Travel: United Kingdom : London

London

(July 1, 2004 - July 30, 2004)

Greetings from the Land of the Untended Eyebrows 7/1/04 10:51 am

After 48 hours awake, and navigating my way through the London Underground strike, from Heathrow, trying to help a lost Siberian woman out, I was hungry, tired, unable to connect to my friend alexsend, I decide to do the only reasonable thing: I headed straight for Heaven and boogied down to Fruity's funky house night with Indian transvestites in sari's, gay Egyptian guys doing the modified Ottoman jiggy, two-step hops, and all the good stuff in the hizzy.

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now if only they could supersize that smile 7/2/04 03:24 pm

I didn't realize the allure of Arabic men to British women until I'm seeing them smiling here. They're absolutely handsome and gorgeously cheerful when they smile.

And now that I think about it, I've never seen any race of people smile in New York City. Everyone's always bitter, unhappy, and suspicious there.

And by the way, the whole pats and edy routine, it's not made up. So far I've seen two well-dressed women in full fall flat on their faces from boozing. At 4 in the afternoon. I've never seen anyone that smashed so early in the day....well, aside from Boobsie and I.

I got mistaken for a goth on old compton street with my earrings. Oh dear god, long live the memory of Quentin Crisp and outcast fem gays. I'm thinking, "if my earrings are the only thing that doesn't seem quite right about my outfit, then you better remove those beer goggles."

Riding a small elevator up to my room, a man with luggage thought twice about getting on. An occupant and I pushed up against the wall and invited him in, he said no, he'll take the next one. We shrugged. The door closed. The occupant turned to me and said,

"Bloody Americans, they always need their space."

Diplomatically, I said, "I'm a bloody American. I don't need space. Oh well, he could have been claustrophobic, you know people who can't deal with enclosed spaces....or, Americans."

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when a bicycle is not a bicycle 7/5/04 12:12 pm

At the Tate Modern, Olafur Eliasson's Unilever Sun may no longer be around, but his Your Double Lighthouse Projection is a lovely all-encompassing piece. When I first approached it, all I was able to see were the floaters in my retina. However, after reading the display card explanation, I gave it another try, this time, with my nose almost touching the screen. Being that the construction of the screen was curved, when you are up against it, the panel fills your entire vision, including the peripheral. As you get attuned to the encompassing light, it shifts in colors, changing along with it, a physical and psychological state. The people who were there were afraid to try it, for fear of "appearing stupid." Taking chances in life is not always about meeting danger in the face. Sometimes it may be just taking the risk of looking like a dunce, in order to get to a higher plane.

Clyfford Still's 1953 also made a memorable impression. It had the abstract monumental quality of O'Keefe's flowers and cityscapes. The card says Still uses the monolithic landscape to capture the mountains of one's imagination. I think about how my imagination has become stagnant of late. It's easy to blame it on my work in the office for the past three years. But imagination is a muscle: Without exercise, the powers of originality may be eroded into a flatland. I resolve to do more with images and music the moment I get home. Cropping is a big issue to overcome. I need less body, more compositional flare in my self-images.

Having met up with A-send, we got the Dionysian daze well on its way. The gay pride festival, ending at Trafalgar Square did not quite capture our spirits. Although the lesbian turnout was especially strong. After booking my chunnel trip to Paris, we got tanked on Marks & Spenser's wine and headed for Jimmy's. Getting out of the Underground, we were lost. I walked into an Indian fast food take away place, and the proprietor asked for sex in front of all his co-workers. I said, that would not be fair to his family, especially his wife, and they laughed. He came around and gave my right boob a stroke, then he walked outside. He showed us the way and we eventually got to Philbeach, where gents awaited to mingle. Nobody knew what a Long Beach Ice Tea was. "Everything on the shelf, with a dash of coke." A dashing handsome man was talking to Alexandra, while I got stuck with a dude from Baltimore, Maryland. Geez, I sure know how to pick 'em!

Stumbling on our heels over to Brompton's, I headed for the man's toilet where guys were lining up to use the facilities. They turned around when I entered and several of them asked me to see my family jewels. I said that was really no way to talk to a lady.

We danced while A. came dangerously close to crashing into bystanders. I kept a strongarm throughout to keep centrifcal force from taking over. (Picture owed, when I get around to it).

Outside, the underground has shut down, so while we were waiting to hail a cab, a Spaniard came by on his bicycle. He offered to give me a ride. I should have said YES just to see how he would go about it. Eventually we got a ride from a passing taxi and bid farewell to the nice man. Crossing Piccadilly on heels, I felt my right one snap in two. Happily we were close to our hotel. We lined up for pizza as the sky was bluing to dawn. As we placed our order, the counter guy said, "these are the last slices for the night." We turned around and looked at the long line behind us. As we were walking away, we heard a clamor of protests erupt behind us. It's any wonder why we did not get beat up for our snacks.

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Clubhoppin with Sally 7/16/04 06:23 am on to Pristine Goes To Isle of Wight

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