Howya doin’,
Well our New York trip has wound up and we are now down in Rio. We’ve gone from 0 degrees and completely rugged up to 28 degrees and an absolute flesh fest. They should seriously call this place Rio de Boobandasso. My neck is sore.
Anyway, when we left you Krys had just been on a champagne induced, ice tipping, dancing rampage through a New York rooftop club. So the next day we weren’t all that equipped to deal with the confusion that a trip to a US bathroom normally brings. I think the US love affair with unnecessary complexity hits its peak when it comes to the simple act of going to the toilet and washing your hands. Of course it is all about automation. Automation of the flush, automation of the tap and automation of the paper towel dispenser.
The problem is, this automation by sensor is so fickle it’s like trying to work out what a pregnant mute might want for an afternoon snack; you know the answer is some obscure combination but just don’t know where to start. I’ve tried everything short of buying the sensor flowers and giving it a back rub, with little success. I’m almost to the point where I’ll have to start urinating in gardens. That’s hard to do in a New York winter though; 2 inches of clothing and only 1 inch of frozen equipment…..
Anyway, the rest of our New York trip took in the Rockefeller Centre to see the tree and the ice skating rink. The tree is like everything in the US; big and a little overdone. They load this thing with so many decorations it looks like an octopus trying to hold up shopping bags each stuffed with one too many bottles of Domestos. And the ice-rink should be co-located with a medical centre. It seems more like a Roman battle game than an enjoyable pastime – you are pushing large amounts of what appear to be heavily uncoordinated people out onto slippery ice strapped to sharp blades and seeing how long it takes for them to either break something or slice something open. There should be a stand next to the rink offering odds on the next participant to have an injury. I’d have taken 2/1 on the short Chinese kid with thick glasses clinging to the edge of the rink like it was the outside of a lifeboat.
Then it was our final monster day in New York. It was Christmas Day so time for a big Christmas lunch. We had swallowed so much eggnog Krys’ suggestion to try the Central Park ice skating rink instead now seemed like a great one; surely it would be nice and quiet? Well it wasn’t; I didn’t think it was possible to jam that many people onto a frozen circle. But we were already there so with skates on, a belly full of ham and a head full of eggnog we tapped our way out onto the ice. Krys was away almost immediately. I was like a newborn foal placed on a well lubricated slip and slide. Legs and arms flailing about all the while doing some contorted mixture of tap dancing, involuntary sliding, and groin tearing. After a couple of laps I thought I had the hang of it so decided to go for a bit of speed only to realise that I couldn’t turn or stop. Thankfully the brakes were applied for me; in the form of a robust Costa Rican family that barely noticed me hit them in the back then collapse flat on my back and hurt my wrist…….
Our day wrapped up with a Broadway show before a late night return for one more crack at the ice-skating. I figured I hadn’t done enough damage to my wrist first time around plus I had other plans in mind – like a proposal. So again it was out onto the ice, this time a bit more gracefully; the return trip was more like a hippo wearing thongs of butter. A little more stable but not still not pretty to watch.
To get the plan for the proposal going I needed a couple of minutes away from Krys so I faked a ‘loose boot’ and made my way (thankfully off the ice) to the manager to ask if I could get access to the ‘sacred middle’ marked by witches hats where no-one was allowed to skate. And for them to call Krys to the middle when I got there.
So I tap my way out and there I am, middle of the ice, on one sore and cold knee and a crowd forming around the perimeter with the whispers (well as quiet as they can whisper in New York) of ‘awww may gaaaad I think he’s gonna propose’. Then the call over the PA of ‘Krystal could you please make your way to the centre of the ice’. And then…………….. nothing.
The crowd around me got thicker, and again the call went out over the PA ‘Krystal could you please make your way to the centre of the ice’ and again……………. no response. The crowd started chanting for Krystal but they had no luck drawing her in either.
It’s at this point that you see people’s faces change. They go from a small smile at the thought of seeing something sweet, to a bigger grin of ‘oh my god I could be witnessing a brutal, real life car crash’. One of the skating co-ordinators comes into my lonely centre and asks, ‘Dude, are you sure she’s here?’. I give him a tepid little nod and a ‘I’m pretty sure she is, unless she’s bolted’ so he suggested trying her full name instead. As the urgent call of ‘Krystal Heap, could you PLEASE make your way to the centre of the ice’ booms over the PA system I spot her little grey beanie skimming around the outside of the crowd. She has been completely oblivious to a hundred people and a PA system calling her name repeatedly, and was too busy trying to punch out some ‘hot laps’ while the crowd was congregating and watching what she thought was a show in the middle of the ice. The only show going on was that of my dignity slowly melting.
So my one kneed pose is broken by a finger point, and a ‘that’s her, can someone please grab her’. At that point I think the penny finally dropped, and she pushed her way through the crowd to find an underwhelming man with a frozen and locked up knee asking for an answer to a proposal, or at the very least some assistance in standing up again.
Thankfully she said yes to both; the nice people cheered, while the masochists who could sniff blood gave out a muffled, disappointed groan. After a mid-ice hug on ice skates that resembled two handicapped kids discovering the joys of interpretive dance, we were off to celebrate.
So New York was amazing. And now we are in Rio. I haven’t been sober or awake for long enough periods to keep up with the updates so far, but hopefully that should settle down after tonight. One thing I have noticed early down here; Brazilian men aren’t big fans of circumcision. But more on the later.
Adieus.
Trent, Krystal and a diamond ring.
smallthoughts 