Holy excrement. I feel like a high powered executive right now. I don’t walk, I stride with power. Things have gotten so busy I’m practically an inhabitant of a Richard Scarry town. My impending trip to NYC, city of a thousand names, means that everything else has accelerated to get me there. I’m surfing the crest of an exhilarating wave and it’s a rush to be atop. Work has been crammed full. See, when you crunch a department down to its barest operational staff, there’s not much room for annual leave. Hence a vacation essentially means you don’t have to be at work, it doesn’t mean you don’t have to do the work. In order for me to take the time off, while easing the strain on the rest of my team, I have to complete my job up to Thursday next week. Essentially I need to do a week’s work in advance. Unreasonable? Who knows. I think I’m biting off a bit more than necessary just to do my part for the team. They stretched like a tanuki’s scrotum to cover my ass when I joined. It’s only fair I help out where I can. It’s been kind of great though. It’s not like I don’t do work normally, but having the extra responsibility feels like someone’s injected cocaine straight into my temples. I’ve got so much work to do that it’s causing me to push myself harder than I thought possible. Everything streams past like a blur and accordingly I’ve been rising to it. I even took the chance to skip lunch and take on a personal training session at the wellness centre across the road. It’s not loud unless it’s cranked to 11.
Now that I’ve stayed late (doing this so I can get my arse out the door and sleep at a reasonable hour), I’m pushing it even further. I’ve gotta get to my girlfriend’s house, have dinner and book it to the Phoenix Theatre to see Dan Deacon by 9pm. It’s gonna be tight, both the trip and the gig. Both times I’ve seen Dan Deacon he’s blown my mind. His albums are unrelentingly bizarre, yet consciously structured. There’s a joyful looseness that’s all too deliberate, backed only by his live performance. Comic dialogue and interactive interpretive dance punctuate a communally jubilant set. He engages the audience unlike any performer I’ve ever seen. Not to mention that his masterpiece Bromst was a mainstay of those core 2008-2010 years for me, the time period where my musical tastes were enriched and solidified. A few reasons why I flip my shit whenever he’s touring. I’d say I can’t wait, but I have to. A mere few hours.
Outside the demands of work, my girlfriend and I need to plan our itinerary for the trip. There’s an endless amount on offer in New York, but only so much time to do it. 5 days is nothing in the grand scheme of things. I’ve been before, but she hasn’t, so there are a few customary things we need to tick off. Staten Island Ferry, a token 5 minutes in Times Square while my flesh crawls (hate that fucking neon monument to consumerism. If there ever was a space more indicative of a lack of substance, I’d quirk an eyebrow at least), checking out the glorious Strand Books and stunning Central Park. Seeing as the last time I visited was in the heart of winter, it’ll give the city a whole new vibrancy. We still haven’t decided which museum(s) to see, given that museum fatigue is a real phenomenon. I’m gunning for the Paley Center, but the Museum of Sex seems right up our wheelhouse (with admittedly worse reviews). There are almost too many dive bars, but after last time there’s no way I can miss Rudy’s Bar and Grill with its cheap drinks, red duct taped seats and free unlimited hot dogs. I’m a man of principles after all. If we’re lucky we’re hoping to pick up rush tickets to Tim Minchin’s Broadway adaptation of Roald Dahl’s Matilda. We’re both big kids, massive Tim Michin fans and eager to catch something on Broadway. It’s my first holiday in years and our first holiday together. Time to make some dreams come true.