The Big Book Of British Smiles: Part 2

And so we continue our journey...

I forgot to mention that at night during Day 3 we went out and saw Dukes of Hazzard at a local cinema. Evan and I both figured it would cost around 4-5 pounds considering it's $10 max in the states. Nope, it was 12 pounds. That's around $20. Ugh. Stupid Euros. Anyway, the movie was somewhat enjoyable. Terrible acting but lots of hot chicks and it was directed by the same guy that did Super Troopers and Club Dread, Jay Chanduskaharaksdr or whatever his last name is. Needless to say, there were a bunch of Super Troopers cameos and inside jokes/references which clearly made the movie way better than it actually was.

The most screwed up part about the British movie experience though was that there is a curtain in front of the screen before anything starts like so. Then there's about 25 minutes of commercials...and then curtain closes again. A few minutes later it opens again and the trailers get played followed by the movie. Ridiculous. Here's a picture of the curtain I took after the commercials were done. I swear to God, this is a different picture than the first.

Day 4 began with a short walk over to the Buck House, Buckingham Palace to the unlearned. We were there to watch the changing of the guard. And boy was it dumb. The dudes with the redcoats and puffy hats stroll up, walk in the gate, and then play a little fife 'n drum concert. That's it. I'll tell you what, these Brits are getting lazier by the minute. They could have at least had pole dancer or something.

So after that we departed for the Tate Modern museum. This place actually had some cool stuff inside. Picasso, Andy Warhol, Dali, and a whole bunch of weird modern (duh) art, some of which I didn't understand. The coolest one to me was by some German dude named Anselm Kiefer. He had this monstrous painting called "Lilith" which was probably about 20'x15'. And it was 3-dimensional as well as there was barb wire at the bottom of the painting. This glum depiction of a city under duress was inspired by Sao Paulo, Brazil actually though the Tate website says it was named after his ex-wife who was undoubtedly a bitch.

However, the best part of the day was lunch. We ate at Ye Olde London, a pub on "the strand" which is sort of like our New York's 5th avenue. The pubs here are all really cool looking...like a classier version of Cheers. And more cute bartenders...this one's name was Holly. She gave Evan and I lap dances and an invite to their version of the champagne room called the "draught room". Ok, that was a lie. She gave us each a pint glass for free to take home. That wasn't the best part though. We made small talk with her about a group of patrons in the bar. They call themselves "furries." Basically it's these geeks that wear animal parts. Like costume animal tails and ears and crap like that. Real weird. And everyone hugs everyone and scratches them when they huge them...like a squirrel was burrowing or something. The guys looked super homo doing this. Very strange and evan and I had a good laugh as did Holly when I asked her, "do you have to earn your tail or something? Are their furry tasks you must complete like in boy scouts or something?" I also asked if I made a loud noise if "one of them would hump my leg". Needless to say we all had a good chuckle. To cap off our long luncheon I decided to go up to these people and ask them for a picture. They, clearly not getting much contact from "normies", obliged and I was able to round up all 20 or so of them for a photo op. It took so much out of me to not laugh. Evan took the pic and we promised to email Holly a copy which I have not done because they don't have an email (oh well).

That evening was to be pretty bland as we were pooped from our day so we headed out for sustenance at around 9pm. We decided to eat at a little place called Bella Italia. And when I say little, keep in mind that this restaurant is a chain. Anyway, our waitress decided to sit us next to these two really cute blondes. Naturally a conversation was struck up. And naturally digits were exchanged. Now this is not a Diane Steele book so there will be no filthy, smutty details. However I can say that I'm always welcome in London now. And by welcome I mean I have a place to sex, I mean sleep. Sleep, yea. Moving on...

Day 6 was the last day with Evan as he was moving on to France on Monday morning. We had pretty much hit everything already as far as touristy things that you "have to see." We even saw Mother Maggy on Jolly Farm Review. (Don't get that joke? Bah to you!)

So we decided to stroll over to a guitar store and jam. And wudya know, the street it was on was just like 48th street in New York. The whole thing was lined with music shops. So we jammed in one and moved to the next before they could kick us out. Eventually we made our way to a drum store where the clerk had an American accent. His name was George and he was actually Portuguese but lived in America for a few years and actually recorded an album really close to where I grew up. Anyway, George let us in on a little secret. Well, not like a Tommy Lee, "shhh, don't let Pam know I have hepatitis C" secret but one nonetheless. He told us about a cool place a little north of central London called Camden.

Now this is not like Camden, New Jersey as that place is a crime-ridden shithole. But it was a bazaar...um, bazaar. There were little huts and tents lining the streets selling every kind of trinket and piece of crap you could want. There was even a section called The Stables were old used stuff was sold like at a tag/yard/garage sale, whatever you might call it. I really felt like I could buy a new kidney if I needed one.

This place also had little food tents of every ethnicity. Lebanese to Venezuelan to Vietnamese. Everything you could want to stuff in your face was there. We had already eaten but I'm sure I would have one of these dishes and later had my stomach pumped. By the way, it took more effort to not buy dope than it would have taken to purchase such a product. It felt like parts of Greenwich Village but on crack...literally.

That was pretty much for that day but my last day in London proved to be surprisingly amusing.

I went out and purchased a couple books for my flight home later that day when I decided to chill out on the fountain in Piccadilly Circus. To my surprise and delight there was a music video being shot. An Arabian music video. Yea, the song, as you might guess, sounded something like, "aaahhh la la la a durka durka aaccckhhhalalala". Except that it was like a Ricky Martin type song because there was a gay looking guy caressing himself all over the place and the song was called "Naughty Boy."

I'm not even kidding. I took some pictures from the shoot. Here's Ricky Ali Baba (no clue what his real name was), the Americanized anorexic boobjobbed requisite "hottie" (who couldn't dance worth a crap), and here's Ricky jumping up right in my face on the fountain. Of course the director of said music video was crazy. He had an A-rab fro complete with director sunglasses and could dance better than both Ricky and Princess Jasmine. It was quite a spectacle. I wish I could find the finished product at some point. Instead you'll have to live with these stills.

And no I'm here after a long travel day back home to the states. A good time was had on many levels and I will certainly go back. I hope you enjoyed my retrospective as much as I didn't enjoy writing it. By the way, I almost got hit by a bus a few times. Yea, you really need to look both ways in that country. Hehehehehehe, he said "both ways."