7/9/09
I feel hurt, nay betrayed. I had mentioned in a previous blog about buying a one of kind dress and scarf, but today I saw them both. In a retail store. In fucking Camden (which I believe should be left for the illicit Middle School punks and the Peter Pans who never grew up out of their Hot Topic oversized black cargo pants) We get it, you’re an individual. (cue world’s smallest brass band) On the bright side, I paid less for them at Brick Lane, but on the other hand I also saw my supposed unique bracelet that I got in a rather nice boutique in Shoreditch, for cheaper at some cart with a super-smiley Japanese woman. At least this gives me more incentive to not buy any more clothes. I’m not helping out their bastard economy any more than I should.
Speaking of economy, these people aren’t acting like we’re in the middle of a recession. On the way back from Camden all I saw were people with Chanel, Gucci, and Burberry bags. Taking public transportation. Needless to say it irked me, not only because I was jealous but because it seems the wealthy are as susceptible to B.O as the rest of us peasants. However, although I have said it time and time again, they really did stick us in the nicer part of town. The family next door to us has a driver, and whenever he’s not chauffeuring them around he’s parked outside our door because none of us have cars. Just inflated American ego’s. He’s an awesome guy, and on more than one occasion has jumped out of the Mercedes to give me a hand with the door when my hands were full of groceries. And by groceries I mean alcohol. He’s also given us huge bags of exotic fruit (mango’s, leechee nuts, clementines, a tropical cornicopia of sorts) because he said he was full and his employers just hand it off to him everyday. And I thought I was cool because I bought a coconut in the almost expired section at Tesco’s. (Three youtube instructional video’s and a windowsill later, it was finally open)
As I was saying before, I went back to Camden today because people wanted to go again and I still hadn’t seen the Lock. Camden was exactly the same, lines and lines of stalls all selling the same band shirts and fake vintage clothing, with tons of stalls of Mexican and Chinese food. I ended up getting a ham and cheese crepe, but needless to say it couldn’t compare to my 4 in the morning crepe in Paris. Le sigh. We ate by the Lock, and it just turned out to be a somewhat dirty stretch of river that they had placed fake motorcycle seating upon for tourists and shoppers. I was rather excited because one of the punks had handed me a flier for a one-night-only metal party, with three floors of the bar all dedicated to different cover bands for a lot of the metal and industrial bands I like, with no cover. Of course it’s the Saturday we’re going to Dublin, but I don’t think I’m allowed to complain….or am I?
Yesterday we went to Abbey Road because it was the fortieth or fiftieth anniversary of something. I don’t know and I don’t really care. All I seem to remember is we spent about two and a half hours taking pictures on that G-d damn crosswalk. Everyone went across it multiple times to try to get perfectly in line and in sync with the album cover, all the while nearly getting hit by cars. Needless to say I gave up after one attempt, not being a huge Beatles fan, and valuing my life over a facebook album. The above picture is me being an ass and hooking on the corner, safely in front of the crosswalk. Not saying I don’t like the Beatles, just admitting I haven’t been exposed to them. We ended up all signing the white gate outside the recording studio (oh, the one that gets repainted quite often?) and were interviewed by some Irish radio guy. When he asked for names most of us, being the self-promoting whores we are, just gave websites. I should hopefully have mine up and running by winter term. Not just a blog or portfolio…an experience.
The night before we had ventured to Fabric, supposedly one of the best clubs in London. The music was positively amazing, they had at least four floors, with reggae and techno and trance and rap. Was it worth the 13 pounds admission? Meh, I’m more of a bar person. Had there been less pushy and smelly people there it would have thoroughly more enjoyable, but it seemed to be a hotspot for Eurotrash and they refused to take our International student ID. (If they don’t believe the lie, what am I left with?) I was in the second group of people to leave and I got home around 5, which is early for that place. Too bad I left all my mind expanding drugs at home. In my second drawer in the nightstand next to my bed. Inside my old rock collection kit. Have fun Mother.
The day before, Lauren and I didn’t have class so we ducked in and out of Primark (aka the fifth circle of hell, bargain shopping for Europeans) to grab tights. We also ended up going into Selfridges which is like a Neiman Marcus times two and a half. Why there are so many more designer things around here is beyond me. Oh wait, they can afford it. Once again the design inside the store was amazing and I am insanely jealous that we don’t have that kind of experience over in the states. Every damn mannequin seemed to be crystallized or painted in another manner, especially in the menswear sections. No wonder they’re all metrosexual. FCUK was a hop a skip and jump away so I made Lauren go in with me so I could fondle the jacket I wanted. She bought a dress, and I was good and just made yet another mental list of “things I’ll buy when I get back because they’re the same thing for half price.” However, when going upon the FCUK website, the US one was rather bare. They had practically nothing that was in the London store. Nothing. Even the web design between the UK and US site is completely different. The UK one is more reminiscent of the Urban website (photo collage wise) and the US just tries to be sleek and sophisticated. Damn those pretentious Americans, damn them.
No comments:
Post a Comment