London, baby

Dear professor and co.

Greetings from the city that loves to queue. I trust you are enjoying your bachelor’s weekend, err week; gorging yourselves on cereal, macaroni and cheese and pizza, in between testosterone-fuelled snowball fights, of course.

Though I ordinarily scoff at such ‘cuisine’ I have to confess it trumps what passes for airplane food these days. My dinner last night consisted of rice and chicken strewn with a few vegetables that had been nuked beyond acceptable levels. The kicker was dessert -a sugar free chocolate chip cookie. Possibly the first time in my life I did not eat a cookie set before me.

Can we talk about the travesty that is air travel these days? The food, the cramped conditions, the awkward line-ups for pint-sized bathrooms…I’m convinced the only thing that sets it apart from the early 1900’s cross-Atlantic boat voyages, is  that it takes one day instead of nine. (Or however long it used to take.) And (hopefully) a diminished chance of catching lice.

Of course, modern-day air travel also includes in-flight entertainment options. (Though it doesn’t include Kate Winslet dancing with Leonardo di Caprio.) Naturally the prospect of whiling away nine hours watching films is mighty appealing.  It is an opportunity to watch movies you didn’t have time to watch when they came out, or check out the ones that (mildly) piqued your interest but are unlikely to be worth the price of admission.

Wait, isn’t that most movies nowadays?

Really, what I’m trying to say is: ‘I watched Tammy.’ You know, with Melissa Mccarthy. I laughed three times in the first five minutes. But then twenty minutes passed without so much as a smirk and I called it quits. Ain’t nobody got time for Susan Sarandon in a grey wig.

With my row-mate, Putin’s twin, deeply ensconced in a Korean film of some sort, I continued to test the waters of terrible cinema by watching 22 Jump Street. This was strictly a nod to your terrible Friday night Netflix choices. Within ten minutes I concluded I couldn’t abide round two of the Channing Tatum-Jonah Hill double threat.

My final attempt at in-flight entertainment was Woody Allen’s Magic in the Moonlight. It seemed a lot like, well, all the other Woody Allen movies, except this one featured Colin Firth and Emma Stone.

I finished it just in time for my special breakfast of v-8 juice and a Del Monte tropical fruit cup. Apparently, my sister ordered me  ‘low-fat’ meals thinking they would be more delicious than regular fare. Mais non! I actually hid the special meal under my poncho and availed myself to the yogurt and slightly artificial banana bread that came through the cabin minutes later.

Not my finest moment, admittedly.

The main event on this first day in the poppy-filled city was an organ recital at Westminster Abbey. As you undoubtedly imagine, an organ recital has significant potential to induce slumber, under the best of circumstances. But after two hours of sleep and hauling suitcases all over London, the effect was even more acute. A man sitting across from us must have had an equally arduous day of travel for his head nearly touched his knees  on more than one occasion.

It’s a whopping 2pm back in your winter wonderland, but alas my head is also about to droop. I sure hope St. Paul’s cathedral only chimes the hours from 8am to 10pm. After all, I really need my rest, I have a full day of eating ahead of me tomorrow. image P.s. Sorry if this picture sucks. It took an embarrassingly long time to figure out how to get a picture from my phone onto the iPad. That’s really more your department.

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