7/1/09
I have come to accept the fact that I am a true red-blooded American. I had Highway to the Danger Zone stuck in my head all morning as we visited the Tate Museum, and had the most intense craving to watch Top Gun. If I could live my life by anyone’s standards, it would be Maverick’s. The devil-may-care attitude, the aviator sunglasses, the Calvin Klein briefs; all are symbols of our great and powerful nation. Too bad Tom Cruise lost it, and I’m pretty sure keeps Katie Holmes locked in a basement feeding her astronaut food. (Isn’t that what Scientologists eat?) Anywho, I felt in my element last night when we went to the sports bar, mostly because it was crawling with Americans and there was a beirut tournament upstairs. They even had shitty beer. I got this warm and fuzzy feeling like I was home. The Sports Cafe had a good music selection, from whatever the hell they’re playing these days to older pop, and then classic rock. If they had played Eddie Money or Journey, I probably would have lost it. However, everyone did go crazy when they played “I’m On a Boat,” and I dare say I can’t blame those crazy motherfuckers.
This morning we woke up way too early to go visit the Tate Modern, and I don’t think anyone was in the mood for it. I don’t want to seem uncultured (no, really?) but I’m really not a fan of futurist material and that was the only exhibit we saw. The coolest thing in there was the FT Marinetti poetry at the beginning of the exhibition. Here is my favorite part of the Futuristic Manifesto:
11. We shall sing the great crowds tossed about by work, by pleasure, or revolt; the many-colored and polyphonic surf of revolutions in modern capitals; the nocturnal vibration of the arsenals and the yards under their violent electrical moons; the gluttonous railway stations swallowing smoky serpents; the factories hung from the clouds by the ribbons of their smoke; the bridges leaping like athletes hurled over the diabolical cutlery of sunny rivers; the adventurous steamers that sniff the horizon; the broad-chested locomotives, prancing on the rails like great steel horses curbed by long pipes, and the gliding flight of airplanes whose propellers snap like a flag in the wind, like the applause of an enthusiastic crowd.
I want some of whatever Marinetti was on. After exiting the Tate, a few of the girls and I grabbed a quick bite at Tesco (I’m pitching a tent and living in there) and then went off to find Mecca, also known as Primark.
Primark is this enormous department store that is filthy cheap, even with the exchange rate. Normally I hate these kinds of stores, and I will never set foot in them because I’m a bitch and a big believer in paying for quality, but they did have some cute things. I had to leave after an hour because I wasn’t going to buy anything and couldn’t move in there. I didn’t feel like fighting over the only pair of size 9.5 sequined tennis shoes with Mufasa Nehasapenapentalon and her entire damn family. I took a breather and walked down Oxford street, thoroughly amused by the prep trash loitering outside Louis Vuitton, completely unaware they were squatting on sacred ground. The French Connection sale was painful to look at, because I knew the sale prices actually equated to the original ones, and I really wanted this jacket. Which I’m most likely going back for tomorrow. Who cares if I can’t afford food next year, it’s a win win situation. Lose weight and have nice clothes.
On Monday we went back to the Victoria Albert Museum and were left to our own devices. They had a lovely fashion exhibit, featuring designer dresses through the centuries. They had everything from the turn of the century, to Princess Diana’s outfits, to a Juicy sweat suit. I don’t care if those suits are slowly going out of style. I’ll be that crazy old lady feeding the pigeons with the words “Juicy Heiress” slapped across my ass. My mother must be so proud of me.
By this time I had lost most of the group because I really have no idea of what goes on around me, and wandered into the jewelry exhibit. I’m just glad I had managed to stay in the building and didn’t attempt to find University Crossings. Bu then again, sobriety is a funny thing. The exhibit was absolutely breathtaking and painful at the same time. I took a picture of some rings with big ass gems in them, with my hand and rings in the forefront so I could send it to my father as a little hint. The security guard then yelled at me for taking a photograph, but it was in his funny little accent so it’s not like I could take him seriously.
After the museum, I went to this amazing senior design show at the art school right next to my flat. The communication design was amazing, as well as a lot of the three dimensional and exhibit work. I'm thankful I enjoyed it so much, because after this last term I wasn't quite sure if I still belonged in the major or if I was just burned out. I think I was just sick of the labs and the shit printers that belong to them. I've started to loosen up and do my own work again, which is a relief because I should probably start getting my mildly offensive portfolio together.
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