Vote for my crisis! Make your voice heard!

Okay, in honor of my impending officially-getting-even-older, I've decided it's time to finally commit to a full-bore midlife crisis. Yes, I know the case could be made that I've never advanced beyond adolescence anyway, but we're talking chronologically here. Problem is, I can't decide what exactly I should do in my vain attempt to stave off the aging process, so I'm looking for public input.

I've made a list of some ideas- place your votes for any or all of them, or give me your own suggestions. With your help, we can make this the bestest crisis ever!

-Tattoo(s)

-Piercing(s)

-Dye hair

-Mohawk

-Six-figure sportscar

-Hot and cold running starlets

-Hallucinogenic voyage of self-discovery

-Cool hip-hop name

-Sail around world w/ basset hound

-Sail around world w/ Christopher Walken

-Disappear without a trace, make new life in Seattle as "David St. Borland", tech industry entrepreneur and club promoter

-Sullen, bitter alcoholism, profound self-loathing

Help me out, people!

WARNING: UPTIGHT LANGUAGE NAZI RANT AHEAD (but not that bad)

The proper use of the English language is dying. Wait, don't leave yet- I'm not referring to some arcane crisis like the rampant misuse of gerunds, or hordes of dangling participles menacing the children. More specifically, I should probably say that proper writing of the English language is dying. No really, don't go, it gets better...

I'm no writing or grammar expert; I make my share of mistakes and sometimes my own rules. I'm sure I couldn't properly dissect a preposition for you, but I like to think I can construct a decent sentence while negotiating the intricacies of spelling and punctuation. All of the above seem to be vanishing skills, but they're a debate for another time and a billion other people's blogs. No, what I'm on about is the apparent loss of the simple art of proofreading.

What's been getting my linguistic goat lately is the increasing occurrence of blatant mistakes committed by people who should know better: professional journalists. They write for a living. It's what they're paid to do. And yet every day I see more stupid, obvious blunders, especially in online news. These are from the biggies: CNN, AP, Reuters, doesn't matter. It's obvious that too many deadlines and the pressure to get that important piece out about Barack Obama's cat have turned them all into once-through-the-spell-check automatons. People, here's a clue: spell check sucks! Plus, it won't fix a misspelled word that became another word- and let's not even get into it's/its/their/they're/your/you're/who's/whose- all of which scream out of the page at me like a banshee of ignorance, but they're not the worst of it.

No, I'll tell you what I'm REALLY sick of...you wanna know, don't you? It's when something is obviously missing, like, "Smith said the bear became angry after the campers ran out of lime jello," but nowhere else in the article has there been anything about Smith. Smith who? Apparently an important character introduced in a paragraph that got axed from the final draft. I see this kind of shit in probably 25% of the articles I read- or even more obvious, you get the same paragraph twice. Aren't there editors anymore? Look, you're the one who wanted a job writing essays the whole world will see, with your name on the top- take a minute and read the damn thing before you post it. Sheesh.

Okay, rant over- go about your business.

London Tales, Parte the Laste

Yes, you read correctly. I'm going to attempt to squeeze the last 2 1/2 days into one blog. It's going to be epic and probably even longer than usual- but this final chapter has more Vader and less Jar Jar. So, I'm going for it. I think. One more time- say it with me now- click on the photos to see a larger image.

Friday, Sep. 22, 2006. I awoke- God knows when, after the night we had- to see this through my bedroom window!


With only two more days left in London, we finally had some real English weather- appropriately on the first day of autumn. I was ecstatic, or at least as close to it as I could be while feeling like I was swimming through oatmeal. Yep, it had been a long night, after a long week, and that day it was really taking its toll on us. I think I may have even been driven to drink coffee that morning- for those who don't know, I'm just not a big coffee man. I'm nervous enough as it is. I actually think this photo was taken another day, but it properly expresses the shock of my coffee consumption, even as it undermines it my pointing out that I drank it more than once. So what, shut up.



Did I point out that we were right next to elevated Tube tracks and a freeway (or whatever they call it)? And that our rooms looked right over it? Really didn't notice the noise after the first night...



If you remove the aerials and IKEA furnishings, doesn't this look ripe for dancing stereotypical chimney sweeps? Okay, maybe not- but it does look deliciously British...



And this one even more so-



Look at that! The buildings, the bus, the umbrellas, the glistening street- this is the classic London I wanted to see at least once.

Where are we going, you may ask? Well, I'll answer even if you didn't, because I'm running this blog. Friday's plan contained two items: first, visit the British Museum, second, visit yet another London friend of Jeff's whose name- again- escapes me completely. She had generously offered to make us dinner one night during our stay, and Friday ended up being it.

So, we were on our way to the museum- which despite being very large, well-known, and only like two blocks from the Tube station, proved surprisingly hard to find.

The fountain is nice, but please- we don't need more water right now.



Maps, street signs saying "British Museum" with big arrows- we still got turned around about three times, the rain coming down harder every minute, until we finally managed to find the back door. I think Jeff went in there while Alan and I continued, soaked, around to the front because I wanted the full experience of the grand entrance- or I may be full of shit and we all went in the back door. I'm going with the first version because it's somehow more ridiculous and therefore believable. In either case, I know these shots were taken later when we left, and it had stopped raining.

The flag proves the museum is really British:



Under the benevolence of the Union Jack, love blooms:



And poor Jeff is left lonely again. But nevermind him, who's that walking by?



Inside the museum, you find this recently fixed-up grand courtyard area- help me out, those who were there before 2000- did it used to be open-air? Anybody? Bueller?





The new round building in the center contains some kind of reference library- and the gift shop. Here I am, soaked and looking in awe at something- or maybe just still waking up.



The British Museum is enormous and has many exhibits, but is particularly famous for its amazing collection of antiquities from around the world, particularly Egypt. It's a matter of some debate what the hell all these things are doing in the "British Museum", but let's not get into that just now... Didn't have time to even begin to do the place justice (didn't get there until mid-afternoon) but luckily the exhibits we were focusing on- the really popular ones, like Egypt- stayed open late on Friday.

One of the most significant items in the museum is the Rosetta Stone- and this was my view of it.



If you look closely you can see annoying schoolkids rudely- somewhat dangerously even- leaning on the worksheets they're holding up to the glass, filling out the questions their teacher gave them for their trip to the museum. A pain in the ass, really. Finally made my way to the front, and snapped this incredible bit of photographic art to prove it- the elbow which is the only thing that's even a little bit in focus belongs, of course, to some brat filling out his worksheet.



I think it's pretty obvious this guy got shot in the chest, but that's just me.



The composition of this shot makes it look like the "choreographer in a museum" scene in a Kubrick film.



Hmmm, let's see... It says, "Kekshepset slowly removed her tunic, revealing her twin mounds of Isis...."



Okay, so there was some kind of a temporary exhibit about the pharmaceutical industry or something, which stood out by its unexpectedness- I turn around at one point and AAAAHHHH!!! IT'S A PICTURE OF ERNIE WHITE!!!!!



These pretty much sum up how we were feeling that day:




Amazing and cool as it all was, we eventually got to the point where we could barely move or think. Plus, we were on a schedule to make it for our free dinner, so off we went- I love the buildings across the street in this shot:



Onto the Tube and off to the home of- why can't I remember ANY of these people's names?- which was way off in North London somewhere, farther than we'd ever been before on the Underground. I don't know what the area was called or how far it was- let's just say it was definitely out of the normal tourist zone, and felt like it took a long time to get there, which was fine by me. That was one of the wonderful things about this trip- it was a perfect balance of the tourist London and the real, everyday London (complete with real Londoners).

We pop up out of the Tube and see this..... some-body lost a fran-chise, naah naah naah naah naah naah....



For the next part of the story, we're going to have to go to the map:




Note the purple dot in the top left corner. That's where the Tube station and the Tennessee Fried Chicken are. We had directions to the house, based on us starting with Green Lanes, the main N/S street running by the station. Well, there's yer first problem. Sure there was a sign pointing toward "Green Lanes", but we're just idiot Americans- in our minds, that's a bowling alley, not a street name. Plus, it wasn't really clear what street we were already on- which happened to be Green Lanes.

Anyway, we headed down the street, accidentally in the right direction, still looking for this mysterious Green Lanes, until we came to the intersection of West Green Road- well, there you go! THAT must be the street she meant! Look at the map again. Can you make up the story from here? BAM! We were off in the completely wrong direction. As we went along, soaking up the local flavor, passing by hole-in-the-wall pubs, "off-licences" (liquor stores), and I think two different odd social clubs full of old men silently watching TV, the streets seemed wrong and we began to suspect that... maybe this wasn't the right...way... But then we spotted a street name that matched the directions, although it was on the wrong side of the road- turns out that luckily, the house we were looking for was in the neighborhood between the two Greens (Lanes and Road) and we were able to find it without too much trouble because of a street that had the same name at both ends. For the second night in a row, a God-knows-where-we-might-have-ended-up story.

Made it to the right place and met Jeff's friend what's-her-name and her roommate what's-his-face. Very nice folks. He was from Colombia, but any accent was gone- to my ears he sounded every bit the native Londoner. Had a nice relaxing visit and a delicious homemade dinner- vegetarian Mediterranean, including something with eggplant in it. Trying to make conversation, I said, "Oh, is that eggplant?" The two of them shared a quick "Silly Yank" kind of look, and informed me that, yes, it was eggplant, but there they call it by its French name, "aubergine". So, I learned something that night. If you Brits want to be like the Frogs, that's none of my business...

After dinner we went round the corner and had a pint in a cool little pub- okay, it was actually quite large, popular and more like a full restaurant. I learned more fresh produce info there- on the wall was a handwritten menu board with the current specials and such. Sandwiches, salads- look, there's something with aubergine in it, that's ironic- and something else with "rocket". It was the second time that week I'd encountered that word on a menu. At the Italian place we found after our day at Stonehenge, I had pasta that was served with "rocket salad"- I thought I was going to get some sort of futuristic wedge-style construction that was all about form over function, but it ended up just being a bunch of leaves, and I never questioned it. But now I was being faced with this "rocket" thing again, and I just had to know what was going on. So I asked what's-his-face about it, and he just explained it as the name of a leafy green- ah, so it was a salad MADE OF rocket! Now it made sense. Turns out it's their name for arugula- more education for me.

Two photos to show everybody who was there. I honestly don't know how the hell I ended up next to the girl. Looks a bit suspicious, I know.





Our hosts were very good about walking us down the street and getting us on the Tube in time (maybe they just wanted us to leave after too many questions about food). They knew when the last train left and exactly how long it took to get there, so we had it right down to the minute. I think Jeff would have been happy to have missed the train and stayed in the pub longer, but Alan and I were in no mood to repeat the previous night.



The next day was bright and sunny and I for one felt invigorated after a decent night's sleep. The first thing we did was walk right outside our door to one of the world's most famous street markets, which happens every Saturday on Portobello Road. It's impossible to fully describe. It's huge, for one thing, going on and on forever- or maybe it just seems like it on that narrow street- but it's cool and so much fun. Thousands of people, locals and tourists both. Tons of booths selling antiques, music, clothing, jewelry, food, anything and everything. Wandered up and down, shopping for souvenirs and gifts, and never saw either end of it.

The arrow indicates my bedroom window.



Yep, there's a lot of people here. Look further down the street to really get the picture.




You can get ANYTHING in this place!


Yes, in the middle of all this, a garbage truck pushing its way through. Shouldn't they just not do Saturday pickup here? Note that it's actual people picking up actual cans or bags that have been left on the street, just like when I was a kid- no big California-style bins in the tight streets of central London.



This street band was fun. At first I couldn't figure out why the YouTube stats showed six times as many views for this one as any other of these stupid little London videos- who could possibly be watching it? Friends of the band? Then I realized- duh, the still image happens to be of a passing blonde that's in the video for about half a second. Guys are so damn predictable.



The market was a great way to start off our final day in London- or I should say the final day for me and Alan, since Jeff had decided to stay a while longer, hang out with some friends, and hit the continent. So for him, it was simply the last day that he would have to put up with our annoying presence.

The rest of the day held- whatever. We were going to meet Jeff's friend again- the first one, the one from Wednesday- later that night to have dinner, but that was the only plan of any sort. So, we ended up doing a bit of exploring- which pretty much meant marking the last couple things off my own personal list while I dragged poor A and J along. Really, I ended up selfishly setting the agenda for much of this trip- I chose the place to stay, I chose the Stonehenge tour, and an awful lot of our daily itinerary seems to have been where I wanted to go. Sorry guys. Thanks for putting up with it and tagging along.

First, we had to do it. Just had to. It wasn't that far away, and... well, we just had to.




Yep, Abbey Road. Jeff didn't care so much, so he took the shots. And no, you can't entirely replicate the original by taking the photo from the same exact spot, because you'd get hit by a car and die. But yes, that is THE crosswalk, and where you see the white wall in the middle, that's Abbey Road Studios. And yes, there were other people there doing the exact same dorky thing. There are other shots that show the scene better, but at least in this one we're in step. Another interesting thing to note is that my prominently protruding belly in this photo has given rise to a "Zonthar Is Dead" rumor, based on the fact that the Sanskrit characters meaning "stomach sticking out on crosswalk" bear a striking resemblance to the ancient Hebrew words for "tall guy" and "underground". But I'm here to tell you that no, it's all just a rumor: I'm not dead, just fat.

Check out these cars.



Check out this poor crosswalk, probably the most-used in the world.



Check out the walls in front of the studios, with decades of graffiti under decades of white paint under decades of more graffiti and white paint. Note that all the dates are within the previous couple days- they probably paint it at least once a week.





These entries around the side on the bricks might last a bit longer.



Awwww, our own graffiti- Alan wrote it, then I added our initials- *sniff* I'm sure it's got many layers of paint over it now.



And finally, the most amusing bit of graffiti- I read later that U2 had just been recording in there recently, so that explains that-




The studio itself. Much larger than it looks, it goes back farther from the street. Yes, famous for the Beatles, but it's amazing how much of our shared popular culture has been created in this building. Hell, "Dark Side of the Moon" was recorded here for instance, as well as iconic film scores like Star Wars, Raiders of the Lost Ark- gee, most of my adolescence was influenced here. I wonder if they did that Farrah poster here, too?




We then wandered over to Regents Park and the neighboring Primrose Hill Park- Jeff had been over here on "Get Out of My Face Day" and said there was a great view. Well, this is exactly one of the places I had been hoping to make it to, this view of the city that I'd seen in many movies and such but didn't know where it was. Thanks, Jeff.


And we bought ice cream, too!



Smile, Jeff. We'll be gone soon.


Love these houseboats on a canal next to the park. The big Chinese style one is a floating reastaurant. This is also right by the London Zoo.


Love this funky little car. Saw a few interesting automotive creations in London...


The next- and last- place I wanted to go to was Harrod's. Yes, it's just a department store. But it's one of those London things- it's THE department store. And I wanted to see it. So back onto the Tube.




When we pop up, we see these people,



looking in horror at these guys!



Yep, a band performing on top of their car. Sweet. They weren't that bad- or that great- but check out their website anyway. They do this shit everywhere.

Harrod's is huge, and yes, it's just a department store, and an expensive one at that. Still, I'm glad I got to see it- and this is the ONLY photo I bothered to take.




By this time, we were ready to go back to the flat, freshen up a bit, and head out for our last night on the town. It had been decided that he-whose-name-I-cannot-recall would take us to get some really, really good Indian food- this was London after all, and the place we went was one of the oldest Indian restaurants in town. So it was back to the Covent Garden area to meet up and oh my GOD the food was SO GOOD. And Nameless, who has lived in London and Europe for years, seemed pretty happy to be spending an evening with some stupid Americans for a change ("It's nice to talk to somebody who sounds normal!" he said- or something like that). And the food was SO GOOD.

I know this looks like I was purposely trying to get the girl's butt in the shot, but I swear it was just fortuitous happenstance.



After dinner... do you understand? It was SO GOOD...we cabbed it over to a pub near where whoever-he-is used to live, a centuries-old place called the Prospect of Whitby. Charles Dickens used to hang out here, for God's sake. At the time, I thought it was just some spot that locals knew about, but it turns out it's one of the most famous pubs in the world, with all kinds of history attached to it. If you Google it, it comes up like a rash- it's even got its own Wikipedia page- but I like this page a little better- more pictures. Learning of its fame doesn't ruin it for me- it was a great night with great friends in a great city, capping off a great trip.

I really like this shot, other than the look on my face. Homosexual black shirt convention, anyone? The windows behind us look right onto the Thames.


After a very relaxing, perfectly low-key evening, we caught what was again the final train of the night and headed back to our comfy flat one last time.

Sunday, departure day. Got some packing out of the way the night before, so the morning was about last-minute tidying and such. It was goodbye to the flat for all of us, since Jeff would be staying with friends. And no huge rush- we didn't need to leave until late morning to catch our flight. But eventually it was time to part ways with Jeff and with London- bittersweet, but it was also nice to be heading home after an exhilarating, exhausting week.

Goodbye, Cambridge Gardens-


Alan and I tottered off down to the Tube with luggage in tow. Now, people who really know me know I'm a worrier. I'm one of those who often thinks of all the possible scenarios in which something will go wrong (except the really important things I should worry about more- those I don't). Long before leaving for London, I'd considered how we were going to get to and from the airport- what would be easiest? Cheapest? Best for dealing with luggage? I'd thought about what would happen if I tried to go through a Tube turnstile with luggage. Would it work? Would it be big enough? Would I get stuck? Yes, perhaps these are the same questions I ask before sex. Shut up. Who are you, Freud?

Anyway, our plan was to take the Tube to Paddington Station, then get on the Heathrow Express nonstop train that gets you there in 15 minutes. But first I had to get through that damn turnstile, and I didn't know what to expect. It's those stupid plastic barriers that stick out from either side- they part just long enough for you to sprint through, then ka-CHUNK! Back out again, pummeling old ladies and small children. Well, since I'm spending so damn much time on this setup, you already know what happened- card goes in the slot, barriers part, and I lunge forward dragging my big-ass suitcase as fast as I can, when ka-CHUNK! Barriers out, suitcase caught, fears realized, dignity destroyed. *sigh* A brief struggle ensues, which I seemed destined to lose, and a big hearty THANK YOU goes out to the guy behind me who didn't lift a finger to help- but finally a bit of brute force vanquished the turnstile beast. Okay, so the whole thing probably lasted about five seconds, but it was still an embarrassing pain in the ass.

Got to Paddington, got on the Express (built for luggage, that one is) and whoosh- 15 minutes as promised. Checked in, no cancelled flights or other problems this time, but a looong security line. Heathrow is kind of a depressing airport. The departure gate waiting areas aren't open to the rest of the terminal like in most airports- they're closed off by themselves, connected to lonely, "Brazil"-like corridors. At least that's how it felt to me.

As we sat waiting in our departure cubicle,



we were visited by a couple dour-faced gentlemen who looked something like this-



and had bomb-sniffing dogs in tow. We were boarding a US-bound flight, so it was standard procedure. They sent the dogs up and down every row of seats until we all passed muster. Glad they were doing it, but it was a tad surreal. One of the dogs seemed to be a rookie and still a bit distracted by all the people. A couple passengers tried to pet it, but were rightly discouraged by the dour-faced gentlemen. What are these people thinking? Yeah, the dog is cute, but do you really want to 1.Distract the dog from its job and/or 2.Attract too much of its attention to YOU?

The flight home on United was a mere shadow of the wonderful experience we had on Air New Zealand, but at least it was uneventful. I watched "Over the Hedge". Or maybe it was "Madagascar". No wait, it was "The Wild". Yep, it was that memorable.

One of my last views of British soil.



MACRO LENS!!!



A glimpse of the fjorded coastline of Greenland through a break in the clouds. I was very excited by this. I'm such a nerd.



The coastline of Hudson Bay. Again, nerd.



Admitting me into the confines of these here United States, the customs agent in LA said "Welcome back." And as much as I hated leaving London, I admit it was nice to be home, even if it was LA.

Well, there it is. Zonthar and his buddies went to London and you got to hear about it in six epic chapters. Now I never have to blog again. Oh, and I forgot to mention that my twin sister went off to be raised by Jimmy Smits.

For good measure, one last video: the classic "plane taking off" shot, in flagrant violation of the "no electronic devices during takeoff" rule. Goodbye, London.



THUS ENDETH THE TALES OF LONDON