Friday, March 29, 2013

The Lonely Planet guide to why you shouldn’t trust the Lonely Planet guide

Save your money, ladies and gentlemen. Them there Lonely Planet books don’t know nothin’ ‘bout anything. So I have taken it upon myself to deliver some truth balls and offer up a more accurate representation of New York, COMPLETELY FREE OF CHARGE!


American Museum of Natural History
Falsely represented in Night at the Museum. The T-rex isn’t at the entrance, there’s no Robin Williams on a horse and at no point did I see a capuchin monkey or a tiny roman fighting a tiny cowboy. Though, admittedly, I didn’t go into every room.

The weird tea café place near Central Park that I can’t remember the name of
I was thirsty and cold. I wanted a hot chocolate. I ordered a choc mint. It had tea in it. All their drinks had tea in them. Whose idea was this? And why isn’t it more clearly advertised before you order that your otherwise delicious beverage IS GOING TO HAVE TEA IN IT????????

Museum of Modern Art
Spent almost an hour in the queue to check my coat. In hindsight, it would’ve been a lot faster and easier to just carry it, but once you commit to a giant line DAMMIT you stick to it.

Initially I was concerned that all the ‘art’ here was going to look like I could’ve done it myself. I was a lazy art student once, I know how it’s done. Abstract is what you do when your abilities are less on the side of actual artistic talent, and more on the side of bullshitting with conviction . I once painted a wooden box in bright colours, drew some eyes and mouths on it, cut out some pictures of noses from magazines and stuck them on, then made a couple of ceramic ears and attached them with glue. I said it was a representation of how society is obsessed with image. A+, baby.

Disappointment gave way to pure wonderment when I found level 5, because yes, I’m one of those girls who swoons over Van Gough. They also had The Scream on loan from wherever it is that The Scream usually lives. Turns out it looks like it’s done in crayon.

The food court in Grand Central Station
I bought a slice of rather tasty pizza from a rather tasty man. Scruffy, flirty skater type with more charm than a person should be allowed to have. The other guy who worked there came over to take my order, pointed at the good looking dude and said ‘Oh, sorry, is he taking care of you?’ and all I could think was ‘…not as much as he could be.’ He was attractive and had pizza. A lot of pizza. And I’m only human. Time to put a new meaning to the term customer service, methinks.

Still to come… Food, shopping, why I cried on the Brooklyn Bridge and how I made the Empire State Building my girlfriend.

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