Orwell #4
When we got into London we had eight hours to kill before the lodging-houses opened. It is curious how one does not notice things. I had been in London innumerable times, and yet till that day I had never noticed one of the worst things about London -- the fact that it costs money even to sit down. . . . By four we had stood five hours, and our feet seemed red-hot from the hardness of the stones.
-- Down and Out in Paris and London
posted by awol | 10:22 AM
9 Comments:
It's always been a mystery to me: where on God's green earth do Brits get their money? London is hands down one of the most expensive places to live, eat, stay...sit. Yet everyone you meet seems like they're getting along just fine. Americans get there and can't last a month. My friend went to LSC for a year and by the end was literally going hungry--down to, like, a meal a day for Chrissake. She literally lost weight (eep!) I'm thinking there's a secret to getting by and they're not telling us so we don't stay long...
Before I went to Paris in 1989....where I first read Down and Out in Paris and London by the way....I went into a sneaker shop on 112th and B'way and purchased the latest sneakers...the best, coolest sneakers available.
They were baby blue Nike ACG city gear shoes...the progenitors of everything "tech / trek" that you see today. I remember telling the clerk that I was going to Paris. He looked at me like my shoes we're going to literally make me 2 feet high and rising.
Of course, no one wore sneakers in Paris. Even the cool kids who wore bomber jackets and rode mopeds. I spent a lot of time listening to Radio Nova in my room...and realizing that walking around in cemeteries was depressing.
At any rate, I took the bus to London. (I'll never forget a Frenchman leaning his seat back into by knees, asking me if it bothered me, and upon hearing me say "yes, a little", proceeding to move his seat back even further....let's just say I hit London ready for a break from la France.
We rolled into Victoria Station and looking out the window I saw a scruffy fellow wearing beat up high top sneakers. The bus driver played reggae off a London radio station. People moved in a familiar way. It wasn't New York, but, dammit...
it was close enough.
1. And to think that now, French teens are addicted to sneaks like it's cooked coke, haha. Matter of fact, the Nike Paris Dunks are some of the most coveted sneaks to drop in the last couple years.
2. Three Feet High and Rising? My first ever rap album. Listened to it about 17,000 times when I first got it (a dubbed copy from my boy Jerome in 4th grade - can't forget). A meany meany...say...what?
3. Reggae...mmmmm...the brutal pasta of music.
4. A little something off the dome before I hit the sack:
My thoughts
Like
Brutal pasta
Who'd have thought the
Boy could bring clarity
Like
Dude's a rasta
For many moons
I watch the
Months pass
Orbit like blunts passed
My mind the ticket
Like a bus pass
Sidetracked
And run past
Falsehood will un-last
Take comfort
New beginnings always
Come last.
Question the question
Seek knowledge
Rest in the investment
And think twice
Reflect on reflection.
What the hell any of that meant I have no clue. Any suckiness of flow I blame on myself. Any and all beauty of flow is from God (though not through divine inspiration).
And to all a good night ;)
ILL! Dub-G for President, haha.
I think I first read Down and Out in Paris and London while riding the subway in NYC in the 90s -- one of the best places in the world, I'm still convinced, to do some serious reading, as long as you can avoid the real crush of rush hour. On the other hand, I might first have listened to the great 3 Feet High and Rising in a library!
About which you can only say -- where have all the Daisies gone, long time fading . . .
subways and libraries: a sub-sub-librarian.
Ah, Bartleby. Ah, humanity...
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