Not that there's anything wrong with that

The first event I went to this weekend was the London Pride Parade. Surprisingly, it wasn't nearly as good as the parade in Boston. But of course, there were some fantastic costumes and some hideous costumes. So here are some pictures guaranteed to make my parents cringe.

Oh my god these guys were so adorable. And the dachsunds were cute too. (zing)

I have no idea how they managed to walk all the way to Trafalgar Square without those things falling off. Nice tiaras, huh?

The only way I knew those guys weren't my dad was the fact that my dad got rid of his rainbow suspenders and tie-dye tank tops when he stopped being a hippie in 1987. (Gah! Mom, the dude on the left really looks like him, doesn't he?!?!?!)

I would put up a caption contest for this one, but I feel like it's just too easy. (Notice Wonder "Woman" swinging a whip around her head.)

The highlight of the parade for me happened before it even started. Sir Ian McKellen walked up to a parade marshal right in front of me and asked where he was supposed to be (the answer being leading at the front of the pack). Immediately after he left, the girl turned to her friend and squealed, "Oh my god! I just talked to Gandalf!"

Who else is seriously bothered by Simon Cowell’s haircut?

Not a lot of updates today.

I will clarify since many of you have asked – I didn’t move my seat in the theatre the other night because about 5 more people came and sat on the other side of me, essentially trapping me in my hell. However, they did have enough common sense to leave an open seat between us.

British people love ice cream. I mean, they really love it. If it gets to be over 65 degrees, people flock to ice cream trucks like it’s their job.

The forecast for Saturday is: Rain, some thundery

I don’t usually get my panties in a bunch about being politically correct, but this blurb from yesterday’s paper regarding Angelina Jolie’s babies rubbed me the wrong way:
“The twins will be the fifth and sixth children for the star who already has one natural daughter, one-year-old Shiloh, and three adopted kids.”
I mean, ‘natural daughter’ isn’t the best way of saying that, is it?

P.S. Congratulations to everyone graduating this weekend (and in the upcoming weekends as well)! Special congratulations go out to Elissa who will officially become a librarian tomorrow; she will be handed a cardigan and glasses on a chain as she walks across the Simmons stage. Let’s all whisper our praises to her.

Tube delay due to a person UNDER a train

One of the perks of living and working in downtown London are the world movie premieres. Case in point - Sex And The City: The Movie last night in Leicester Square. Here is where I'd like to tell you that I was in the front row of the crowd, got autographs from SJP, Kim, Kristen, and Cynthia, and took amazing pictures that I will now sell to Hello! Magazine for oodles of cash. However, I'll opt to not lie and tell you that I made Yulia stand on some street corner with me for 35 minutes while the limos drove past and I tried to peer in the tinted windows to try to discern (to no avail) who it was. This got old quickly and Yulia was itching to be anywhere but there. In my defense, unless we had started queueing at noon for a 7:30 premier, there was no way we were going to get a glimpse of anyone; there was just an overwhelming amount of screaming girls and flamboyant guys. But honestly. For a show BASED IN NEW YORK whose title even includes a REFERENCE TO NEW YORK and a plot line that CENTERS AROUND NEW YORK, why oh why would someone choose to have a world premiere in London?! I am assuming money had something to do with it and that people aren't that dumb.

There was a big presentation at work last Friday for some big shot manager who is leaving the company. My friend K was in charge of organizing the card, gift, and presentation. So we're all standing around watching as this guy opens all 7 of his gifts (I told you he was important) and Aussie T says in front of everyone: "What about my idea for the gift, K? Is she not coming?" (This is the type of stuff I miss about the people from Australia.)

The problem with stopping at the bathroom before you go outside to read on your lunch break is that you're just the freak walking into the work bathroom with a book under your arm.

Joke of the day that is just so horrendous it has no choice but to be funny: What's green and sings rock 'n roll? Elvis Parsley

London's Crazy Headlines:
Stunning Results For Police Tasers
Bodies Of Two Babies Are Found In Toy Boxes
I Have Just Been Run Over By A Cow

Just dropped in to London town

Oh boy!!! I saw, with 100% certainty, my first celebrity in London! I was walking past Piccadilly Circus towards some art galleries down near the “fancy part of town,” when I did a double take and realized the lady I had just passed was Gina McKee. Obviously I didn’t know that was her name (imdb.com is a wonderful thing) and you probably have no idea who I’m talking about. But to most Americans, she will probably always be “that woman in the wheelchair from Notting Hill.” She recently starred in a Harold Pinter West End play and I’m guessing lives somewhere in or around London; so it’s not that far fetched that I would see her. But still! Woo hoo!

Apparently, the issue of God is a touchy subject, and so I must clarify what I said about a certain Jon Gezotis and his beliefs. His response to the Let’s Play Make Believe picture verbatim:
“It’s not that I don’t believe in God. It’s that I don’t believe in religion. You know this. But you are right…[arguing me is] a pointless effort once you finally realize that my debating skills are far superior to yours.”

So back to those art galleries I was going to. The first one wasn’t actually an art gallery; it was a Paul Smith “store” that happened to feature a collection of photographs taken by the Italian photographer Gian Paolo Barbieri. (Again, I had no idea who he was either, but his picture of Anjelica Huston in the newspaper pretty much secured the fact that I had to go see his works.) I wasn’t too smitten with the collection, but I did decide that Anjelica Huston was/is one of the sexiest people alive.

The second gallery, and the one you need to pay attention to, featured the photos of New York-born Gregory Crewdson. Okay right now you need to go Google images for him. Do it. Stop reading. Go. He is an incredible artist. Wikipedia says he “is best known for elaborately staged, surreal scenes of American homes and neighborhoods.” The collection that was on display in London (and the clincher that told me I had to check it out) featured pictures he took in North Adams and Pittsfield Massachusetts. When you look at his works it is as if you are looking at a movie still. He has an entire crew to set up a mere one photo - hiring actors, using huge spotlights, building sets, and in one case, setting fire to a house. I can’t believe I hadn’t heard of this guy before, especially because he was shooting in western Massachusetts between 2004 and 2007. But I could look at his photos for hours; there is just so much in them. People say he is reminiscent of David Lynch and I think this is so very true. Because just by looking at one his giant photos you can pretty much write an entire play/movie/novel/etc. They have that much character to them, that much detail, that much imagination. Again, I’m not doing this justice and, in fact, seem to rambling. But his pictures speak for themselves. So take a look. (Also, it was really cool to see him feature the thrift store in Pittsfield that I bought so many of my awesome t-shirts at.)

*music – I’d buy you Rogaine when you start losing all your hair, Sew on patches to all you tear ‘Cause I love you more than I could ever promise, And you take me the way I am

Gayer than a tree full of bluebirds

If you decide to come visit me in London, make sure to tell me that your plane arrives 30 minutes before it actually does. This will give me ample time to get on the wrong bus to Paddington Station, get off in a sketchy neighborhood, walk three blocks to a bus stop in the middle of nowhere and catch a bus back to where I started from. It will also ensure that you don’t shell out $2 to use the public toilet and make it safely back to my apartment without having your bladder explode. You know, just an fyi.

The only celebrities that exist to the British media are: Prince Harry, Kate Middleton, Kate Moss, Pete Doherty, Amy Winehouse, and Lily Allen. If you aren’t one of those 6 people, your face will not be pictured in the daily news. It’s just a matter of fact.

Another life fyi for you (you can all thank me later for these bits of wisdom): If you finally suck it up and buy chives to put in your egg salad even though you will have no use for the leftover chives once you’ve used one sixth of what you’ve purchased, for heaven’s sake! Don’t forget to put the chives in the egg salad!
(Is anyone else reminded of Pee Wee Herman whenever they make egg salad or see a row of scooters/motorcycles all lined up on the street? No? Just me? Okay.)

By far, the most resonating consequence of the London subway bombings is the fact that you have to walk at least a mile in this city to find a trashcan. Seriously. They are just nowhere to be found.

Joke o’ the day: Why haven’t you heard the joke about the bed?
It hasn’t been made up yet.

Tonight after eating delicious bowls of hummus goodness, Theresa and I went to see Agatha Christie’s Mousetrap. This is the longest running play in either London or the world, depending on how closely you read the flyer; tonight was performance #23,071. I’m a big fan of Ms Christie and I remember reading Ten Little Indians and deciding it was the greatest book ever (not that I can remember the end or anything vital like that, but still…it was good). Despite loving her books, the play tonight was just so-so. I don’t know if it was because I did the fishing/bobbing thing with my head as I almost nodded off countless times or just that it was a little slow going, but I give the play an overall B-.
But it’s unarguably a London staple and so I am glad I finally saw it and can cross it off my list of Things I Have To Do In London, right after Pick The Guards’ Noses At Buckingham Palace and Find Hugh Grant And Make Him Love Me.

Microsoft Word agrees that both ‘inarguably’ and ‘unarguably’ are words but can offer no synonyms for them, leaving me without an answer as to which, if either, is the right word to use. I apologize for this technical difficulty.