Yeah, that's one of those things that weather people should never say. In part, this is just b/c it sounds stupid, but also b/c it pretty much guarantees no rain, ever again... Here, the Met Office just announced that parts of England are officially in drought, with other parts, including here, "near drought". So, what does it then do? Pees it down, of course. We've had loads of rain the past few days - a good thing, for sure, but kind of amusing, nonetheless.
Our, um, "wildflower garden" is generally green, at this point (except for back in catshit corner). David and I went to the garden centre yesterday and purchased a bunch of little flowers to fill in the holes. My general idea was to get things that looked like they would fit in a weed, I mean wildflower garden, whereas David had his heart set on begonias. Yeah, those look right at home in a wildflower garden, sitting there and screaming out, "I'm a begonia, look at me in my pinkness!" I upset David by weeding the whole thing - upset him because, as far as he is concerned, they all look like plants (plant identification is not his strong suit). Anyway, if we are lucky, but sometime in the autumn we should actually have a flower or two out there!
I was supposed to finally go for a long bike ride this weekend - the first time since the end of April, but yesterday was gardening and today it rained all day. My poor lonely (and pretty much all new) bike is just sitting here, upset that it's not being used. Sigh.
Not really much going on at the moment - still trying to find a more exciting and better paying job, and slowly slowly slowly getting the house in order. Robin is off in town somewhere and David has parked his butt on the sofa to watch original Star Trek (which makes Robin retch - he is much more of a Voyager kiind of guy - much more realistic, you know... ;-) I had a very exciting day going for a run and going to the gym. Went to GNC as well to look for some new protein powder. The very lovely man who works there gave me some huge spiel on this amazing new protein powder they had, made with real glutamine, angel wings and fairy dust, and imported from America - America even! Land of beautiful people and endless opportunity (and cheap gyms). I heard something like "blah blah blah £24". Yep, sold to one silly American b/c you wore him down with your technical talk (actually, to be honest, it sounded like he swallowed the brochure - I just managed to resist saying as such, as he was, after all, pretty. Is that shallow? Probably. Anyway, the powder only tastes vaguely barf inducing (it's chocolate - I imagine the strawberry would have been just unbearable).
Yep, it's been a pretty important day... ;-)
Wednesday, 8 June 2011
Sunday, 5 June 2011
Rainy Sunday, and Germany
Well, for the first time in ages, we're finally getting decent rain. Apparently, it's been the dryest spring since the Ming Dynasty, or at least since records began, which is, surprisingly, not so long ago - only about a century here. Makes you wonder where America's obsessive record keeping came from - maybe the Germans? Anyway, we had a very exciting day buying silly amounts of things at Ikea. Robin drove the van and we only nearly had two accidents. Not bad. I made sure to wear clean underwear, just in case. I'm pretty sure it's still clean... just... ;-) David is now doing his butch thing and putting together shelves, whereas I am doing my level best to avoid any Ikea related assembly, as I'm pretty sure it says somewhere in the instuctions that I am not to touch the product until it is safely assembled.
Let's see - I applied for a British passport, which will make coming back through Heathrow more enjoyable, though, admittedly, I've kinda gotten used to the goats and chickens line every time I come back into the UK (I'm pretty sure it's officially called the Goats and Chickens Queue - Non EU and other Icky Foreigners, but I've not actually checked).
Right - the other thing I keep meaning to do is to write down my entries from Germany, where I escaped for a mini-break last week (by myself - went off to visit friends and take many trains to silly places).
---------------
26/5
There's something more impressive about stepping off a train into a foreign country than off a plane - especially when the borders are porous. This morning I was waiting for the 0727 train at our crappy local station. I connected to the Eurostar, which, two hours later, dropped me off in the heart of Brussels, at the very station where a very naive 20 year old suddenly clued in to why all these nice men were lingering about on train platforms late at night (definitely a Eureka moment). I wiled away two hours, trundling my suitcase around in a big circle, and then I was off for another two hours to Cologne on the Thalys - a much shinier, but noticeably slower international train.
The cool thing about travelling around the Continent is that, with the open borders, it only becomes clear that we are in Germany because the little towns suddenly become insanely neat and the license plates change. I'm now sitting outside a Starbucks, across from the Cologne Cathedral (Dom), watching Japanese tourists take pictures of themselves taking pictures, and enjoying the late spring sun. Sometimes, globalization is cool. I'm off to Bonn in a bit, to meet a friend I met on the Internet about seven years ago, and then, Saturday, it's off, by train, to Berlin. I haven't done many random trips by myself over the past few years - I've not felt settled enough. Neither David nor Robin especially understand why I like to do this (though David is, admittedly, much better than Robin) - sometimes it's nice to just float along by oneself, though it's also true that I'm very glad I'm meeting friends in Bonn and Berlin.
--------------
28/5
So, Britain has a bit of an inferiority complex about its trains. They are pokey and old and always late and break down and blah blah blah. I'm sitting on the (very pretty) ICE train, somewhere east of Hannover, randomly stopped for no particularly good reason. How very British. Anyway, I'm taking the train today from Bonn to Berlin. I stayed two nights in Bonn - a rather sleepy but very pretty city on the Rhein. Apparently - it wasn't bombed much - too boring. Lots of big old houses, huge trees, and a general (and very German) sense of order (of which I approve). We went to a bar last night in Cologne, where I had four of probably the smallest beers I've ever seen - 200ml if I'm lucky. No steins there! Cologne is very multi-ethnic, very "happening", and, thanks to the allies, very ugly. It's too bad that WW2 didn't happen at a more aesthetically pleasing time. Interestingly, it was rebuilt in the same sort of pan-European style I've seen from Spain to Sweden (with the notable exeptions of the UK and Ireland). Anyway, I think it's interesting how a similar (but not identical style) is found in such disparate countries. But then, I guess the pics of buildings I've seen in Japan remind me of those in South San Francisco and Daly City. Well, I thought it was interesting, anyway.
So, three nights now in what I've been told is a pretty spartan guest apartment in Berlin. My travelling companion (friend from Bonn) wants to paint the town red, whereas I'd be happy with a light shade of pink. Nothing quite like a fun flight home after an entire weekend out partying - ugh.
Hmm - when you cross into the former East the only real obvious difference now is a dropoff in the general hyper-tidyness. The field edges are a bit messier, the houses, while of the same general design, sag a bit here and there (like England!) and there are the occasional rusting hulks of disused factories, train stations, etc. It's like Germany but unshaven.
They sort recyling into three bins on this train. My God.
-------------
31/5
So, I never understand how exactly people finish up a trip not exhausted. As far as I'm concerned, a mark of a good holiday is the desperate need for an immediate holiday after. By that measure (actually, by just about any measure), it's been a good holiday. I'm sitting here at Berlin's Tegel Airport, exhausted and feeling slightly surreal, eating a sandwich containing some sort of mystery meat, pink stuff, some brightly coloured things I think are veggies, all nested into a roll with the consistency of moist Wonder Bread. Yum. At least there aren't any killer cukes! I spent the past three and a half days in Berlin, staying with friends in a bargain-basement, 1970s, very square holiday apartment. It's gay-owned and caters to gays, which meant that it was tastefully decorated with pictures of beefy men with unusually well develped pecs and penises gracing the walls. These complement the lumpy beds, the bowls of somewhat dusty plastic fruit, the futon with quesionable stains and the carpet that was last vacuumed sometime before the Wall came down. Ah well - it was cheap. The building is under renovation, which meant that people started hammering and drilling (not that kind of hammering and drilling - I'm shocked!) at 8am. Nice - very nice for going out the night before. It's on a quiet cul de sac with an Eastern European hooker that posts herself at the intersection every night. She is (also tastefully) dressed in some skin tight microscopic thing that lets her ass spill out for general public consumption, and shiny black boots that nearly cover what her shorts miss. She also has very perky tits. I figure that's probably important. Yep - high class establishment we found. Apparently, the apartment building itself used to be a male whorehouse. I know this because I talked with someone in Berlin who, apparently, used to work there, and laughed when I told him where we were staying. Yeah, well done us. Anyway, it was fine, and a modicum of sleep was had.
I'm not sure how many times I've been to Berlin at this point - 7 or 8 maybe (and still keine hablo Deutsch), but I really like it and have two good friends there. Oddly, in some ways it reminds me of Barcelona, another city I really like. I always think of the irony that Berlin, the capital of what was one of the most rightwing regimes of all times, is now one of the most progressive cities in Europe, if not the world. It is simply dripping with gay men, random nudity in parks, free art, etc. But then, the Weimar Republic was pretty forward thinking - it was just taken over by numbnuts. Hmm - sounds like another place...
Anyway, the first night I met up with Frank for dinner at the restaurant where he works, and we planned the weekend. Met the other two guys (the Bonn ones) after for drinks. Sunday, after an emergency gym (I am a notorious homosexual, after all - these things are important), I met Frank and his new boy toy (20 years his junior - apparently he has now reached a "certain age") - for outdoor karaoke in a park along the former wall. There were a few thousand people packed into this sort of amphitheater, and an Irish guy with a bicycle, a computer, and some very big speakers. As usual, some of the entrants sucked (including some old boozer who belted out some German oompa loompa song) but there was this nerdy Irish girl who did a very (very) good rap (muthafucka!) complete with all the gang signs, and a little Chinese girl who did an extremely convincing Lady Gaga, complete with all the moves. The crowd loved it and I nearly peed myself laughing. Lotsa fun!
After that, suitably beered up (and with a very very full bladder) we went over to Frank's for a bbq on his balcony (illegal, apparently). I like Germany bbqs - lots of random meat and no vegetables or starch in sight. Yum! The new bf - Rob, showed me where he had been doodling on his leg with his new tattoo machine (hon, you're going to regret that...). The scary thing was that this twenty year old has done things, and is into things that still make even me squeamish. Kids these days! Went to a few bars again after that - they do all sort of blend together, which is slightly distressing.
Yesterday, I went for a morning run, across the former border (I always like to do that), and we had schnitzel for lunch - very yummy and very fattening. I also ate a slice of cucumber - dancing with danger... Shubh (Bonn) and I then walked along Kurfurstendamm (Kudamm), the main shopping area in western Berlin and sat outside a coffeeshop, making rude commentary about passersby. It was for their own benefit, I'm sure. Met my friend Rogger for ice cream and a chat after that. He lives right in Schoneberg, the main gay area in western Berlin, and knows absolutely everyone, it seems, which made walking down the street a very slow endeavour. He showed me one of the kinky holiday apartments he rents out to tourists - very nice - easy clean floor, cage, handcuffs on the wall, a pommel horse (for what I wasn't entirely sure - gymnastics?). More power to him - he makes good money off of tourists who want to pay more for the, um, fully equipped apartment. Rogger is a sweetie. Met him (also) online. I've met many people online - I'm a big fan. Met Frank in a club about 7 years ago.
I think this, more than anything, is why I so love living here. I can just pop off to wherever, and it's a totally different city in a totally different country. Yet, thanks to the very interconnected, very international nature of gaydom, assisted by the connections possible on the Internet, I have made friends all over. Just on this little short trip I saw people I recognized from London (all screamingly gay, of course).
Anyway, finally, today - another long run in the heat, another morning being woken up early by workmen, who, are, of course, only loud first thing in the morning. I went today to the East Side Gallery, a 1.3km section of leftover Wall that has been turned into an open air art gallery. Pretty damn moving. I had lunch - pretzel bread (it has some German name that means something like, "Don't even try to pronounce it, you silly foreigner"), Hungarian salami and some kind of sinky cheese, sitting in a grassy park, full of sunbathers, in the middle of the former death strip. A little odd, admittedly.
And now, I'm on the plane back to London, which, being not an American flight, was taxiing away from the gate as people were still sitting down and closing the overhead bins. It is so much less hassle flying outside of the United States. Much more efficient, just as thorough and minus the feeling that one is automatically viewed as a criminal. Sigh.
Let's see - I applied for a British passport, which will make coming back through Heathrow more enjoyable, though, admittedly, I've kinda gotten used to the goats and chickens line every time I come back into the UK (I'm pretty sure it's officially called the Goats and Chickens Queue - Non EU and other Icky Foreigners, but I've not actually checked).
Right - the other thing I keep meaning to do is to write down my entries from Germany, where I escaped for a mini-break last week (by myself - went off to visit friends and take many trains to silly places).
---------------
26/5
There's something more impressive about stepping off a train into a foreign country than off a plane - especially when the borders are porous. This morning I was waiting for the 0727 train at our crappy local station. I connected to the Eurostar, which, two hours later, dropped me off in the heart of Brussels, at the very station where a very naive 20 year old suddenly clued in to why all these nice men were lingering about on train platforms late at night (definitely a Eureka moment). I wiled away two hours, trundling my suitcase around in a big circle, and then I was off for another two hours to Cologne on the Thalys - a much shinier, but noticeably slower international train.
The cool thing about travelling around the Continent is that, with the open borders, it only becomes clear that we are in Germany because the little towns suddenly become insanely neat and the license plates change. I'm now sitting outside a Starbucks, across from the Cologne Cathedral (Dom), watching Japanese tourists take pictures of themselves taking pictures, and enjoying the late spring sun. Sometimes, globalization is cool. I'm off to Bonn in a bit, to meet a friend I met on the Internet about seven years ago, and then, Saturday, it's off, by train, to Berlin. I haven't done many random trips by myself over the past few years - I've not felt settled enough. Neither David nor Robin especially understand why I like to do this (though David is, admittedly, much better than Robin) - sometimes it's nice to just float along by oneself, though it's also true that I'm very glad I'm meeting friends in Bonn and Berlin.
--------------
28/5
So, Britain has a bit of an inferiority complex about its trains. They are pokey and old and always late and break down and blah blah blah. I'm sitting on the (very pretty) ICE train, somewhere east of Hannover, randomly stopped for no particularly good reason. How very British. Anyway, I'm taking the train today from Bonn to Berlin. I stayed two nights in Bonn - a rather sleepy but very pretty city on the Rhein. Apparently - it wasn't bombed much - too boring. Lots of big old houses, huge trees, and a general (and very German) sense of order (of which I approve). We went to a bar last night in Cologne, where I had four of probably the smallest beers I've ever seen - 200ml if I'm lucky. No steins there! Cologne is very multi-ethnic, very "happening", and, thanks to the allies, very ugly. It's too bad that WW2 didn't happen at a more aesthetically pleasing time. Interestingly, it was rebuilt in the same sort of pan-European style I've seen from Spain to Sweden (with the notable exeptions of the UK and Ireland). Anyway, I think it's interesting how a similar (but not identical style) is found in such disparate countries. But then, I guess the pics of buildings I've seen in Japan remind me of those in South San Francisco and Daly City. Well, I thought it was interesting, anyway.
So, three nights now in what I've been told is a pretty spartan guest apartment in Berlin. My travelling companion (friend from Bonn) wants to paint the town red, whereas I'd be happy with a light shade of pink. Nothing quite like a fun flight home after an entire weekend out partying - ugh.
Hmm - when you cross into the former East the only real obvious difference now is a dropoff in the general hyper-tidyness. The field edges are a bit messier, the houses, while of the same general design, sag a bit here and there (like England!) and there are the occasional rusting hulks of disused factories, train stations, etc. It's like Germany but unshaven.
They sort recyling into three bins on this train. My God.
-------------
31/5
So, I never understand how exactly people finish up a trip not exhausted. As far as I'm concerned, a mark of a good holiday is the desperate need for an immediate holiday after. By that measure (actually, by just about any measure), it's been a good holiday. I'm sitting here at Berlin's Tegel Airport, exhausted and feeling slightly surreal, eating a sandwich containing some sort of mystery meat, pink stuff, some brightly coloured things I think are veggies, all nested into a roll with the consistency of moist Wonder Bread. Yum. At least there aren't any killer cukes! I spent the past three and a half days in Berlin, staying with friends in a bargain-basement, 1970s, very square holiday apartment. It's gay-owned and caters to gays, which meant that it was tastefully decorated with pictures of beefy men with unusually well develped pecs and penises gracing the walls. These complement the lumpy beds, the bowls of somewhat dusty plastic fruit, the futon with quesionable stains and the carpet that was last vacuumed sometime before the Wall came down. Ah well - it was cheap. The building is under renovation, which meant that people started hammering and drilling (not that kind of hammering and drilling - I'm shocked!) at 8am. Nice - very nice for going out the night before. It's on a quiet cul de sac with an Eastern European hooker that posts herself at the intersection every night. She is (also tastefully) dressed in some skin tight microscopic thing that lets her ass spill out for general public consumption, and shiny black boots that nearly cover what her shorts miss. She also has very perky tits. I figure that's probably important. Yep - high class establishment we found. Apparently, the apartment building itself used to be a male whorehouse. I know this because I talked with someone in Berlin who, apparently, used to work there, and laughed when I told him where we were staying. Yeah, well done us. Anyway, it was fine, and a modicum of sleep was had.
I'm not sure how many times I've been to Berlin at this point - 7 or 8 maybe (and still keine hablo Deutsch), but I really like it and have two good friends there. Oddly, in some ways it reminds me of Barcelona, another city I really like. I always think of the irony that Berlin, the capital of what was one of the most rightwing regimes of all times, is now one of the most progressive cities in Europe, if not the world. It is simply dripping with gay men, random nudity in parks, free art, etc. But then, the Weimar Republic was pretty forward thinking - it was just taken over by numbnuts. Hmm - sounds like another place...
Anyway, the first night I met up with Frank for dinner at the restaurant where he works, and we planned the weekend. Met the other two guys (the Bonn ones) after for drinks. Sunday, after an emergency gym (I am a notorious homosexual, after all - these things are important), I met Frank and his new boy toy (20 years his junior - apparently he has now reached a "certain age") - for outdoor karaoke in a park along the former wall. There were a few thousand people packed into this sort of amphitheater, and an Irish guy with a bicycle, a computer, and some very big speakers. As usual, some of the entrants sucked (including some old boozer who belted out some German oompa loompa song) but there was this nerdy Irish girl who did a very (very) good rap (muthafucka!) complete with all the gang signs, and a little Chinese girl who did an extremely convincing Lady Gaga, complete with all the moves. The crowd loved it and I nearly peed myself laughing. Lotsa fun!
After that, suitably beered up (and with a very very full bladder) we went over to Frank's for a bbq on his balcony (illegal, apparently). I like Germany bbqs - lots of random meat and no vegetables or starch in sight. Yum! The new bf - Rob, showed me where he had been doodling on his leg with his new tattoo machine (hon, you're going to regret that...). The scary thing was that this twenty year old has done things, and is into things that still make even me squeamish. Kids these days! Went to a few bars again after that - they do all sort of blend together, which is slightly distressing.
Yesterday, I went for a morning run, across the former border (I always like to do that), and we had schnitzel for lunch - very yummy and very fattening. I also ate a slice of cucumber - dancing with danger... Shubh (Bonn) and I then walked along Kurfurstendamm (Kudamm), the main shopping area in western Berlin and sat outside a coffeeshop, making rude commentary about passersby. It was for their own benefit, I'm sure. Met my friend Rogger for ice cream and a chat after that. He lives right in Schoneberg, the main gay area in western Berlin, and knows absolutely everyone, it seems, which made walking down the street a very slow endeavour. He showed me one of the kinky holiday apartments he rents out to tourists - very nice - easy clean floor, cage, handcuffs on the wall, a pommel horse (for what I wasn't entirely sure - gymnastics?). More power to him - he makes good money off of tourists who want to pay more for the, um, fully equipped apartment. Rogger is a sweetie. Met him (also) online. I've met many people online - I'm a big fan. Met Frank in a club about 7 years ago.
I think this, more than anything, is why I so love living here. I can just pop off to wherever, and it's a totally different city in a totally different country. Yet, thanks to the very interconnected, very international nature of gaydom, assisted by the connections possible on the Internet, I have made friends all over. Just on this little short trip I saw people I recognized from London (all screamingly gay, of course).
Anyway, finally, today - another long run in the heat, another morning being woken up early by workmen, who, are, of course, only loud first thing in the morning. I went today to the East Side Gallery, a 1.3km section of leftover Wall that has been turned into an open air art gallery. Pretty damn moving. I had lunch - pretzel bread (it has some German name that means something like, "Don't even try to pronounce it, you silly foreigner"), Hungarian salami and some kind of sinky cheese, sitting in a grassy park, full of sunbathers, in the middle of the former death strip. A little odd, admittedly.
And now, I'm on the plane back to London, which, being not an American flight, was taxiing away from the gate as people were still sitting down and closing the overhead bins. It is so much less hassle flying outside of the United States. Much more efficient, just as thorough and minus the feeling that one is automatically viewed as a criminal. Sigh.
Sunday, 22 May 2011
The First Day of the Rest of the World...
So, I can now legitimately answer the question about what I would do if I thought the world was going to end today. I would sleep in late, fart around at home for an excessive amount of time, and then go to Ikea with David to look for a dining table and some shelves. At Ikea, I would eat too many meatballs (as it would likely be my last meal, and Ikea meatballs are yummy), and would also make sure to have some of the deim cake, as that's also really yummy and appropriate for the last day of the world. Slightly marring the occasion, we would differ on taste as far as the furniture went, but end-times can be trying, so one must expect that. As 6pm and the end draws nigh, I would realize there wasn't enough time left for me to hit the tanning salon before it closed, and would rush to get to the bike store, so I could at least ride my fixed bike (with the new frame) into the final sunset. Priorities... 6pm came and went, pretty much without incident (I was waiting on the platform at London Bridge for the train home, with my bike - it needs some adjustment before it can be ridden into any sunsets). So, slightly disappointing on all counts, but, to celebrate the world's continued existence, I went home, made dinner (steak and veggies) and then we all sat around and watched too many episodes of Big Bang Theory. Not a bad way to bring in the new, still-here world, I think!
Wednesday, 18 May 2011
$82???
So, in the nearly eight years I've been here, I've finally managed to fill up the pages of my passport, or nearly so anyway. This would likely not be a problem, as this country is perfectly happy to stamp anywhere and everywhere, and as I've applied now for a British passport (finally), which will negate the need for stamps as I travel around Europe. Problem is, this takes a long period of time, and requires I send in my American passport. I'm off to Germany next Thursday, which sort of requires I have a passport, of some sort. Anyway, the problem is that the Germans, being the lovely anal retentive folk that they are, seem to have this thing for always stamping the 'In' stamp next to the 'Out' stamp, and I don't have any ins left next to my outs (always a problem). So, in the interest of not being told 'nein' at the border, I forked over $82 to get an additional 24 pages stitched into my passport (thus making my weenie American passport as big as a hefty European pasport). To do this while in London requires that one visit the American Embassy, which is about as cuddly and friendly as, well, something not very cuddly and friendly. Outside the gates, I have to show ID. I then wait in this line, from which I am called into a rather reinforced looking antebuilding by this sort of door troll (English, actually), where I show my ID again. All of my belongings go through the x-ray and I walk through the metal detector. I am not allowed to bring in any electronic devices of any sort (fortunately, I new this before, so left my phone behind, but they do actually have a phone-check where one can leave one's phone if one was naughty and forgot). After being suitably cleared and telling them my business, I am allowed to leave the antebuilding (you can't leave the back if the door in the front is open). I turn left out of the door and walk towards the corner of the building (still outside), towards the first man with a machine gun. I turn right at the corner and walk towards the steps - towards the second man with the machine gun. Up the steps to the nice (English) ladies at the reception desk, where I receive my number, then up another set of steps into a large waiting room with many chairs in rows, where I sit to wait my turn. Fortunately, as I live in the UK, I am used to spending inordinate amounts of time waiting around in such dreary rooms, and it actually goes fairly quickly. I look around at the decor, which was probably pretty cool looking back in 1960, when it was built, but it's looking a little tired now. Apparently, it's not actually American soil, because the Duke of Westminster refused to sell it to the Americans. Still, it doesn't stop the embassy staff from refusing to pay the London Congestion Charge - they see it as a foreign tax, and therefore have declared themselves exempt. They are the worst, apparently, in terms of unpaid tickets. Charming. Anyway, I handed over my passport, and returned today for the same routine to pick it up.
So, you'd think that for $82 they would make some vague attempt to have it look nice. Ha! Yes, the new pages are stitched into the book, but they aren't even the same size! They are substantially smaller, and each page has some scenic drawing of the USA with some banal or nauseating quotation on top of it. My fave is from Ronald Reagan. Apparently, perhaps in a fit of Cold War busting delirium, he said, "We live in a world lit by lightning. So much is changing and will change, but so much endures and transcends time". Excuse me, what? That's the sort of thing one would say after a few too many bong hints, or possibly something from "Deep thoughts, by Jack Handy". Apparently that was from his second inaugural address. Actually, it sort of reminds me of this famous quote by another famous American:
If I could turn back time
If I could find a way
I'd take back those words that hurt you
And you'd stay
If I could reach the stars
I'd give them all to you
Then you'd love me, love me
Like you used to do
But I digress... (Might need to egress, as I'm definitely not going to progress...)
We're having a drought here. Apparently it's the driest in like 100 years, and, to be honest, things are looking pretty crispy and the weather has been generally fabulous. If it were CA I wouldn't worry, but this being England, the vegetation starts looking pretty sad pretty quickly, and apparently crops are on the verge of failure. I'm sure it's not climate change though, even though we just had the warmest spring on record... Hmm.
Oh yeah, and I forgot - David and I voted. It was our very first vote as British citizens, and took approximately 10 seconds, as it was a simple yes/no referendum. Very simple - just two nice ladies with a sheet of paper with our names on it. They gave us each a small sheet of paper and a pencil and we put a big 'X' in the box, folded it and put it in the ballot box. No touch screen voting here, thank you!
And finally - David's mother was here for about two weeks and we actually didn't fight! It's only taken 12 years, but we actually got along. I suppose some of it is that both of us have mellowed in our dotage, some of it is down to me just accepting that things are as they are, but whatever it was, it was pretty nice. I never thought I'd say that...
Right - must make my lunch for tomorrow and then head to bed.
So, you'd think that for $82 they would make some vague attempt to have it look nice. Ha! Yes, the new pages are stitched into the book, but they aren't even the same size! They are substantially smaller, and each page has some scenic drawing of the USA with some banal or nauseating quotation on top of it. My fave is from Ronald Reagan. Apparently, perhaps in a fit of Cold War busting delirium, he said, "We live in a world lit by lightning. So much is changing and will change, but so much endures and transcends time". Excuse me, what? That's the sort of thing one would say after a few too many bong hints, or possibly something from "Deep thoughts, by Jack Handy". Apparently that was from his second inaugural address. Actually, it sort of reminds me of this famous quote by another famous American:
If I could turn back time
If I could find a way
I'd take back those words that hurt you
And you'd stay
If I could reach the stars
I'd give them all to you
Then you'd love me, love me
Like you used to do
But I digress... (Might need to egress, as I'm definitely not going to progress...)
We're having a drought here. Apparently it's the driest in like 100 years, and, to be honest, things are looking pretty crispy and the weather has been generally fabulous. If it were CA I wouldn't worry, but this being England, the vegetation starts looking pretty sad pretty quickly, and apparently crops are on the verge of failure. I'm sure it's not climate change though, even though we just had the warmest spring on record... Hmm.
Oh yeah, and I forgot - David and I voted. It was our very first vote as British citizens, and took approximately 10 seconds, as it was a simple yes/no referendum. Very simple - just two nice ladies with a sheet of paper with our names on it. They gave us each a small sheet of paper and a pencil and we put a big 'X' in the box, folded it and put it in the ballot box. No touch screen voting here, thank you!
And finally - David's mother was here for about two weeks and we actually didn't fight! It's only taken 12 years, but we actually got along. I suppose some of it is that both of us have mellowed in our dotage, some of it is down to me just accepting that things are as they are, but whatever it was, it was pretty nice. I never thought I'd say that...
Right - must make my lunch for tomorrow and then head to bed.
Monday, 2 May 2011
Biking through Welshest Wales...
So, I got back last night from a mostly fantastic two day bike ride from north to south Wales. Two days, 150 miles and almost two miles of climbing. I took the train on Saturday from here to Bangor, on the north coast of Wales. I spent that day cycling down through Snowdonia National Park to the town of Machynlleth (pronounced Makunthlith). I bought the train ticket quite early, so managed to get a first class seat, which is nice, as it tends to keep out a lot of the riffraff. I had the great privilege though of sitting across from two trainspotters, a small child and their dog. Dogs apparently aren't allowed in first class, but the train conductor was a weenie and didn't press the issue after his first complaint. The dog was actually fine. The trainspotters though- my god what a boring conversation they were having! I'd never eavesdropped on a trainspotting conversation before, and I don't think I probably ever will again! This was the first trip I'd actually seen trainspotters - people on bridges and along the tracks, peering at the train with binoculars. Wow - things really must be a bit boring in Wales (though there are a lot of sheep - can't be that boring! ;-) One of the more striking things about the coast of north Wales, besides the landscape being quite beautiful, is the number of trailer parks. I'd actually never seen so many trailer parks in my life!
Anyway, I got off the train at Bangor, then spent the next half hour or so trying to find a place that sold water. I ended up in the centre - lots of vaguely lardy people wandering about, several people that seemed to be sharing a rather shallow corner of the gene puddle, and a number speaking in Welsh, which is a language that consists mostly of consonants, and a dangerous number of Ls (for example...).
Not much to see in Bangor. So I set off towards Snowdonia - lots of very old, rounded mountaintops - I think it may, technically, be considered an extension of the Appalachians, though that might actually only pertain to the Highlands. I'm too lazy to Google it just now. Lots and lots of wind - lots of wind. And then I had a minor little potential disaster - I discovered that the increasing creaky noise around my seat was actually from a crack in the frame - the third frame with the same crack in the same place. I felt very alone in the world and very upset at that point, as there was just about dipshit I could actually do if my bike decided to fall apart out there, out in the middle of nowhere. So, after feeling sorry for myself for a while and texting David a few thousand times, I decided I wasn't going to allow it to ruin my trip and kept on going, though I was now pretty obsessed with the loud creaking noise and observed the size of the crack pretty constantly.
The rest of the day I cycled down the coast, past Harlech (the first place in the UK I ever visited on my own, 18 years ago). Last time I went there, you didn't have to pay to visit the castle (as there is actually nothing inside). Apparently, they realized they were missing an opportunity to make money. Oh well. It's still very pretty. From the outside. The last bit along the coast was heading east, along what is essentially a fjord, into an absurdly strong headwind, and then there was the slight matter of the 900 foot climb, followed by a pass, and then a long and quite beautiful descent to Machynlleth, a cute b&b, and a really tasty lamb dinner. I was very very very happy to get there, just before the sun set, bike still in one piece, and heinie, more or less, still attached.
The next day was approximately the same length, with a much earlier start, as I didn't have to take the morning train. I thought about shortening it slightly by cheating and taking the train part way, given the perilous state of both my bike and my posterior, but I "accidentally" missed the train, which forced me to do the entire 70 miles. The second day was through rolling farm country, whereas the first day had been mountainous. The funny thing is, the second day was actually much harder, because at least, in north Wales, they seem to understand the concept of a mountain pass - road follows a stream, more or less, over the lowest point in a range of hills or mountains, but in south wales, no, it's much more fun to put the road straight up and down the hill, even if there was a perfectly good valley alongside. It's a bit like England that way, and, to be honest, it looks much more like England - green and verdant grazing country. They speak less Welsh there as well, though I'm pretty sure they still hate the English as much. Everyone seems to hate the English in the United Kingdom. Even the English aren't always too keen on themselves, unless it comes to a sporting event or the royal wedding.
So I made it to the end without the bike collapsing in a big pile. Took the train back in first class, and had my own train car for quite a lot of the way! The bike is in the shop now. The next one is supposed to be the next size up - maybe that will keep it from breaking? I suppose this is my secret plan to get a new bike every year, or something. Sigh.
Oh, btw, just for the record, I watched the royal wedding - the whole thing, from start to finish. It was fab. The British do some things very well, and pomp and circumstance is one of them. I'm not a royalist - I think the whole notion is archaic and absurd, but the whole wedding was, as at least one announcer put it, "quite nice". How very British.
Less nice, I think, is the current reaction in the USA to OBL's supposed recent demise (I say supposed b/c I think the whole affair is steeped in enough bullshit to start a fertilizer factory, but that's another story). Standing on streets, shouting "USA, USA, USA!"??? How utterly revolting - if Americans were shown people in, oh, I don't know, Pakistan, doing exactly the same thing (but, obviously substituting for "USA"), how positive would the reaction be? Hmm. Anyway, I think the whole thing is suspicious in the extreme, but I suppose my suspicioun isn't going to change anything in the world, so I will just gripe about it and be done with it.
Oh, I almost forgot - photo location for Wales...
And a tiny bit of (very rare!) British patriotism...
Anyway, I got off the train at Bangor, then spent the next half hour or so trying to find a place that sold water. I ended up in the centre - lots of vaguely lardy people wandering about, several people that seemed to be sharing a rather shallow corner of the gene puddle, and a number speaking in Welsh, which is a language that consists mostly of consonants, and a dangerous number of Ls (for example...).
Not much to see in Bangor. So I set off towards Snowdonia - lots of very old, rounded mountaintops - I think it may, technically, be considered an extension of the Appalachians, though that might actually only pertain to the Highlands. I'm too lazy to Google it just now. Lots and lots of wind - lots of wind. And then I had a minor little potential disaster - I discovered that the increasing creaky noise around my seat was actually from a crack in the frame - the third frame with the same crack in the same place. I felt very alone in the world and very upset at that point, as there was just about dipshit I could actually do if my bike decided to fall apart out there, out in the middle of nowhere. So, after feeling sorry for myself for a while and texting David a few thousand times, I decided I wasn't going to allow it to ruin my trip and kept on going, though I was now pretty obsessed with the loud creaking noise and observed the size of the crack pretty constantly.
The rest of the day I cycled down the coast, past Harlech (the first place in the UK I ever visited on my own, 18 years ago). Last time I went there, you didn't have to pay to visit the castle (as there is actually nothing inside). Apparently, they realized they were missing an opportunity to make money. Oh well. It's still very pretty. From the outside. The last bit along the coast was heading east, along what is essentially a fjord, into an absurdly strong headwind, and then there was the slight matter of the 900 foot climb, followed by a pass, and then a long and quite beautiful descent to Machynlleth, a cute b&b, and a really tasty lamb dinner. I was very very very happy to get there, just before the sun set, bike still in one piece, and heinie, more or less, still attached.
The next day was approximately the same length, with a much earlier start, as I didn't have to take the morning train. I thought about shortening it slightly by cheating and taking the train part way, given the perilous state of both my bike and my posterior, but I "accidentally" missed the train, which forced me to do the entire 70 miles. The second day was through rolling farm country, whereas the first day had been mountainous. The funny thing is, the second day was actually much harder, because at least, in north Wales, they seem to understand the concept of a mountain pass - road follows a stream, more or less, over the lowest point in a range of hills or mountains, but in south wales, no, it's much more fun to put the road straight up and down the hill, even if there was a perfectly good valley alongside. It's a bit like England that way, and, to be honest, it looks much more like England - green and verdant grazing country. They speak less Welsh there as well, though I'm pretty sure they still hate the English as much. Everyone seems to hate the English in the United Kingdom. Even the English aren't always too keen on themselves, unless it comes to a sporting event or the royal wedding.
So I made it to the end without the bike collapsing in a big pile. Took the train back in first class, and had my own train car for quite a lot of the way! The bike is in the shop now. The next one is supposed to be the next size up - maybe that will keep it from breaking? I suppose this is my secret plan to get a new bike every year, or something. Sigh.
Oh, btw, just for the record, I watched the royal wedding - the whole thing, from start to finish. It was fab. The British do some things very well, and pomp and circumstance is one of them. I'm not a royalist - I think the whole notion is archaic and absurd, but the whole wedding was, as at least one announcer put it, "quite nice". How very British.
Less nice, I think, is the current reaction in the USA to OBL's supposed recent demise (I say supposed b/c I think the whole affair is steeped in enough bullshit to start a fertilizer factory, but that's another story). Standing on streets, shouting "USA, USA, USA!"??? How utterly revolting - if Americans were shown people in, oh, I don't know, Pakistan, doing exactly the same thing (but, obviously substituting for "USA"), how positive would the reaction be? Hmm. Anyway, I think the whole thing is suspicious in the extreme, but I suppose my suspicioun isn't going to change anything in the world, so I will just gripe about it and be done with it.
Oh, I almost forgot - photo location for Wales...
And a tiny bit of (very rare!) British patriotism...
Sunday, 17 April 2011
Swimming in the Ganges, and Other Random Thoughts
So, I had one of my odd predictive dreams last night. I dreamt that I was swimming in the Ganges (as one does), and was really trying not to swallow any of the water, given all the yummy things I'm sure are floating around in that river. I woke about 7, needing to pee, only to be confronted with a completely flooded bathroom, as one of the intake pipes on the toilet had sprung a leak. Luckily, it was the downstairs (new) toilet, meaning that it didn't go through the ceiling, and that it will be under warranty. Still though, not a nice thing to discover when half awake early on a Sunday morning. I almost just went back to sleep, thinking that it would somehow magically fix myself if I did. I tried to wake David gently - he still woke with a huge start though. Last time I woke him at a slightly unsocial house the next door house was on fire, so I suppose he's a bit primed for disaster...
We've finally finished cleaning up the back yard, and have another huge pile of crap to be taken away out front. There seem to be hundreds of little dinky plants coming up, so either we're going to have the world's greatest weed crop (not unlikely), or some of the 8 jillion random flower seeds we scattered around are going to come up. I've trimmed back the (evil!) ivy even further, (it used to spread all over the ground), so David intends to use this bed for some vegetables. In the fall, the ivy is going to come out (God help us all, as well as the brick wall it's stuck to!) and get replaced with something nicer, like wisteria. We're also going to do something with the back more exciting than just scattering flower seeds - there's only so much one can do at once though.
We seem to be having a drought. We've only had something like 20% of our normal spring rainfall, and while it's green at the moment, it won't be long before everything turns into straw, at this rate. England isn't pretty when there's a drought, and they are already making ominous noises about "hosepipe bans". Sigh. (It doesn't actually rain very much here - only about 22 inches, compared with 18 in Sacramento, 38 in Seattle, and around 50 in NYC. It just tends to get spread around a lot...).
I just went for a nice long run, about 8 miles. Today was the marathon - there were jillions of people in central London for that. I think I'm going to put in my name for the lottery for next year - I've always wanted to do it... I'm planning a 100 mile ride next weekend (which I've not done in 2 years), and an overnight bike ride in Wales the next weekend - probably just me. A friend would like to go, but I don't think there are any more bike tickets for the trains left (it's an extra long bank holiday weekend, thanks to the royal wedding at the beginning of it, and I think there is going to be a huge exodus from London!). Anyway, that will be about 140 miles, with mountains, the Irish Sea, and lots of Welsh speakers (a very odd language if ever there was one!).
Right - some pics:
So, what's going on here then?
Yes, these really do exist here...
Ooh, pretty!
Springtime in southern England.
Random cute town on my bike ride - I knew the name at one point, but I forgot.
Say what?
OK, I really don't think I like where this road is taking me... ;-)
Our (fortunately shrinking!) ivy.
The back 40...
We've finally finished cleaning up the back yard, and have another huge pile of crap to be taken away out front. There seem to be hundreds of little dinky plants coming up, so either we're going to have the world's greatest weed crop (not unlikely), or some of the 8 jillion random flower seeds we scattered around are going to come up. I've trimmed back the (evil!) ivy even further, (it used to spread all over the ground), so David intends to use this bed for some vegetables. In the fall, the ivy is going to come out (God help us all, as well as the brick wall it's stuck to!) and get replaced with something nicer, like wisteria. We're also going to do something with the back more exciting than just scattering flower seeds - there's only so much one can do at once though.
We seem to be having a drought. We've only had something like 20% of our normal spring rainfall, and while it's green at the moment, it won't be long before everything turns into straw, at this rate. England isn't pretty when there's a drought, and they are already making ominous noises about "hosepipe bans". Sigh. (It doesn't actually rain very much here - only about 22 inches, compared with 18 in Sacramento, 38 in Seattle, and around 50 in NYC. It just tends to get spread around a lot...).
I just went for a nice long run, about 8 miles. Today was the marathon - there were jillions of people in central London for that. I think I'm going to put in my name for the lottery for next year - I've always wanted to do it... I'm planning a 100 mile ride next weekend (which I've not done in 2 years), and an overnight bike ride in Wales the next weekend - probably just me. A friend would like to go, but I don't think there are any more bike tickets for the trains left (it's an extra long bank holiday weekend, thanks to the royal wedding at the beginning of it, and I think there is going to be a huge exodus from London!). Anyway, that will be about 140 miles, with mountains, the Irish Sea, and lots of Welsh speakers (a very odd language if ever there was one!).
Right - some pics:
So, what's going on here then?
Yes, these really do exist here...
Ooh, pretty!
Springtime in southern England.
Random cute town on my bike ride - I knew the name at one point, but I forgot.
Say what?
OK, I really don't think I like where this road is taking me... ;-)
Our (fortunately shrinking!) ivy.
The back 40...
Sunday, 3 April 2011
Planted the back 40...
That's back 40 square feet, not acres. You have to be specific about these things or it's easy to get confused. We decided, in all the jillion things that have to be done with this house, coming up with a permanent back yard solution was just not something that needed to happen this moment and decided to go for the 'riot of colour' design. We've removed all the crap (wow there was a lot of crap out there - basically like half a small dumpster - rocks, building parts, pieces of metal, broken plates, stumps. We've yet to find any dead bodies, which is probably a good thing - I know that London is absolutely full of things like old plague pits - how fun would that be to discover digging around in the back yard)! Anyway, we've put like 20 different kinds of flowers out there - thousands of seeds, all told. Something has to grow! The one problem with digging up and smoothing out the back yard though is that we've created the perfect litter box for the neibhourhood kitties. So, I decided to solve this problem with some cat repellant. Sprinkled it all over the place (it smells kinda nice, like citronella), and even as we were out there, the tabby from next door decided to come over and poop. Yeah, that was money well spent. I suppose, on the plus side, all that catshit means that the dirt's pretty good (well, that and all the worms), but OMG, not something you want to discover while putting in flowers. We've removed all sorts of bracken fern as well - it spreads by underground rhizomes - and it's everywhere. Apparently, if you disturb it, it makes cyanide, so we have to use gloves when taking it out (that and the bits of glass and catshit bombs cut down on the desire to dig through the dirt with bare hands!).
Anyway though, it's very much spring. The daffodils are starting to fade, the flowering cherries and plums are all in bloom, and the trees are thinking about budding. We have a lilac that is putting out flowers - we still can't figure out what colour it's going to be - I'm thinking yellow or white, though I was hoping for purple. I guess that's the fun thing about the first year of someone else's back yard - discovering what's in it! We were filling up the debris bag out front yesterday and a big gust of wind blew the front door shut. Shit - no keys! Front doors here tend to lock when they shut, and our windows don't actually open far enough to climb through. So, we had a bit of a panic, had a chat with many of the neighbours (this is a chatty area), and eventually ended up going through the house next door and climbing over (rather rickety) back fence. Drama solved!
So, I went back to my roots, gymwise. In every city I've lived as an adult - San Francisco, Sacramento, Minneapolis, Dublin and New York I've been a YMCA member, but not London. Six years at Fitness First (Shitness First) - the sort of 24 Hour Fitness of London (not as big or as well-equipped though), and 1.5 years at Nuffield, which was recently taken over by a private hospital, and feels increasingly like a clinic for fat people. Anyway, it will save me about $50/month, which ain't nothing, but it's the first time in almost 12 years that I've been a gym member by myself. However, seeing as how David and I met at the Y (THE Y, of song), I suppose it's somehow appropriate that I should be a member again (it's not convenient for him, so he's going to stay at the much more expensive gym). It's kinda nice to be back, actually - there is a certain "YMCA feeling" that I've never gotten at any other gym, and they tend to be pretty friendly (and this one is very well equipped as well). It's also screamingly gay as well, much like New York - I always thought it was slightly ironic that the Young Men's Christian Association was full of such a number of Nancys, but there you go. Thursday was my last day at the previous gym. I felt strangely wistful about it. Who thought I could feel moody about leaving a gym? I suppose it was probably more about leaving the same gym as David goes to (and also Robin - it was his gym first - I suppose the house that gyms together gets in shape together or something?). I felt like there should be a theme tune playing as I left the gym - Robin suggested the tune at the end of East Enders. Went for a 10 mile run today from the Y, up through Hampstead Heath. Ugh - I could bike all day - give me a 90 minute run though and I feel like it's the end of the world. I think I'd like to apply for London Marathon lottery for next year though - that would certainly require a lot of work!
Had a slightly uncomfortable conversation with a very good friend of mine about his usage of something that rhymes with "Beth". It is probably important to note, first off, that the usage profile of Beth in this country is completely, 100% different than in the US. For starters, until recently, I believe nearly all Beth was imported, b/c one of the main ingredients wasn't easily available. Not sure what changed though, but supposedly it's not being produced in the UK, though I have no idea where (I've not heard of any busts). Consequently though, the price has always been astronomical, and it's been pretty rare. Usage here seems to be about 100% for clubbing/sex, rather than just being sort of everywhere like in the US. And, worryingly, it's the gay community that is really picking up usage (being trend setters, and all). Straight people tend to go out and get completely wasted on alcohol in clubs here (and they fight, knife each other, etc), whereas gay men tended to take pills (e), and also (not surprisingly) tended not to fight. So, the cops generally look the other way b/c they didn't get any problems from the gay clubs (well, not until G came along and guys were passing out and dying on the dance floor - not pretty). Anyway, that (thank God) seems to be dropping off, but, for whatever reason, usage of Beth is now beginning to increase, as are, not surprinsingly, all the other nasty bits that are associated with excessive Beth. It's worrying, b/c Beth pretty much wracked ruin across the American gay community, and I fear it's going to do the same here - I just hope it remains astronomically expensive, as that, combined with it being (formerly) difficult to find, helped keep it at bay. But yeah, Beth usage is a completely different creature here, even if the eventual possible individual outcome remains the same.
So, I would never deny anyone their fun - God knows I've had plenty of my own and have gotten up to all sorts of sillyass thing over the years (and lived to tell the tales). Problem with Beth though is that she tends to move in and make herself at home if one isn't very careful. This wasn't every day, tweeker type Bething, but often enough that it was beginning to send up red flags - "Hon, you need to stop - you're not being normal" - that kind of thing. I don't like those sorts of conversations at all, and yet, oddly, I seem to be the one that gets to have them with people. I do actually think it will be OK, because I think it kinda hit him like a ton of bricks the insiduous nature of what was starting to happen. But yeah, not nice. I know a lot of people who have been acquainted with Beth, and I don't know a single one who feels she's a good long term guest. She's a bit of a sneaky bitch, that Beth.
Anyway, I think (I hope) that's going to be fine - as I said, friend was very very far away from ending up in tweekerland, but it's frightening anyway how easy it is to let things get carried away. I'll never be a prohibitionist - drugs are no different than alcohol - they are simply ways of altering one's reality, for any one of a billion different reasons. Living in Britain, it doesn't take much looking around to see the destruction wrought by alcohol - women yacking up and pissing in the gutter, winos hanging out on street corners with their cans of fortified lager at 8am on a weekday morning, young men beating the living shit out of each other b/c one of them looked at someone else's girlfriend, etc. So yeah, no different than drugs - just a lot more common (officially, anyway, but I have yet to find anyone my age or younger in this city who would not admit to having tried something illegal, at least once), legal, and completely and 100% societally acceptable.
Right - enough preaching - I could go on about that forever. I think my Beth discussion got me wound up. Time to go make lunches for the week. How thrilling.
Anyway though, it's very much spring. The daffodils are starting to fade, the flowering cherries and plums are all in bloom, and the trees are thinking about budding. We have a lilac that is putting out flowers - we still can't figure out what colour it's going to be - I'm thinking yellow or white, though I was hoping for purple. I guess that's the fun thing about the first year of someone else's back yard - discovering what's in it! We were filling up the debris bag out front yesterday and a big gust of wind blew the front door shut. Shit - no keys! Front doors here tend to lock when they shut, and our windows don't actually open far enough to climb through. So, we had a bit of a panic, had a chat with many of the neighbours (this is a chatty area), and eventually ended up going through the house next door and climbing over (rather rickety) back fence. Drama solved!
So, I went back to my roots, gymwise. In every city I've lived as an adult - San Francisco, Sacramento, Minneapolis, Dublin and New York I've been a YMCA member, but not London. Six years at Fitness First (Shitness First) - the sort of 24 Hour Fitness of London (not as big or as well-equipped though), and 1.5 years at Nuffield, which was recently taken over by a private hospital, and feels increasingly like a clinic for fat people. Anyway, it will save me about $50/month, which ain't nothing, but it's the first time in almost 12 years that I've been a gym member by myself. However, seeing as how David and I met at the Y (THE Y, of song), I suppose it's somehow appropriate that I should be a member again (it's not convenient for him, so he's going to stay at the much more expensive gym). It's kinda nice to be back, actually - there is a certain "YMCA feeling" that I've never gotten at any other gym, and they tend to be pretty friendly (and this one is very well equipped as well). It's also screamingly gay as well, much like New York - I always thought it was slightly ironic that the Young Men's Christian Association was full of such a number of Nancys, but there you go. Thursday was my last day at the previous gym. I felt strangely wistful about it. Who thought I could feel moody about leaving a gym? I suppose it was probably more about leaving the same gym as David goes to (and also Robin - it was his gym first - I suppose the house that gyms together gets in shape together or something?). I felt like there should be a theme tune playing as I left the gym - Robin suggested the tune at the end of East Enders. Went for a 10 mile run today from the Y, up through Hampstead Heath. Ugh - I could bike all day - give me a 90 minute run though and I feel like it's the end of the world. I think I'd like to apply for London Marathon lottery for next year though - that would certainly require a lot of work!
Had a slightly uncomfortable conversation with a very good friend of mine about his usage of something that rhymes with "Beth". It is probably important to note, first off, that the usage profile of Beth in this country is completely, 100% different than in the US. For starters, until recently, I believe nearly all Beth was imported, b/c one of the main ingredients wasn't easily available. Not sure what changed though, but supposedly it's not being produced in the UK, though I have no idea where (I've not heard of any busts). Consequently though, the price has always been astronomical, and it's been pretty rare. Usage here seems to be about 100% for clubbing/sex, rather than just being sort of everywhere like in the US. And, worryingly, it's the gay community that is really picking up usage (being trend setters, and all). Straight people tend to go out and get completely wasted on alcohol in clubs here (and they fight, knife each other, etc), whereas gay men tended to take pills (e), and also (not surprisingly) tended not to fight. So, the cops generally look the other way b/c they didn't get any problems from the gay clubs (well, not until G came along and guys were passing out and dying on the dance floor - not pretty). Anyway, that (thank God) seems to be dropping off, but, for whatever reason, usage of Beth is now beginning to increase, as are, not surprinsingly, all the other nasty bits that are associated with excessive Beth. It's worrying, b/c Beth pretty much wracked ruin across the American gay community, and I fear it's going to do the same here - I just hope it remains astronomically expensive, as that, combined with it being (formerly) difficult to find, helped keep it at bay. But yeah, Beth usage is a completely different creature here, even if the eventual possible individual outcome remains the same.
So, I would never deny anyone their fun - God knows I've had plenty of my own and have gotten up to all sorts of sillyass thing over the years (and lived to tell the tales). Problem with Beth though is that she tends to move in and make herself at home if one isn't very careful. This wasn't every day, tweeker type Bething, but often enough that it was beginning to send up red flags - "Hon, you need to stop - you're not being normal" - that kind of thing. I don't like those sorts of conversations at all, and yet, oddly, I seem to be the one that gets to have them with people. I do actually think it will be OK, because I think it kinda hit him like a ton of bricks the insiduous nature of what was starting to happen. But yeah, not nice. I know a lot of people who have been acquainted with Beth, and I don't know a single one who feels she's a good long term guest. She's a bit of a sneaky bitch, that Beth.
Anyway, I think (I hope) that's going to be fine - as I said, friend was very very far away from ending up in tweekerland, but it's frightening anyway how easy it is to let things get carried away. I'll never be a prohibitionist - drugs are no different than alcohol - they are simply ways of altering one's reality, for any one of a billion different reasons. Living in Britain, it doesn't take much looking around to see the destruction wrought by alcohol - women yacking up and pissing in the gutter, winos hanging out on street corners with their cans of fortified lager at 8am on a weekday morning, young men beating the living shit out of each other b/c one of them looked at someone else's girlfriend, etc. So yeah, no different than drugs - just a lot more common (officially, anyway, but I have yet to find anyone my age or younger in this city who would not admit to having tried something illegal, at least once), legal, and completely and 100% societally acceptable.
Right - enough preaching - I could go on about that forever. I think my Beth discussion got me wound up. Time to go make lunches for the week. How thrilling.
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