The pearly gates are about to get whiter.

6/28/09

Yis'ga'dal v'yis'kadash sh'may ra'bbo, b'olmo dee'vro chir'usay v'yamlich malchu'say, b'chayaychon uv'yomay'chon uv'chayay d'chol bais Yisroel, ba'agolo u'viz'man koriv; v'imru Omein.
Y'hay shmay rabbo m'vorach l'olam ul'olmay olmayo.
Yisborach v'yishtabach v'yispoar v'yisromam v'yismasay, v'yishador v'yis'aleh v'yisalal, shmay d'kudsho, brich hu, l'aylo min kl birchoso v'sheeroso, tush'bechoso v'nechemoso, da,ameeran b'olmo; vimru Omein.
Y'hay shlomo rabbo min sh'mayo, v'chayim alaynu v'al kol Yisroel; v'imru Omein.
Oseh sholom bimromov, hu ya'aseh sholom olaynu, v'al kol yisroel; vimru Omein.

Rest in peace Billy Mays, my whites would never have been the same without you, but nothing in comparison to your sparkling personality. You were a good man.

I knew MJ wasn’t the last one. If I’m not correct, bad things not only come in threes but in sevens. WHICH CELEBRITIES ARE NEXT? I pray fervently for the health and safety of our most precious citizens.

Anywho, last night someone picked out a club online and we caught the bus in hopes of getting there before 11:30. Of course, with our luck we were on the road for about an hour, and I spent most of it trying to call the people we were supposed to meet up with in Piccadilly, wasting my precious minutes. Apparently Orange phone doesn’t have good service in the center of fucking London. Guess I need to “top up” my minutes again. Bastards.

So, we finally reach Piccadilly and the Drexel group runs off because they thought the price would go up after 11:30, when in reality it was 5 pounds for girls and 10 for guys. Needless to say the males were not pleased. They also did not know it was a club not intended for those of Caucasian descent.

The rest of Drexel ran off and I went to go find K by the fountains, and we had a grand old time walking around with our drinks and just being the lovely, cultured people we are. L and L met up with us after a little being displeased with the club, and I had my first McDonalds quarter pounder. I can’t even say that I’m angry with myself, because it was fucking delicious. On the bus home we met a bunch of Americans who coincidentally lived in the first floor of our building, and as were talking an Australian lady turned to us and said she felt like we were all in a movie. When asked why, she said that most of the movies she sees have American accents, and we all looked like we were out of some fraternity road trip movie. Then she said we all had really white teeth. Thankfully our stop was next. I saw her in the convenience store today. I liked her dress.

Today we tailgated the Bruce Springstein and Dave Matthews Band Concert. Actually, I skipped the Dave part with a few others because I hate his music and therefore am automatically going to hell/committing social suicide. I believe there are three bands that every one in my generation is required to like: Dave Matthews Band, Sublime, and The Red Hot Chili Peppers. I hate Dave, I dislike Sublime the vast majority of the time, and I only like a few RHCP songs. I have some respect for RHCP because Anthony Kiedis is a baller, but his autobiography Scar Tissue was a lot more dull than I thought. He literally went back to rehab every other page. Hearing about him going to the damn dentist would have been a lot more interesting than another overdose after the first hundred pages.

Henry VIII is an ass.

6/26/09
I just finished an entire jar of Nutella in about a week. Self-loathing has reached new heights. On the other hand, I had Israeli salad for dinner along with potatoes, and celery… dipped in Nutella. Trust me, it tastes a lot better than it sounds.

In other news, my calves are about to fall off, as we went to the Tower of London today (it was 14.50 pounds for the student discount) and if I wasn’t such a nerd I would be pretty angry right now. Precious precious liquor money. We spent around four hours there, a combination of the guided tour and investigating all of the towers (there are twenty.) I had no idea that nobility would pay to stay at the Tower of London (apparently it was one of the nicer prisons) and they would take their families, and pets, and rent nice lodgings with Beefeaters acting as servants. They would also pay common folk to stand in for them in prison when they wanted to take a holiday. Has the term “prison hooker” been coined yet?

I was also surprised to find that there were two places for execution, and in order to be worthy of a private send-off, you had to be a friend of the King. Iiiirony. Anne Boleyn was one of those deemed worthy, and apparently on the way up the scaffold she noticed there was no coffin made ready for her. They had to fetch a box that the longbow’s were kept in. Just when you think your day couldn’t get any worse. They rudely buried her with her head tucked under her arm. Because of the film “The Other Boleyn Girl,” in my twisted mind I associate Anne with Natalie Portman, and I felt physically ill when they described the execution. They hadn’t just beheaded Anne Boleyn, but Queen Amidala from the shitty version of Star Wars, that annoying girl from Garden State, and that slut from The Darjeeling Limited. I also now associate King Henry the VIII with Jonathon Rhys Meyers because of my recent Tudors bender, and it was a rude awakening when I had to see all of the real portraits of the beefy king. He was just arrested for attacking an airport bartender who cut him off (Meyers, not Henry.) A man after my own heart. In other news, the king of pop and alleged child molestation is dead. I was on Gloucester road outside the hookah bar when some British guy kept screaming, “Michael Jackson is dead.” Everyone was in utter shock, and all of the Americans immediately phoned parental units for more information. I didn’t, knowing mine really don’t care. There was great sadness in the household when Doctor Leonard McCoy of Star Trek passed, but that’s a different story. What really bothers me is how Farrah Fawcett passed the day before him, and Ed McMan only days before her, and they always say things come in threes. Please lord; protect the entire cast of Gossip Girl, Chuck and Blair only just got back together.

Friday we went to the Victoria Albert Museum, and toured the Baroque collection. Between the crown jewels, and all of the gold they have stockpiled in these museums, I can’t see Britain ever going broke. Once again, in my twisted mind, the gist of the baroque period was “I’m going to be an asshole and make this look as obnoxious as possible in order to look cultured.” Most of the paintings and statues were blatant visual propaganda, making the royals look significantly better. However, I can’t really blame them. If I could order the painter to put holy light shining over me, and a slain dragon underfoot, shit, I would be all over that. The Victoria Albert museum was quite beautiful, and we’re going back next week for our other class’s field trip. Mmmmm learning.

Last night, S and I went to Hyde Park to tailgate The Killers concert. We only got to hear the last few songs, but they were most of their hits and we were slightly intoxicated so I wasn’t upset at all. The people watching was also excellent, but I sometimes had to look twice to determine the genders, as a lot of women are doing the whole androgynous haircut and outfit thing.

The night before a few of us took too long in getting ready and went to the boys flat instead of karaoke. It was also the night Michael Jackson died, so we had a whole musical tribute to him.
The night before that we went out to the Imperial bar, having been depressed by the movie This Is England that we watched in class. It was about a twelve year old boy who becomes involved with a group of skinheads and watches the downward spiral of most of its members, ending in their stoned leader nearly beating their black friend to death. Don’t get me wrong, it was a good movie, but as J said, it’s like showing a bunch of foreigners Requiem for a Dream when they were to be taught about America.

Trying to Live Cheaply and Failing.

6/24/09

As I sit here in my room, alone, in the dark, listening to Bonnie Tyler’s eternal classic “Total eclipse of the heart,” I have come to reconcile with the fact that I cannot afford a trip to Rome. I can always resort to hooking, but this is supposed to be my vacation, and I would like to keep all my new years resolutions. On the other hand, I am planning on going to Paris, Dublin, and Amsterdam. London is a fortune in itself so I should just shut up and continue with my easy listening. I just watched two more episodes of my new guilty pleasure “The Tudors,” and a shirtless Jonathon Rhys Meyers always puts me in a better mood.
Next morning: Fuck everything, I’m just going to wait until a cheaper flight on Ryan Air pops up and book it. They don’t call me Sarah “do work” Sol for nothing.
Monday night we went to the Broadway Play ”The 39 Steps”, based off of the 1939 comedic film. I found it rather amusing but a lot of the kids in the group thought it was tedious. I’ve really begun to notice the difference between British and American humor. British is more slapstick and a lot less PC. They are also a lot freer with nudity, and there are a lot of topless women in the newspapers. The boys we came with were quite amused. Granted, they are all Drexel students. GO ENGINEERING GO!
Some of the British people we’ve met have commented on how they don’t like American humor, and that it’s too dry for their liking. They even have a British version of “The Office.” Who the hell doesn’t like “The Office”?
After the play we headed off to the pub Waxy O’Connor’s. I really need to be an ass and just start bringing alc out with me. Tuesday we went to our second class and then held a group meeting that lasted a good two and a half hours arguing about flights to Rome. That’s when I silently freaked out and watched the Tudors to calm myself down. This morning, after some caffeine, I realized I need to bite the bullet and accept the fact that I am going to spend money. Good thing I’ve been saving up my magical Jew money. That being said, I found an Emporio Armani dress-suit at the charity shop for 45 pounds that fits perfectly. Holla, interview suit anyone? I tried to use my Bank of America card and then realized it was rejected. I then went to Barclays for help and they said I needed to call America. I hope Bank of America burns in hell.
A tip for those who plan on living cheaply in London: DO YOUR FOOD SHOPPING AT TESCO. I bought a huge bag of potatoes, a quiche, a big jar of instant coffee, a pasta meal, and a 12 pack of scones for 7 pounds. Granted I ate the entire quiche and about half the scones as soon as I got home (probably 2 days worth of calories) but all the walking seems to be evening it out. I lost more weight, and if I don’t eat pastries and such I will begin to look like some sort of Jappy refugee. Which I really wouldn’t mind. The instant coffee is a lifesaver, coffee converts to about $7 a cup over here, and I couldn’t find a cheap coffee maker. Therefore, I went from a minimum two cups a day to zero and had serious withdrawal. I felt like a crack head and would sleep until one in the afternoon or just have a perma-headache and shake occasionally. I take really good care of myself.

Dance riot in Piccadilly Circus.

6/21/09

I am totally drained, and all I want to do is pass out but I know I have to finish my study abroad journal entry so I might as well blog . They’re basically the same except I edit out all the interesting bits for Drexel. If only that school knew what an epic fail I am. Once again, last night we went out way too late. Who knew London was a city of alcoholics that started pre-gaming with dinner. We found a 24-hour bar and restaurant online, so we took our time getting ready, and got on the bus to Piccadilly Circus. There we ran into a lovely saxophone man who loved our dancing and told us to come back at 3 when everyone was leaving the bars. We found the 24 hour place (Bar Italia) but it was packed with drunk Euro-trash and there was no place to go. I also refuse to pay for anything over 5 pounds for food, and it was ridiculously expensive for a sandwich. What the hell do I have to do to get a mozzarella and tomato sandwich around here? Bleed gold? It’s the fifth day and I’m already compiling a list of food that I am binging upon when I return to the states. Top of the list? Friendly’s honey mustard chicken and bacon club. Anywho, we wandered down the street and ran into a club promoter named Solomon. (coincidence, or fate?) He told us he’d get us into his club for half price, and took us across the street to Club Soho. It was pretty fun, and we all enjoyed ourselves. There were random men in there wearing tuxedo’s and top hat’s, but I am probably the last person who should be allowed to judge others. I thought I would be more attracted to British men, as sports coats and sweater vests and loafers sadly are the death of me, but I can’t understand a damn word their saying. I was told I could keep up with British wit by some drunk guy, so I’m content enough. We left the club right before it closed as it was almost 3 and we needed to meet up with the saxophone man. He arrived and started to play, and we being American assholes, began to dance in the center of Piccadilly Circus. A crowd began to gather, and they all had their cameras and phones out so I was somewhat terrified we were going to end up on youtube. (Hi Daddy?) Gradually more and more people began to gather, and the people getting kicked out of the clubs began to dance with us. Before I knew it, there were easily hundreds of people dancing and singing with us. I have never felt such a communal bond between so many drunk assholes. G-d I love England. We left after a while, seeing as we weren’t needed anymore and the dance party could continue without us, and set off to find a bus. Surprisingly we got on the right one and met some lovely blokes who were members of a bachelor party. The poor bastard is getting married next week, I wish him the best of luck. I could understand why they were wearing matching t-shirts and odd paraphernalia, but I couldn’t see the necessity of the blow-up doll they were carrying. We ended up back at our flat safe and sound as the sky once again became lighter and lighter, and I passed out until 1:30 the next day while the majority of the flat-mates went to Church.
Today there was a free all day concert around London, but the flat-mates all went to the section that could be found in Kensington Gardens. It’s so convenient living across the street from most of the events and venues. Next week should be amazing, as Dave Matthews and Bruce Springstein will be playing there. There’s so much garden and grass we will be able to tail gate and hear everything. We also plan on tailgating Wimbledon next week, because what’s classier than tailgating Wimbledon? Tailgating a symphony, but I’ll be doing that next month when all of the famous musicians come to the Royal Albert Music Hall. I plan on wearing a sundress, my pearls, and clutching a 2-liter of hard cider. They must love Americans.
It was the first hot, sunny day since we’ve been here, and it felt amazing to be able to wear a dress without a jacket. I might even dare to say I got a little tanner. There was a large amount of people there, I could even go so far as to call them British hippies. I was hoping I would escape the obnoxiously colored plastic sunglasses when I left West-Philly (stupid COMAD students) but they were out in full force today. It was perfect for day-drinking, and most of us had bottles of wine and I had my rum and seltzer in a water bottle, not being used to drinking publicly. Most of the people around us had picnic baskets filled with fruit and wine and beer. It was a generally friendly atmosphere, probably because the vast majority was drunk or high, and the music was terrific. The first act I saw was a female pop singer, and she was absolutely terrific. We then saw a string of rappers (they were all white and surprisingly good) and I’m not used to the kind of rap they were performing. I’ve only heard rap on the radio, but this was more peaceful, and the artists rapped about life in general and specific events. There was an American artist who sang, beat-boxed, and played various instruments as well as controlling the keyboard, and another beat-boxer with some sweet dread-locks. I might even dare to say this was the best concert I have ever been to, and this is coming from the girl who has previously only really gone to metal concerts. I was dead after a few hours, and I’m pretty sure I was curled up in the fetal position in the grass for the better part of a half-hour. Then we got pizza-hut. I’m not eating out again, I won’t be able to afford anything, and through hell or high water I’m going to Amsterdam.

...still in London

6/20/09

Just got back from our walking tour, and I still can’t believe we’ve only been here for four days. It reminds me of summer camp, when everything seems so long and short at the same time. Except this time there’s a lot more alcohol and British people, and the kids aren’t emo, they’re scene.

I had no idea that our apartment is right next to where Winston Churchill, the original baller, used to live. We walked a couple more feet and ended up at Prince Albert Music Hall, with a ton of monuments dedicated to him and the Music School right in front of us. I felt like a complete idiot because the place was right around the corner, and somehow I missed a few huge monuments and buildings. Our adorable tour guide began to tell us how besotted Victoria and Albert were with one another, and how he supported her in all her affairs and was a driving force behind the monarchy. I just remembered he was the guy who got his dong pierced. I mentioned this and was shh’ed by a group member. We then walked across the street to the gardens and our tour guide told us how the story of Peter Pan was originally not a happy one. J.M Barrie’s older brother drowned at the age of eight, and he spent most of his childhood dressing up in his brother’s clothes and acting like him in order to make his mother happy again. His mother took comfort in the fact that her dead son would remain a boy forever, and she never tried to stop Barrie’s charade. This may have helped lead to Barrie’s asexuality, and never truly becoming a normal adult. He met the “Lost Boys” in Kensington Gardens, and was friends with their parents. He ended up unofficially adopting them after their parents died in quick succession right after one another, leaving them orphans. I don’t want to make any assumptions about Barrie’s parenting, but two of the boys ending up committing suicide. However, the youngest child denies that he and his brothers were ever sexually abused, and that Barrie was a very innocent and child-like man. Barrie married Mary Ansell whom played Wendy in the first production of Peter Pan, and many believe that she was deceived and only married him because she was thought he was on his deathbed. Today she would have such labels as “gold digger” and “gold-digging ho.” They had a sexless, childless marriage and Ansell ended up having an affair with Gilbert Canaan. Barrie ordered her to stop the affair but she refused, because she was not an idiot. They divorced, and Barrie continued to be weird and Ansell continued to get laid. I consider J.M Barrie the literary Michael Jackson of the 19th century.
Earlier that day, we took a bus tour of London and saw the big attractions such as the London eye, the Tower of London, The river Thames, Big Ben, and random statues of Nelson Mandela and Abraham Lincoln. Our tour guide explained to us how the decapitated bodies of well over a thousand nobles and commoners were found buried in the churchyard by the tower, and their heads were stuck on spikes so everyone else would know not to fuck around with the monarchy. Apparently beheading was one of the more humane means of execution, because the English were a sick and twisted people who enjoyed football. We also learned that Big Ben is not the name of the clock, but actually the bell that rings inside the tower. Having been to London twice before, I realized I should have known this by now, and that my memory along with my sanity is going to shit. There were a lot of monuments of the Duke of Wellington, who kicked Napoleon’s ass at Waterloo. Apparently when you tour the Duke’s house there is a naked statue of Napoleon on display. There is also a naked statue of the Duke in the middle of the park. I can’t blame the Brits; there was no internet and no guyswithiphones.com. They had to do something to spice up their bleak and shallow existence. Clearly the highlight of the tour was seeing a group of men dressed as Ghostbusters, casually walking down the street.

Two nights ago we ended up going to a pub called the Gloucester Arms. The food wasn’t too pricey, and I ended up splitting fish and chips. It was quite good, but it tasted like fish and chips I could have gotten in the states. But then again, what was I expecting? It to be delivered in a twist of newspaper and by someone in a newsboy cap? The beer was kind of expensive, and we ended up splitting a pitcher of what we thought was going to be Bacardi and pineapple but after three glasses I realized there was nothing in there, and then I was told they put one shot in it. Limey Bastards. It’s strange because no one tips the bartenders here, and the waitresses only get a 10% tip. It’s because everything is pre-measured and tipping will get you nowhere, metaphorically and literally. We left and walked a block to a hookah bar, but the drinks were astronomical so after the belly dancer shook her tits at us a couple of times we left and went back to the pub until it closed. We then walked back to the boys place and started playing King’s but we got kicked out after fifteen minutes because it was well past eleven and there is a no noise policy because the rich neighbors will call the coppers.

Last night half of us went to a wine bar, and the other half went to a club called TigerTiger. We pre-gamed for way too long because the guys took forever with their touchy-feely spaghetti dinner, and ended up in Piccadilly Circus around midnight when we should have left hours earlier. It cost ten pounds to get in, and the place was mobbed. We got split up because the bouncer thought J had drugs on him, because he is clearly the poster boy for depravity. He and L ended up in a casino, where they won money and then ended up in the suburbs 40 minutes outside of London because they took the wrong bus. She claims there were chickens.
The rest of us wandered around the six or so rooms in the two-story club, and got hit on by the various Londoners and Euro-trash that frequent such places. I’ve decided that there is not much difference between Euro trash and Drexel trash, except I don’t know what fraternity the Euro trash belong to, or why the forty year old is attempting to talk to me, as opposed to the freshman who feels like they know me because I work-study at their dorm. Live the dream slugger, live the dream. We left the club around 3:30, and found a bus but got off way too early. Luckily, it is South Kensington, and the only horrible thing that could happen is stepping in front of a BMW or a Mercedes. If I’m going to go, it better not be by a German car. Give me a good old American Ford or Chevrolet. We continued walking for what seemed like hours, and then we lost some of the girls because we’re human and heels start to hurt after a few miles. Some went back for them, until we spotted the girls in the car of some guy we met at the previous club. All the girls and D who was crushed beneath us were driven back to the flat, as the sky began to become lighter and lighter. Then we woke up four hours later for the bus tour. In other news, I ate an entire quarter of a watermelon today.

I'm in Jolly Old Londontown!

6/17/2009

As I sit here, in the living room of my London flat overlooking Kensington Gardens and drinking my rum and tonic, I feel pretty fucking cultured. Granted, I share this flat with 14 other girls on the floor, with three in my bedroom. I feel like I’m on some sort of twisted real world episode. On the bright side, this was the first time I used my real ID to buy alcohol, and I wasn’t laughed at, just scorned because I was a filthy jetlagged American. Even though I was in a daze for most of it, because I have basically been up for two days straight, this is what I can conceive of London so far:

1. It’s really clean. No, like really really clean. What I consider clean is UPENN’s campus, and their sidewalks look like a third world country’s compared to London. They are sparkling white, and we saw a street cleaner go by. Granted, we are staying in the wealthiest part of London, and I might as well burn all my hard earned money with all the pubs and bars within a five block radius, but you only live once. (I don’t know your feelings about reincarnation.) The houses are also adorable and are very white and old. I half expect Oliver Twist to pop out of one of the entrances and ask me for a shilling. Which I won’t give to him. I’m a poor American now, and I don’t want the little street urchin spending it on drugs. Wake up people, this is 2009.

2. They know we’re American. Either by our accent, confused expression, or lack of trendy scene-wear...they know. In the International line at the airport, the groups bags were pushed over, I was given the death stare multiple times, and I’m pretty sure a French lady cursed me out when my Prada grazed her. (Excuse me bitch, you should feel blessed, that bag is practically my child) On the streets today when we were unloading, some British man about our father’s ages yelled at us while he ran by on our mobile. Who screams at a group of cute twenty-something year olds? The tired, the old, and the bitter. I give myself another four years.

Tootles for now.



6/18/2009

Today we had orientation and I was a somewhat hung over and very tired child. We went to a college bar last night, at the Imperial. Our tour guide told us that it’s London’s equivalent to our MIT. As study abroad students, we belong to their society…? Basically, I now go to MIT. Or atleast that’s what I’m telling myself. It wasn’t expensive, and I got hard cider instead of beer. It was fucking delicious. They played American music, and someone said they played N*Sync, but I don’t really recall. It was a good transitional bar, I believe half of the people there were American students. I ended up talking to group of guys from ASU, and surprise surprise they all ended up being Jewish. I’ve given up on trying to avoid my people. Apparently we’re everywhere, or at least the places I go. Like Hillel. Fuck my life.
We also walked around London today, and popped into such stores known as TopShop, TK Max, and Urban Outfitters. I’m not buying anything over here. The prices are ghastly, and I’m already living off of the finer things in life. And by that I mean scones from the old bread section, nutella, and generic liquor. They don’t call me classy for nothing. There were too many cute things in TopShop, Urban was literally the same just double the price and sans sale section, and TK Max was the British TJ Max. But you don’t need a degree in rocket science to figure that out, just graphic design.
We also took a stroll through Kensington Gardens. We didn’t get that far, as the place is freaking huge. However, considering I LIVE ACROSS THE STREET I’m sure I’ll get to wander through most, if not all of it. Got to look at some sweet swans and ducks. The squirrels and pigeons weren’t afraid of people either. Damn those casual British vermin.

Day two and still haven’t seen anyone with a monacle, slightly disappointed.