Mmmm Burberry.

8/11/09

Right now I’m in a bit of a moral dilemma, between a rock and hard, conceited, self-fulfilling place. Yesterday, Sarah and I trekked to the Burberry warehouse (why they would put it in the rough bit of London is beyond me) and it would have been a religious experience had it been dollars, and not pounds. The only real “deal” that wouldn’t leave me eating frozen peas for the rest of junior year were the iconic winter scarves for thirty pounds. They had some nice, plain silk ones for the same price, but I saw myself age another twenty years when I put it on and silently placed it back on the shelf. Basically, I left without the scarf because I felt like everyone has it, and a good 50% of the Drexel trash are walking around with fake ones. I don’t need more reasons for people to judge me. They already have more than enough material to work from. Then I had a sudden, groundbreaking epiphany: I fucking want one. In conclusion, I just realized I have talked about nothing but shopping for the past couple of blogs. What kind of existence is this? A damn fabulous one.

As I was saying before my tangent, they really did put the Burberry warehouse in a 40th street West Philly sort of area. Even though it was broad daylight I felt myself grow quite panicked, and all I could think about was how sad I am if I still can’t handle rough areas. For Christs sake I’ve been living in one for about two years now. Maybe the whole eighteen years in Sharon thing screwed me over, where the most dangerous things one had to worry about were rabid squirrels and alcoholic soccer moms behind the wheels of their SUV. Keep on living the dream and going to Hadassah meetings you classy bitches.

Right now I’m trying to switch off between watching two minutes at a time of the Tudors, and writing this piece of shit. The internet is so patchy here, it’s a miracle if I can watch a youtube video without letting it load for about fifteen minutes first. But how can I go that long without my Kanye? It’s called patience, one of the many virtues I have acquired over here. Yes Mother, I have become a fucking saint. In other news, I can’t stop listening to The Fray cover of Heartless. It sounds odd to hear them use the slang from the original song but they gave it an eerie and haunting quality that I find quite fetching.

Speaking of eerie and for lack of a better tie-in, one of the cooler exhibits I’ve seen is Telling Tales: Fantasy and Fear in Contemporary Design at the Victoria Albert Museum. There were three sections to the exhibit, The Forest Glade, The Enchanted Castle, and Heaven and Hell. You walked along a corridor with a printed black outline of tree branches, and wallpaper motifs. Among the things I recall was a ceramic tree that opened to reveal a wardrobe, a taxidermed fox with gold maggots coming out of it’s ears, and tiny slippers made from moles. Awesome, I know. The coolest room they had was one with creepy, warped, modern furniture mixed with classical furniture from other parts of the museum. My favorite piece was a carved marble chair, and hanging lamp referencing Dante’s Inferno . The chair had images of hell, with the tiny sinners barely reaching into 3D, and the lamp had images of heaven. There was also a rug on the ground called “The Lovers”, and it looked like a huge, shiny pool of blood that supposedly amounts to two people. I would have thought it would have been more, but this is coming from the person who couldn’t even look at her own toe when it got caught underneath the door. Instead I called my mother (back in MA) and texted everyone in the vicinity of crossings to come help me. Then I went to stroll about an hour later and my toe reopened when assholes walked on my foot. The moral of the story is that’s why I couldn’t wear close toed shoes for the second half of spring term. Anywho, this section of the wing was rather dark and had red mood lighting. I tried to look up some of the pieces on the museum’s website, and in the process stumbled upon the Beatrix Potter exhibit. Yo, Benjamin Bunny is totally my shit. All over that when I have a free minute, and don’t feel like I’m melting into this damn couch. The above image is something I made when I was overtired and tried to make stupid shit for my website that’s still in production.

After the Burberry voyage, Sarah and I took a stroll down Covent Gardens, which was just outdoor shopping reminiscent of Fanueil Hall in Boston. Someone told me before I went over here that I wouldn’t have to worry about shopping, because it’s only something one does when they’re bored. Wrong, we kind of do nothing else but sightsee, shop, go out, bitch about the internet, and read crap romance novels in the gardens.

Monday night we went back to the Queen’s Arms for a quick couple of pints after we sent in our papers for the week (yes, that's all of our homework. Feel free to hate me) And Tuesday we went back to Sports Café, where I was told I look like Maya Rudolph from SNL. I honestly think we keep going back there because it's the only bar that will play “I’m on a boat.” Why? Because they know we’re all American. And complete tools.