Part 3: London - Ending

[This will be edited with photos tomorrow at some point, just want to throw the text up and finish it with this spare time.]

Changing hostels to one in Willesden Green, a short walk from the tube station along the Jubilee line that has had technical problems 2 out of 2 days I’ve been here, seemed to coincide with a slight switch in mood.

Where there was once a kind of jubilant excitement preceding each day, these feelings seemed to have lost their foothold and been replaced by more of a passive indifference and pangs of homesickness. I imagine this is the natural step which someone studying abroad goes through, but I can’t help feeling a bit like I’ve failed to fully embrace the experience.

To counteract these unwanted feelings, the daily planning for my London trip also has taken a turn. Instead of trekking around the city at high speeds, exhaustingly cramming all I possible can into each day, things are going slower now. I attended the Imperial War Museum, for instance, and stayed not a minute longer than necessary. I absolutely love that all of London’s museums have quite a bit of free content to peruse, and so I felt guilt free taking off after inspecting the marvelous “Secret War” exhibit featuring real-world MI5 and MI6 information, passports, weapons, and gadgets from WWI/WWII/Cold War and the Gulf War. It was fascinating.

The Jubilee line being down meant no Abbey Road today, and so I settled on searching out Gosh! Comics, a store I hadn’t visited since living in London in Middle School. They’d relocated, and a quick google search told me they were now in Soho. Soho in the daytime seemed like a crosswalk between the Picadilly/Leicester Square area and Oxford Circus, but upon walking through tonight it was alive with people at the pubs and shops. Here in London, it is totally ok to stand outside of a bar in mass groups and chat with a pint/drink, no one seems to fuss about alcohol in ‘public’ at all. Brilliant.

The first introduction to Soho I received after locating the street Gosh! was on were not 1 but 4 different sex shops; videos, toys, lingerie, emporium. The street was narrow, pedestrian, and each shop seemed to come with its very own odd-looking fellow standing on the stoop and looking at the passers-by. Fine, I thought, I didn’t have any intention of pushing past these gentlemen to browse the wares anyway.

Gosh!’s window had a giant knitted squid, part of some London art-everywhere style event that, according to the photos, included loads of different knitted items sprawled over, attached to, or hung on common monuments around the city. I don’t remember the shop being nearly so trendy, but it was bursting with people of all sorts. Of course there were your typical comic readers, but also the more smartly dressed examining the plethora of graphic novels, art mags, and zines that make up the first floor. The basement is still reserved for new comics and back issues, but wasn’t nearly as populated. I grabbed a Punisher MAX and the latest issue of Scalped (Both really good, you must go and buy them right now) before heading out. I desperately wanted to chat about the store with one of the guys, but I was checked out by someone new and so didn’t bother asking about the move to the new location.

Forbidden...

I stopped at a Café called Costa (read my thoughts on this particular one below) and worked on my novel over some coffee before heading out again in search of a big store. I’m looking for a very particular (being cryptic for reasons) item that I haven’t been able to find yet, despite quite a lot of searching. It’s harder still when Google Maps indicates a location that doesn’t actually exist. For such a cool service, they sure do mess with me sometimes. No worries, I ended up walking most of the way to Forbidden Planet, perhaps the single greatest nerdy store in the existence of Earth. They’ve got vinyl toys, action figures, exclusive busts and comics from comic and film conventions, not to mention a bookstore and comic shop all crammed into 2 floors of pure glee (not the show. I’m sure singing isn’t allowed).

If you’re looking for used books, Smith Family style, then get yourself to Charing Cross Rd just past Leicester Sq. I made a couple purchase, one of which I had heard about (Dean Koontz always seems to do good stuff), and another I picked up merely on impulse. The pound-to-dollar conversion still makes these books more than they’d be in second hand shops back home, but the 2.50 pricetags were not even close to the 12 or 15 I’d be spending at a place like Waterstones.

Another kind of London...

Camden Town station puts you right in the middle of the main shopping district of Camden. Gone are the designer stores, the Marks & Spencers et all, giving way to a different manner of business. Saturday, despite the rain, Camden was incredibly busy and all the shops seemed to be full. There are stores as well as a plethora of stalls forming a kind of labyrinthine network of London/England-tourist clothing, novelty tees like you might find at Hot Topic, or more independent handmade/screen-printed fare. I even stumbled upon a couple art shops with some really fantastic original work.

Camden is also the spot if you want to get some cheaper eats, especially if (and I was) you’re craving Mexican or Thai food. There’s even bar seating made out of old scooters repainted (and missing the handlebars/front). The whole atmosphere is a lot of fun, and getting lost among the goods can eat up at the very least a couple hours (and a decent chunk of cash too, if you’re not careful). The visit almost made up for Arsenal getting thrashed earlier. Even took care of some gift shopping!

Brick Lane is also a similar style to Camden, though there was a fair bit more vintage clothing and graffiti around this district. As such, I walked around only half looking at the stalls and instead turning my attention to the walls, overhangs, and doorways for any kind of street art to photograph. I snapped a few, and discovered a couple of interesting galleries; StolenSpace Gallery and the Print Club London which sold some really awesome prints for about 40 pounds each unframed. Had I lived in London, I certainly would have gone to the print club to decorate my flat with some interesting work but it was a bit high for something that might get trashed in transit back to the states so I skipped out just barely avoiding dropping some serious cash.

Perhaps the most interesting stall I found while in Brick Lane was one selling vintage toys, clothing, and a wide array of old gas masks from all over Europe. I guess you have to buy them somewhere, though I certainly wouldn’t want to drop 20-30 pounds on something that no longer serves its intended function. Although…

There was also a music festival going on Sunday, and I was attracted by the bass heavy reggae only to learn it (of course) cost money to get in and so I skipped out and finished my day with a good long skype session. Now off to Norwich, here are just a couple tips to share;

Few tips...

Cravings: If you need some coffee and want to pop open your laptop for a little bit of internet while you get your fix, I have to recommend Café Nero. Similar-styled Pret a Manger and Costa offer roughly the same thing, but Costa’s wifi is not free, and Pret’s is quite fussy. I never had an issue at Nero.

Beware: The Jubilee line, on which Willesden Green and my hostel were located, is perhaps the worst line in the history of the London Tube. Out of the 4 nights I stayed there, 5/5 days saw the Jubliee having technical difficulties and partial closing. When booking a spot to sleep, try not to do it on this temperamental transport.

Sleepy: Both the Astor Hyde Park and the Palmer’s Lodge are both good hostels that offer two different experiences. If you’re looking for something young, loud, and close to everything then Hyde Park is your thing. However, if you want to get more sleep in a darker room with less people, you’ll have to sacrifice a bit of distance and convenience for the nice facilities and on-site bar of Palmer’s. I think at this point I’d rather stay at Astor thanks to the ease of navigation.

Part 2: London - Accidentally Awesome

Enough negativity! If there's one thing that London this time around has really permitted me is the chance to walk around popular areas without feeling a gripping need to see all the big sites and look at every exhibit in every museum. While the English Museums both in London and around the country tend to be absolutely amazing, I wanted to cover newer ground this time around.

This isn't science...
The Astor hostel was near Hyde Park (beautiful place), that played host to Lionel Richie the night that I arrived in London. Had I known, I woulda been there in a flash and danced on the ceiling all night long. Pissed I missed it. Near Hyde Park is also the Museum of Natural History, and the Science Museum both of which I... think I'd been to before, but decided to try again. On my way to the Science Museum there was loads of construction blocking off various pedestrian paths. Through all the rerouting, I got turned around and walked into what I thought was the Science museum only to find out I was somewhere else entirely; the V&A Museum. After walking through a few rooms of sculptures and various other art, I figured it was the wrong spot but decided to stay anyway. Glad I did, there's an exhibit running right now about some crazy craftsmanship ranging from bicycles made entirely of wood, a Gundam-style suit that was prototyped as a way to give wheelchair-bound citizens a way to walk, move, and fight badguys and even new kinds of clothing. The opening to the exhibit was guarded by a giant Gorilla roaring and beating its chest, all made of coat hangars. Ridiculous. Awesome.



An introduction to film...

It feels pretty cliché to say something is a “hidden gem” but sometimes it’s the most appropriate phrase. Feeling lazy and perhaps a bit homesick after a few days of seriously trekking around London and trying to cram in as much as I could by train and foot, I settled on finding a theater showing a film called Beginners. I’d missed it at the Bijou and so sought to right the wrong by finding here where it would surely be playing…somewhere.

There were 3 different theaters in the vicinity of Piccadilly that would be close enough to get to easily and in time after a visit to Buckingham Palace and a late lunch. At the Cafe, I chose the Prince Charles Cinema near Leicester Square, a few blocks away. The Google Maps photo looked like a picture of a rundown building that had closed its doors permanently and, actually, this is how it kind of appears at first. Nestled away in Chinatown just by Leicester Square and close to the Soho area full of theaters and shops. I was offered roughly 5 different sorts of Asian massages (Korean, Chinese, Foot etc) while strolling through the main street.

The PCC has 2 screens, a bar, and free Wifi for customers to utilize while they wait for doors to open, have a beer, or wait for the show to start (2 of which I did, the bar was closed) and offers the kind of Bijou/David Minor style atmosphere that I absolutely cherish. There's even a showing of Red State and a Q&A with Kevin Smith tomorrow night that was, of course, sold out. I might go by and see if I could snag a ticket, as that would just make my trip. They are currently running Beginners and The Guard. Both of which I wanted to see, and I almost Double Featured myself. Tickets run at 8 pounds each, which is about a pound+ less than most of the other cinemas in the area (of which there are many).

The theaters are small themselves, but have wonderful leather cushy seats and almost all seats seemed to be good viewing points for the film (I think the other screen has much more seating). Going at 4 p.m. was just right to get a great seat in a theater that was only a 3rd full, though leaving it seemed like the evening shows are more popular. Gotta visit this place again.

Chinatown's Not-so-cheap Eats...

It was only natural that I'd want some food after getting out around 6 p.m., and Chinatown provided a plethora of choices. A lot of the food joints here are priced kind of high, especially considering the interiors and location, but a corner cafe that advertised bubble tea and hot food just couldn't be ignored. There was a small Asian woman hand-making all the dumplings the cafe served in front of the window, and a small crowd had gathered to watch her work through the glass. It felt rather reminiscent of some Taquerias who employ the same tactic in Mexico. The inside was bare save for bar seating, a few tables, and a review from a London publication heralding the cafe as providing great authentic Chinese food. Indeed, the staff chatted to one another in Mandarin the entire time. I ordered the Fish Ball special with rice noodles and a mango bubble tea. The special, for 5.95, was filling and absolutely delicious. As a single eater, I was given a table and then had guests sat down with me. I'm not sure where the couple was from, but one of them saw my food and asked for the exact same after clarifying that he'd like it with his boyfriend in a language I didn't recognize.

It was a great tasting way to quietly reflect on Beginners and provided some tapioca ball comfort before making the push back to the hostel all the way in Willesden Green some 30 minutes away. Being in England means no guilty feeling when one doesn't eat the food native to the country, since most of it is pretty basic and, though I love meat and taters as much as the next dude, gets kind of old. Explore! The name of the restaurant escapes me, but it's next door to The Tokyo Diner which is a bit more spendy.

Part 1: London

I'd like to open this post commending Air Canada for being quite the airline to fly for over 8 hours with. First, I wasn't carded or charged extra for ordering a mini bottle of wine with my pretty-decent chicken dinner and the small screen in the headrest in front of me was not only stocked with both arthouse and hollywood flicks, but all were available free of charge. It made the flight a thousand times better than it could have been, and I'd certainly like flying them again.

I haven't quite decided just how I'd like to approach this blog. Writing in once a week (roughly) means that attempting to recap everything that's happened in between each post would be both tedious and rather boring for all of you. Instead, I'll just hit on some main points and post pictures once I sort out how to get them off my SD card and onto my laptop. For now, pretend all the photos included were taken by me except with a better camera and a hint of photographic skills.

Hostel Horror
If you read my Japan trip postings, you'll know that I'm really extra talented at getting immediately and irrevocably lost by myself in a foreign country. So, after being in the air and on layover for over 12 hours, finally tasting the relief that is solid ground and fresh air, what else was I to do? Wander around in the rain with a huge suitcase, of course. The Tube (London Underground) directions were easy enough, the maps posted at each station with the various lines are infinitely easier to deal with since they aren't in Kanji, but the struggle came after I left the station.

I'm not sure what it is about these hostel websites, but I guess accurate and well-written directions aren't important. Google Maps proved dangerous as well; the printout I had brought with me was really accurate as to the place Google had decided I wanted to go, which wasn't at all the right address that I'd entered in. I ended up getting buzzed into an entirely different hostel and having the clerk there re-search and give me the proper directions. With a laugh, the real destination was located and I dropped my bag off. All hostels have a check-in of 2 p.m., giving me a solid 3 hours to spend, sweaty and dressed in athletic shorts, jersey and a fitted, to put around London smelling like plane and BO.

I came back and checked in, lugging 50 pounds worth of urban street clothing and 2 pairs of my boat-sized shoes up 5 flights of stairs to my room. Thank God for showers and nice German people, giving me a warm welcome and a great way to finally feel clean after travel. The Astor Hyde Park hostel provides both decent beds, en-suite shower and toilet, and a free breakfast in the morning (cereal and toast, including peanut butter and nutella spreads) and is a great location in Gloucester Road a few stops from all the most important stops.

However, what's not so great is trying to sleep while a handful of drunk Hostel-stayers sit outside the hostel at 3 in the morning belting out Disney songs, Journey, showtunes and everything in between. The girl had, at least, taken a few singing lessons and so wasn't too out of key but her male compatriots were not so... polished. As I lay awake, splitting headached and jetlagged, I fantasized about dropping the various items my roommates had lying around out the window at them. Nothing says passive-aggressive like mortaring a backpacking bag at some Irish people and ducking back into your room. The next nights weren't nearly so nightmarish and I'd certainly stay in this place again.

Whatchu Starin' At?
While in Japan, I became accustomed to quite a few people looking at my 6'2 white self on the subway or in the streets, especially when exploring non-touristy areas. However, I arrived in England half expecting not to have the same experience. I was, of course, incorrect. Sure, my fashion choice on the first day was a bit different, but the looks continued to come, and not all were very friendly.

At first, I felt a bit angry at all the stares. Perhaps it was a preconceived notion that being anglo and of UK descent would have given me a physical appearance that would allow a certain degree of blending in here in London. Maybe these looks made me feel like an outsider somewhere I desperately didn't want to be an Other. However, after this week, I feel more or less alright with being picked out as foreign. I'm not ashamed to be from the States, and I'll just pretend all this attention is because they love the Obey tee combo'd with the black Analog shorts.

Stylistically, if I wanted to fit in with the London crowd (at least in the center/affluent areas), I'd need to overhaul my wardrobe to include tight blackwash jeans, collared shirt, shoulder bag, and some kind of brown leathery shoes that absolutely are never ever made in a size 15. I've observed a couple of these people staring down at my sneakers (called Trainers) who do not break their gaze even when they notice I see them. It's odd.

More to come soon, I've finished my cappuccino and I need to get some food in me. Quick shoutout to Nic, hostel roomie and cool dude. Enjoy N. Ireland breh

Heading Across the Pond

Even though I haven't been posting on this blog much at all the past year (since last summer), this'll be the place for my postings about England and more specifically my 3 and a half month trip to the University of East Anglia in Norwich. Should probably post about once or twice a week at the most, and I'll be throwing them up on my Twitter/Tumblr/Facebook as well so no worries there. See you soon!

Timbers vs. Sounders: Timbers Falter. Again.

The MLS is certainly not a league which possesses its fair share of derbies, but prominent footie websites heralded the Seattle Sounders-Portland Timbers match-up earlier this season as an old, European-style rivalry unlike any other in the country. Sure, we're certainly no Premier league/SPL/Seria A/anything else, but it's quite the praise to generate as much buzz as the teams' managed to this year. It was only a given that when the two sides were set to clash again, this time in Portland, media and fan hype would again soar to all-time MLS highs.

The again-sold out Jeld-Wen was packed with not only the Timbers Army and fellow supporters, but a surprising number of Sounders fans who not only packed it into the Away section but also permeated the rest of the crowd, chanting and drumming their own chants. The thunderous TA, not to be outdone, answered back with force and their chanting could be heard echoing around the stadium long into the game.

The score stayed level during the entire first half, both teams favoring defensive-style play that lead to few chances and even less excitement. Spencer's decision to play 4-5-1 and clog up the midfield seemed to, at the very least, help our back 4 in keeping the sometimes-brilliant Freddy Montero goalless. The Sounders, who have garnered results in their past few fixtures, are second in the league and holding them without a goal in the first felt like an achievement. On the Timbers' attacking side, Kenny Cooper sat on the bench as Perlaza and Alhassan shouldered the attacking responsibility. It would not be until the second half that any real action kicked off, however.

Alhassan's strike just after the half-time break (now listed as an own-goal by John Parke) opened the scoring in front of the Timbers Army, who went wild. Indeed, nabbing the first goal against the Sounders is quite the achievement and things were looking bright for the Rose City's second half against its chief rival. Yet it was Seattle's turn when, 10 minutes later, Freddy Montero curled in a Free Kick outside of the box and past Troy Perkins to equalize. It was Timbers' striker Perlaza who would answer off of an assist from Chara, a shot from the right hand side of the box that deflected off the thigh of Sounders defender and altered trajectory enough to get by vet keeper Kasey Keller. Things were again brought even as Montero picked up his second goal, this time much closer to goal. Finally, as things seemed bleak for the Timbers, matters were made worse when Eric Brunner brought down Lamar Neagle in the box, receiving a red card and gifting the Sounders a penalty which Osvaldo Alonso barely snuck past Perkins. End result 3-2 Sounders win. (long recap is long)

If I'm not mistaken, this is the second game in a row that Kenny Cooper has not been given the starting position alongside Perlaza up front. The big man who arrived in Portland with great anticipation has been held scoreless in almost every fixture, and John Spencer's to bench him is the correct one. Though Cooper presents a big body and a great target in the air (he dwarfs much of the rest of the squad), his on the ground skill and speed leave quite a lot to be desired. His counterpart, Jorge Perlaza, presents a counterpoint to Cooper's style of play; fast-paced hustle, no ball too far to get Perlaza sprinting. Cooper, on the other hand, shows lack of hustle that either demonstrates some kind of faltering motivation (doubtful, the Timbers supporters are among the most frenzied and loud in all the league) or perhaps some kind of injury kept under wraps by the player. The former is inexcusable, the latter unfortunate. As Kenny Cooper came on late into the second half, he had little influence on the game for some time. Though making a couple of well-placed passes, the man up front again demonstrated little effort and subsequently failed to threaten the Sounders back 4.

The guy shouldn't start. Yes, he's a high profile purchase, and yes his size is great for corners and free kicks, but so is Futty Danso who also provides defensive benefits for his size. Nagbe's replacement, Sal Zizzo, demonstrated great pace and influenced a lot of the Timbers movement up front while Perlaza's replacement by Cooper removed quick effort with... nothing.

Nothing is also how I'd describe what the Timbers defense seems to be doing as of late. Montero's free kick, though a beauty, went directly over a defensive wall wherein only one of the Portland players saw fit to jump up. Had the others jumped, it might have sent the ball ricocheting away from goal rather than in it. Similarly, though Perkins made an absolutely incredible save robbing Montero of his hat trick, the striker was often left unmarked and the Timbers back 4 slacked hard on their duties. The second half soon became the Sounders to win, and win it they did thanks to superior play and a lackluster defensive effort that has plagued the Portland side as of late.

The late Red Card given to Eric Brunner presented an interesting late-game decision by the referee. Though the Timbers supporter inside me wants to cry "Bullshit" and verbally abuse the ref for deciding a game with a single call. However, I think though Brunner did win the ball, he was far too high and was certainly a dangerous challenge that was a clear penalty. Though I have no qualms with the call, Brunner's decision to make it and his 1v1 positioning (where were the other 3 defenders) was sloppy, harkening back to the late handball that gave the Red Bulls their final goal earlier this season. On the Sounders side, Alonso received a rather light punishment for his malicious midfield tackle in reaction to what he thought was a foul on the other side of the pitch. Making no effort to retrieve the ball, he brought down a Timbers midfielder via a swipe to the legs and should have been sent off. Dangerous, reactionary play has no place on the pitch.

Though the playoffs may be out of reach, there's still plenty of time for the Timbers to salvage their season. The winless streak can be ended, but it'll take quite a lot of effort considering some 10 of the next games will be on the road. Though it's damned hard to keep hope alive at this point, there's little else a Timbers fan can do.

Trip to L.A. Part 2 - Reality

I arrived to the John Wayne Airport (Such an outrageous name to give an airport. Like... really?) and was greeted by my Aunt and Cousin at the baggage claim. They are much the same as I had remembered them. My aunt is unfortunately rather small and her daughter not too much taller, and I bent down to greet them. Conversation didn't really come easily at first, awkwardly poking around topics like what we were going to do for dinner, how the flight was (a formality of a question, really) etc. It wouldn't be for a day or two that we could actually start picking up some good conversation but this is a side of the family I haven't seen for five years and it was never exactly the easiest before that.

We picked up my grandfather who looked relatively the same, if not a bit more aged, and drove off to a dinner at the Gourmet Cafe and Pie Company. It is, essentially, like most of the restaurants in the immediate vicinity a Marie Callender's clone full of high-calorie meals, desserts, and the elderly. My cousin and I were the youngest in the establishment by about 20+ years, and we got a lot of... looks. I picked a burrito, thinking it'd be pretty standard, but it came as double if not triple the size of stuff we have in Eugene. I ate about a 3rd and felt like I was about to throw up. Best dinner. Finishing dinner, we sat down for some awkward card games and I spent the rest of the night on an inflatable mattress on the floor in the living room. People went to bed at 9. I used my phone until 12 when it died and I decided it was sleep time.

Universal Studios the next day was the plan and, despite the weather reports, we braved the drive to Hollywood and parked. The rain was fairly light at first, and we walked down the "Universal City" area (built like a downtown with restaurants and name brand clothing stores) with half-interest. When we got to the ticket booth, it started hailing. Seeking cover, we ran inside to a Universal Studios souvenir shop just by the entrance gate along with a bunch of people who didn't seem to grasp the concept that they were not the last person trying to get inside. After politely tapping about 4 people on the shoulder and dripping all over a bunch of the merchandise, our group made it all the way inside and settled on some coffee until the weather settled. What followed was basically a rise and fall of torrential downpours and light rain, so we would approach each new attraction at the park as fast as we could, and hopped from adjacent things regardless of what they were.

The first was House of Horrors, a haunted house with real-live "actors" dressed up like scary stuff that would jump out at you or try and grab etc. They never touched, but they got close. I made my cousin go first. Yes, I am partly ashamed. My favorite part was probably the room filled with fake corpses hanging in bags from the ceiling. They came complete with a rancid kind of rotting flesh and feces smell and, coupled with the heavy weight (think punching bag almost), made for a truly eerie experience. The rest was jumpy horror stuff and I certainly got my yell on a few times. I've always been scared of that fucking Chuckie doll.

We checked out the Terminator 2 3D show that mixes a stage performance with big-screen 3D footage filmed with the Governator himself. It was awesome in a kind of archaic way, the technology out of date and the film they were using almost irrelevant. I love the flick but the show was only mediocre. We stayed after for a special animal show they were putting on because of the rain, which lasted about 10 minutes but showcased a lot of trained animals used in films. Nice.

The Simpson's Ride was probably the highlight, one of the virtual rollercoasters but supersized with a huge screen and lots of cars of people all moving and shaking according to the on-screen action. I was skeptical at first thanks to the plethora of tiny and young children giggling at all the corny jokes made from the tv screens mounted for line-waiters to watch, but it actually turned out to be pretty exciting. We had to skip the studio tour thanks to the weather, and we headed home.

The rest of the trip was kind of low-key, and I spent a lot of it listening to my grandfather share the symptoms and ailments of late. His heart is working at about 35% capacity now, and he lamented how he'd get out of breath after doing just about anything. It was hard to know how to react to this man who I've always looked up to in a strange, distant way sharing these really sad things with me. I mostly nodded politely, and said meaningless and often single-word answers to his statements. I'd inquire further, but that might've got him down a path of extreme sadness and I'd rather not. I made sure not to mention or prod further whenever my grandmother was brought up, knowing how sensitive he is on that subject. Still, it was nice to get to know him and I could tell he appreciated the one-on-one time we got together.

When my family arrived, things picked up some. I know my grandpa was super excited to have them there, and he perked up even more than when just I'd arrived. The conversation became much smoother when I wasn't the only one driving it, and we had some good times. Cards, walks, swimming laps in the pool... it was a good time and relaxing despite hearing about my girlfriends awesome time in Mexico. I tried hard not to be jealous.

This morning, turning 21, we hit up the Gourmet Cafe (again) for a special b-day breakfast and I ordered a Bloody Mary. The Waitress didn't card me. Hiding my devastation, I drank my first legal alcoholic beverage and wolfed down some Spinach and Eggs. My grandfather fought tears as we said goodbye, but didnt seem interested in anything other than a handshake. Perhaps he felt it was the manly thing. I gave his shoulder a squeeze and left feeling more guilty than happy about my evening plans in Eugene for my birthday. Still, I wonder if I've made the right decision in going home to be with my friends and doing the stereotypical omgletsgetdrunk bday. Too late.

Trip to L.A. Part 1 - Remembering

As I climbed into the small airplane with the big propellers on the side, I pondered what I'd do during my layover in the Portland Airport. Thanks to a last-minute booking, my flight down to Orange County was going to run from Eugene up (away from LA) to Portland before heading back down after a two-hour stopover. Because $400 doesn't earn me a direct flight. I settled on passing the time doing this; Remembering and writing about my experience on this super-fast trip down to visit the family in Los Angeles. It's something I haven't done in nearly 4 years, school and a job having picked up immensely and preventing any kind of solid trip plans to be made. In retrospect, I'm sure I could've got more time off had I asked really nicely at work or buttered up my professors with false praises of their 2-hour-snooze-fest lectures... or something. Hindsight's 20/20.

My 6'2 body plops down into a seat tailored for the tiny people in the row in front of me. They look like 5'2 tops, and I muse that this is probably the only time their height is considered an advantage. I make a mental note of not helping a short person reach something tall to balance things out because how else do I justify smushing my feets into my backpack? Get the can on the top shelf yourself, tiny, be resourceful. The guy next to me is at least 6'4 with a golf shirt and khakis on, you know, that old world style.

I'm not really sure what it is about me and my seatpartners on airplanes, but I invariably have sat next to someone who recently lost a loved one on the last few flights. We discuss our trips, and it emerges that this'n's visiting L.A. for a memorial service for his father who must have been outrageously old considering this man's 50's/60's age. I tell him I'm sorry, and he replies with a, "me too" that leads into an awkward silence until I offer him my Rolling Stone magazine I'd recently read through thanks to a 2 hour wait in the Eugene airport. Planning is apparently not one of my strong suits.

The plane takes off and I'm going through my mind, looking for memories about L.A. before I eventually arrive there tonight. The first thing that pops into mind is my grandfather's love for constructing models of all sorts. His garage is home to numerous movie theaters (old style, of course, with the marquees and fancy signs. I wish they were still like this), a small town by the train tracks complete with its own train and little tiny people randomly placed around the streets. I remember how the garage always felt so hot compared to the house, heading out from the air conditioned comfort of the living room to go see Poppa's latest model was like walking from the fridge into the oven. It had a very distinct smell, something like car exhaust, glue, and old things stacked in boxes up to the ceiling. Ever since I was little, I'd always try and get into model making while down in Orange County, but I never got around to actually finishing anything because I don't believe there was any real interest in it. Maybe it just made Poppa happy, so I did it no questions asked. Plus, there was always an open box of Orange Soda in the garage too. Warm? Maybe, but still.

I remember that Poppa has massive calves thanks to a lifetime's work in the postal service, back before (or maybe not before) those workers got the neat little boxy cars to roll around in and deliver mail, my grandfather would walk rain or shine his route and drop off people's mail. This is not a job little kids usually decide they'll be when they grow up, and it's certainly not a major at college. It's a kind of work that's hard, probably sucks a lot, but needs to get done. This vigorous exercise is probably what's carried him to old age better than some, always having a strong speedy walk despite his aging body. My grandfather and father walk almost the same. I must make a note not to become another in this cycle.

I realize that I have no idea what my grandmother did. I remember her gnarled hands and stooped manner of walking, maybe a result of whatever it is she did. Hell, I didn't know much about my grandmother beyond her love for those murder mysteries that involved animals of some kind. Little old ladies love that shit. She also liked to wear curlers in her hair to bed, emerging from their bedroom every morning, hunched over and hitting the bathroom up before breakfast. I'd probably woken her up with noise from the tv room, or my sister and I playing pretend while we wait for the adults to get up. The last time I was in LA was for her funeral. I remember that pretty well.

The most recent memory of Poppa is his breaking down at Thanksgiving dinner having lost Grandma, thanking everyone for being together on the holiday and expresses his yearning to have his lifepartner back. There's this awkward moment where I don't know if I should say anything, and if so... what? How does one comfort someone who has suddenly found themselves alone after 50+ years of marriage? You can pat them on the back, sure, and say meaningless phrases from movies or what adults generally say. In the end, everyone just silently let him have his moment before moving on. I find myself hoping this is not going to be the grandfather I arrive to once I land in Orange County later in the day but I should be prepared regardless.

The plane lands and my layover begins. Flashes of memory, a grandfather clock in the living room, couches that find that limbo between comfort and discomfort, swimming pools, Disney Land.

Is my sitting next to someone on a plane dooming them to lose a close relative or loved one? Oh shi-