2003-09-16

New York City! Rock and roll! Highlights of my weekend included standing on Eak the Geek at the Coney Island freak show while he was lying on a bed of nails (and ALSO holding a torch for the fire eater�as well as carrying one, for he was Hott) and�well, pretty much just getting effing fucked with a vengeance. Time well spent.

This visit also featured 100% less cocaine on my belongings! And although I did miss the heart-pounding excitement at the Customs desk, it was worth the tradeoff to stay in marginally more upscale lodgings than the Cokeslut Hostel. My London Cr�e blagged a free room at the St Regis, because they�re superstars or something, with all the amenities, including a fax machine with cozy (can�t go letting your fax machine catch a chill). We decided to eschew the minibar (eight dollars for a small bottle of Coke, fer real) in favour of Corona and alcopops (that�s British for �coolers�!) from the liquor store; and the next morning we did our utmost to blend in with our Prada-clad fellow patrons, with questionable degrees of success, as we wended our ways across the hotel lobby in various states of hungover disarray in search of sidewalk hot dog vendors (because nothing kills a hangover like processed rat anus, no?).

Off to the Westin Times Square! And to a really fantastic view:

Friday night we saw a show. We were less entertained by the bands than by the self-consciously, almost painfully hip crowd at the Bowery Ballroom: I swear these kids must buy Converse sneakers and run them over with their scooters to get that �I�ve been wearing these since 1995, you posers� look happening; I imagine something similar goes on with their hairdos. The opening act was one of those �We are sad robot children! For someone has taken away our Kraftwerk tapes!� Electroclash deals � pleh � and the headlining band was, like, Sonic Youth with a trumpet. And less talent, and fewer bras. However, the evening was redeemed and then some, and then some more, when I ordered a Jagermeister on the rocks and got A GLASS OF JAGERMEISTER. Not a shot � a GLASS. Needless to say, the rest of the night is rather a blur. I remember something funny happening in the cab, or perhaps I just thought it was funny. Anyway.

Saturday was Coney Island (see above). After the freak show had finished, we chatted briefly with Eak the Geek.

�It�s a living, eh?� I said to him.

�Yeah,� he said meditatively, smoking a cigarette. �I do a lot of touring with various side shows. But what I�d really like to do is focus on my poetry.�

I�d like that too, Eak. I�d like that too.

We managed to win one of these disturbing creatures:

�a baby in an inexplicable Dalmatian suit, who was the brunt of much abuse from there on in:

Ha ha! Those Brits are so sophisticated. Saturday night was mostly a lot of drinking in the East Village. Jeremy and Jessie took us on a scenic walking tour of cheap spots to get fucked up, and they must have done a good job, because I remember not a single name of any one of the pubs. Anyway, here�s Jeremy looking much sexier than me, as usual:

And a random British guy I was apparently hanging out with:

(It seems like I manage to hone in on folks from the British Isles whenever I�m in New York. Must be our common love of non-crap beer bringing us together.)

And that concludes your guided tour of Robin�s Weekend of Big Apple Debauchery. This program has been brought to you by My Liver.