Farewell, deciduous trees

In 12 hours, lady80 and I will begin our long flight home: from the beautifully autumnal but freakin freezing gorges of upstate NY to the equally tree-loving but hopefully much milder dales of sunny downtown Oatley (via Syracuse, New Jersey and LA - nothing is simple, right?).

If the flight here is anything to go by, the worst we have in store is the can't-look-but-can't-look-away of Jack Black dragging his way through Nacho Libre, and the moral tension of deciding whether or not to order the Meat-Normous Omelet Sandwitch from Burger King (their spellling, not mine).

Until then, rest assured that 300 channels of TV really is 295 too many. Although... there is one channel that constantly runs the same one-hour episode of a reality show about auditions for the Dallas Cowboys cheerleading squad. Maybe 294 channels would be OK.

NYC-OK

No photos, sorry, but believe me - NYC is A-OK.
Myself and lady80 are having a smashing time, with no prescription drugs required.
Where else can you find a 24 hour toy store? (Although why one would need a pen that says 'I am cool' at 3am... this is a question for another day.)

David and Margaret - are you out there?

What's the best movie set in New York City? I'm off there next week for my cousin's wedding (stay tuned on that one) so have been brushing up on my pop culture.

My trip to the video store yielded mixed results. Serendipity is bland fluff, and would border on the dangerous if anyone actually took it seriously; Day After Tomorrow is classic all-American naffness; and The Producers left me feeling bloated - even though it had it's moments, I still got up feeling like I'd drunk too many chocky mooves back to back.

The Highly Commended ribbon goes to Breakfast at Tiffany's - undeniably a top shelf flick if ever there was.

But, for me at least, Fame is the winner. It's got everything I want and need New York to have - chilli dogs, electro disco, bitch dancers, blacksploitation, misuse of prescription drugs, sexual (re)discovery, soaring success and gutting failure. All at once. In a performing arts high school. In leggings.

As for books, Catcher in the Rye is saved for the plane. Anyone got any other tips?

Meedly meedly meeeeeeeeeeee

Congratulations to Ochi "Dainoji" Yosuke, 2006 Air Guitar Chapion OF THE WORLD. In front of a pumped Finnish crowd, the Japanese master defeated the cream of the invisible axe wielding crop to snatch the title from 2005 champ Michael "The Destroyer" Heffels of the Netherlands (pictured).

Now them's some duds.

It's hard to pick a true favourite element of Dainoji's routine (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9r10UbGC6RI). Was it the painstaking preparation of his invisible amps and pedals? The gay abandon of his shoveling and thrusting motions? Or perhaps his white sloppy-joe with tiger face 'pon front that unashamedly slipped up to reveal his more than ample belly?

Or perhaps it's the windmills. Dainoji, TRACES OF NUTS salutes you.

It's hardly magnificent, but it's a start.