Emails from the East

Another anecdote from my friend in India:

"Today a couple of house-wives turned up at our badminton club.
Instead of a nice "hello" or "good morning" one of them came up to me and asked me

'do you buy cock?'

My brain stops and I go 'excuse me? ' and now she yells it at me like I can't hear her ' do you purchase the cock?' ( say this in an Apu accent ) so i look at my hands and I'm holding a box of birdies so I go 'umm..yes.'"

New Posts Delayed

My 3rd flashdrive this year is about to be chucked into the drawer with the other two for corrupting my files yet again. Apparently, I cannot use a flashdrive without my word documents turning into gibbrish, and there's nothing that can fix it. So my next blog post is lost and I have to go back and re-write everything.

If ANYONE has any answers as to what is going on with my flashdrives, please comment. I am at my wits end.

London Postscript

Tuesday, November 4th

I’m still working on recording the remaining days of my trip, so stay tuned. But in the meanwhile, here are my thoughts today.

Three days after our return flight I’m still finding little remembrances tucked away in bags and on clothes (no, I haven’t done my laundry yet, and yes, I’m still wearing the same pants I wore in England). Copper pennies bearing the Queen’s profile jingle in my travel-stained bag with feather-light yen from two summers ago in Tokyo, and tiny blue fuzzy balls from my Topshop scarf have infiltrated every piece of fabric I own, and somehow found their way to being unintended bookmarks in my journal.

My body still has not acclimated to California time, weather, food, or activities—though it never was to begin with. I’m falling asleep around 8pm and waking up at 4 and 5am by choice, which would normally make me feel sick for the rest of the day, but now is very pleasant. I have endeavored to bring English food back with me and have taught myself how to make meat pies (and unfortunately discovered their calorie and fat gram count, which I am stubbornly denying) and mulled wine. I’m drinking more tea instead of coffee, and have a craving for “biscuits” that I haven’t found a way to satisfy. American cookies are similar, but not the same thing. I’m even toying with the idea of making risotto, which isn’t English, but try telling them that. The entire country is fixated on Risotto, and you’ll find it in every restaurant, on every table, in every home.

I’ve gained what I call London Superpowers, which means I can now race up the L.A. Metro stairs as fast as the young Mexican men can without even getting winded. Bless those trillion stairs at our London B&B.

It’s Election Day, and forgive me for not waxing political. Rather, think of my reticence to discuss my personal politics as further evidence of my innate Britishness. Those lovely people characteristically refrain from discussing personal matters in public, which is something I came to appreciate immediately upon my return to the office when, in the elevator, I overheard a fat, middle-aged coworker discussing her preference for men with big cocks.

Yes, you read that right.

God Bless the British.