So Good they named it twice?

US Correspondent Young Jerk, graces the delights of New York

Contrary to popular belief, New York, New York was not named twice due its degree of excellence in any particular field. If you check your history books Poindexter, you will find that New York City used to be called New Amsterdam. That’s right, When you sort the wheat from the chaff (I’m looking at you, New Jersey,) you get to the heart of it all. I have summed up the situation below for you limeys. New York was named twice due to:

1. The fine figure it cuts as a bustling metropolis requires a certain recognition by way of a repetitiveness of name.

2. The fact that New York City resides within the state of New York, also demands a certain two-namedness.

3. Most importantly, due to it’s affinity to all things Dutch, and to it’s Jolly good thrashing and subsequent renaming, provided by those plucky English Huzzars, and that marcher of men, the Duke of York. Yes, you read correctly. That very same grand old duke, who forever imprinted into our minds, the upward mobility of his armies (and downward,) provided the unshakable foundations for the name of the city.

So, now we have traversed the pleasantries, we can get down to the real substance. That substance I am talking about is ecto-plasm. A research project conducted during the late 1980’s concluded that a conspicuous river of luminous sludge sloshing its way through the ancient pipes that lie deep under the modern city, is in fact all of the negativity, bad feelings and Starbucks franchise owners produced by the cities residents. Dr Peter Wenkman Et Al further concluded that the only surefire way to combat such a substance was to cheer up the miserable Buggars.

The City of New York, New York (which will henceforth be refered to by second name only, as I am not quite so familiar with it to be on first name terms,) is also known by certain other aliases that aid the reader in gaining a fuller understanding of what really makes New York what it is. The Big Apple, the city that never sleeps. This conjures up in the readers mind, an image of a common fruit with insomnia, although I am sure that even then it doesn’t quite adequately do justice to the majesty of the city, I am sure it clears up some of the mystery surrounding the place.

Not being a stranger to the city myself, did I approach its magnificence, from the crapulence of New Jersey. It’s nothing personal that I hold against New Jersey, it’s just unfortunate that I find New Jersey to be such a concrete Jungle. So much is my antipathy in fact, that I have to proclaim it from the highest rooftop (the empire state building, being the highest one that is handy).

For the duration of my stay in the big city, I was lucky enough to have room and board in a flat, or apartment as we call it, in Brooklyn, care of a charming couple, who are friends of mine. They cooked us supper, and provided us with an excellent bottle of wine!

My travel companion was really my cultural program co-ordinator. He had wonderful plans for us to visit museums, poetry readings, and restaraunts. The first such stop on our cultural adventure was PS1. PS1 is a gallery with swanky modern art. Not usually being a modern art consure did I step warily into this converted school building, and I was greeted by conceptual videos, beautiful but weird sculptures and vibrant paintings. I won’t bore you with too many details, as I am not What a Corker!'s art critic.

Just like an apple briefly sweetens at the coming of the first frost, this much is true of large polluted, metaphorical apples. The cold north wind blows a certain magic over New York City. Possessed by the spirit of this magic, my friend wanted to take me to re-live a moment of his youth. You’ve all seen the movies where the people dance up and down the novelty keyboard on the floor, playing chopsticks to the adoring crowd. The actual original is in F.A.O Schwartz toy store in Manhattan. As we walked through the entrance, we were saluted by a soldier, regailed in full uniform, who opened the door to us. I dutifully returned his salute like the true gentleman soldier, Richard Sharpe. I am sure that when I left he gave me a somewhat similar salute, although it seems that the American soldier does not use all of his fingers In the process of saluting

One of the highlights of my time in the city was going to a poetry reading in a trendy hotspot in the village, called the KGB bar. As I entered the building, I was overwhelmed with Russian flags, oxidized bronze statuettes of Joseph Stalin, and busts of Lenin. You could very well imagine Vladimir Putin drinking his cares away, plotting his domination of mother Russia in such a bar. Not usually connecting to any kind of poetry that isn’t a rude limerick, I found myself pleasantly surprised by the energy and the beauty of the readings that were given. The poetry at the KGB bar gave me a flaming shot of life, the kind you try to impress your friends by drinking, and end up embarrassed and singed, dowsing the flames you couldn’t handle.

No visit to New York would be complete without a trip to the world Trade Centre. Every time I visit, I like to see how the project is progressing. I spent a large part of my time at the site, marveling at the sheer size of the endevour, wondering how long it would take to compete the “Freedom Tower.”

2010, apparently, is the date set for completion.

Further to the above, no trip to New York would be complete without good ethnic food. Unfortunately, we were too far away from the British Quarter, so we had to make do with Chinese. My friend wanted to find some good Dim Sum. He had heard rumours that it could be found cheap, and delicious if only you made an effort. Well, this intrepid reporter wouldn’t have such exertions ruining his holiday, so I nourished myself instead with taking a photograph of a humorously named restaraunt, and made do with mediocre food.

The entire trip was a welcome break, and the subsequent family thanksgiving meal in New Jersey was purely wonderful. I will have memories for a long time to come, of walking down 5th Avenue in the freezing cold, getting splashed by a taxi as it careered past, of excellent bagels and terrible coffee, of searching for parking in the busiest city in the country, of being accosted by attractive celebrities, bundled into limozines with blacked out windows, and making front page news in the Times. Granted, they wont be my personal memories, but those of Lindsay Lohan, who we happened to rub shoulders with. Well, she was in a resteraunt, and we could see her through the window, but the memories will endure regardless.