One Week in New York Boiled Down to Five Minutes

M. has given me five minutes to blog. Five measly minutes. All this time and I get five minutes. Does he know how difficult it is for me to self-edit?

OK, here we go. I nearly missed the flight (but you knew that would happen already, right) because I was desperately searching for the right size sweater for M. (size 50 is so darn popular in Hong Kong and the gay shop assistant was not helping - "Is he skinny? People say that I am very skinny, maybe I should model the sweater for you?"). I arrived at JFK airport and promptly had to enlist the help of the airport staff because I didn't have M.'s address (and you can't enter the U.S. of A. without one) so M. had the dubious privilege of having his name called out on the PA system to come over and supply his address.

I met M.'s parents for dinner before Christmas. (OK, M. has given me a warning. I have little time left). It wasn't as bad as going to a dentist to have all of your wisdom teeth pulled out at once - just far worse. Not that M.'s parents interrogated me or tortured me or anything, but I felt thoroughly inspected. After the initial encounter though I think I am kind of OK with meeting them - I am typing this at their home, for instance.

I met M.'s friends. Being held up on display is kind of getting to be my thing. Nuff said about that.

New York is a concrete block filled with potholes, museums, one big park and pretzels with mustard on them. I'm going to see a Broadway show later. I'm hoping it will be good - the last time we went out, lured by the bright lights into the city (M. is now sitting on the bed next to me, whistling impatiently, good grief), we ended up in a cafe that served Guinness in latte glasses and had experimental jazz. I am sure this one will be better - it's a musical featuring masturbating puppets, I think. (M. is now muttering under his breath - "Just finish what you have to say").

M.'s flat is cool. We have cleaned out IKEA to furnish it and Bed Bath and Beyond. So far I have spent most of my time trying to work out how to use the keys. (M. is now saying - "I shouldn't have let you blog in the first place, big mistake."). I get to watch Korean cable. Weird. I think it was just me who didn't realise how many Koreans live in New York - we went to the Natural History Museum and all you could hear was Korean, damn it.

So far so good. I have to go now - my giraffe is on fire.