Little Out of London

As you can guess by the title, I am back in the States for good. Which means, unfortunately, that this blog must be officially terminated, as I am no longer in London. I may return to the UK in thr future, but all is still unseen. So, I'll leave you with a little excerpt from William Shakespeare's The Tempest that you may recognize:

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Our revels now are ended. These our actors,

As I foretold you, were all spirits and

Are melted into air, into thin air:

And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,

The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,

The solemn temples, the great globe itself,

Ye all which it inherit, shall dissolve

And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,

Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff

As dreams are made on, and our little life

Is rounded with a sleep.

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And so, adeiu.

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http://littleinlife.blogspot.com/

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What...did you think I was gone for good?

Uhh...Just One Last Thing

It is now officially 3:00am and I'm still not packed. What am I doing? I'm blogging for your fucking amusement. You better be appreciating this.
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Met up with a friend of mine from the ex-NYJedi crew whose family just started a vacation in London and Paris until June. There always has to be one of us in Europe. It's a rule.
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Okay, now a while back, I said that I had reserved tickets to a show for my last night in London. Do you remember that? You should remember that. Anyway, this is the last piece of theatre I saw in London.


Samuel Beckett's Waiting for Godot, starring Patrick Stewart and Ian McKellan. That's right. Magneto and Charles Xavier. Gandalf and Piccard. Macbeth and...Macbeth. Okay, that was a shitty one, but still! I don't even need to describe how it was because you can probably imagine the awesomeness of it all.
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The show ended around 10:30 or so. I have just enough time to do one last thing in London. I need to go out with a bang.

I needed to go get a drink at the London Hilton on Park Lane. Where in the hotel?

Why?

Because my hair was perfect.

"Now, go away or I shall taunt you a second time!"

Paris, of course!


My hostel...should have been called "Shit & Shit Hostel". Hot, sweaty, cramped, and several flights of narrow stairs. I would not recommend it. Before I go any further though, there needs to be a brief interlude for Quentin Tarantino:
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VINCENT: In Paris, you can buy beer at MacDonald's. Also, you know what they call a Quarter Pounder with Cheese in Paris?
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JULES: They don't call it a Quarter Pounder with Cheese?
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VINCENT: No, they got the metric system there, they wouldn't know what the fuck a Quarter Pounder is.
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JULES: What'd they call it?

VINCENT: Royale with Cheese.

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Say, while were stopping off for things made famous by movies, let's go see the sight of a film no self-respecting man would see, but any self-respecting man would have seen a show there:

The Moulin Rouge. NOTE: Walking down Boulevard de Clichy is HIGHLY NOT RECOMMENDED. Unlike the Red Light District, Boulevard de Clichy is really sleazy, shifty, and kind of dangerous. I almost got into a fight with a sex-club bouncer who was trying a little too hard to get me to come in and see the show. Long story short, I made it clear that I was not to be intimidated by local "muscle". Fuck that frog down his thick, croaky throat.

I wasn't too upset about it, though. After all, he didn't throw any rocks and I was just a few blocks away from Au Lapin Agile. Please read Picasso at the Lapin Agile by Steve Martin to understand why this place is awesome.

Then, the heavens gaped open and pured forth a deluge that would make Noah go, "SHIT!". This put an end to Day 1 in Paris. I only had two days, so the next day would have to count.

First stop, Notre Dame. Silently humming the charge song for the Fighting Irish, I walked inside.

No hunchback. Don't ask. If there was, he'd be dead by now. Not only because it would have made him centuries old, but medicine at that time was terrible. He couldn't have lived passed his forties.

Second stop, the Louvre. Now, this thing used to be a palace. You can't tell from this photo, but...

...shit's big.

Also, if you believe Dan Brown's The Da Vinci Code, this is the resting place of the "sang real".

They had some cool historical stuff at the Louvre besides the art. For example, these are the remnants of the old castle that once stood here.

This is actually one of the coolest things I've seen in Europe. This is the original slab containing the Code of Hammurabi...written in very tiny font size.

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Now, the Louvre is known for its famous paintings and sculptures. So, without further adeiu, I give you the Louvre's Greatest Hits (with altered titles):

"Toddler Strangling a Duck"

"In Mercia? But The Coconut's Tropical! This Is A Temperate Zone!"

"Fuck You, Tiny Monster! I'm Hercules And I Got A Bat For Your Face!"

This one is actually a statue of Spartacus, although it was rather difficult to find. Every statue in the room had a plaque in front of it saying that it was a statue of Spartacus.

A statue of Philopoemen, but one of the members of the RADA program has sort of dubbed this the "Kevin Little Statue". I am pleased by this.

"Are You There Joan? It's Me...God"

"Poseidon Getting Sick and Fucking Tired of His Horse's Bullshit"

"Napoleon Says 'Fuck You, I'm the Emperor Now'"

"The Pseudo-Consensual Relations With the Sabine Women"

"The 300"

"Torso Lady"

And finally, "Itty Bitty Smiling Lady"

The real deal.

After the Louvre, the Arc de Triomphe. Climbing it was a bitch.

View was nice, though. Only had one more thing to see before I could wrap up the Paris leg of the "Final Hurrah Odyssey".

Unfortunately, they tore down the Bastille when the peasants revolted in 17-something-something, so I settled for the Eiffel Tower. Now, do you see the tiers as you go up from the ground? You should see four horizontal tiers, the fourth being the top area. I walked up the first two. MUCH more of a bitch than the Arc de Triomphe was. Oddly, they make you take an elevator to the top from there, so I technically walked as far as any visitor can walk up the tower...so there! Fuck you if you thought I was being lazy or giving up! I don't play that.

View of the garden-thing in front of the Eiffel Tower where everyone goes to get their pics with the tower.

View of Paris and some sort of pretty building.

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That's it! I'm done with Europe and I want to go home, goddamn it! I'm exhausted and I miss pancakes. Only 24 hours left in Europe, so better I make the best of it...

I'm Sorry, But Dutch Is Not A Fucking Language

AMSTERDAM!!!!!

My God-ar (God radar) began tingling when I started to make my way to the hostel the night I arrived, which wasn't a good sign.

Neither wwere the snail nor the words underneath reading "Christian Hostel" good signs. Turns out, this hostel even offered twice-daily prayer services for anyone interested. I could not possibly imagine how the Shelter Hostel people got convinced that a location in Amsterdam was a good idea.

First day, went on a canal tour and saw waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too many bicycles. Dutch folk love bikes. They love that shit.

They also love their canals. In a sense, Amsterdam was a lot like Venice.

Then again, it was, in many ways, quite different from Venice.

This was the first of my only two "coffeeshop" stops while in Amsterdam. Had a "space brownie". Wandered.

Now...I'm only assuming this is a gay bar, because I'd rather jump into a tiger enclosure than ask a local anything about this place. Kept wandering. Space brownie status: INERT.

Made it to the Dam Square. Amsterdam = Amstel River + a dam. Get it? It's clever. Space brownie status: COUNTDOWN INITIATED - 3.

Found Anne Frank's house. Couldn't find Anne Frank, though. No one could. That's why she's famous...Hide-and-Seek World Champion 1942-1944. Space brownie status: COUNTDOWN - 2.

Condomerie...the Condom Shop. Big condoms, little condoms, long condoms, skinny condoms, thick condoms, thin condoms, ribbed for her, warming for his, condoms that play mp3s for both. Want rubber gloves? Buy ten condoms. I hit another "coffeeshop" around the area and sampled the wares...legally...in public...which was awesome. Space brownie status: COUNTDOWN - 1.

Ah, the Red Light District. Hookers as far as the eye can see. Blonde hookers, brunette hookers, raven hookers, fat hookers, thin hookers, ugly hookers, hot hookers, old hookers, young hookers, hookers that play mp3s. I would have gone at night, but shit was kind of sketchy. Also because of the following: Space brownie status: COUNTDOWN - 0...BLAST-OFF.

I got lost for like five hours and I ended up near Rembrandt's house. Overall, I don't remember much about Amsterdam. Considering I was only there for about 36 hours, I'd call that a successful college-student trip to Amsterdam. Only one more stop on the "Final Hurrah Odyssey", the only major city and the only major country I haven't spoken at all and one place everyone should see at least once before they die...

NORDÖSTERSJÖKUSTARTILLERIFLYGSPANINGSSIMULATORANLÄGGNINGSMATERIELUNDERHÅLLSUPPFÖLJNINGSSYSTEMDISKUSSIONSINLÄGGSFÖRBEREDELSEARBETEN

Or, in English: "The preparatory work on the contribution to the discussion on the maintaining system of support of the material of the aviation survey simulator device within the north-east part of the coast artillery of the Baltic". Essentially, this was what Sweden was like.


Okay, I gotta try to blaze through these next few blog entries like a bat out of hell, so here we go: BOOM! Hostel in Stockholm. Decent; not the best one I've ever stayed at, but the best one on my "Final Hurrah Odyssey".

My guidebook: not Baedeker. Ergo, shit. No idea what anything was.

But shit was pretty.

I think the Stockholm Bloodbath occurred here hundreds of years ago, right on the square in front of the Nobel Museum...the closest a massive medieval bloodbath will ever get to Nobel prize. I aspire to one day be a bloodbath-participant.

Swedes love two things: moose...

...and Vikings. They got shit for both fan-demographics.

They also have real motherfucking RedBull in Sweden. The shit in the US is watered down. We got taurine and guarana up in this bitch. That's one of the smaller cans. Drank it...my heart wanted to leap out of my chest and punch me in the throat. Awesome, but Christ...

The Medieval City of Stockholm: Gamla Stan. Shit's old.

Stockholm Royal Palace. I mean, sure it looks cool, but--HOLD THE PHONE.

I CAN READ THAT SHIT! TO THE LIVRUSTKAMMAREN!

The Livrustkammaren...the Royal Swedish Armoury.

Now that's what I'm talking about! I want one of these in every room in my house.

Badass horse-armour.

Badass man armour...and check that shit out on the wall!

That bastard was like 7 feet long. Shit was long! I want two so I can fight somebody else with one...and if they don't have one? BOOM! I got a spare one, motherfucker! Let's do this!

I also want to learn how to ride a horse so I can deck that bad-boy out in Polish horse-ram armour. Pimp My Steed: look out for it...shit's coming out for the fall lineup on MTV67

I only had two real reasons to go to Stockholm. The first was see some crazy Viking shit. The other was to go to the Nordic Sea Hotel. Why?

Icebar.

SHIT WAS MADE OUT OF ICE! Except the floor...and the ceiling...and the register...and the vodka bottles...but the cups and the furniture was!

Had a quick vodka drink like a slick-ass Eskimo pimp (I believe that this is the first recorded use of the phrase "slick-ass Eskimo pimp"), then I had to head off to my second out of three destinations in the "Final Hurrah Odyssey"...somewhere a bit less wholesome than Sweden...