I've arrived in London for the annual SF Ninja reunion, where i'm currently residing on an exotic piece of Japanese furniture Dragonhair tells me is called a futon. He was also kind enough to provide me the warmth of a worn blanket he's owned since college. Dragonhair may have moved to London, but this apartment is from San Francisco. Same Chinese stone gargoyle guarding the door, same framed French print of a black cat hanging on the wall, same rigged PS2 playing downloaded movies. Dragonhair is the only thirty-three year old I know of still living in a college apartment. The day Dragonhair buys a proper piece of new furniture from somewhere other than Craigslist is the day Craigslist goes out of business.
The airport wasn't as chaotic as i've grown to expect from holiday travel, which seems to be one positive aspect of our economic crisis, though I did have to deal with several of those fuckers who insist on checking in fourteen pieces of luggage for their two-day trip to Chicago. These people all have the same things in common: large and shitty black suitcases held together with twine or packing tape covered with stains from their past twenty years of travel to jungle islands, poorly combed hair, and t-shirts with prints of some reunion concert from the '70s. I'd ask these people what they have in these bags if I thought the answer might be interesting. But it wouldn't be. You see them wheeling their life's possessions around on the luggage carts, the luggage stacked perilously high, ready to tip over at any moment, and know that inside the bags is nothing other than shit, junk, and crap. Think of anything shitty: old hair dryers with stickers on them, socks with holes, dead mice ... that's what is in there. Just a step above the people on the subways who carry around the twelve bags they kept from a trip they took from Macy's six years ago.
I was able to overcome these frustrations to make it to Dragonhair's futon in Chiswick, which is essentially the Park Slope of London. I've enjoyed a few proper pints from a local pub (which was well-lit, full of seats, and quiet, the anti-Manhattan bar) and watched British TV. Tonight, a Christmas party. Tomorrow, Christmas at a pub. Perhaps at some point i'll get around to seeing London itself, though at this point I consider that non-prioritie.
Comments (1)
Let me be clear, the Mexican dude that packed up that foo-dog made out of heavy concrete did ask me, "WTF?". And for those interested in my items, none of it is leaving London, so come visit while it's here. I may leave the foo-dog in one of the parks here...we'll see if it's still around in 10 years.
Posted by dragonhair | December 25, 2008 3:32 AM
Posted on December 25, 2008 03:32