I could tangent right now, waxing philosophical about not taking risks, especially when travelling (since, after all, what is travelling but one great risk?) but the problem is that the British keyboard is not like the US one--there are little quirks that make it extraordinarily difficult to type with my normal super-sonic speed. So I'll go a bit slower...

At about 10:30 pm local time, i walked off the plane and into a chill that isn't much different from autumn at home--which is still chill enough for someone only just back from California. And while i'd originally thought I'd melt, hearing men with British accents all around me, I've been surprisingly stable thus far. Colin Firth has not made any appearances as of yet, but i'm sure he'll show up soon.

Before I left home my father's two pieces of advice were: blend in, don't look like an American AND go to mass. The second bit is easy, provided I find a Catholic church in every place I visit. The first is more insidiously difficult than I had expected.

You don't THINK you're being american. You don' t THINK you stand out in the crowd, you see everyone else behaving normally and you think you're doing the same. But then you notice that people are giving you the briefest of odd looks, and it could be your sneakers or your jacket or maybe that in conversation you've barked "dude!" just a little too loud. Faces are a little different--you can start pegging people's background, not very well, but it's a start, from the facial structure or features that (Lord forgive me for sounding ignorant) you see in the movies. All of a sudden it's you, you're the stranger in the strange land, you start to realize what it's like being outnumbered and un-sympathized with, especially in a time where our finest leader and representative is quite possibly the most reviled head of state in the world.

Speaking of Fearless Leader, I haven't been asked about it. I haven't been asked much about America except for a generic "What's it like?" How do I answer that? It's not much different, it's a lot like here. The kids are the same--some are shady, some are cool, some are just middle of the road types--the sun shines the same way. The rain comes down a little different, if you'll believe it, and the rainbows are different, melting into irridescent stripes of purple green purple green underbelly. Most of the people I've met aren't even British by birth--Rune, whom I've mentioned, is Norwegian; Saf is mmmmaaaaayyyybe Syrian by way of Spain? John is Columbian. The Lacrosse team EJ plays with, though, is all British. Older, and not terribly good at the game which makes it funny and a little painful to watch after 4 years of arrogant and skillful college lacrosse. (Not that I watched it that much but you still know what's going on). Steven is your typical jock, broad shouldered and square faced with a fun and wicked sense of humor; Andy is quiet and a bit of a nerd, who takes a fair amount of ribbing from the aforementioned Steven but was kind enough to pick us up at the train station----->
-------------> which is another thing. I have never experienced public transportation that is so convenient and so widespread as the metro system and its affiliates. You can get anywhere from here. <----------------

Ray and Charlie who both smoke like fiends and I doubt that enhances their performance on the field and I have to confess, the game was pretty bad. 16-2, them. I caught a glimpse of the old sporting feeling when words were said, afterwards, and in low tones and to friendly ears, about the impropriety of crowing and the unsportsmanlike way the other team ran the score up. They HAD been pretty rude about it. Even the New Guy's girlfriend (another Andy being the New Guy with "ginger" hair) and I talked about the other team's arrogance....when we weren't talking about how cold it was and praying for it not to rain. It didn't rain, at least not while the game was on, but it was cold, very very cold.

So that was in East Croydon, that game, which the locals guaranteed was the life of the London party scene. By this time my jet-lag, and the experience of having someone drive (almost recklessly) on the opposite side of the road, had me completely debilitated. If I can I'll get back to Croydon one of these days, to check out this hopping scene. I've been offered a place to stay with Ray--one of the older lacrosse players--so hey, what do I have to lose?


It might be a while before I accept that invitation.