on his door reading "NYCTRA". He sits in an office lit by a single 60W bulb behind an old stained desk on a tired chair, tufts of foam bulging out from its torn fabric. On one wall hangs a calendar with two dates circled in red, on the other is a large dial... 4ft in diameter. Twice a year the man plods to the wall and, with great effort, turns the dial. At that point a few million people either start shedding layers or reach for a sweater.

You see, the trouble with the jumbostat at the New York City Temperature Regulation Authority is that it has no numbers on it. The instrument was installed during the Carter administration and at the time a great debate was raging. Should America join the rest of the industrialised metric world or continue with the imperial system; pubs selling 16oz beers, weight watchers shedding pounds, and shoppers nipping out for a quart of milk? Of course they didn't convert; the metric system originated in France. I guess their conclusion was that everyone else should convert back. (Mark my words, there will be a war on metrics, just as soon as we're done with the current War In Error). Anyway, the jumbostat was installed and it was decided that the dial simply be labelled "Bloody Hot" and "Bloody Cold". So, as the temperature today hits 80 degrees outside (Farenheit my friends, not Celcius...or Kelvin), I'm driven to wearing an overcoat in the office.

On the street it's a slightly different experience. Your walk tends to take you through numerous pockets of hot and cold. It would appear that some of the stores are doing their bit for the environment by pumping out cold air through their open doors - I believe in an attempt to keep global temperatures down and thus stopping the ice caps from melting, which is just terribly considerate as we live on a low-lying island.

Of course this is all reversed in winter. The dial is turned back, the stores kindly heat the pavements for the pedestrians, and you're well advised to bring a pair of shorts and a T-shirt to work. If you're thinking about shopping then a small suitcase on wheels wouldn't be a bad idea, simply shed your clothing on entering a store and pack it in the case. Quite sensible solutions I think, but if anyone can think of anything better then maybe you would like to get in touch with the NYCTRA directly?

Right, time for a mug of hot chocolate I think.