A Toast

Last night was so happy/sad. My fellow Americans are leaving tomorrow.

It was our last Death Disco together at Notting Hill Arts Club and it was somehow as mind-blowing and hyphy as the first time they took me there.

All were in attendance, including this 50-person horde of maybe Australians? I got invited to a barbecue in Queen's Park this weekend, but anyway.

When I think of how we've befriended an entire bar staff and about 10 other rotating cast members at this place, I really have to laugh.

Sebastien turned 29, birthday shots and kisses. We hung around late and I learned that my new friend is friends with my old friend, rather friend's friend from Brazil.

There was a photoshoot with my name on it. Goodbyes, hugs, kisses. I can't believe one day I'm going to leave this place too. I'm going to miss walking into a bar and getting hugged and kissed hello by Frenchy, Asian-y, Julian, Neil, brown guy...I told Neil I'd be coming back with Koko, so those wacky Wednesdays aren't over just yet.

Celebrity Syndrome

Walking down Queensgate last night in South Kensington, I hear

"SASSY!!"

It's Alyssa, wielding a wine bottle, we cheers. I meet 2 people who already know me. This keeps happening. Monica says I have a fan club. I say thanks, but please don't stroke my ego.

There was a queue last night @ Notting Hill (?!?!) because some big shot band was there. Luckily Sarah spotted Dominic and we jumped the queue.

The band finishes. Everyone inside is so skinny. Highbrow crowd. I keep expecting to see Kate Moss. Meet a director named Raoul who's making a gay zombie movie called Mr. Right. He throws me over his back and somehow I land on my feet.

Dancing on couches with my 60s soul sister who looks French, but isn't.

Lights go up and we're dancing on stage. Get a lollipop from a baby. Keep saying thanks to compliments. Too many. Top form.

Rolled everyone cigs after they finish cleaning the bar. There's a girl with holes in her sweater. It's awkward.

Then I read everyone's palms and people actually believed that shite. The bartenders were sticking their palms in my face, lining up. Turkish people. Jules and Dre, Dr. Dre.

"I'm going home." This keeps happening. We're all sitting around the table talking about fortunes and street names and pearls and England. All the boys have cool shirts. Sometimes I'm standing on a bench, always laughing.

Then it's 5 and I'm trying feebly to unlock a door so Levi lets me out. Dumb smile, thanks, and I throw myself onto a bus.

Wake up at 12:34!!! For my 1pm class and stumble in on time. My eyes are so red. I think I'm going to a party tomorrow but now I need a nap.

Trainspotting at Notting

Words cannot explain.

Portobello, Hello! BYOB Orchestra, and Tamed!

Saturday Lydia and I went to Portobello Market and looked at clothing which I could not justify buying then continued down a narrow cobbled lane to the produce stalls where we found an abundance of 1 quid bowls of fruit, vegetables, and 3-for-a-quid brie!! It was so rewarding. I came away with 2 bunches of bananas, a bowl of apples, a bag of mushrooms, and a brie wheel for 3.30 GBP. And we saw George Orwell's house!

We came upon an antique bookseller and I saw something that I want more than anything in the world--a 2nd edition copy from 1926 of The Sun Also Rises. It's hard to summate how important that book is to me; it's shaped my world view and I have written a lot of criticism about it. I could never run out of things to say about it. The copy the guy was selling was 40 quid (yoikes!) and came into existence when an error was discovered on pg. 118 of the first printed edition ("stoppped"). So to cancel out the anguish of not being able to buy it I got a bratwurst instead and then on Monday I bought:
I cannot wait to get into Jonathan Safran Foer's Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close, which is about a young boy who loses his dad in the 9/11 terror attacks then searches the 5 boroughs for the lock to which a key his dad left him fits. I've read page 1 and I had to shut it fast or else I would not have gotten anything else done. It's gripping. Introducing Wittgenstein is a sort of graphic novel biography of the linguist-philosopher and I could probably read it in one sitting. But first I have to read Solzehnitsyn's One Day In The Life of Ivan Denisovich, which is about political prisoners in the gulag, for my Making of Modern Russian Culture class. I'm excited about that one. I love the oppressed!

Saturday evening was a lot of fun. Johnny came in from Oxford and we went to this really cozy pub in Soho, The French House. The people were really nice and chatty and warm and for a while we couldn't even get a seat until this couple got up and offered us their table. We stayed there until they closed then went to Shoreditch where we found another corner in another pub, and we sat in this 1.5-person chair propped against a bathroom door, which was weird to some people but not so much to us. Engrossing conversation about Heidegger, set theory, and quantum physics ensued. Got back late, apples, slept late, all in all a great time.

I'm GOING TO KILL the construction workers who seem to be doing more damage than creation to the building adjacent to mine. I've learned to sleep through the morning ruckus, but now I have to circumvent the entrance to my flat by about 100 metres because there is a moat coalescing. Blergh. And this one dude, he's from Ghana, now thinks we are best freaking friends when really I was just being polite and rarely have the time to chat in the mornings when I'm trying to make it to class, which means trying to make it to the Tube, on time. Ack!

Best thing EVER happened in Soviet & Russian Foreign Policy today. This one girl, who is either Russian or Ukrainian and kind of a brat, would not stop whispering to her friend and the professor had already asked her nicely to stfu. So then this kid raises his hand and I thought he was going to ask a question about Crimea, but instead he turns to her and says in a loud, stern voice:

"Stop talking. You're being rude and I don't think you get it. If you can't be quiet then don't come at all. He's lecturing and you're disturbing the entire class and insulting everyone in it."

My jaw dropped.

So then the girl looks completely injured and tries to defend herself feebly to the very professor whom she had previously disrespected, then other students chimed in telling the girl she really just needed to stop talking, and it was GREAT. I have never seen someone get tamed so hard in my life. And the best part was that everyone was on the kid's side because the girl was really being a brat. At one point she even tried to tell on him, she said, "Ever since I put down my bag, he's been rude to me. There are ways to be nice about it."

And he said something to the effect of, "There are also ways to shut up."

Then Dr. Titov returned to the lecture, but not before saying, "Kind of resembles Russia-Ukraine relations."

BURN.

Last night we saw the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment at Queen Elizabeth Hall. It was awesome. We sat on the stage behind the orchestra and they played Handel's Arrival of the Queen of Sheba, a Vivaldi concerto in D, and a cantata with a real-life soprano in a hideous dress. And they used baroque instruments! It was only 4 quid, super lax (you could BYOB and come and go) and there was a bar for students and the announcer was an offhand comedian and the whole thing was refreshing. Makes me want to dust off my violin and go at it.