You don't have to be mad to work here, but you will be...

We've all done it. Imagined how we'd compose our resignation letter the day our six numbers come up on the Lotto. Of course, the papers love to feature those occasional stories of some down-trodden toilet cleaner who hangs on to her minimum wage job even after scooping £8 million on a Saturday night. But for most of us, that pink and white ticket definitely represents a one-way trip. 

So spare a thought for the guy in Albany, New York, who opted out of the office lottery pool because he wasn't feeling as though fortune was smiling at him. Maybe his IT background meant that he'd analysed the one-in-176-million odds of winning and figured it wasn't worth a punt. Sadly, he's going to be lunching at a table for one from now on, as seven of his colleagues at the Homes and Community Renewal Agency scooped a $319 million jackpot. Well, he was right about something.

No-one's come forward from the winning team yet to discuss their incredible windfall, or the worst office decision since "Bring Your Nunchuks To Work Day". Instead, news teams have had to settle for interviewing a couple who run the local deli and claim to know the 'geek squad' with the magic numbers.

Jill Cook told the New York Post, "The word is that when they were going around the office asking who wanted in on the pool, one guy said no, that he wasn't feeling lucky. They asked him twice. They said, 'Are you sure?' and he said yeah, he was going to pass this time. I feel horrible for him." Still, at least that's one pastrami sandwich sale that they get to make every day. 

No-one will be too surprised to learn that the winning workers didn't show up for work on Monday, although none of them have yet formally resigned their position. But I'm prepared to bet a Lucky Dip on Friday's Euromillions, that a cardboard box full of feces is being FedExed from the Cayman Islands as we speak. 

Word on the street suggests that, once the glitter has settled, the newly minted millionaires will only be returning to the office "to pass along unfinished business to colleagues". Maybe a muffin basket for their ex-workmates will help to sweeten the pill. 

No pity in the naked city

Here's a news flash for the uninitiated - October in New York can be chilly. Bring a jacket, hell, bring two.

Our second day in the city saw us heading downtown (where the lights are bright) to visit SoHo, Greenwich Village, Little Italy, Chinatown and Bleeker Street - home to the hippy movement. Looking up at the architecture, you're struck by how many fire escapes there are. Ladders, walkways and drop down ramps are stuck on the side of every building, as though the entire city is under constant threat of spontaneous combustion.

Under heavy skies and a constant persistent drizzle, we made our way to Christopher Street and and made a pilgrimage to the Stonewall Pub - birthplace of the modern gay rights movement. It all kicked off in 1969, on the night of Judy Garland's funeral, when the gays decided that their favourite night-spot had endured one-too-many police raids. The bar's regulars decided that they were only going to kneel in subjugation when they felt like it, and thus was born the Stonewall riots. The moral of the story here - never spill a drag queen's drink.

With Beth resigned to a convalescent home for the terminally knackered, we were on our own yesterday, so tripped off to Battery Park to pick up our tickets for the Statue ferry tour. For the cruise across the harour we sat up top, on metal benches so uncomfortable that the Marquis De Sade would have considered them inhumane. The sky was also rolling with grey cloud, giving the entire panorama a rather depressing palour.

We followed the prerecorded instructions about how to disembark the ferry, which seem to be voiced by Reverend Lovejoy, and called in at the visitor centre to pick up our audio tour mp3 players. It's a long time since I took an audio tour, but the experience was not dissimilar to the training level at the start of 'Tomb Raider' - "Walk to the bottom of the steps, take a left and then look at the flagpole." I wouldn't have been too surprised if the voiceover had instructed me to vault over the nearest wall and practice my somersaults.

Although the audio tour felt a little too prescriptive at times (and could have benefitted from a 'yeah, I get it, move on' button) it was pretty interesting. For instance, we learned that Bartholdi, who conceived and designed the Statue of Liberty, was actually just recycling old ideas he'd had for a lighthouse in Egypt, inspired by the Colossus of Rhodes. And there was me thinking that Michael Mann was the first person to repurpose ideas from a lesser work to great critical acclaim.

The voiceover also told us about the challenge of creating a suitable pedestal on which the statue could be displayed. The winning design by Richard Morris Hunt managed to be classic and awe-inspiring, without detracting from the giant green woman that would stand on top of it. As the audio tour explained "It was particularly hard for an architect to design something that would never be noticed". Perhaps Hunt should have tried his hand at copywriting in an agency - producing output so inconsequential, it disappears from your brain before you've even finished reading it.

While the French were busy raising money to pay for the statue, which was their gift to the American people (mix-tapes and friendship bracelets don't have the same impact), the US was facing a similar challenge. Legendary publisher Pulitzer used his newspaper 'The World' to encourage members of the public to contribute whatever they could to the Pedestal Fund, in exchange for a mention in the paper. Suddenly, Peter Jackson's idea of selling credits in the extended editions of Lord of the Rings does't seem like quite such an odd concept.

There's a great display of Liberty memorabilia in the museum, including one startling piece of WW2 propaganda - "That liberty shall not perish from the earth - buy liberty bonds." The image on the poster depicted a decapitated statue. All that was missing was the giant squid/lobster beast from Cloverfield in the background.

Having spent long enough staring up liberty's skirt to qualify as a gynaecological engineer, we took the ferry over to Ellis Island - which during a 40 year period managed to process over 12 million immigrants. Interestingly, the audio tour here directed us to the first floor 'registry room', pointing out that the steps themselves were part of the screening process for would-be immigrants. Doctors would stand at the baloney to observe whether anyone had difficulty handling the stairs. Of course, the helpful audio guide also pointed out that any burger-munchers who couldn't handle the stairs today could always take the elevator.

Our final destination yesterday was Ground Zero, and the 9/11 memorial museum. Although the content was compelling and emotional, there's something strangely distancing about seeing an event you observed in real time, now represented by dust-covered relics in temperature-controlled cases. Only nine years have passed since the towers fell, but the museum concept makes it feel more like a hundred. Perhaps that's what the people of New York need in order for their wounds to heal.
 

Empire State of Mind

Greetings from the Big Apple, and welcome to a different kind of blog for the next few days. Since the promise of free wireless turned out to be something other than the truth, I'm forced to buy a giant cup of coffee in exchange for an hour of free wireless access. That means that I've got more caffeine running through my system than the Red Bull canning factory, and my internet usage has been severely curtailed.

I'm also doing my best to use the iPad on this trip, and I'm discovering that it doesn't really facilitate my kind of tab-happy web browsing - which means it's tough to keep track of eleventy-three different pop culture stories.

So if you're willing to indulge me, p0pvulture will be your shiny, not-quite-so-orange Judith Chalmers, as I peel back the eyelids of the city that never sleeps.

Our first impressions as we arrived at the Gershwin Hotel is that $300 dollars a night doesn't get you a whole lot of space - the 'Superior Double' may boast stripped wooden floorboards, but there's so little space in the room you have to look under the bed to see them. *Note to self - never look under a hotel bed.

The hotel itself is self-consciously 'arty'; the kind of building that ought to have a giant pair of designer glasses across its frontage (no lenses, natch, just the frames). And maybe it's the close proximity of the 'Museum of Sex', but it looks as though the facade is dripping in giant illuminated sperms. Welcome to the world's foremost bukakke hotel...

Yesterday we hit the town with our friend Beth who rose to the challenge of 'official tour guide' with considerable aplomb, except for the fact that she didn't choose the most appropriate footwear. By mid-afternoon, having walked for about fifty blocks, her feet were red raw - a rookie error for a native New Yorker.

Along the way we visited FAO Schwartz, where we tried out the giant piano from Big. I was half expecting to see a sign like the one in Wayne's World ('No Stairway To Heaven') that said 'No Chopsticks'. Turns out, no such sign was necessary, since it's impossible to make music on a keyboard when five shoeless kids are throwing themselves up and down the keys on their knees.

We also went to the Top of the Rock, a rather exciting-sounding experience at Rockefeller Plaza, which justifies them charging guests $21 per person to ride in a lift. When you work with big banking clients you get to travel to the 50th floor for free. Still, the views were spectacular and I was able to take some great pictures of the whole of Manhattan. Suddenly that new camera I bought in Duty Free at Heathrow didn't seem like quite such an unnecessary indulgence.

The thing that really hits you about New York is the sense of space. It makes you realise that most representations of the city that you see in TV and the movies are studio based - either filmed indoors or on a small-scale backlot. They might be able to recreate the architecture and the major landmarks, but without the sense of vastness that you get with the real thing.

Oh, and here's a tip. When you're trying to balance a budget, stay the hell away from Saks Fifth Avenue menswear department. Some might say that $2,000 is a little pricey for a jacket - until you've felt the exquisitely tailored lamb's leather on your skin, I say you don't know what you're talking about. The only problem is, I have to decide whether I want an Armani frock coat or a new car. Decisions, decisions...

For lunch we took the advice of several friends and visited Carnegie Deli - famous for its gargantuan sandwiches. We ordered the 'Ruben' - a gruesome deposit of sliced pastrami, sauerkraut and melted Swiss cheese that looked like something you'd expect to see on the pavement outside a nightclub. After diligently chomping on it for about half an hour, I got the disturbing sensation that the sandwich was actually regenerating.

There seemed to be more on the plate by the time we threw down our forks in defeat, than there had been when we first began our Herculean undertaking. It's worth a visit, provided your skin is thick enough to deal with some of the most unfriendly service you'll ever encounter. I thought we were going to be put in detention for sitting in the wrong seat.

Today we're going to immerse ourselves in the heart and soul of New York - yesterday was like inspecting the city's hair extensions and nail art. Wish us luck!

Man-sized appetite

You know how it is - your stomach's as empty as Alex Reid's brainpan and you happen to wander past the window of a local patisserie. Peering in at the goodies on display, you spy a spectacular arrangement of little cakes, covered in butter icing, sprinkles and other assorted decorative goodies.

But something stops you from going in. There's something just a little too feminine about cupcakes - so you keep on walking and buy a kebab instead. With extra chilli sauce, just to ensure that no-one questions your masculinity. Once you get home, you quietly gulp down the slimy slices of reformed mutton, stifling your sobs and quietly cursing the unspoken judgement of others.

OK, so maybe you don't know how it is. Perhaps that's a rather melodramatic take on the situation. But there must be something in that scenario, otherwise Sky News wouldn't have felt the need to cover the story of the Butch Bakery - which makes 'manly cakes for manly men'.

Founded by a former 'asset backed securities attorney' called David Arrick, the bakery was intended to combine a masculine aesthetic with a traditionally cute product. David was apparently incensed by a magazine article that claimed cupcakes represented everything "pink, sweet, cute, and magical" and decided that his favourite foodstuff needed butching up.

So he set about creating a range of mouthwatering treats that tough guys could proudly enjoy on the building site, the football pitch or in the dark room. He may have designed his cupcakes to be 'manly' but the fact is, they're even gayer than the traditional pink, sparkly variety.

With names like The Campout, Big Papi, Driller and Jackhammer, David's baked goodies sound like the kind of movies you can only pick up in 'specialist' stores. It's all trying just a little too hard to be masculine - from the steel-plate logo to the camouflage disc on top of the B52. It's almost as though he designed the cakes according to his favourite bar's nightly dress code.

In the gay world, butch is just another form of drag. A chance to dress up in costume and act out a fantasy. And that's precisely what these cakes represent. Sure, you can fill a gift box with beer-infused buttercream and 'crumbled bacon' toppings - but straight men just don't get excited about ganache. From my experience, they don't use the word 'butch' either, unless they're talking about the bulldog in those old Tom & Jerry cartoons.

Although David has been receiving orders from as far afield as Australia, the majority of his business is local - the website proudly declares that it delivers to Queens*. No surprise there then...

*as well as Greater Manhattan, New York and Brooklyn.