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“Are you guys excited?”Stress looked at Stein, Stein looked at Stress.“No.” “Fucken wanna go back to sleep this is such a fuck around.”In bed with my girlie, such a primely warm and comfortable place, where Sleep was, seemed truly the better op-tion. I was still packing, two minutes to leave, as everyone waited out the front.

Mr. and Mrs. Pinata picked up the boyce from the Stein residency, drove them to the airport and hung around for a while to make sure we didn’t somehow fuck up. Mr. Pinata warned us that upon landing in LA, we should make our way straight to the next gate en route to JFK airport, NYC. Upon boarding, with that in mind, we double checked our tickets and came to the conclusion there was a three hour gap between landing, boarding, and taking off. Following our logic, we’d have time to go outside the LA airport, have a smoke, look at some black and white cop cars that have been put in our minds since conception, and check out anything else of interest.I managed to sleep upon takeoff for an hour or so. Thereafter, the plane ride was B-minus grade like the movies shown on the small screens a few metres in front, above head, and

smiles from all the air hostesses didn’t do anything but further our frustra-tions at being stuck inside a rumbling condom for 16 odd hours. Get. Us. Out. Of. Here. So far, the holiday hadn’t consisted of anything but a lot of disorganisation and some excitement left at home a few days prior. I’ve come to the conclusion that the timing of airport food being delivered is right at that point where one thinks, ‘Right, fuck this, what’s the best method to kill that guy with rechargeable wireless headphon..’ Food. Eshay.The plane landed successfully, and no one applauded the pilot. We had to fill in a couple of forms and got fingerprinted so the government could rape us at a time that suited them (as opposed to a time that suited us), put our bags on the cargo for the next flight, and as planned, we went out for a smoke, saw black and white cop cars and bikes, jumped at the chance to understand key words as we tuned in to the American accents surrounding us, wandered around outside for ten minutes or so, and went back into LAX Airport. We walked into the sizeable check-in section, waited in line and watched a uniformed MC announcing what desk was available for check in. We joked that he was telling people the wrong thing for a laugh.

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Sure enough, he directed us to a desk from which the service assistant bailed. We tried the auto check-in at the desk and were alerted by the computer that we were inserting our boarding passes late. Our names were called over the PA system. We asked a seemingly lost customer service assistant what to do in this fucked up but not entirely unpredictable situ-ation. He motioned us to wait in the excess baggage line, so we asked another two dicks, got told proper by a black chick accompanied with a hip swaying ‘na-uhh’. They were quickly losing their reputation as the people we could rely on for help. The six hour flight didn’t await us. It left.

We wandered around for a bit in dis-belief. Checkered floors, LED numbers changing not often enough, red car-peted VIP areas. The search for the cus-tomer service desk ended somewhere around Gate 72’s massive queue. One where each customer’s fix-up-our-problem session took a good five to ten minutes. Stress went and got some unimpressively normal sized Micky D’s, brought it back to the line, and our eating patterns provided entertain-ment for all in line for a good fifteen minutes. I’d noticed a chick holding an Aussie passport look up at one of the million wall mounted plasmas, crash down into a heap, legs crossed, head bobbing. She was crying.

We eventually became adjacent in the snaked line, and as it turned out, her flight had left early. Early. Four others from the States were in the same situ-ation, however she’d also missed hers flight from Hobart to Melbourne, then one from Melbourne to Sydney.

We weren’t alone in our anger nor our retardation. One standby flight tonight, one familiar heavily weighted assistant laughing and offering us cake - “I saw you lookin at it!” - and four deadbeats off to Venice Beach for the day. El Ay.

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Misty blue eyed like a blind dog, “its good for the eyes, for the lungs.” His nostrils wid-ened as he vacuumed Venice’s air. Donny sold his home made, home named Jungle Juice straight out of a black trash bag, in used water bottles. Stein bought one before flying: its smell alone was a hit of ginger, orange, and general veggie patch zest. Good for the eyes, for the lungs.

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can read. No, we’re too tired, and right now, I can’t process the fact that the colonless four-digit number is a represen-tation of Time. She shook her head, directed us across the way to where a few hundred people were seated. Too many people to fit on a domestic plane. We had a seat in Economy Plus and two in Economy. As our class was called we knew exactly of the hope that the ninety four people left on Standby felt. And the goddess at the desk had allowed us in front of all of them.

Smooth as the dribble coming out of our dead faces, we changed flights, got a taxi to JFK, got our bags and board, and were free in NYC. Past the Projects, past the unimagin-ably massive skyline, through the city, and brakes on at 11 Rivington St, Lower East Side, New York City. Finally.

We’d be happy to go home after seeing the incredibility bred at Venice Beach. Old men knucksing each other, a double deck-er bike, colourful outfits on more people than are present at any Sydney festival, all on a Saturday in Venice Beach. The far from standard 8 hours rest per night had stayed in someone else’s house in Sydney. We were running on empty, had just missed our 2230 standby flight that we’d hoped to get on in case anyone had missed their rightful flight. The doors closed for a J Farnham last time, and were reopened when some Stevens argued with the lady checking tickets near these massive doors to heaven, and they scored three seats. I thought this was a objective scenario of ‘Yes, you’ve got your ticket, here’s your seat’, but was proved other-wise. As soon as the doors closed for the actual last time, we got our hustle on. A man and his broken legged wife were in the same situation as ours; we locked eyes and Boss and I had an extremely brisk powerwalking race to apply for the next flight on standby, and it was this race, as well as the one gem of a lady at United that saved our trip from holding on to this

sour tone throughout.Our world had turned ninety degrees as we draped ourselves on the vertical face of the Customer Waiting Test Altar, in the line accompanied by, but proudly ahead of the semi-crip-couple. Hardly speak-ing English, we attempted to explain our mistake to the lady. Uttering something about ‘United’s fault’, she questioned and questioned us concerning their error and hooked us up on the sly.

We weren’t to get a ticket straight to NYC JFK, but via Chicago we’d go to NYC LaGuardia, and from there, go to JFK to retrieve our bags. She gave us our tickets, which were promptly handed back to her with a command to read them. Yes, we

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Kids talking and not-so-friendly scream-ing etc. whatever it is they do. Being excited. We can hear birds. Car brakes. A lady talking. Ladies. More cars. Bell whistles. Its pretty warm.

I can feel my ankles that hurt a bit.A dude just went for a grab of his girlie’s ass and got barred. Balls a bit itchy. Only one nostril in use and I can’t smell that much, maybe freshmess. I could hear skateboards too.

On the way here there was a Steven with a single stringed wooden violin thing selling CD’s for $15. There’s tonnes of people here but in a steadily inconsistent flow. It’s a rad park, chilled as, once again everyone’s do-ing their thing.

Roller skate dancers and the like, Stein’s smoking a ciggie, dancing and picking at the tree. I just killed a bug. This is what’s happening now. I can hear a saxophone that’s been playing for a little while now.

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and giving away “Hood Literature” which was pretty good reading, was a short walk I will forever remember. To turn that corner and see the Brooklyn bridge running over the Hudson river was truly a sight. People were talking and selling mix tapes with female Mc’s rocking tight in the tent. It didn’t take long to meet an array of interest-ing people involved in all types of individual expression. Although we were strapped for Benjamins, a few bucks changed hands in re-turn to increase our growing mix collection. Then the stage took our attention.

The masses were now heading for who ever it was up next, and considering we probably stood out like Australians in Brooklyn we thought we should secure a spot as close as possible, which turned out to be pretty far away from the stage. It didn’t matter con-sidering the thick bass ran through every-one’s bodies like the monsters from Space Jam. The next hour was somewhat similar to a dream; O.C, Brand Nubian, BootCamp Click, Dead President, Pharoe Monch and DJ Premier all came as surprise guests to add to this already ridiculous event.

After an evening on the chill schmoke, we awoke asking, ‘what did we do yesterday?’

Walking down Fulton street was not something I ever imagined I’d do, yet there I was strolling wide eyed along towards the muffled bass of The Brook-lyn Bodega Hip Hop Festival. A feeling arose that I wasn’t used to, anticipation, excitement, inspiration and hatred all rolled into one. Hatred only at the disap-pointment that this was definitely a one off; I was positive what I was about to see would be a standout experience.

Little did I know how stand out it would truly be.First of all it was a donation entry, to have such an anticipated event as a donation entry shows much under-standing from those who organized the event, an aspect I have noticed the Sydney live music scene has greatly overlooked. Not everyone has the cash to pay for expensive tickets only to get through the oversized so called ‘security guards’ and wait in lines to buy even more overpriced drinks. It’s just not logical. Walking besides the giant tent towards the stalls selling T-shirts

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The fifth annual Brooklyn Bodega was the reason we went to NYC, but it was everything that surrounded it that made the trip what it was.

A familiar smell would, from time to time fill an area of the crowd like a fart. It was the smell of buds, and everyone turned green with envy for a toke. We were able to scab off kids in front of us smoking a crushed, almost broken doobie, which turned out to be more a struggle than it was worth.

We went out for a smoke just before Dead President started their set with Its Bigger Than Hip Hop without real-izing that we couldn’t get back into the tent due to the current riot status

inside. We stood in the raised brick archway fence until their set was over and waited for Stress to return.Apparently it was a wise choice to go for a smoke as he claims he was lucky not to be trampled upon during the chorus. Three white kids amongst a Dead Pres set who prior to perform-ing, spoke about black power was somewhat like a cartoon.

Bitch get a job, from me you wont rob, cause I’ll smack you with a hose filled with sand.

To think that we were in the same room as these artists is something I still have to convince myself of. Word.

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Shopping for Shoes in New York is like looking for food, everywhere has it and everyone wants some at some point, it just depends what you feel like or how much you feel like spending ....

Walking the streets of New York I no-ticed everyone rocks kicks!!! It is harder to find a shaggy pair of no names than it is to see a rare pair of Jordans . Birds do it, bees do it, even educated fleas do it. From the youngest of young who wouldn't know the difference from having shoes on or not, to the elderly who probably need help putting them on and everyone in between .... They all have kicks, heck I even saw a bum wearing Air Force Ones that put some of mine to shame.. some.

I was on a mission from god (he heard I was going to New York and hooked me some cash) I wanted as many shoes that I finacially and physically couldn't get into Sydney with or were unique to New York as possible.

The first shoe store we came across was called Richies, with a 7 foot Sengalian man enticing customers into the ce-ment floored shoe cavern, this place looked more like a candy store than a shoe store and I felt like a kid in one. The

colours, the flavours, oh the excitement, I could not contain myself. I swear over the course of my trip I buffed up from carrying shopping bags full of kicks. Home (hotel) I walked, bags in hand, smile on my face.

Adjacent to Richies was a place called Jay Jays, which was more of a clothing store with shoes down stairs, than solely a feet protection outlet.Upon placing my foot on the basement floor I noticed a lot of Sale signs and could smell the bargains to be found. I also noticed they had a lot of Air Force Ones, as in a third of the place. It was like choosing icecream, the colours, the flavours...

I twoed and frowed for about an hour until I settled on a pair of blue and chocolate brown hightop Dunks and a crisp pair of some red, white and black Air Force Ones, happy with my purchase I stopped for a slice, as you do..

This was just one afternoon in our two week trip. I could explain every single shoe purchase in detail but that would be bor-ing. Go to New York, eat pizza, buy shoes and do the rest just bring me some!!

-Stress

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Australia has just witnessed the downfall and eventual disappearance of one of our major sporting icons, the National Basket-ball League, due to clubs having to much debt and too small a fan base to financially back itself.

New York has BMX polo teams.

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jasonyarmosky.com

In a world of imperfections, glitches and artificial aesthetics lives an aspiring artist. An artist who lives in amongst New York’s compact and busy lifestyle. Hopefully he gives his angle on the choas surrounding him. Check the interview...

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O n c e u p O n a t i m e n O t l O n g a g O ,W h e n p e O p l e W O r e p y j a m a s a n d l i v e d l i f e s l O W

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fludfludwatches.com

dave’s quality meats7 East 3rd St, New York, NY, 10003

rush hour134 Ludlow St, New York, NY 10002

rosario’s pizza173 Orchard St, New York, NY, 10002

annual brooklyn hip hop festivalbrooklynbodega.com

off soho suitesoffsoho.com // 11 Rivington St, NY 10002

fat beats406 Avenue of The Americas #1, New York, NY, 10011

world worldstorenyc.com // 187 Christie St, New York, NY 10002

shut skateswww.shutnyc.com // 158 Orchard St, New York, NY, 10002

reed spacethereedspace.com // 151 Orchard St, Knickerbocker, NY 10002

homagewww.homagebrooklyn.com // 151 Smith St, Brooklyn, NY 11201

T h e F i n e s T B r o T h e l s

o F n e w

Y o r k

C i T Y

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Ahhhhh, it’s good to be home. After splitting ways at the airport He, Him and The Other Guy settled somewhat back into the cold dreary lifeless place we call home... Rozelle.Then again, Tired man, The Red Lion, Latticini coffee, expensive food, BP and Winfield Blues were now all back within reach, who would have thought we’d miss such aspects of Sydney?With nothing in mind rather than to chill and sift through the goodiesaccumulated in New York the now jet lagged Stain Brains and their better halves decide on a quiet night in. Little did they know how close to starring in ladder 49 they really came.

After two weeks without a taste He and Him (no doubt The Other Guy too) were getting quite edgy, at first opportunity He and His Girl disappeared to their rooms only to return twice for vital supplies.“Oi have you guys got any triple A batteries?”“Nah man”

Five minutes later......“Oi have you guys got any lube?”“There’s some next to my bed, ha”

He then runs down the hall out the door and down to the BP to purchase some batteries, I wonder what for.Upon returning He swiftly returns to his room ready to rock and roll.

“Oi........Oi!! wake up”“Huh?”“Your TV’s on fire!!”“OH FUCK” (leaps up, fumbles with the door and runs into hallway in undies) “GET THE FUCK UP....OI OI FIRE GET UP.....”The Third Man then runs out naked with fists up thinking he’s smack bang in the middle of a house invasion. By the state of his room He and His Girl would have been breathing in toxic fumes for about a min-ute or so, therefore the next two minutes involved a lot of coughing, running and putting out the fire with He’s new boxers.

The house was covered in what appeared to be black soot, on every surface and crevice, moreso in He’s room. New shoes, toys, magazines and the computer were among the possibly ruined items, not to mention everyone’s lungs.

Personally if my boss told me to never buy a certain brand of candles because they tend to blow up, I wouldn’t in the same night light 10 or so around my house.

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It took me until now to realize that my now charred and burnt TV had a violent history. It was maybe 2 months ago when The Other Guy told me I could have it; exited as fuck I went straight round to the studio to retrieve it and add it to my room. It’s funny how you can forget normally straight-forward things, like a trailling TV cord when entering a lift. Damn that thing was heavy, at least I wasn’t carrying it down the stairs... I wish I had now.

I pressed Ground Floor and waited pa-tiently to arrive. I turned around to seea 50 odd kilo TV two metres in the air then violently drop. It seemed the cord was still on Level 2 and I was somewhere in between ground floor and the first floor. Not wanting the cord to rip or TV to drop to the floor, I quickly put my body weight under it and pressed the Stop button sev-eral times. Grinding to a halt I could hear 3 voices; one my own, an emergency lift operator wondering of my whereabouts,

and the third a middle aged Asian lady who I could just see through the cracks of the doors. I was maybe two metres below her, franti-cally looking for answers and trying to stop the sudden drops the lift was doing every twenty seconds or so. I thought this type of thing only happened in movies.It took me about 5 minutes or so to decide to let the TV smash to the floor snapping the power cord. The lift eventu-ally got to the ground floor and home-ward bound I was. Half way home my phone rang. It was the operator telling me an emergency vehicle was in the vicinity. Quite embarrassed, I told her it was no longer needed but thank you any way.

Following this incident, and the fact that the word “DEATH” was the only thing burnt off my TV in the recent fire, I have come to the conclusion that TV is evil and has tried to kill me. Twice.

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