I have a new best friend and his name is Camera

Question proposed by my mother at lunch: “You know who’s a real bigot?”
(Unfortunately, due to the rules of pinky swearing, I am not at liberty to tell you who the answer is.)

My dad walks a lot slower than he used to. Every time I start walking somewhere he always says, “Slow down a little bit” or “Do you have to walk so fast?” He reasons that it’s okay to walk slowly and what’s my hurry anyway? Personally, I think it has to do with a little something called He’s 59 Years Old.

My parents are having a great time in London. They are going through what I went through my first month here and so I have a soft spot for them in these new and exciting times. For example, my mom is terrified of crossing the street because she never knows which way to look; therefore, they never cross unless the little green man is lit…just in case. My dad is commenting on how unattractive British people are (and yet, when I met him for dinner two nights ago, he proceeded to tell me I looked very British). They are both enthralled by the Tube - my dad with the wind it creates underground and my mom with the speed at which it zooms by (which, I agree, is enough to kill 1800 Andre the Giants). It’s fun to watch them explore the city and become just as frustrated with stupid tourists who stand in the middle of the sidewalk, drool at the smell of those damn Belgian waffles, and try to figure out if that’s a South African accent we’re hearing or a British one (sorry, Michelle). I told my mom she should write up something about her visit and then she could be my first guest blogger. She didn’t seem too excited about that, but maybe she was just still worried from when I told her I was going to quote her on the bigot comment.

As for my love affair with Camera, he is wonderful. I am taking good pictures not because I’m a good photographer, but because it’s pretty hard to take bad ones with him. We are in love and it’s getting serious.

Muppets and handcuffs

Susan gave me her rash. She broke out in Ireland and I think it was because of faulty Irish laundry detergent. I was horrified every time I looked at her and thanked my lucky stars that my arms weren’t covered in hideous red bumps like hers. But then we got back to London and I started noticing those same red bumps on my hand, my arm, and, bizarrely, on the bottom of my foot. I hope you’re all still friends with me after reading this confession.

I bought a new camera. A fancy pants camera that I will keep under my pillow at night and whisper sweet-nothings to each morning when I wake up. It’s not here yet (my parents are bringing it next week), but I am already planning our lives together. There will be much canoodling and tears of joy. I can’t wait!

Blurb in today’s LondonPaper:
“Amy Winehouse isn’t going to be around long unless she sorts herself out quick.”
SAYS KEITH RICHARDS – AND, AMY, HE SHOULD KNOW

I watched the movie ‘Bobby’ tonight. What an eye-opener that was… I can’t even imagine how helpless people must have felt in those few years in the mid-60’s. Out of a country filled with hatred, oppression, and war, we were lucky to have such strong, true, and great leaders emerge. With each speech these amazing orators gave, people let themselves hope just a little bit more, and there was finally a light at the end of the tunnel. But one by one, those leaders were killed. I know that if I had been alive when Kennedy was shot, I would have thought it couldn’t get any worse. I would have already felt helpless and hopeless. But then Martin Luther King would be shot and I would once again feel like I was at the lowest point possible. And then Robert Kennedy. What were my parents feeling each time they heard about these assassinations? Were they afraid this country would never stand on two feet again? Was there a general fear that the country couldn’t move forward without sacrificing great men in the process? Did they stop letting themselves hope for the best? There were so many incredible things that happened in that decade of American history. But I can’t help but think that they will forever be overshadowed by the horror created by Oswald, Ray, and Sirhan, and all I can do is cry to think about it.