This entry is coming from the depths of a blurry oblivion that stir-fries my thoughts together in a mash of word-filled tired. Forgive any garbled idioms or illogical statements.
Last night I went to a party in an apartment converted warehouse that looked like it transplanted itself to rainy London streets from the unique loins of the Berlin nightlife. Concrete floors, flashing lights, DJ, live band, rivers of juice and rum, an amalgam of people. As true to the London mode, those party-goers, rapscallions that they are, dressed to fit the theme of Glitter or Gutter. Skintight iridescent pink catsuits, garland-sashed ten gallon hat wearers, bubble wrapped bodies, a swirling mass of drunken, (and is some cases) likely substance-enhanced Londonites.
Londons love their 'fancy dress'. If you ever get invited to a fancy dress party in London, be aware that this does not involve bow ties and ball gowns. No. With my superior British language skills, I will translate for you: costume party. In London, there is no need to have a reason to dress up. People go out to bars dressed as Charlie Chaplin, pirates, clowns and narwhals. This effulgent spark of irreverence spills out of the ebony confines of the night and into the milky light of day. I once saw a fake beach set up in the middle of the street repelete with sand, fake-moustachioed band and staff member lounging in a beach chair and wearing a full gorilla suit. Brilliant. (See, I told you I speak excellent Brisith).
Roughly two weeks ago, I went to Narnia. And to Paris. OH the glory. It was an exciting trip over. I hoped in the wardrobe only to find that one of those damn Frenchies (it must of been someone French because who else would be so... so... French enough to do it) started a fire after dragging like a fiend on their cigarette and throwing the ashy butt in the trash. Genius. Really genius. Atleast throw it in the toilet, honestly. Anyhow the ensuing concatenation of events resulted in a 3AM arrival in Paris and a FREE ROUNDTRIP TICKET! Amazing! I love French people. It was a fabulous start to the trip - I mean it like honest Abe Lincoln who cut down a cherry tree and... erg... called himself George. But let's not get into American politics - that is yet to come, so stay tuned. My friend Stephanie graciously got up to let me into her apartent at 4 AM and didn't even try to hit me over the head with a frying pan because of my untimely arrival. Up in the morning, first order of business was a meeting with Nicolas Sarkosy to discuss the finer points of sporting suede pants. Then to the bakery for an almond croissant. The first bite was a rush of nostalgia more potent than a spicy curry. I won't bore you with many details about the trip - a triathalon of family, food and friends - but just know that Paris is, for me, the wind beneath my wings, but not in that tacky early 90's kind of way. Did you ever know that you my hero?
Ok... now American politics. Clearly I'm trying to chase you away, as we all know that if there's two things you don't talk about with a large group of people, it's politics and religion. So I will play chicken with the line of social decency. Jesus! Buddah! God! Muhhamed! Vishnu! Obama!
Today I went to coffee with my new and fab British friend. Scrawled like chalky white vines onto a blackboard was the phrase: "Americans now welcome." Let me wax briefly into the world of politically-relevant blogging. Following the inspiring success of Obama, Londoners everywhere revelled with a joy greater than Christmas pudding. On the BBC radio talk show I heard the following day, callers emotionally, ebbulently sung out songs of elation purer than first press olive oil from the most golden of Tuscan hills. Of course, there are the dampered, cautious comments, but as a whole, as one paper put it: "America is cool again." In fact, Barack and Michelle seem almost to be the new 'Victoria and Becks' (aka Posh spice and David Beckham) - the media-washed stars of the public eye. The Londonpaper even featured Michelle in their style section. I myself was overcome with tingling chills of incredulous happyness . I celebarted the victory the following night with Democrats Abroad at the Texas Embassy. (Those Texans - they really think their a separate country, don't they?) En route I lost my glove. Very sad. I really liked those gloves. My right hand is cold. I am now accepting applications for those who wish to keep it warm.
Exhaustion is dragging my thoughts into the shady underworld of confusion. It's hard to think straight, or rather think much at all as those sharp talons pull me further further further into murkyness. A how Byron-esque. Let's get some mundane daily-life information into here before I succumb completely.
The internship - continues well. Been doing TONS of photographing to get the next two auctions up in the online catalogue. While not all are visual masterpieces, view such photographic beauties as select photos in the following lots http://www.kerrytaylorauctions.com/sales/detail.php?lotid=8419 or http://www.kerrytaylorauctions.com/sales/detail.php?lotid=8421 or http://www.kerrytaylorauctions.com/sales/detail.php?lotid=8623. I still don't have plans for the end of these interning months, but that's all for figuring out later. Suggestions are welcome - fashion designer? Alchemist? Computer programer? CIA agent? Trapeze artist? Novelist? Nascar driver?
Apartment's still great. Social life is cresting on the positive curve of sine. I'm taking a temporary hiatus from weekend catering work. I have a new favorite market where you can get 3 pounds of carrots for a pound. My new favorite word is rapscallion.
I'm also taking suggestions for good non-fiction reads so that I can learn useless things - or things of some merit.
Melting off into a dreamy state of conscious. Time to get ready for bed.
Happy thoughts my friends because remember, you could always be a proboscis monkey, or stranger yet, a duckbilled platapus, so life must be good, right?
Ok. Going to go to bed now really because my brain already has.
Sweet dreams and flying machines whole and shining never having known life as pieces on the ground,
Hannah
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1 comment:
Hannah my darling, you are so odd, but I love your posts. I'm glad that things are going well and your social life is picking up! London sounds pretty exciting these days and I bet there's more of a story to your Paris trip than you told here. We should really catch each other on Skype one of these days. When does your internship end? Is that coming up?
I miss you, as always!
Love, your roomie
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