10.10
Little bit of this, a little bit of that. Mostly a lot of that being long hours in Starbucks. I’ve listened to two girls talk trash about another girl for the last hour. They’ve covered every facet of her existence and how much it sucks. Seconds away from telling them I’m her brother.
Past couple of days have been relatively low key, which essentially means me picking a spot, taking a tube there, and walking around. Man. “Taking a tube” sounds so Jetsononian that it makes a train system that can take you pretty much anywhere in the city in a matter of minutes underground seem uncool. They should consider a name change if they don’t want to let future-obsessed folks like myself down. Maybe it can take the name “Snail Mail.”
Decided to pay my respects to the Crown the other night, which involved taking a trip to Buckingham Palace by way of a quick jaunt through Green Park.
I remember the scene in Cool Runnings, where Yul Brenner shows Sanka a postcard of where he wants to live when he gets rich and famous after winning a Gold Medal. Sanka laughs and tells him that in order to do that, he’d have to marry the Queen! On the postcard, of course, was a picture of Buckingham Palace. I always hated that scene, because the loveable Sanka turns into a malicious dickhead. Granted, Yul wasn’t a saint by any means, but we can all strive to live in Buckingham Palace. Can’t we?
My parents told me when we were here maybe 12 years ago that the Queen had a person who sat on the toilet at all hours of the day, just so that when she needed to go, the seat was warm. I thought that was the pinnacle of luxury—warm toilet seats whenever you want? What could be better? How would one get that job? Probably have to go through years of etiquette training. I think I maybe cited that statement up until 2005, or right around the birth of Wikipedia, when I realized that I HAD BEEN LIED TO! What’s next, Santa not existing? DON’T. No, Tumblr. I DON’T WANT TO LET PEOPLE REPLY TO THAT QUESTION.
Look at this jerk. Supposedly you can’t make these guys laugh. How does one put themselves into that state of mind? Just think of a moving burlap sack of puppies sinking to the bottom of a river? If that guy had come to the fence, I guarantee I would’ve been able to get at least a chuckle. I probably just would’ve used the classic funny face routine.
Afterwards, kept walking downtown towards Big Ben. That sandwich joint makes their entire menu 1 pound after 3pm, so it’s nice to know I have a destination and a place to be every day. Takes me back to my schooling days.
Yesterday, I decided to go pick myself up a new pair of glasses because I already lost my Berlin pair. But turns out, those things are mass produced, and I found the exact same pair! Can you believe it? The chances! I took a walk through Regent’s Park up to Camden, where they have an alternative, punk bar/market scene. I grabbed my sample of something called bang-bang chicken from a Chinese stand and moved through.
THE GLASSES. Again, say nothing. They shade my eyes, alright?
Once that was finished, I had a little time to kill before meeting up with some MATES, so I took a stroll…a long goddamn stroll…down to the British National Gallery. The “public owns these works,” so it operates on donations only. Filled with a ton of the greats, and a sold out Da Vinci expo, it was pretty, pretty excellent. We’re talking some Van Gogh, Gaugain, Renoir, Botticelli, Michaelangelo, Rafael, Rubens, Degas, Vazquez…you know, the good guys.
Trafalgar Square.
Switching hostels again. The price triples on weekends if you’re not careful about booking in advance, so I think I’m staying in 5 hostels over the course of the next couple of weeks. Should be great!
If you click that link, you’ll be able to hear two extremely rough recordings of the band I’ve been playing with. I am playing drums on those, and I think, despite the rough-around-the-edges feel, that they sound fucking awesome.
PIP PIP CHEERIO.
