London's burning with boredom now...London's burning dial 99999...

We're drowning in a sea of hyperbole over here. Every new musical is "amazing!" or "the best in the land!" or "best ever in the history of anything!", and every new film is "a masterpiece!" or "best film of the year!" or "best performance of his career!" or " so fucking good I've run out of over-blown adjectives and will never again be able to describe anything ever!"

As I've mentioned before, London is a city of contrasts. But none so apparent as that of the English peoples' attitude. They've a real chip on their shoulder, a sense of superiority to the rest of Europe and indeed the world. Apart from the fact that it's undeserved, I sense it's the English desperately clinging to their faded empirical glory. They used to run the world and they're not going to let anyone forget it. The hubris is as thick as BO in a comic shop as they go on and on about how wonderful it is to live here and how lucky they are to be British. But then they go whingeing about everything all the time and letting american chain stores come in and take over and eastern europeans come in and "take British jobs" in the service industries...never mind that the British won't do those jobs because they feel it's beneath them. English culture seems to consist entirely of complaining, baked beans, getting pissed and being uncomfortable.

Check out the new photos of my new house and the surrounding area (http://picasaweb.google.com/blind.phineas). I took another route (ooh err!) and found a choice little cafe the next street over which does a wikkid eggs benedict. The street goes all the way down to the Thames and you can walk all the way along it into the city. I discovered some really lovely places along the way, like the farm...yes! a frickin' farm!...about 10 minutes from my house. And there's a huge park (Southwark) park at the end of my street with huge expanses of grass and oak trees and pagodas and hardly any people. Bliss!

I realised that the new house is only a 20 minute walk or so from the Tate museum, so I toddled off there on Sunday to check out an exhibition by Louise Bourgeois, a French sculptor, figuring that as most successful female artists have sex and death as their main themes it was a good opportunity to catch a perv at some nork and vag. The only downside to this is that it was abstract expressionist nork and vag, and therefore a little disgusting and unsettling. I don't want to contemplate the juxstaposition of mortality and carnality...I just wanna perv! Clearly I wasn't the only one affected by the display, as a hot young spanish couple were making out like nobody's business on the lawn out front afterwards. I mean REALLY making out...chikka bow-bow type stuff. Normally this would be a source of endless ridicule and mirth-making, but sadly the whole affair just left me wistful and envious and painfully aware of how lonely and h0rny I am...siiiiiiiiiiiiigh.

I'm off to Chicago for a week of training on Sunday, which I'm pretty psyched about. My next project has been delayed somewhat so I'm gonna take a few extra days to look around. I'll have to find some spats and a violin case if I'm really gonna look the part, though. Yooooo...doity rat!

With any luck my next missive should be from the other side of the Atlantic. Be good, y'all, and keep those emails coming.